when the 'good' becomes regrettable

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There was a little girl sitting at the table with her family, eating dinner. She knew her mother had made a very special dessert, and did not wish to wait all through beef and dumplings to get a taste. So, when the adults seemed occupied in their conversations, the girl slipped out of her chair and into the kitchen.

    There is was: A glorious cake with white icing and edible flowers, two tiers tall! She slipped a dessert fork from the counter-top and took a tiny piece of the cake. "It is in the back; no one will miss it, so it is not as if I have done anything really wrong."

    She cautiously cleaned and replaced the fork as it had been, and returned silently to her chair.

    She moved her beef around on her plate, distracted by the delicious taste of cake fading on her tongue. She wrinkled her nose at her dinner and decided to slip away again and again. She stopped bothering with the fork, and just dipped her fingers in and stuffed her pretty pink cheeks with the sweet, moist cake. Finally, she entered the kitchen once more and realized she had already eaten one tier of the cake herself. "Well, they willn't really mind so much because I left the smaller tier for them."

    She used her finger to wipe up the last of the frosting from the lower tier and then turned to go. She stopped and glanced back greedily at the last tier.

    "No one will really mind if I have just a taste of this one, too..."

    Before her icing-tipped finger had graced her lips, her parents walked into the kitchen, with their guests following after.

    The girl drew her hand behind her back guiltily.

    "What have you done?!" her mother asked in shock. The girl hung her head, and without another word, she was sent to bed as her mother apologized to the company.

    The girl lay on her bed, beginning to feel sick from too much cake and quite sorry for herself. She had no idea how she had thought she could get away with such a crime, but the cake had tasted so good. How could her parents truly have expected her to sit all the way through mashed potatoes, meat, and all the other distasteful courses before at least trying a bite?

    But was it worth it? Now, she had proven herself untrustworthy before her parents and friends... it would be a long time before she would be able to gain back their trust. 

    She sat up there on her bed, her stomach aching with regret. The girl pictured her father's flat, hard ruler for discipline, and knew her punishment was still yet to come.

Beware of taking the prize before its time.

-The End.

who, what, when, where, why and how

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What does this life matter, unless you have a friend
To carry you through all, one on whom you can depend?
What matters if you've lost your way in a desert long gone dry?
Hope on, hope new, hope real and true; the rain it lingers nigh

Who cares if the darkness comes and envelopes the salty sea?
The sun spins again around the earth into eternity
Who cares if your plight lasts for you another long black night?
You will wake again tomorrow to the promise of morning light

When does the bird call, why, how, and for whom?
And why does the bird's lover call back to him so soon?
When does the flower die and bend down onto the grass,
Or the rocks take a breath from under the water gushing past?

How does the sky fall and yet never touches the earth?
Is it blue, or auburn, or gold, or green, or of color have a dearth?
How can a cat stumble down from a high place and always land
On her feet so very gracefully and thenceforth proudly stand?

Why can my brain remember all in pictures, feelings, words?
It gathers files of my life and itself with memories girds
Why does all creation plea for answers from above,
When God has already given His Word with messages of love?

Where does the time run off to each day, and yet have some always we?
Can it linger-on like pages of a book that I might start to read?
Where do these pages go; how many languages are they in?
The answers to these mysteries escape the mind within


Might, fight, cry, shove,
Life, light, hope, love,
Sing, sigh, shine, grow,
Ask, bask, glean, know.

to go beyond

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Poetry. Architecture. Writing. Music. Life. People. Friends. Faith.

Those seen above are words continually being cycled and recycled through my train of thoughts. New ideas, possibilities, opportunities are all swirling together, confusing what I have always wanted with what I am beginning to understand I really have wanted underneath it all along.

To sacrifice my treasured ideas, to go beyond the lands I am familiar with, to climb up and over the walls that have held me in... it is a frightening stage of my life, challenging, befuddling, even painful. I have begun to wonder if I truly know myself.

Questions are being posed in my life for the first time, and I do not understand nor dare venture to blindly guess the answers.

The vagueness and metaphorical ramblings I am using are the only way I know to explain my feelings without declaring to the world subjects better left unspoken.

Here is one thing I can mention freely without such secretiveness: a friend of mine has been challenging me by his mere presence to examine my writing with more purpose and reflection, with more diligence and intelligence. I honestly feel outright stupid in his presence, and feel as though all of my writing is under his adept scrutiny. I fear his criticism because I am afraid to hear my writing is not good enough. I am afraid to have demands made of my skills to alter the treasured drafts of my novel into something I did not intend it to be. I know I am able to trust my friend's word; he is honest and encouraging, and most certainly very intelligent, indeed! What I fear is more specifically that after all of these years of writing, rewriting, growing, revising, and perfecting will be thrown away.
    Writing is like any other kind of artwork, always to be interpreted differently because each and every interpreter is different. And I honestly have been tired, under-slept, and altogether irritable this past week, which has made all aspects of life more challenging. I selfishly want to keep my writing to myself. I do not want fault to be found in it. I know fault exists. However, in my pride, I wish to find it first on my own before submitting it to criticism. Forgive me, my friend -- you know who you are -- I need a little more time to sort out my feelings and seek peace from the Lord before I allow you to read my novel.

Another part of this bowlful of spaghetti (which is the tangled mess of my life) consists of my prideful desire to not let myself be outdone by others. Juvenile but true. I am surrounded by artists, musicians, writers and all manner of skilled people by whom I feel challenged, or more accurately, threatened. I know I am not nor ever will be as talented as they are, and I am frustrating myself by trying to meet their level of skill. It is a fruitful process, however. I am beginning to understand who I am. And now, I am learning not to fight to be like others, as though that would be fulfilling, but to be myself; to pursue God's will for my life and use my talents for Him rather than to attempt to please others. And the Lord is helping me with my pride, piece by piece. For example...

Two nights ago, my sister and I had a dear friend over. We lingered outside whilst she was beginning to leave, and ended up lying out on the grass in our backyard, stargazing amidst the night fog and reading aloud Isaiah chapter forty. I have yet to dare admit it to her, but she is one of the brilliant friends of mine about whom I have been struggling with jealousy. She does not understand how talented she truly is, nor how humbled I feel whenever we spend time together.
    Anyway, I was being a coward that night. I looked up at the stars, so many and so distant that I could never dare to count them all. I felt so small, so pointless underneath their soft glow. I imagined them singing to the Lord, twinkling for His glory, and I forced myself to cease from my self-pity. Forgive me, Father. I prayed and I prayed with a heart full of sorrow. I hate my pride and selfishness, and I hate this haunting jealousy and the competitiveness that is destroying the joy in my life.
    As my dear friend began to leave -- she did not know I was struggling with these awful feelings, and was saying such sweet things about not deserving my and my sister's friendship, and we agreed -- well, she was in her car, just starting to drive away when she reached out her hand.
    I had to make a choice. In that little moment, hardly longer than a breath, I considered my many fears and especially what I feared most: I feared being always less skilled than she; I feared my selfishness; I feared losing this opportunity. These were my options: I could take her hand, pretending there was no struggle of jealousy in my heart. I could let her hand remain extended until the car rolled out of reach, leaving her thinking there was something barring me from extending my full friendship. There was yet still a third option, and this was the one I chose. I reached out and took hold of her hand, inwardly crying out 'forgive me'!
    This is the same friend who has said that she always reads my blog posts. She is busy today, and will continue to be so for a while, but I hope she finds the time to read this. I do ask your forgiveness, my dear, dear friend!
 
And of course, I hope we all are remembering the meaning of today's date. 9/11. It represents the dreadful, painful experience of the Twin Towers, serving as a reminder to not waste a moment of the precious time we have.


So, these are a few of the trials in my life at the moment. The presence of the aforementioned friends around me is being used to challenge me to do nothing; that is, to instead of attempting to be as good at everything as they are, to remain humble, which is in many ways a far greater challenge.
    Challenge accepted.

Lord, by Your grace, help me be content, to be patient, to go beyond...

                                                                                   In Christ alone,

Enigma of the Night

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From November 6th, 2012 Tuesday, a poem with a forgotten tune of a song I wrote for pleasure:

//Enigma of the Night//

Verse 1:
There's a feather floating on the breeze
Dancing through and past the trees
T'ward the great and fearful seas
    to swim instead of fly

Undiminished drops of dew
Drop on by right next to you
Sitting there on the toadstool
    to hide instead of shine

Bridge:
We all have seen those kinds of days when life won't satisfy
Until it gives-in to our will and grants us a surprise

Chorus:
Fairy-tales, fantasy, starlight riddled with our dreams
We all want to know how it would feel to fly
Fairy-tales, fantasy, all the raindrops in the sea
It's a mystery that no one can deny


Enigma of the night

Verse 2:
There's a jewel in the rocks
List'ning as the starlight mocks
And it breaks free of its stocks
    to glow instead of cry

...

Bridge 2:
We all have seen those kinds of days when life won't satisfy
Until it gives-in to our will and grants us a new prize

Chorus 2:
Fairy-tales, fantasy, things aren't always as they seem
All our trouble only last a little time
Fairy-tales, fantasy, all the tears upon my sleeve
It's a mystery that no one can deny

Enigma of the night

ellipsis...

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As a child, I never would have guessed where my writing would have taken me, how far I would come in the simplest things such as spelling or metaphorical speech, nor how close I could be to actually becoming an author.

I began this novel in 2005 on my grandmother's beautiful typewriter when I was eleven. It was based on a dream, based on a video game, and it was the beginning of something marvelous. Countless drafts and eight years later, I am six chapters completed with my novel. Never have I been so determined to finish it, to publish it, to hold its bound pages in my hands. I want to fulfill my lifelong dream of typing out the words, 'The End' and someday putting my work-well-done on my bookshelf, alongside The Goose Girl and The Healer's Apprentice and Redwall, and all of the books that have made me who I am today.

I always am encouraging my fellow writers to continue writing. There is no other hobby or talent from which I derive more pleasure than writing, and it is lovely to watch others develop their dreams and stories along with me. We all see things differently; we all look at a painting and arrive at a completely different idea of what the story is behind the artist's craft.

I find myself presently at the same point every writer inevitably meets along the winding road of literary choreography and revision: I am residing within the confines of an ellipsis, three small dots oft used to represent a continued thought, or the cliff of a sentence yet to jump off of to reach the other side.

...

Where shall I go next? My story is thirsting for more, crying out to have its ending revealed. I know the ending. Arriving at that end is the issue. There are so many distractions, so many other activities and necessities in life to make time for. But, Lord willing, I will finish my novel. He is the highest Author, who writes the story of every person alive, and I endeavor to have all that I write give Him the glory always.

If you are a writer, do not give up. Do not be exasperated when it seems there is not enough time for you to pursue your writing; do not feel dejected when others criticize your work or tell you what you love is not good enough; do not grow lazy; do not grow discouraged when you think others do so much better than you; do not even despair when what you write does not sound the way you had hoped or planned...

Write. Rewrite. Determine to see your writing to the end. It does not matter how long it takes. (Good grief, it has already been over eight years for me!) Trudge through your 'ellipsis'. After all of the sweat and tears, you can take a nice long hot shower and reward yourself with a little snack (kiwi, Junior Mints, a Klondike bar, or whatever you like), but for now, keep working. Keep writing.

It will be worth it.

Stories

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Stories.

It's at the Beginning of a tale when the very heart of what it is all about is revealed.

The Middle, the End... these also play a large role in unraveling the truth about the meaning of a tale, but nothing should say it so plainly as the very Beginning.

The Beginning draws the reader in. A writer can tell so much that the reader may guess the ending, but can also tell so little that one feels draw to discover how that end may come about.

What makes a story so special? Is it the characters, and how loveable they are? Is it the drama, the plot, the atmosphere, or the words? No.

A story goes far deeper than words. It goes far deeper than the skill with which the story is woven, or even the material the writer has chosen for his or her craft.

What makes a story special is the writer.

What goes into a story is not just ideas or dreams or words... it is the writer. Their thoughts, feelings, needs, and yes, even their very heart must be poured into a story to make it so very special.

It seems to be quite proven that the stories which are close to us are the ones we grew up with, the ones we treasured, the ones that became a part of us.

Stories go beyond teaching us morals or guiding us on a path with a character to which we can relate, or through mysterious lands, or into curious circumstances in which we wish to partake. Stories tells us who we are when we least know what to think. They are our teachers, our friends... they flow through our beings like our own blood and are equally as essential.

Those who live apart from stories lack the fervor, the excitement, the love which we who cling to stories have in full. It is a dry, coarse world which neglects to stop and pay attention to the little things, to remember a childhood fantasy, a poem tied more firmly around their being than their own name...

There is something inexplicably personal about stories because a story is made up of a person.

This is what makes a story believable.

This is what makes a story so special.

This is what makes a story real.

The Tale of Dozyville

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So, I told some of my dear writer friends that we should do a small project; each of us should write our own short story based off of a picture I found on Pinterest, and then share it with each other. I thought it would be a good idea for me to share with everyone else in the meantime, since it's just for fun. ;)

    And now, here is the picture... and then begins my short story.

Amelia was walking through the garden, picking ripe pods from the rows of peas. Mother was selling the chickens' eggs and fresh leeks at the market, and Father was working in the wheat fields with the other men of Dozyville.

    So, Amelia was by herself that sunny summer morning, which suited her just fine. She carried the basket of pods into her parents' cottage, stoked the fire, swept the ever-dusty floor for the third time that day, and sat down to shuck the pea pods at the table.

    The peas were perfectly green, and Amelia helped herself to a large handful when the basket was full. She was already feeling quite sleepy, though the day was new. Without really meaning to, Amelia dozed off, her pale brown braid dusting some peas onto the floor as she leaned her head down onto the table. She began to dream sweet dreams of trees gushing with fresh sap for maple syrup. Sweet, surreal syrup.... She slipped her arm under her head to make the dream even pleasanter, and in her whimsical rest didn't notice the sprite climbing out of the cauldron.

    Sprites like mischief, and living near Dozyville, they often chose to be mischievous to the unknowing people there. You may have guessed by now that there is a reason why the town is so named: Sprites put a sleeping spell over their victims, whispering little soothing songs that are too soft for the big people to hear, but too powerful for them to fight against even if they should happen to know about the rogues all around them.

    These particular sprites were young and small enough to easily hide behind the carrots and potatoes and onions Amelia had placed in the cauldron to make soup for luncheon. Sprites are moderately patient, but when Amelia had lit the fire their little toes grew hot, so they cast their spell hurriedly, hopped up on top of the hot vegetables and crawled out of the cauldron, quite ready to avenge their blistered toes.

    "Let's tie her braid to the leg of the table," one sprite suggested eagerly.

    Two more sprites followed after the first, and one nodded in agreement. "Let's mush peas in her hair and under her fingernails!"

    The third was lazier, and had grown a bit of an appetite waiting so long in the cauldron. He began eating peas, smiling impishly while his brothers began to work their mischief.

    A fourth sprite was still peeking over the edge of the cauldron, and took a moment and a great deal of strength to tumble over the lip, narrowly missing the fire as he fell. Amelia snorted in her sleep, and all four sprites froze in their places. But Amelia did not wake, and so they let out a quiet, unified sigh and went back to work.

    The sprites snickered as they finished their handiwork and scampered out the front door of the cottage. They steered towards the garden and began pulling up carrots and nibbling the young leeks that Amelia's mother deemed to small yet to sell. They congratulated each other on their success and enjoyed their prize, stuffing as many seeds and beans and other small vegetables in their pockets as they could carry.

    One of the sprites lifted up his ear to the sky suddenly, and looked alarmed. "One of the big folk is coming along the path!"

    They ducked under the cabbages when the lumbering big person came by, and nudged each other gleefully when the woman entered the cottage and began to shriek. "...So irresponsible!" was all the sprites heard as they scuttled away through and beyond the garden back to their secret homes, chuckling all the way.

    In the forest that surrounded Dozyville, in the shelter of the tall trees, these four sprites lived with the rest of their kin. They retold the events of their day to a rapt audience. But as they went to bed that night in their oak-leaf and thistle-down nests, the sprites planned the same scheme for the following day. "Only this time," the laziest of the four said excitedly, "we'll start before the girl's mum has left for the day, and leave a surprise for the father when he returns from work after dusk!"

    The other sprites agreed and whispered a special little song to sooth themselves to a light summer sleep.

    The next morning, the sprites left before the sun touched the top of the horizon, stumbling through the dark to the cottage on the edge of Dozyville. Amelia was up earlier than usual, not doubt trying to make up for her sleepy mistake the day before, and was already in the garden harvesting food, confusion riddling her face at the tiny bites marks on the vegetables.

    When Amelia at length went into the cottage, the sprites followed cautiously. They narrowly missing being trod upon in their hurry to hide beneath the stove, trying to avoid being seen. The tips of their pointy little ears brushed the black metal of the stove, and they grumbled to each other that it was already lit for morning tea. Their little brows began to drip with sweat as they waited for Amelia's mother to wake - which seemed to take hours - and then eagerly put the sleeping spell over the big folk and crawled out from beneath their hot hideout.

    There were no peas to mush into hair today, but as they crossed the floor to the big people's toes, the sprites noticed a great deal of not-yet-swept dirt. They glanced at each other, grinning impishly. "What an opportunity!" one of them said as Amelia and her mother snored and dreamed.

    The sprites scooped up handfuls of dust and dirt, and in pairs climbed up the skirts of the women and onto their laps. They drew pictures of the people on their aprons from a sprite's perspective - fat, stupid, slow, and of course sleepy - and colored their faces and fingers black with stray charcoal fallen on the hearth.

    The sprites clapped their hands with delight and waited near the cottage until night, munching on vegetables until Amelia's father returned home from a long day of working in the fields. The man scratched his head in such confusion, the sprites were stuffing leaves up each others' noses to keep from laughing too loudly.

    Off they went back to their homes; they recounted their tale of success, and their kin laughed harder than ever. Some of them asked to join the four the next day for another adventure, and made even more dastardly plans.

    This time, Amelia and Mother were up and Father with them, for it was the rest day of the week. "What luck!" the sprites said to one another, "We again have them just where we want them! What great and terrible trouble we can make for them now!"

    Gleefully they sang the sleeping spell and began their work, this time tying the laces of all of the big peoples' six boots together in one great braid under the table, spilling honey on their heads - "What a mess this will be when they wake!" - and stuffing their sleeves with straw.

    "Scarecrows!" one sprite sang, dancing upon the table.

"Scarecrows sleeping in their chairs,

dreaming of daisies, unawares

They know not what ails their peaceful home;

we sprites, I say, cousins of the gnome!" 

    The sprites giggled and left the cottage, patting each other on the back. They stopped short when they heard a strange sound in the garden. A bleating, a baa-ing.... The voice of a goat with a very long grey beard, one that had apparently strayed into the garden for a snack.

    "What luck!" cried the sprites. "More mischief to do!" But as they drew near, the goat gobbled them up, only the two youngest and most agile escaping to bring the news to their kin.

    The sprites were troubled - imagine, troublemakers troubled, having never failed in their impish arts in all their lives! They worried and discussed the issue, and finally decided to put the goat to sleep, or possibly risk every one of them being eaten as well.

    The next day, the three sprites who drew the shortest straws sat behind the cabbages, gulping as they looked up at the great dumb animal which posed them such a threat. They nudged each other to go first, until at last they clumped together and stumbled nearer to the goat, staring up into the beast's unnerving, horizontal eyes.

    They opened their mouths and squeaked out a short sleeping song, but the goat did not even blink. It munched on the sprites as though they too were tasty garden greens.

     Soon, others in Dozyville began keeping goats, and though they never knew exactly why, they realized it somehow prevented them from falling into random, catastrophic naps day-by-day. And so, the sprites had no other choice but to keep to themselves or themselves be made into dinner! The hungry goats kept the gardens clear of sprites, day and night, and Dozyville at last was free of their mischief for good.

Better to do good uncredited under someone's nose than to be caught in the act of mischief.

late night novelist

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It's going to be another busy weekend, but sometimes novel-writing just can't wait. It's half past midnight, and I've written exactly 300 new words. If I keep this up I just might become a successful baggy-eyed author one day! ;)

the devouring of books...

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...and the adventures of spring

It's always a treat when one is able to sleep-in an extra hour and then wake up to see sunshine, feel the warmth of the day, and breathe a thankful prayer to God.

Lately, I've wanted nothing more than to READ. I've been having the worst time with self-control when it comes to reading my Bible first thing in the morning. I actually did it today, before anything else. As always, just finally obeying God brought a beautiful peace and joy into the day.

    Yesterday, I read Leviticus 26, which is about God promises, either for good things should they obey Him, or for punishment should they disregard Him and fall into sin. This is the first time I've ever read Leviticus all the way through (just chapter 27 left, then I'm done!), and I can absolutely see it's value as part of God's Word. That is to say, a lot of people don't find it necessary because it's so full of SACRIFICE and LAWS, and all kinds of things that Christians don't need in order to live to God in this age.

    But it is necessary.

    God takes sin very seriously, and He wants His people to be set apart from the sinful ways of the world, to live a righteous life and to give Him the glory. He promises to bless our obedience and provide for our needs, but He will discipline us if we should fall away into temptation, forgetting His promises.

    I believe God has preserved this record (Leviticus) for us to remind us of the importance of godliness, holiness, true faith; it isn't a prayer-a-day kind of lifestyle, it's COMPLETE DEVOTION to God! If He was willing to DIE to spare us from an eternity in hell - we who are sinful, unworthy sheep who will stray from fields of hearty food and protection for one blade of withered grass - then we better not waste this one short life we have, but cooperate with the Holy Spirit in order to be sanctified, in preparation for God's one day perfecting us and - at last! - the eternal bliss of heaven.

Oh, I could go on and on about all that forever!

Along with suchlike weighty thoughts, I've been having lots of pretty little dreams at night and a great deal of story inspiration. Having discovered Shannon Hale's eight month-old book Princess Academy: Palace of Stone, I've found an ocean of new ideas and insight into characters I've loved for years from the prequel, Princess Academy (which I've read four times). I always marvel at Shannon Hale's knowledge of her characters - she always knows just what they want, just how to express all that they think and feel, and just when to give them what they need or want most. I'm a terribly distracted reader, so it takes me forever to finish a book, but my word... when I sit down with this, it's really, really hard to put it away!

    As far as my novel-in-progress, I've been able to finish some exhaustive editing and am adding piece by piece to a new chapter. It takes self-control to jump on the laptop and work on my novel instead of rushing onto Pinterest or 700 other websites at my fingertips - it's so easy to run out of time in a day by wasting it on useless games. I don't like having hardly accomplished anything useful by the end of a day. When I procrastinate, I'm reminded of a favorite quote from Princess Academy:

No wolf falters before the bite

So strike

No hawk wavers before the dive

Just strike

When struggling with the desire to do something else besides writing, I say 'no' to my distractions and command myself, 'just do it, just work on it, and you'll be so, so glad you did'. (Which is pretty much what I had to do to get myself to read my Bible, even on such a beautiful, motivating day.)

I bought a new purse from Thirty-One, a cross-body, just large enough for a notepad, a smallish book, my mp3, a pen, various re-charger cords, my keys, my glasses case, travel toothbrush, flashlight, travel Bath & Body lotion, and my library card. Now, that probably sounds like a lot, but I usually carry all that plus two or three MORE books, a small journal, an extra one or two pens and a pencil, a camera or yarn and knitting needles, and sometimes a thermal tote besides all of that if I'm babysitting and need to pack food.

    So, yeah... I decided to downsize a bit, and although I love having a variety of things to read and no small amount of trinkets I probably won't end up using with me wherever I go, it has been nice to not have too much extra weight on my shoulders (literally). Besides, the new little purse is a cute style, and in a favorite teal/mint color that seems REALLY popular right now.

Tea. Thesaurus. Cashews. Books. Novel. Music. Blue dusk. Spring. God's Word. Life.

It has been a lovely day, full of much more than I mentioned to the brim of what a mostly-relaxing day can contain, including errands to the grocery store, bank, JoAnne Fabrics & Crafts (my little sister is making a Steampunk 1880's dress for her drama class performance next month), a visit to one of my best friends (the library; I now have four more books I've never read before), and naturally frequent trips to my imagination - but if I went into detail, you'd never reach the end of this post, or worse, be bored stiff before you came close. ;)
 

Thank you for reading this, even if only a tiny bit; the number of page-views I get encourage me to keep blogging, more than you know! God bless,

steps into spring

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Spring is on the move.

At least here in Minnesota, we've had a few fluctuating false springs so far as winter has fought to keep it's strength up --- but no longer. Snow is finally melting, and I'm beginning to feel the warm promise of flowers and all growing things in the air.

Though I've visited my blog so very little this winter, life has not hit a lull.

During this week of spring break, I have not been needed to babysit my niece, as is usually a regular part-time activity, and there haven't been any piano lessons --- two large chunks of my week (when you include the extra babysitting that goes along with the lessons). The week, however, has had no trouble at all filling itself up, as it always does.

I find myself still wasting plenty of time watching various movies, usually in the evening, a habit of which I am trying to rid myself.

I've made headway in my novel, and am almost done with a long-winded editing process so that I should be able to move on to just plain writing by Monday. (Hopefully....)

As much as I love The Goose Girl, and Melanie Dickerson's works, I think The Hobbit is moving up a long ways on the favorite books list. The first time I read it, I had a hard time picturing everything, but since An Unexpected Journey came to theaters, the story and even the characters have been come easier to keep track of, understand, and love. I'm reading the book for the second time, and should break down and purchase my own copy anytime the next time I babysit and have some spare cash. ;)

Spring means it's almost my little sister's birthday (Emily), which I probably look forward to more than my own! I have a few little presents for her already, and know about a few bigger ones from our older sister, Lilly. I think knowing helps me anticipate the day even more.

Spring also means that the snow will be melting soon, the grass and leaves will be coming back, and through all of this, I'll have some fresh scenes to take photos of. (I really want to practice portraits this spring, and I'm already scoping out some good sites for these.)

Spring is a wonderful motivator. After a good long winter, it's time to step outside, stretch out the hibernating cramps, and go do something!

~*~*~*~*~*~

Thank You, Lord, for another new year, 

and thank You especially for another Good Friday anniversary!

writer's block

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Every writer experiences it once in a while, but it's different now. I always have plenty to say, so much to tell, to talk about, but here on my blog, I have such high expectations for myself, and I expect others to have the same high expectations.

I'm terrified of being boring, of no one wanting to know what I think or have to say. I'm afraid of being... monotonous. And dull. I'm not one of those confident bloggers with over a hundred steady followers. I don't write anything witty or of importance. My true skill set doesn't lie so much with talking to people; I can invent conversations for my stories, I can even have dandy little conversations with myself, but not with others; I get clammed-up and run clean out of words. Know how that feels? I feel like I need to scramble for a subject, for something I think somebody out there in cyber space might be interested in. Sometimes I feel like I'll never have any booming popularity unless and until I either get a boyfriend or meet some famous person. ;)

I know what I have to start asking myself is what I really want to accomplish from this blog, especially for this next year. When I first started this blog, I think that I just wanted to 'lubricate' my mind for novel writing. Maybe I'll leave it at that. At the moment, I'm not really sure if I want more than that. What do people normally want from their blogs?

I'll guess we'll all just have to wait and see what happens... even me.

...apologies...

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I'm sorry I haven't been writing very often lately. I would probably post photos as often as ever, but I guess there's a limit to how many photos I can have on here for free, and since I have no idea how to work any internet payments for more space or suchlike, and I don't have as many words to write as I do photos to share, I suppose I've just kind of slowed down for a while. I have a post scheduled for tomorrow morning to explain a little more about what I've been thinking about my blog and writing in general. But it's late, and I have things to do in the morning.

I want to take the opportunity to wish you all a belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! God bless you all....

autumn

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I'm beginning to feel it... to smell it... hear it... see it...

It's almost autumn, and what I believe to be the most desperately beautiful time of all year! Those fiery trees, the chilled earthen breezes, climbing up some large oak of sorts and enjoying the lack of bugs, and magical sunsets which take my breath away --- each of these things define autumn for me.

I'm already bundling up against the cold, crisp air. I'm looking forward to fresh apples from the orchard (a family tradition), a walk around the lake, and visits to the country where colors thrive.

It will be hot chocolate season again, which I have been craving ever since early summer, when my mom bought me those tantalizing boxes of white chocolate mixes. I've been drinking a  lot of tea, too, because I have a cold --- a mug of any hot drink feels great in one's hands!

I never feel more inspired to write than when the seasons change (especially around autumn). The world seems to be bursting with the desire to reveal wonderful secrets about its design and Designer --- and yet it is silent, as if asking me to fill in the blanks of the words it cannot speak on its own.
    And my stories are easier to sketch-out when autumn begins to appear. Everything just feels magical. I almost can't help myself from writing --- yeah, I crave it, like any true writer does. *wink!*

camera

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I have only posted on my blog one or two times since I got my new camera, and that was exactly one month ago. Weird... I can hardly believe that anything could crowd-out writing in my life, but I guess the novelty of a DSLR of my very own takes more time to wear off than I thought! To help balance this out, I have been taking a long break from editing photos the past several nights to finish writing letters to some friends, keep "plugging away" at my grad party thank-you notes, and baby-step my way to the end of my novel.

Even though I've graduated from High School, responsibilities and various forms of learning do not end. I'm taking piano lessons again (just started up for the season on Tuesday), and dappling in a few other subjects which interest me. I'm also starting to pick up my driver's manual so that I can hopefully earn my permit soon. I know it would be convenient for my mom to have another licensed driver in the family who can help run errands and suchlike.

I'm never quite sure just how to answer when people ask me about college or my plans for the future. The truth is, I don't really have any big plans yet --- I'm living life as it comes, continuing to stay at home unless and until God presents me to my own prince charming. I'm waiting for God to show me His own plans for my life. In the meantime, I may very well end up schooling myself in the areas of photography, writing, and useful homemaking skills --- all outside of college. Life seems filled to the rim even without college classes and a full-time job, and I'm content to wait on God's will for my life.

Having read a couple Medieval fantasies in a row, now, I plan to dig back into the Hunger Games trilogy. 'Catching Fire' is waiting for me on my desk, and I'm itching to open it! I have only a chapter or two of 'Dragon's Breath' by E.D. Baker to finish; so much reading, so little time!

My writing, as I have alluded to, has been mostly put on the back-burner of late, but I hope to put an end to this pattern. I'll try to return here often, now that summer chaos is beginning to subside.
    Along those lines, I also want to work on this one tough area in my novel; this sticky place that I've written and re-written more than once. I want that enormous section of the story fixed and behind me so that I can once again pour my heart into the more exciting parts of my work-in-progress.

Although my camera has crowded-out a lot of other activities in my life recently, it hasn't exactly been all in vain.

It may not seem very interesting, but I have to tell you... I took this photo out the dirty window of my moving car from the back seat. The fact that there is no blur, no sign of dirt, no anything bad is the reason why I love my new camera to death! ;)

I guess I have a 'thing' for leaf and sunshine photos. I can't help myself, though. The first photo is of a leaf I found in the public library parking lot. Nothing special, just your regular green. But the sunlight was perfect. My other leaf photo (directly above) is of a crunchy brown leaf, and the place at which I found it now escapes me. But the texture of it reminded me of a dragon's wing --- naturally I found the very idea irresistible.

This darling young lady is my younger sister, Emily. She was sweet enough to let me force her up into a tree and smile down at me. You professionals can tell I don't have much experience with portraits as yet, but don't worry; I'm learning. Em's just naturally a beautiful girl, so pictures of her, however poor the quality, are always lovely. ♥

As I have said, I shall try to be more faithful in writing on Thirst For Purity. After such a long an eventful summer, there is now much to be said! Ta ta for now!

writer's block ... why?

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I don't know what to write about anymore.

I feel like I should try to find something interesting in my life to share with everyone, but how can anything in my life be very interesting to anyone else? It's all so . . . normal.

It's like I'm just waiting for something to happen, and until it does, there will be nothing but normal life to drone-on about. Maybe I'm waiting for my opportunity to buy that new camera and begin an entirely new chapter of my photography adventure.

Maybe I'm waiting for that next vacation which always is a source of new and beautiful memories.

Maybe I'm just restless in general, so it's hard to sit down and push buttons once a day as lead by my brain.

Or maybe it's just the weather.

Honestly, the weather affects me greatly. I am usually most inspired to write when the season change. Winter always makes me want to cuddle up and read The Goose Girl, or Princess Academy. Summer makes me want to dig out my old dragon stories I wrote as a child and grimace and laugh at my inexperience. And I never know what inspiration to expect in autumn or spring --- they are pleasant surprises.

Maybe it's because I'm not going to bed before midnight very often.

There's always some sort of excuse for why this occurs; last night it was that I was in the mood to clean the house, and so I kept going until after midnight and I could hardly keep my eyes open anymore!

Probably, the answer to my restless trouble is a combination of many things.

Anyway, I hope you'll forgive me for not writing many things of interest. I'll just have to remind myself that if my writing is for the Lord, that's all I will need. I just want to please Him.

beauty and the beast

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I love this story.

A beautiful girl sacrifices herself, her freedom, her dreams, all to save the life of her father; she doesn't fall in love instantly, it's something that takes a lot of time. Magic, suspense, comic relief, Disney --- pretty much, it has me written all over it.

Emily and I just recently watched the cartoon, and now we're both trying to play the enchanting theme piece on the piano. I hope to play it at my next recital --- it's a more challenging piece for my level, but so beautiful that I am determined to learn it!

Last year I read Melanie Dickerson's 'The Healer's Apprentice' for the first time. It was fantastic, and I plan on owning it some day; it's honestly one of my favorites! Anyway, I discovered that the same author has another such princess book titled 'The Merchant's Daughter', which I believe is based on the classic Beauty and the Beast fairytale. So, yeah, I think I'll be giving that one a try. But I have a goal right now to not start any other novels until I'm done with 'Stepping Heavenward' by Elizabeth Prentiss. I've been reading that one for over a year (with several books in between), so I need to have this one completed before I commence upon any new books.

Now, back to Beauty and the Beast. I have to confess, I don't really like that Belle is a little of a --- shall we say, feminist? She's dissatisfied with her life and complains a lot; she doesn't want to settle down and be married, she wants to travel and go on an adventure. Well, she didn't know that she was in for one after all, and certainly didn't expect it to start out being so unpleasant compared with the stories she had read about. And it bothered me that she was going to break her promise to the beast and run away. But then, she decided to stay after all when he saved her life --- yeah, it's complicated, and a little frustrating. I wonder how Melanie Dickerson is going to interpret it?

I like to think of the true beauty and the beast story, between Christ and humanity. I'm seriously contemplating writing a novel about it; a prince is betrothed to the lowest creature on earth, who hates him, but learns to love him. She is ugly, he makes her beautiful; she is rude and unforgiving, and he melts her heart with his unconditional love. It's exactly what happened to me; Christ saved me from myself, and He loves me so much that no words can express it. I was a beast, destined for a fate of perpetual misery, but He stepped in and broke the curse.

"For while we were still helpless,

at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. 

For one will hardly die for a righteous man;

though perhaps for the good man someone would dare even to die. 

But God demonstrates His own love toward us,

in that while we were yet sinners,

Christ died for us."

-Romans 5:6-8 NASB

~ Now, that's what I call True Love! ~

life is busy

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Reading. Writing. Weeding. Cleaning. Babysitting. Organizing. Planting. Trying. Failing.

Isn't life just beautiful? I suppose that statement deserves an explanation: God blesses us in so many ways. I can't count on my fingers, toes, and even hairs exactly how many blessings God has given us. Every leaf, every blade of grass, every cloud, every ray of sun or moonlight, every breath, every beat of our hearts . . . life is a gift, a miracle. Oh, that we could learn to not take its many and beautiful facets for granted!

I haven't been writing on my blog very faithfully, and I apologize for that. I have been busy with life. (Wow, where to begin?!)

 My church is amazing, and I'm growing closer to everyone there and loving them more and more deeply as the Sundays pass by, one after the other.

I've been inching my way through the Hunger Games book, and am almost to the end. My sister, Emily, owns the book, so I've been trying to respect her wishes about not bringing it around while we travel. This makes it a little harder to finish (I spend a LOT of time in the car), but it's nice to sit down on my bed and delve into the action.

I'm finishing school at a snail's pace. Math is my most prominent issue, (I'm done with Literature, am nearly done with science, and am flying steadily through history because I just LOVE it). The prospect of finally graduating is a light at the end of the tunnel. A lot of my friends are graduating this year as well, and their open houses are getting me that much more excited!

My novel is coming along slowly. I'm the kind of writer who has a beginning and an end already planned out, but needs to work on filling in the middle. And that's what I'm doing right now, trying to fill in those spaces to get from A to B. I'm feeling a little restless, but it's a great learning process. My hope is to have chapter three completed by the first of June.

    The more I get into the story, though, the more my excitement grows. After all, I've been working on the general idea for this novel for almost seven years. (Mid-July was when it all started.) I had to crawl through a lot of drafts over the years that just weren't . . . right yet. But I'm confident that the draft I have now is the one I've been looking for all this time. I'm going through it one piece at a time, chapter by chapter, paragraph by paragraph. Now, I have a lot of great ideas in store --- it's just getting there!

My older sister, Lilly has begun selling Thirty-One bags. (You can find her here.)When I first went to a party my sister-in-law was hosting for these bags, I wasn't really sure to expect, and honestly, I didn't really like them. Now? I LOVE THEM! Perhaps I just needed a little nudge, but after purchase one, it's hard to stop! They're extremely practical, as well as cute. I just purchased a special cosmetic bag that I'm going to use to carry my Bible in for church on Sundays. I have two of these adorable notebook-cover-thingies called a Fold-and-Go Organizer; it's my favorite product from Thirty-One, and I use it daily to write down story-notes. It keeps them in one neat little place (who likes scraps of paper flying around in all directions?), and besides, they're CUTE!

    I'm also expecting another bag (the All In One Organizer) and a Pinch-Top Eyeglass Case in the mail in a couple of weeks. (Yeah, I have my own librarian-style specs; I'm a little near-sighted. Probably from reading so many books!)

    Anyway, if you're a girl, you won't be sorry you checked this out! You can visit the website here.

I once started reading Jerry Bridges' book Respectable Sins, but never finished it, so I'm picking it up again and am loving it! It points out those sins we look at as 'small' or 'acceptable' --- sins like pride, or greed --- things that don't show as much as murder or adultery, but are equally evil in God's eyes. This won't be the last time I mention this book, and I'll be sure to quote from it a lot in the near future because Bridges says it all so well, so much better than I do. Really, if you ever have an opportunity to get your hands on it, this is definitely a book worth owning!

Ah, and back to the subject of math, I've discovered an interesting technique that helps me get through it stress-free, and in a slightly shorter amount of time. You may call me crazy, but all I can say is that it's great to be home-educated.

    The past three days, I've sat down to math, and once I've completed between five and ten problems, I play one of my Spyro the Dragon games for a few minutes. 

 . . .

See? I told you that you'd think it was crazy.

This is why it works:

Honestly, I can only tolerate math for a very little while. About twenty to thirty problems involving fractions is enough to give me a whopping headache, and it has been known to take me a lot more than an hour to get through just one of my math lessons. If I get stressed (and too much math definitely makes me stressed!), I begin to have a harder time thinking logically about how to solve a problem; I start blanking.

    Now, when I pause every-so-often to get my mind off of math (by playing a little bit of my Spyro game), it takes away that stress (or prevents it) and actually ends up taking me approximately half an hour to finish a lesson, instead of almost TWO hours! It really does help. And you know what? I've started looking forward to doing math. ;)

Life is busy. And that's the way I like it.