When Honors Day came my freshman year, I treated it as a free day without classes, and I slept in, ate too much ice cream and didn’t attend a single presentation. Present Emily is very upset with Past Emily for her decision to do this.

Last year I overworked myself to make up for Past Emily’s mistakes: I attended every single session. By 5 p.m. I was absolutely exhausted and my head was swimming with facts, data, graphs and literature.

At last year’s Honors Day, I got up bright and early for my brother’s (Aaron Hollenberg ’13) presentation on the research on wolf spiders that he conducted over two years with Dr. Clark. I didn’t really understand what he got up to in Dow all those summers. I just knew that he was at Alma in the summer, I was in Indiana without him (and I didn’t have to share the bathroom), and it was nice when he came home for a free weekend.

At his presentation I learned exactly what he had been doing every summer for two years, and that was extensive research that I did not understand one bit of. He worked with wolf spiders and took readings about their mating rituals. There were lots of graphs, charts, numbers and data things that I didn’t understand.

As an English major, I tell myself that it’s okay that I don’t like numbers. Or understand them.

This year was no different; I went to a few science presentations and couldn’t make head nor tail of them. But they really made me think.

We have awesome students on this awesome campus doing awesome research projects with awesome professors.

But when I go to these presentations, I think, Gee, I could be doing all of these miraculous and marvelous things. But I’m sitting here watching someone else’s presentation and eating a cookie.

So next year, I’m undertaking a project that will, hopefully, be presented at Honors Day just in time for my senior year to be wrapping up.

I am undertaking… a senior thesis.

Since science and math make me want to hide in a broom cupboard and never come out, my thesis is not going to involve hours in an IPHS lab running tests on willing student subjects. There will be no graphs, there will be no numbers, no PowerPoint to show my data.

There will be a novel.

My eight-credit/two-semester senior thesis is going to be me writing a novel, overseen by Dr. Vivian.

Today I went to the Pine River Anthology reception, and Carrie Frame ’13 was presenting her senior thesis, a novella. The entire time that she was reading excerpts from it and showing us all the hard work that she put in to write it, I could only think about was what I would say next year when I presented a big, fat, hopefully finished, novel.

“Hi, I’m Emily. And um… this is my novel.”

Don’t worry, I’m not going to read the entire thing. I’d take up all five sessions, and nobody has time for that.

Realizing that I am undertaking a senior thesis and that eventually I’ll have a proud product that I can present makes me feel better with what I’m doing with my time here at Alma. I might not be doing groundbreaking research in the kidney functions of strange animals for the biology department, but I’m going to do end up doing something that will make me proud.

And hopefully, next year, instead of wondering what I’m doing with my life, I’ll actually be presenting what I’m doing with my life.

Alma’s Honors Day is one of the coolest thing that Alma does. I admire every single person that does an Honors Day presentation. Hopefully next year, I’ll be joining that crowd.

Before I left, I was approached by a staff writer for the Almanian and this question was posed to me: When you found out that your work had been accepted, what did you do?

Of course, they quoted me saying that I squealed and waved my arms around and danced around my room and then called my parents and cried.

I’m one of those people. I’m not ashamed.

But the point was, the six of us (Alice Richard ’13, Maggie Heeschen ’14, Christina Rann ’14, Erika Schnepp ’13, Kelsey Blades ’14 and, well, me) went to Portland to talk about Shakespeare, The Little Mermaid (not the movie), Beowulf, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and to share our original poetry.

This is the story not told in the Almanian.

First of all, we should mention that the International English Honor Society, Sigma Tau Delta, is STD. Believe me, we know. We were headed to STD Convention. The seven of us embarked on a great journey to the mystical land of Portland, ready for STD Convention, whose Twitter name is @EnglishCon, not @STDCon. For good reason. I entered the Twitter contest, so if you follow me and suddenly wondered why I had nearly 200 tweets with @EnglishCon in them, that would be what happened.

Our first day in Portland was spent touring the city. If you don’t know anything about Portland, Oregon, know this: it is a town of hipsters. While walking to Portland’s famous doughnut shop, we saw a large bike group of hippies passing out flyers to help fight pollution. We found an organic sandwich shop where we had lunch and where we were hit on by the guy taking orders. We wandered around and took hundreds of pictures, debated which Starbucks to go to (there was seriously one on every corner) and somehow ended up at Portland State University in the middle of the night. We ventured to Powel’s Books, the biggest bookstore in the entire world, where I promptly got lost and couldn’t find the elevator. I spent way more money there than I could afford. But when you’re an English major in the biggest bookstore ever, you have to buy something.

When we were not traversing the city (normally with Erika and Christina taking turns pushing me in the hotel’s stolen wheelchair) we were sitting in on convention panels. I was presenting my original poetry portfolio, hunting whales (the lack of capitalization is a tribute to e. e. cummings), and there were four other students in my panel. The critical papers had panels of four students. We all tried to attend each other’s panels and we spent each morning scanning the long, thick program that we had gotten upon arrival to see which panels looked interesting. We sat in on original fiction titled Coping Mechanisms, Erika and I went to a poetry workshop, Christina and I attended a keynote speaker who talked about authors that used bacon as bookmarks, and I fell in love with a beat poet who wrote about gender fluidity.

We met English majors like us in crowded elevators. We learned a lot about each other, our respective fields (poetry, Shakespeare, modern American playwrights, Anglo-Saxon literature, etc.) and we discovered exactly how many people across the country are as crazy as we are about the English major. I met a Phi Sigma Sigma girl who knew a Gamma Phi Beta girl in Colorado, and we met a really nice guy named Chris who goes to Western Michigan University, writes poetry, plays guitar, and might be, in fact, perfect.

The convention ended with a huge gala dinner that everyone dressed up for, and while I was eating fancy dessert and hoping that I didn’t get chocolate on my dress, I really took in the idea that every single college student in this room was like me; an English major with original work that had been accepted to this prestigious convention and who was trying to make something of themselves. Every single person at that gala dinner had something to say, had something to write about, and wanted to change the world through the beautiful field of English.

Next year’s convention is in Savannah, Georgia, and is ’20s themed. You better believe that I’ll be submitting something and going. And hopefully I won’t be required to use a wheelchair.

For your enjoyment, here is a nice picture of me. In the stolen wheelchair.

I’m not sure why I have a dinosaur. But I do.

Life happens.

It also means that opportunities happen. And one of my life happenings happens to be a wonderful opportunity.

Picture this if you will: I’m walking back to my room after a grueling Tuesday of Renaissance Literature, Teaching Literacy, and English Critical Theory, and I come upon none other than Josh Zeitler ’14. He walks straight up to me and he says, “Hey Emily! You’re a really good writer and I know that you like to talk about your vagina.”

Why yes, Josh. Please continue.

What came from this conversation was this: would I like to be in the Vagina Monologues?

Before I go any further, I should probably explain what the Vagina Monologues is.

The Vagina Monologues is a play written by Eve Ensler, who interviewed nearly 200 women from ages 5 to 80-ish about their vaginas, asking such questions as, If your vagina got dressed up, what would it wear? What would it say? She compiled these women’s compelling stories of laughter, love, pain, anguish, anger, and wonderment into a play. There are numerous monologues told, vagina happy facts, and vagina not-so-happy facts.

Each monologue is a part of a script. I had plans to audition, but you know, life happens.

Josh asked me if I would like to write my own monologue and to be the student spotlight.

I frantically called my mother and told her that I was writing my own vagina story. I told her that she absolutely had to drive up from Indiana to see me. Her response was, “You want me to drive three hours so I can hear you talk about your vagina?”

Yes, Mom, that is exactly what I’m saying.

It’s been an incredible experience, writing a monologue about a piece of my anatomy that so many people think is vulgar. And this is the point of the Monologues, to explain that vaginas are a natural part of human anatomy, that women have them, that women use them, and that they are incredible. It was truly fantastic being able to write about my own and to take it to Elizabeth Wayne ’13, who is directing the show. We spent a fair amount of time making it shorter (once I start talking, I can NEVER stop, even if it’s about my vagina) and we practiced memorizing it and how it was going to sound. I now officially have a spot in the show.

Whether you’re generally interested in my own vagina story or whether you even have a vagina or not, I highly encourage you to attend Alma’s show. It’s THIS Friday and Saturday at eight, and Sunday at three in Dow L1. It also costs $3. I know that we’re broke college students, but all proceeds go to Women’s Aid services and to RAINN, Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network. Besides seeing an excellent show that will empower women AND men, you’ll be helping out women in need on a national level.

So what are you waiting for? Save those dates, grab your friends, and come be empowered.

I know that I’m empowered. And so is every student in the cast. We want to see your faces. We want you to feel empowered too.

Don’t pretend you haven’t done it. If your number is over seven hours, it feels like a personal victory.

When I could no longer stand counting down how much sleep I would undoubtedly be getting before a busy Thursday that consisted of three hour and a half upper level classes, I began to think about something different: getting my life together.

On that Wednesday night, I stared at my ceiling and I told myself that I was going to stop drinking Dr. Pepper for breakfast, which one of my more unfortunate habits. I was going to exercise every single day the Rec Center, and I was going to get a buddy to go with me to keep me on task. I was going to always take the stairs. I was going to avoid the quesadilla part of Saga that also has French fries and seems to be an extremely attractive place for my mouth and my stomach.

I was going to turn my life around. And on that Wednesday night, right before I fell asleep, it seemed feasible.

On Thursday morning I got up, drank a large Dr. Pepper with my breakfast, had French fries for lunch, and took a nap instead of working out.

This happens to everyone. And not just in ways of I’m going to turn my life around.

My sophomore year of high school the mantra went something like this.

I’m going to make a resume. I’m going to apply to at least fifteen different jobs. I’m going to actually acquire a summer job, and it’s going to be one that I like!

I have actually succeeded in this endeavor, but not until the summer before my senior year of high school. In the summer, I coach a swim team for kids ages four to eighteen. I love my job and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

But we’re all in college now, and I know that my summer job won’t last me. What am I going to do when I graduate from college? What if I can’t coach my swim team again? What if I want something that’s actually suitable for my major?

English and swimming don’t have that much in common. Except maybe… speech.

Maybe you’re lying in bed thinking about the summer like this too. It’s probably also coupled with What am I doing with my life?

That’s okay. It’s a legitimate question.

So instead of getting up the next day and heading for the French fries and not actually looking into any jobs or internships, you can do something super easy that can help with your lack of work.

GO THE SUMMER CAMP AND INTERNSHIP FAIR!

This is the glorious thing about Alma; Alma doesn’t leave you hanging. Alma understands that you don’t necessarily have a summer job. Alma knows that my summer jobs doesn’t pay me nearly as much I would like it to. Alma understands that after you graduate with your degree, you’re on your own. Alma knows that you need help.

So we have the Summer Camp and Internship Fair.

Now, I’ve never actually gone, because I’m mostly entrusted with advertising and setting up tables, but here’s the basic gist:

Bring your resume and your genuine winning personality. Dress business casual if you feel so inclined. Head to Dusen on Tuesday February 5th between three and five (in the afternoon. Don’t go in the morning.) and put yourself out there. There are so many opportunities to speak with people that have jobs and internships that want to talk to you because you just might be the person that they’re looking for.

Don’t live in Michigan like me? That’s not a problem. While a lot of the jobs and internships are in Michigan, some of them are as far away as Colorado. Maybe you live in Michigan and you want to experience a summer somewhere else. This is perfect for you too.

If your resume scares you because you’re not sure if it’s up to date, that’s also not a problem: take it to the CSO office, now new and improved where Jones used to be, and they’ll be perfectly happy to help you out.

You can have a good job this summer. I just know it.

Now the one question remains: if you can land a good job by going to the Summer Camp and Internship Fair, can I motivate myself enough to exercise?

It’s obviously now the third week of term. You know how you have this vision of how the beginning of the semester is going to go? “I’m going to get a study carrel early. I’m going to spend more time in the library. I’m going to like all of my classes, including the distributives.”

I think we call those Alma New Year’s Resolutions. And generally, they don’t happen. Thus, this post is two weeks late. But do you know what the third week of term is?

RECRUITMENT.

As you probably know, I’m involved in Greek Life. As you might not know, I’m also neutral during this recruitment, so if you happen to know which sorority I’m affiliated with, please keep it to yourself, especially if you’re planning on commenting on this post.

I remember very vividly when I went through Fall Recruitment my sophomore year. As soon as I crossed the street to go into the first house, nearly every single Greek girl was hanging out of the windows of their houses and was, quite literally, banging pots.

I was very frightened.

So this year, during Winter Recruitment, I decided to be a RhoGam to help girls through the slightly terrifying recruitment process. My job is pretty simple; I remain neutral and I walk the girls through recruitment. Literally.

Saturday was the first day of formal Winter Recruitment, which is called teas. The other RhoGams and I, along with the EC board of Panhellenic, showed up at the Rotunda in matching shirts and bows at seven thirty in the morning, all clutching coffee and yawning. Around eight thirty, after we had set up and had some discussion about how the day was going to go, all of the girls that had signed the rush list in Saga filtered into the Rotunda to join us, most of them looking nervous. We gave them name tags and groups, told them how the day was going to go, and then we were, quite literally, walking them through recruitment. Our main job during teas is to walk the girls to the different houses.

It was a long, exhausting day. I was partnered with another RhoGam, Aleia McKessy ’15, and we had a group of eight girls, most of them freshmen. We got to know them fairly well. During breaks we played Apples to Apples (I won!) and we puffy painted signs and bags for the girls. We talked to them about how they felt about recruitment, which houses they liked, and if they had any questions about anything that was going to happen during the week. We were incredibly excited that the large group of young women had signed the rush list and we were considering going through Greek Life. Recruitment is all about excitement.

Sunday and Monday start the second part of recruitment, spreads. Tuesday and Wednesday are the final two days, desserts, and once that’s over, a bunch of women will find their homes in Greek Life.

It doesn’t matter where you go when you go Greek. What matters is that you find your home.

I found my home my sophomore year and now I’m helping others find their home. Will you find yours?

To ease myself into exam week, I spent most of the weekend lying in bed and watching Netflix instead of studying, which may or may not have been a good life choice, especially when I discovered that three of my five exams are on Wednesday and I’m not sufficiently prepared for them.

I also eased myself into exam week by attending Festival of Carols.

Festival of Carols tickets go on sale as early as Halloween (or at least it seems that early) and they always go alarmingly fast. I didn’t have tickets secured because by the time I had realized it was Christmas season, the tickets were completely sold out. However, by grace of the Alma gods, there are always those people that get tickets held for them and then never pick them up. Then people like me who never quite realize that it’s holiday time can swoop in and take them.

I did just that on Sunday afternoon.

Sundays are always a fun time to go to concerts; it’s the day where family members come, and most of them are elderly retired people. I had the opportunity to sit next to an older lady with a red hat that exclaimed, “Oh, look how large it is!” when a bass drum was wheeled onto the stage to assist one of the songs.

Festival of Carols always brings out my inner musician. In middle school I played the tuba (I know. Don’t hate.) and the trumpet. I’ve played the piano nearly my whole life, at one point in seventh grade I dabbled with the harp, and in high school I played the marimba (the big black xylophone) and I picked up the cello. I also compulsively bought a guitar last spring semester and named it Clementine. So my inner musician is decently close to my heart.

Festival of Carols, however, brings out my inner choral musician. You know, the inner musician that wins American Idol: Shower Edition.

This inner choral musician could not be quelled. I spent the rest of the weekend singing wherever I went, which was mostly the PMA house (where everyone sings) and Chapel (where everyone still sings) and my room (where I don’t have a roommate and can sing happily by myself).

So yesterday, after singing all weekend, I ventured into the music building and introduced myself to Dr. Nichols, who most people affectionately call Doc.

I edged my way into his office and shook his hand after introducing myself. I told him I was a junior, had never had any sort of vocal training, and was definitely one hundred percent interested in Chorale. I told him I had been in three musicals: Guys and Dolls, Anything Goes, and Fiddler on the Roof.

After telling me that he was excited that I was an out of state student and that those were lovely musicals and he was sure that I would be fabulous, he sat down at the piano and started to play something I didn’t recognize. He then looked at me, obviously as if to say, Why aren’t you singing yet? When I still didn’t sing, he said, “Fiddler on the Roof?”

Hang on there a minute. I was in Fiddler on the Roof in seventh grade.

He then started to play Hark the Herald Angels Sing and I jumped right into it, and halfway through the song I realized I was wearing my ugly Christmas sweater from the eighties to prepare for my RA Christmas party later that night and was sufficiently embarrassed, and as soon as I noticed this, I realized that, not being a soprano, I wasn’t quite hitting the high note that I needed to be hitting. Doc also realized this and had me sing some scales that got lower and lower and lower until I felt a little bit like a boy trying to reach puberty.

Then he enthusiastically shook my hand again and told me that I was in Chorale.

Here lies the ultimate question: with my busy life, busy job, and busy schedule, do I need another thing to add to my crazy life? Especially during exam week, of all times?

Answer: probably not.

But to my inner musician, the one that constantly wins American Idol: Shower Edition (much to the chagrin of my suitemates), the answer is yes, I needed to join Chorale.

So I joined Chorale. What will you do with your exam week?

I am one of the only people that calls the last week of classes Dead Week.

Now, I’m not a native of Michigan. I’m from the corn state of Indiana where most of my high school friends went off to Purdue and Indiana University. I was mocked my senior year for choosing to go to Alma, and I was even laughed at when I spilled hydrochloric acid on my Alma shirt in my AP Chemistry class. (The worst part about that ordeal, besides the holes in my precious Alma shirt, was the fact that my dad was my teacher.)

Many of the big universities, especially the ones like IU and Purdue, call the last week of classes Dead Week. I guess I kind of adopted it.

That means that this week is… drum roll please… Dead Week.

Dead Week always has that kind of dark glamour to it. Everybody is super excited because, hey, it’s the last week of classes! After that, it’s just exam week! And once your exams are done, you can go home for Christmas! Which for me means going to Florida with my parents, where my mother hinted that we might go to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I will probably die of happiness at the gates.

But Dead Week just isn’t a happy yay last week of classes! gig. It’s also that moment of “Oh crap. I have to study for all of my exams and turn in all of my projects and get everything done and live in the library and Highland Java isn’t nearly open enough, not that they’d have enough coffee anyway.”

Last year I made a list of what Dead Week and Exam Week look like at Alma College.

1. Grab all of the books and notes you own.
2. Spend an hour trying to find a place to camp out in the library, buy something with caffeine from Highland Java, and praise the extended hours.
3. Spend a ridiculous amount of time on Facebook, Tumblr, Youtube, or whatever you’re into.
4. Actually do your homework when you realize it’s midnight and the library closes at two.

Sound about accurate? I thought so.

Last year I started a Dead Week tradition that could probably only happen at Alma College.

I started carrying my eighteen year old vintage stuffed Simba around with me everywhere I went.

This is Simba at my carrel, which I like to call The Procrastination Station.

Simba goes with me everywhere during Dead Week. He has his own pocket in my backpack where his head sticks out so people can pet him. I take him out during class and set him on my lap where I can pet him and hug him. Most of my professors don’t mind that I come in every day with a giant stuffed lion. It’s Dead Week, after all.

Simba’s favorite places on campus are the library where he can sit on my carrel and look over my homework, and Saga, where lots of people come to pet him.

When you have eight billion things to do, you don’t remember what your room looks like because you’re spending so much time in the library, and you forget to eat dinner, it’s nice to have a piece of something you love with you wherever you go. For me, that would be my giant stuffed Simba.

Find something that can make Dead Week and Exam week bearable. It doesn’t have to be carrying a giant stuffed animal around everywhere. In fact, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it; people tend to stare at you and when you find out that your professors haven’t seen The Lion King, you get filled with an unhappy righteous indignation. (Because obviously The Lion King is the best movie ever and every single professor should have seen it by now. I mean, it’s been out for eighteen years.)

It’s Dead Week. There’s a lot to do. There’s a lot going on. You have ALL OF THE PROJECTS! And papers. And exams. But it’s only a week and then it’s exams!

We can do it! Simba agrees.

And if you happen to see Simba at Saga this week, he really does appreciate people petting him. And I also love to meet new people. So come say hello!

The usual responses were: “Great!” “I ate so much food!” and “My break wasn’t long enough.”

Amen to that third response.

I happened to have a pretty decent Thanksgiving, considering that Thanksgiving is probably my least favorite holiday. Everybody gets excited for that gigantic twenty pound turkey to come out of the oven, and I just become depressed.

Thanksgiving is a difficult food holiday for a vegetarian, and I’m the only vegetarian in my family. Sometimes rolls and potatoes just don’t make a Thanksgiving Day meal special enough when your whole family is eating turkey and your grandmother constantly puts bacon in the green bean casserole.

Thanksgiving break started late for me, as I’m an RA and I didn’t hit the road until five. My brother (Aaron Hollenberg ’13) met up with me in my room, we packed up my fish, put gasoline in the car, and we headed to the homestead in Indiana.

We also drove home with my brother’s newly acquired tarantula. I took a picture of it, but I figured that wouldn’t be a good thing to put on my blog.

Thanksgiving Day consisted of my brother and my parents driving to my aunt and uncle’s new house an hour and a half away, where we would spend the day with them, my two cousins, my cousin-in-law, and my grandpa. We would also be spending the day with their excitable dog Merlin, who my mother and I happen to be highly allergic to. Everyone makes sacrifices for family, including breathing properly.

Due to the awkward vegetarian in the family (me) my uncle decided that he would be making cheese enchiladas for Thanksgiving, as well as turkey for the rest of the omnivores. I was slightly apprehensive when my cheese covered tortilla was full of olives, but it was probably the best Thanksgiving meal I ever had, and nobody bothered to make green bean casserole, with or without bacon. My cousin made homemade rolls, and my grandpa happens to be a master chef of pie, and we had three delicious pies.

Instead of the usual tradition of football, my family has a tradition of playing board games after big family meals. This year we played “Would You Rather?” which involved my parents booty dancing and my brother and I having to decide which would be worse: eating your own finger or breaking our mother’s leg and never being able to tell her why.

After those festivities were over, my mother and I embarked on a great journey to go Black Friday shopping at the mall at midnight. I kept looking for Alma students, but as far as I know, nobody else lives in Fort Wayne Indiana except for my brother and I. My mother and I were terrified to discover that Macy’s had a DJ on a stage that was hovering near the ceiling of the store and that none of our coupons worked. We made it home by one in the morning, severely disgruntled and not very happy with our purchases.

On Friday we put up our Christmas tree, which is nine feet tall and involves using a ladder. My mom smashed a really old Christmas ornament that was given to her in the eighties and we said a small prayer over it before vacuuming it up. We then celebrated the holiday season by watching Batman.

On Saturday I spent an inordinant amount of time watching Grey’s Anatomy on Netflix instead of working on my English paper, which is the true spirit of break. We then got more into the holiday season by watching Captain America. Nothing says “Christmas Season” like superhero movies. We’re planning on watching the Avengers and The Amazing Spider-Man over Christmas break.

Sunday is the worst day of break, where you realize that you need to get up, pack up all of your things that have somewhere dispersed themselves around your house, finish your laundry (I did six loads) and head back to campus. And even as you dread leaving your family, home cooked food, and realize that exams are coming up, you get excited.

Because Alma is your home, and you’re going back to Alma. That’s always a great feeling.

Welcome back from break, everyone. We have three weeks left in the semester, and we can do it!

You all know what this means. It’s time for No Shave November

I’m all too familiar with No Shave November; my brother is a member of Zeta Sigma and often participates until it gets too itchy, and I have quite a lot of friends in PMA that often decide to ditch their razors for thirty days. I also happen to be dating junior Jacob Hammer who probably has the biggest beard on campus. He’s been growing that sucker since June.

As you can see, his beard beard is pretty big. He’s also wearing my shirt.

Many RA  bulletin boards have been dedicated to No Shave November. They sport pictures of large beards and odd mustaches and talk about the history of the beard and facial hair.

But what about us women? I’m obviously not growing a beard in my spare time.

Women have their own version of No Shave November put on by the MacCurdy House. I got an invite for a Facebook event labeled “No Shave November!” and was instantly intrigued. So I talked to Amanda Coe, ’14, about what’s going on with it. She was pretty vocal about the subject of women throwing away their razors.

“I don’t know who all is doing it, but I’m not shaving anything! This event is to bring awareness to the incongruity between men and women’s grooming habits. Men are not perceived as gross or dirtier because they don’t shave their legs and armpit hair, yet women often are. It’s to proclaim that hair isn’t gross.”

On November 30th, the MacCurdy house is having a hair measuring event for all those girls who participated, and whoever has the longest hair gets a free Stucchi’s dinner with the housies.

I’m sure you’ve guessed it by now; I am fully participating in No Shave November for women.

I’m not disgusted by having leg hair. As a freshman I was on the Alma College Swim Team, and if you’re friends with any of the members, you know that their shaving schedule is No Shave September, October, November, a quick shave in December, and then No Shave the rest of December, January, and February. Needless to say, I had some hairy legs my freshman year.

As for my armpits, that was a different story. It took me two days to officially throw away my razor and I can’t really say if I’m happy with this decision to let that grow. Amanda, however, is on the opposite end of the spectrum. “Personally, I don’t like my legs this hairy, but I’m keeping them till the end. I really like my hairy underarms though, I don’t think I want to shave those off at all.”

In terms of the differences between gender in hairiness, men are also encouraged to participate in “Full Shave November”, where they shave their legs and armpits daily and experience the hairless lives of women. Men, I’m telling you, it’s not bad.

And women, I’m also telling you that having hairy legs and armpits aren’t bad either.

No Shave November is a chance for men to grow out their beards, for women to experience life without shaving, and possibly for men to experience life with shaving.

It’s not too late to hop on the hair train!

You know what I’m talking about. Midterms. The promise of fall break in the future but it never quite gets there. Everybody’s joining sororities and fraternities and your professor is treating their class like it’s the only class that you have when you obviously have three others.

This year, November knocked on my door and said, “Oh hey there, Emily! I’m replacing October as your busiest month this year. Good luck with your Renaissance paper about Beowulf!”

I’ve been actively avoiding my planner. I took a look at it yesterday and I just about peed my pants. Holy college life, Batman, I have tests and papers and other activities and RA things and job interviews all within the next two weeks!

Typical Alma student. I wasn’t perturbed.

But then I decided that I was going to try this new way to sell my soul to being obsessively busy.

NaNoWrimo.

As many of you probably don’t know, November is national writing month. Which means that NaNoWrimo stands for… well… National Novel Writing Month. Or maybe the No part stands for November. Or maybe No One Can Actually Accomplish NaNoWriMo.

In a nutshell, NaNoWriMo is where you write a 50,000 word novel in a month, starting on November 1st and ending at midnight on November 30th. You go to nanowrimo.org, make yourself a little account, and you’re on your way. I made my account yesterday morning, put my small author biography as “my life consists of cereal and awkward moments”, titled my novel, and feverishly began to write.

I need to average 1,666 words per day to get to the 50,000 benchmark by the elusive November 30th. My Beowulf paper is due that day. I also have a big Active Minds gig. And four classes.

My first instinct when I realized what a large feat this was was to cheat. I have a 107,000 word novel gathering dust in a folder on my laptop, why not feed chapters of it into the NaNoWriMo website and drastically beat the odds? Well, friends, that would be cheating, and I don’t recommend it.

I started from scratch. Last night I feverishly cranked out 5,013 words of my brand new novel by midnight. I updated my word count, where the website told me that at this rate, I could finish on November 9th. (I obviously can’t, Spider-Man comes out on DVD that day. I have big plans.) After I updated my word count, I sat alone in my room and ate most of a birthday cake with a spoon and thought about crying. I then tweeted about the birthday cake episode and put it on tumblr.

So here lies the big question: why on earth am I doing this to myself? Torture? To see exactly how busy Alma College students can be? I’m not sure I’ve answered why I’m doing this, but Katelyn Gentner, ’14, obviously knows why she’s doing the same crazy thing I am. I asked her why she’s decided to devote the month of November to cranking out a 50,000 word novel.

“Nanowrimo is an opportunity to jump-start my career as an author. I’ve babied ideas for years now but never had the gumption to sit down and write any of them. By taking part in this, I’m joining a support group of other writers who can help me when I falter and offer ideas and suggestions when I need them.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself. She’s not entirely worried about other commitments, too, which is something I could definitely work on. When talking about the time commitment to writing a novel in a month, she says, “I’m really worried that towards the end of the month I will have to stop in order to keep up with my classwork and clubs, but as of right now I feel like proper time management is giving me the time. As research paper deadlines approach, though, I may have to take a few days off to make sure that my classes do not suffer because of this.”

On Saturday night, I went to a NaNoWriMo Write-In hosted by See Spot Run. We were supposed to be in the Rotunda, but with all of the construction, there wasn’t any power, so we sacked out in the Wright Hall Lobby. Erika Schnepp, ’13, editor in chief of See Spot Run brought food, writing prompts, and contests. There was a ten minute word-off to see who could write the most in ten minutes. I won with 459 words and I got a really cool pin with Yoda on in that says Jedi Master. At the Write-In there were six of us, including me, with our laptops, our earbuds, and our writing pants on. Write-Ins are going to be every Saturday this month at eight pm in the Wright Hall lobby. November 30th is See Spot Run’s Night of Dangerous Writing and a NaNoWriMo sprint to the finish and a celebration if you accomplished your goal.

NaNoWriMo is calling all writers, literary enthusiasts, and crazy students that believe that they can write a novel in November. I’ve decided I can make it work.

Can you?