Pre-Show

They spoke to me of stage fright--
that mouth-drying paralytic, that bane
of the would-be thespian.
"Don't drop lines. And if you forget,
just remember we all forget sometimes.
Just keep moving."

But it's not stage fright in my belly.
That windstorm of butterflies is composed of
other emotions entirely: impatience predominant,
the minutes until the manager calls "places!" ticking
so
slowly,
the minutes until the lights come up and I launch into
the speeches I've learned for two months, until
we move in the dance of theater, bringing another world,
another era,
to life for our living audience, who is taking far too long to sit.
And other emotions: eagerness, a tinge of fear--
I've never done this before. I don't think I'll mess up, but
what if?
Jitters, caused partly by my terrified analysis of my own state:
tell me I won't freeze up when the lights come up.

And then the magic word: "Places!"
Pitch dark, save for the glow-in-the-dark X taped to my first mark.
I step to it, listening to my fellow actors rustle to their own places,
still waiting, running through the opening lines in my head now.
And then
lights.

Unseen Ripples

We never really know what God is planning. We can always look back later and say, "Oh, that's what He was up to!" But usually, at the time, we stumble along in confusion, clinging to our Bibles and His promises, somewhere between hope and faith that He really does know what He's doing.

That is not to say I don't trust God. But there are days--admit it!--when I say, "I just don't see how this is to Your glory."

And then there are other days when you think you see His purpose, and your prayers are, "Lord, this is what You want, yes? Let me obey Your will, let me do what will please You...but I'm pretty sure this is it!"

I did a play recently, to help out a friend. Of the six other people in the theater for the play, one was a Christian. The director and one of the actors is Jewish, the other three seem to be mostly and cheerfully Heathen. And they all cursed like sailors, except for us two Christians. Nice people, pleasant to work with, not uptight, and capable of reining in the swearing (which they did when my little sister dropped by the theater). But they really don't believe in God.

I met the director, Jackie, last March when I did my first play. I ran into her again when I assisted with "Fiddler on the Roof" and she came in to advise the cast on some Jewish traditions. The second night she was at the theater, she and I and four others hung out for a few hours and discussed religious differences. At the end of the evening, I asked if she believed Christ was the Messiah. No, she said. The Messiah is prophesied to bring peace, and there've been an awful lot of wars since Jesus's time!

Either that night or after I joined the cast of the other play, I asked how literally she took Genesis, and then we debated evolution versus creationism. She emailed me, I emailed back, and we've been at it off and on for about a month now. (It's only half a dozen emails because I'm a lazy butt.) So far, our debates remain very friendly and inconclusive. We're both articulate people, both convinced of what we believe, and both willing to say, "We differ, but you're still a nice person."

Here's where the ripple comes in. Last night, the lead of our play asked how the debate was going. And it hit me that they're watching. I knew before--he's asked before and it's something of a joke among the cast. But last night, it occurred to me that our discussion might very well be repeated to others. It occurred to me how much this debate could matter. And I think it's about time to move from squabbling over scientific facts, which can be interpreted myriad ways, to spiritual topics.

I disagree with evolution because it reduces man to a clever animal, whereas creationism sets him as regent over creation, created in the image of God, and a soul destined for eternity. I doubt, too, that evolution adequately addresses the problems of evil and sin. But mostly, I believe that I have found truth, that the Bible is to be taken literally, that God tells no lies and has told us what we need to know about the state of the world, our souls, and our eternal destination.

I hope I can convey that to her.

I want a fandom house.

I want to be the crazy aunt with a slide from the second story to the first. The aunt whose front door is round and painted green and has a gold doorknob in the exact middle. Whose wardrobe has a secret panel leading to the playroom, whose blue door opens into a hallway, whose walls are painted with the maps of fantasy worlds. I want to be that crazy lady with tiny statues hidden in the garden, glass unicorns in the windows, fairy houses in the yard. I want a room under the staircase, with the first chapter of Harry Potter written on the wall. I want a room with armor and weapons covering one wall, a closet filled with fancy dress, a second wall covered with LEGO so they can build off it, a third wall that is nothing but window, and a fourth wall with trees painted on it.

I want a gigantic house with many, many secret passages and a huge pool with a waterfall and hanging seats and ten acres covered with trees and with a private brook that has no less than three bridges. It needs a log bridge, stepping stones, and a classic arched bridge.

I don't think this is a particularly realistic wish list. But it needs to be written out. Because that house? That house would be the most magical place to visit. To live in. To hold tea parties and duels and stay up late watching Disney and reading books.

Realistically, I'll wind up in a tiny apartment, with beige walls and decent dish ware. Realistically, any project like a fandom house would require my (presumed future) husband's agreement.

But unrealistically...among the mental stars and galaxies of my imagination...I have a giant house.

Realistically, practically, right now, I can create minor fandom pockets. I am going to paint the Tree of Gondor on my bedroom wall. I will collect all fantasy books that steal my heart. I will teach my niece and nephews to recognize a TARDIS by sight, and I will read to them the Chronicles of Narnia and The Hobbit. And I will dream of a giant house.

Overhauls and Inspirations

Once in a while, I'll read author interviews on blogs, in magazines, on random websites. And I've noticed that often the interviewer asks who or what influences the author. The most common response is to rattle off the names of a few books and close family or friends. Nothing wrong with that, for sure.

But aren't we influenced by a lot more than that?

I love dashing, snarky heroes with a bittersweet streak. For books that shape those preferences, I can point to the Scarlet Pimpernel (always dashing, wry, brilliant!); The Prisoner of Zenda (Rudolf Rassendyll. I was IN LOVE.); Captain Blood and Scaramouche.

But how about movies? Iron Man, Indiana Jones, Han Solo, James T. Kirk, just discovered Jack Reacher. (Cheesy, but hilarious.) TV shows? Where would I be without Sherlock? Detective Kennex of "Almost Human" is becoming a favorite; the Doctor, Captain Hook from Once Upon A Time.
   Childhood movies! I loved Disney! Basil of Baker Street, Prince Philip, Bernard from The Rescuers...

All of this feeds into my dearly beloved Bard. I wrote those stories...what, five years ago? Since writing them, my style and my knowledge of writing have matured. (Plus I joined a fantastic critique group!) Five years down the road, I still like the characters, the basic story line is still fun. But it could be so much better.

Here's the thing: been there, done that. Yes, the brilliant, lazy, foppish Bard is my favorite hero. Yes, the princess is snappy, cute, and feminine all at once. (Yes, I lack any modesty whatever.) But I've already written that story, and it's hard to find a spark of interest for something that's been done. Besides which, I've been afraid that if I rewrote it, it would either be too cutesy and lack any soul, or it would be too dramatic and lose the quirky fun of the first draft.

Until, that is, I watched Frozen.

For a little while now, I've joked that I could write a Disney movie. That thought came back while I watched Frozen. I want to write a Disney movie! They're magical, they're musical, they're fun, kids love them, they're lovely to look at....what's not to like?
  What do Disney movies have that the Bard stories don't? We both have a spunky heroine, a cool hero, a dastardly villain, a love story...Magic. I don't have magic. There are three faeries, but they don't do anything magical.

So that sent me down a rabbit trail, thinking of magical things, and I came up with a Shiny New Idea. What if the Bard's storytelling conjures illusions? images of what he speaks of? And the more emotionally invested he becomes in his story, the more realistic it becomes, until he can actually talk something into existence. (That's definitely influenced by Cornelia Funke's "Inkheart", but I think the stories are distinct enough for it to work.) And if he's struggling with his love for the princess--his social superior--that adds an interesting emotional side.

I also think I could add depth by examining the question "What is true love? How is it practically demonstrated?"

I'm in the middle of a writing project, so this isn't anything anytime soon. And even if I get it written, the likelihood of a story actually winding up anywhere past the blogosphere is fraught with what-ifs and bet-nots. But it's a fun dream, and I think it's sparked a fun project.

Now...how would these powers influence reality?

Idealism, Realism, and Relationships

I read a post today titled "67 Things I wish I had known at 18." It's 67 short, pithy sayings, ranging from "take your makeup off before bed" to "laugh till you cry, cry till you laugh." Most of it's fairly trite, decent advice of the "inspirational life" vein, but two snippets stood out to me.

The first was "You are destined to be more than just someone’s wife. Act like it."

The second was "There is a man out there who will not make you cry. Wait for him." 

On the one hand, I agree that women are more than accessories for their men. I agree that giving your heart to a man who is unworthy and will only break is a bad idea. But--and maybe I'm over-thinking this--there's nothing wrong with being "just" a wife, and being brought to tears is not always bad.

I think with the first statement, I'm reacting as much to hyper-feminism as to the actual statement, to the women who fight against the idea of keeping house, mothering, and being a wife as an end in itself. To those women who want to balance career and family, more power to you! That's a very difficult balance, and I applaud your work. 
    However there's nothing wrong with being content as "just a wife". My mother is very very proud to be Mrs. Roy. She has a degree in business, she has visions and ideas that far transcend the domestic uses she puts them to. But she's content to use her architectural ideas to design beautiful additions to her home, to use her business skills to manage the money my father earns, to use her teaching abilities to school her children at home. She uses her wisdom outside the home as a counselor, she offers her talents to anyone who asks advice, but her career is her home and her family. From a worldly perspective, she's "just a wife". 

From mine, she is the woman of Proverbs 31, looking to the ways of her household, considering and buying fields, delighting her husband. She is the woman whose husband and children praise her in the gates.(And that, by the way, means praising her publicly. For the Israelites, the city gates was where people met to discuss important decisions and politics.)

For the second statement, this is where my innate idealism meets my hard-learned realism. I love the idea of a relationship that never makes me cry. When my former boyfriend and I were dating, his dad advised me that in any relationship, there comes a point at which one or both parties question whether they want this relationship. Sometimes the question grows so strong, the questioner walks away from the relationship. At that point, either they split up, or the other person pursues them and they grow back together stronger than before.

I fought that idea so desperately for several weeks. If you're perfect for each other, if you're happy together, why would you question it?? At the time, I was pretty twitter-pated, and he pursued me with flattering diligence. Why would we question the relationship to the point of one of us walking away?

After much soul-searching, many conversations with friends and family, and many frustrated prayers, I realized something: saying we'll never question the relationship is prideful. Not to mention naive. We are sinful human beings; we are going to upset each other. We are going to wonder "Can I possibly spend fifty odd years with this person, raising children together and growing old together?" To believe otherwise is to deny the reality of our sin nature and to set ourselves up for heartbreak. Even the best and kindest man on earth will not be able to make me perfectly happy all of the time. Only God is perfect, and only God can promise me eternal joy.

And on another note, are tears always bad? I think not. I have cried over my sins. I have cried over my siblings' misdoings. I have wept when forced to confront difficult truths. (I've also cried when I was tired, hungry, grumpy, or when I stubbed my toe, but that's a different story.) The question is not "will my future spouse never make me cry?" but "will my future spouse dry my tears with Biblical truth and Biblical love?"

Anyway. Here's the links to the articles that have sparked all this:
http://totalfratmove.com/67-things-i-wish-i-had-known-at-18-3/
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/seth-adam-smith/marriage-isnt-for-you_b_4209837.html
http://triathletewithacollar.wordpress.com/2013/11/03/a-response-to-marriage-isnt-for-you/

On Voice

I read part of a post by another author about how she struggled to find her voice. She referred to it as "knowing which character to listen to", which strikes me as a pretty good description. 

Voice is interesting to define. I guess you can call it your signature way of writing, your MO that sets your story apart from others'. Isaac Asimov, sci-fi writer, wrote a lot of stories that hinged on logic, ran short on description, usually sci-fi stories and usually with a hint of mystery and a neat twist. Diana Wynne Jones writes character-driven fantasy that almost seems to have no particular plot until everything comes together at the end. Terry Pratchett writes hilarious parodic fantasy that frequently throws a philosophical question into the heart of the story. 

I've never worried a whole lot about voice. For one thing, I didn't know it existed for quite some time, and ignorance was busy bliss. For another, I was busy figuring out plots and making the main character more interesting than the sidekick, and keeping him alive, and borrowing from whatever author I was currently reading.

Nowadays, I know about voice. I know it does, in fact, matter. I know it impacts plots and main characters and influences and all that jazz. So what would I consider my signature style?

I've been thinking about some of the stories I wrote when I was younger. I had two kinds, mostly: the comedy story that veered into drama, and the drama that veered into comedy. My heroes are all snarky, quick-talking, ironic, and typically have bad things happen to them. Hubris is usually involved. Bad guys tend to be very bad. Love interests are fair, feminine, and pretty decently capable. (You can't have a character who stands around wringing her hands...or his, for that matter. You just can't. Unless they die quickly and amusingly.)

Here's the thing: voice needs to transcend character types and story preferences. One of these days, I will write a story (two stories!) about a quiet guy who's bad at comebacks. A girl who's a tomboy. I'm already working on a quasi-sympathetic villain. 

But in the meantime? I can have a snarky, ironic, languid hero, who's terribly posh and can't be bothered to take fencing lessons. I can have a snarky, ironic, active hero, who kind of hates the world and himself and doesn't want to admit he's lonely. I can have a busy, feisty, plain heroine, who will SLAP you for wringing your hands uselessly, and a feisty, somewhat silly, girly heroine who also likes sword-fighting. 

And villainous villains. Those guys are still interesting.

Balance.

One of the very best things in my life right now is my writing group. And I almost didn't join it.

When Janice Hardy first floated the idea of creating a group for writers to form critique groups, I dithered about joining. I worried about the time commitment, about sharing my story with total strangers, about agreeing to read stories written by people who might not be bothered by things that bothered me. (At the time, I was thinking language and adult content, not grammar. These days, I've discovered grammar is more of a problem...which probably means I'm a grammar nazi in a bad way.) My writing buddy said she was joining, so my dithering tipped into sending Janice an email.

I'm so glad I did. I love the group. I've learned many fantastic things from them, and, like most things involving humans, not just writing. Vanessa has become my personal hero. That poor girl has had her story straight-up trashed. Several times. We've shredded her openings into Garfield's curtains. And every single month, she brings a new opening. A better opening. Her latest had some lines that left me breathless. Poetic, epic fantasy, with a bleak feel to it...and her indomitable spirit shines through.

I actually hadn't meant to bring that up, but Vanessa deserves recognition, so it got mentioned. Anyway.

The mixed blessing of a writing group is that you get multiple people's opinions on your work. And since I like everybody to say, "This is good" before I'll accept it's good, this can get...interesting. I've got one line that three people liked and two people didn't. I like it, and the majority likes it, so I'll probably keep it. But then there's the line that only one person commented on, and he didn't like it. So now what? Do I follow the maxim "murder your darlings"? (The unfortunately phrased maxim?) Delete it because it doesn't seem to be working as designed? Or do I shrug off the criticism and keep on truckin'?

Arrogance versus humility. My own vision versus teachability. How do these balance?

I can't be a pushover and change everything objected to, ever. I am the one writing the story. I am the one who knows what I mean to say.

I can't be a stiff-necked fool and ignore advice I don't like. (Well, I can, but it's a bad idea.)

I've been challenged to come up with solutions for lazy writing, like knocking out a guard with a blackjack. Apparently, that would kill him in real life, which means either he's dead in fake life or I knock him out differently. After quite a long time and talking to people who know how to incapacitate people, I knocked him out differently. This, because of my excellent writing group, who refused to suspend disbelief and let me off with laziness.

And I've been challenged to consider my work with detachment, to weigh the criticism against my inner vision and determine whether my "clever" line is worth keeping.

I still don't know. I dunno, I guess I'll hang onto it for now and see if it passes muster on further edits. For now, I will balance my inner editor and my outer editors on a tightrope over the Niger.

There may be crocodiles below.

Favorite Movies Tag

1: List favorite movies (in any format that you like and the movies do not have to be in order).

2: Post James’ video tribute (above) somewhere in your post.

(This video is very neat and a tribute to James’ favorite movies; I've seen most of these, but The Matrix and a few other clips were unfamiliar.

3: “Tag” other bloggers (optional).

So. Favorites. I don't know how to add pictures, so I'll just go with titles. In the order in which I think of them, they are:

1. LOTR trilogy. Because they were BRILLIANT. When they were first released, I was considered too young to handle them. (Probably a very accurate assessment, to be honest.) When I was finally allowed to watch them, my younger sister and I watched all of them about nine times in a row. ALL OF THEM. That's about nine hours, folks. We could quote whole scenes with the actors.

2. The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, and Prince Caspian, the new movies. (I wasn't crazy about Voyage of the Dawn Treader.) Prince Caspian especially, because Reepicheep was hilarious and Edmund was seriously cool. "You are a mouse!" "You people have no imagination!"

3. Gunga Din, starring Cary Grant and Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. I watched that movie about twelve times, and I'd still watch it again. A dashing adventure story, riffing off Kipling's excellent poem, with funny moments and suspense and a really funny scene involving a punch bowl.

4. The Bachelor and the Bobbysoxer. Cary Grant, Myrna Loy, and Shirley Temple. This movie...oh this movie. Shirley Temple develops a crush on Grant's character, which results in a situation that doesn't look great for him. So her sister the judge (Loy) orders Grant to date Shirley until her crush wears off. Brilliant movie.

5. How to Steal a Million, Audrey Hepburn and Peter O'Toole. Okay, this one is a caper film, which means the bad guys get away. Which means I shouldn't like it. However, it's very very funny, and in its defense, Hepburn is trying to move her father away from crime, and technically, she's not committing a crime because....Go watch the movie.

6. Pride and Prejudice, starring Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. Pretty sure that's enough said.

7. The Avengers. I could watch this movie so so many times.

8. The Secret of Kells. This is an animated movie drawn in a style that evokes 12 century manuscripts, set in Ireland. Though the elements of Irish mysticism aren't cool, the movie is gorgeous, and the voice acting...Irish accents. I love Irish accents. The storyline isn't particularly complex, but it's well done.

9. Life is Beautiful. Italian movie set during WW2, about a Jewish man winning his wife, and then protecting his son through a concentration camp. I laughed, I cried...it moved me, Bob.

10. The Indiana Jones trilogy, especially The Last Crusade! Harrison Ford battling Nazis; what's not to like??

Honorable Mentions, because I'm supposed to limit myself to 10, but I like lots of movies: the Horatio Hornblower series, and Master and Commander, The Patriot (though I can only watch that about once per year, because blood is distressing), Cinderella Man...can I make that number 11? I loved that movie; I just can't handle it often because, again, blood. Anything Disney.

Okay, call it quits. Let's tag people.

1. Clara

2. Molly

3. Christie

4. Ken

5. Emma

On "Same Love".

I like Macklemore. He's a young rapper with three songs currently beating about the airwaves. I don't typically care for rap, but his music is infectious, fun, and not headache-inducing. I don't listen to him much, because he's definitely not a Christian, but some of the worldviews he expresses in his songs stick with me.

"Thrift Store" was the first. In that swaggering song, he talks of buying crazy stuff for cheap, and using it to create a unique style in a cookie-cutter world. Instead of paying $50 for a t-shirt that six other people are wearing, he buys lots of used stuff for less than $20 and stands out from the crowd. I'm one of ten. I'm well acquainted with thrift stores. So yeah, I can get down with that!

"Can't Hold Us" is the second. Catchy dance tune; the only lines I understand are the chorus and a line about "speed like a great white shark on shark week", which is rattled off at breathless pace.

But the one I've been thinking about most is "Same Love." Unlike the other two, it's soft, almost a ballad. His rap is almost a monologue. And its message is pro-gay. I'm a Christian. I'm strongly anti-gay. I have to be, because God is. But some of the thoughts Macklemore raises are worth considering.

He speaks of stereotypes: boys who love "unmanly things", like art or music, are sometimes labeled as gay. It's used derogatorily, it's called a decision, a label, a predisposition. He speaks of the persecution of the gays: children bullied for their preferences, homosexuals committing suicide, hateful comments, discrimination, churches preaching against gays. His passion on the subject comes through clearly. And I can see his point.

Bullying and persecution are wrong, under any circumstances and for whatever reason.

However. Homosexuality is wrong, under any circumstances and for whatever reason. It is perversion of God's law. It is sin.

So as a Christian, what do I do with this song? Why do I still like this song? Because of the chorus.

"And I can't change/even if I tried/even if I wanted to." Does Macklemore have any idea how close he comes to truth? I wonder, does he realize the profundity of those lines? We CAN'T change! We can't pull ourselves out of homosexuality or habitual lying or lust or greed or cowardice! We can change behaviors, but we can't change hearts! Often, we can't even change behaviors!

This song breaks my heart. It reveals such compassion for the hurting, and it reveals an inability to change what many acknowledge is wrong behavior. But it stops short of showing ultimate love. It doesn't mention the Great Cure. We can't change. But God can change us. We don't need to bully or persecute homosexuality, any more than any other sin. We can declare that yes, it is sin, and we can stand firm on that Biblical principle. But we can also extend grace, we can extend a little mitigation. Being gay doesn't disqualify you from the love of God. It doesn't mean you can't ever change, it doesn't put you beyond the reach of Divine Power. Being gay estranges you from God. So does lying. So does getting angry. So does being disrespectful to your parents. But because He is God, He can bridge the gap and wipe away the stains.

He can change. He can help us try. He can make us want to.

A State of Extreme Blessedness

Most days, I go through life as usual. Ups, downs, eat so I don't get crabby, smile because the sun shines, laugh because my siblings and niece are ditzy darlings. But some days, that just isn't enough. 

Some days, you just have to sit and think and realize how incredible life is.

I'm in the middle of a Doctor Who episode, "Closing Time", which involves the Doctor, an old friend, and the friend's baby, who refers to himself as "Stormageddon, Dark Lord of All." Also, the Doctor speaks Baby. But I paused because I wanted chocolate.

Hmm, fudge pie or black bottom cake? Fudge pie. Milk or ice water? Water. 

And as I resettled myself in the comfy chair, with my pie and my ice water and my excellent show, I became aware that my little sister was playing the theme from Pride and Prejudice on the piano, quite beautifully. My father sat to my right, studying theology. My boss to my left, hanging out.

The Doctor, in speaking to the baby, told him to stop crying because he had a normal life ahead. "A nine-to-five job, mortgages, a nagging sense of spiritual emptiness..."

There's more to life than that. There is so much more to life. There is joy and chocolate and family. But those won't fill that hole in the soul. For that hole in the soul will take no patch. That hole in the soul can be touched by only one thing, one Being. And that Being will not patch the soul. Who wants a patch? It's a scar, a reminder of a hole-that-was. Instead, He will give an entirely new, clean, shining soul. A soul still capable of chocolate, joy, and family, a soul capable of LIFE. Of Eternal Life.

Some days, I could cry because I am so extremely blessed.With chocolate, family, and a brand-new shiny soul

Writers are a bit touched.

One fairly consistent thing about writers is that we tend to talk about our characters as if they're real. Not all writers, not always, but pretty often. I can tell you that AJ hates oatmeal and loves bagels; that he'll say snarky things about wanting a drink, though he's a teetotaler; and that if he'd stayed home instead of going to a fancy school, he'd be a nicer person. Did  I invent all this? Absolutely. Will I talk about him with more detail than if he were my boyfriend? Definitely.

Can I distract myself from my original topic by talking about him? Ta-da!

I have a really lovely critique group. There are six or seven of us, at different stages of writing abilities and story points, and our personalities show most clearly in our critiques. Kheper, for example, is enthusiastic, funny, and ADD. Vanessa is very sweet, and tends to give her critiques with an air of "you don't have to listen if you don't want to." Missy is straight-forward and fun; Ken (who is a chemist in real life) tends to be accurate and cut-and-dry.

The variety in the critiques is marvelous. Vanessa points out everything she loves and asks about phrasing choices and some points that seem unclear. Kheper pounces on anything from grammar error to potential world-building, relates it to gaming, distracts himself, and bounces back to the original point. Ken points out solid phrasing and big picture problems, like asking why AJ got taken out so easily.

My point? It's all helpful. Vanessa and Kheper compliment fairly liberally, and tell me when I make them laugh. Ken is more reserved with compliments, and the plot hole he pointed out means some major work. Missy is balanced.

Compliments are wonderful. Compliments keep me writing, help me say, "I can do this." Criticism is wonderful. Criticism shows me where to improve and gives me something to compare. I write dialogue better than action and quips better than logic. Therefore, I will worry more about action and logic when I write.

Writers need feedback. We're so wrapped up in the worlds we create that we lose objectivity. Some become terrifyingly egotistical and cannot take criticism. Critics are either hateful or stupid. And others cripple themselves with doubt. "I thought this last piece was good, but now I see it's flawed. Who's to say this current work is any better?"

100 things!

The only reason I'm doing this is that I thought of snarky answers and wanted to use them...

1. Real name: Siobhan McTavish. 2. Nickname(s): Danielle. 3. Favorite color(s): Are you asking me to be a racist? 4. Male or female: I'm half and half, actually. My dad was male, my mom was female, so... 5. Elementary: dear Watson. 6. Middle School: For dwarfs. 7. High School: For giants. 9. Hair Color: Currently, striped. 10. Tall or Short: Middling. 11. Sweats or Jeans: Jeans, they're more versatile. 12. Phone or Camera: Phone; I leave the photos to the paparazzi. 13. Health freak: I once thought I was having a heart attack. 14. Oranges or Apples: Yes, thank you. 15. Do you have a crush on someone: No, the rock missed. 16. Eat or Drink: Neither dehydration nor starvation is particularly high on my to-do list. 17. Piercings: Yep. 18. Pepsi or Coke: Yep. :P19. Been in an airplane: Yep. 20. Been in a relationship: Yep. 21. Been in a car accident: Nope. 22. Been in a fist fight: No, she didn't punch back. 23. First piercing: I was very little. 24. Best friend(s): Inside or outside the family? 25. First award: I've been told I'm an award-winnning slacker. 26. First crush: I killed ants with a pebble. 27. First word: This morning? Probably "coffee...." 29. Last person you talked to: I said "hmm" to Molly. 30. Last person you texted: My brother. 31. Last person you watched a movie with: First I have to remember the last time I watched a movie. 32. Last food you ate: Mac-n-cheese. 33. Last movie you watched: It might have been "Ferris Bueller's Day Off", but I keep thinking I've watching something else since then. 34. Last song you listened to: Live piano. 35. Last thing you bought: Book. 36. Last person you hugged: Probably Christie. 
FAVORITE:
37. Food: Edible. 38. Drink: I'm not 21 yet; I'll let you know this summer. 39. Music Genre(s): Variable. 40. Sport: I've turned procrastination into a sport. "How long can I get away with not doing this task?" 41. Animal: I'm quite fond of chicken. So many delicious dishes... 42. Color: I'm a WASP, if you must know. 43. Movie: Quite a few. Texas Chainsaw Massacre impacted me hugely. 44. Subject: My favorite is Sam; he does whatever I tell him to do. 
HAVE YOU EVER:(Put an X in the brackets if yes) 45. [/] fallen in love with someone. (Strongly liked.) 46. [] celebrated Halloween. 47. [] had your heart broken. 48. [] went over the minutes/texts on your cell phone. 49. [x]had someone like you. (If I were vain, I'd put an x for each one.) 51. [] went skiing 52. [] jumped off a cliff 53. [x] did something you regret. 54. [x] broke a promise. 55. [x] hid a secret. 56. [x] pretended to be happy. 57. [x] met someone who changed your life. 58. [] pretended to be sick. 59. [] left the country. 60. [x] tried something you normally wouldn't try and liked it. 61. [x] cried over the silliest thing. 62. [x] ran a mile. 63. [x] went to the beach with your best friend. 64. [x] got into an argument with your friends. 65. [x] disliked someone. 66. [] stayed single for 2 years since the first time you had a boyfriend/girlfriend. (Come back in two years and I'll give you an update.) CURRENTLY:67. Eating: No 69. Listening: I detached my ears. 70. Sitting/Laying: Sitting is for people; laying is for hens. 71. Plans for today: Sleep. 72: Waiting for: Godot
 YOUR FUTURE: 73. Want kids: I may in the future want kids. 74. Want to get married: You got those questions majorly backward. 75. Career: Diva. 
WHAT DO YOU LOOK FOR IN A GUY/GIRL:76. Lips or eyes: I find it disturbing if I look and they're not there. 77. Shorter or Taller: I do notice whether I look down on someone or look up to them. 78. Romantic or spontaneous: How about charming? 81. Hook-up or relationship: I didn't write this questionnaire. 82. Looks or personality: Wealth. 
HAVE YOU EVER: 83. Lost glasses/contacts: Yep. 84. Snuck out of a house: Nope. 85. Held a gun/knife for self defense: Nope. 86. Killed somebody: I'll get back to you on that. 87. Broken someone's heart: Information redacted. 88. Been in love: Nope. 89. Cried when someone died: Yep
 DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 90. Yourself: Some days I think I'm imaginary... 91. Miracles: It's a miracle I haven't killed my sister yet. 92. Love at first sight: The first mirror I saw, I was a goner. 93. Heaven: Yep. 94: Santa Claus: Why risk the coal? Yep. 95. Aliens: If I say no, will I get abducted? 96. Ghosts: If I say no, will I be haunted? 97. Zombies: And if no to this, will my brains...Haha, forget that one. TRUTHFULLY: 98. Is there one person you really want to be with right now: Yep. 99. Do you know who your real friends are: The voices and I are still arguing about whether Marcie is real or imaginary.

I like writing.

I really do. Think up a fun character, put him through crazy/stressful/funny things, have him meet crazy/stressful/funny people, pretend I'm the next Newbery Medal winner...

And then I hit a transition scene. Big scene A: Main Character and Da Boss have a conversation, which is going to wind up with MC getting into a fight with That Jerk. But between chat and battle must be a transition. He can't just leap from one to the other. I really really hate that.

He strolls down a street, he's got to stop for a meal, he notes passersby and city sights and waxes philosophical about life, the universe, and everything.

It bores me. It's necessary, which means I need to figure out how to write it so that it'll be short, decently interesting, and MAKE SENSE. And not turn into a description of different bricks in his fireplace wall. And instead of figuring it out, I'm whining on my blog. Nice.

Know what's really pathetic? I know what these transitions need to be. They need to be integral to the story, preferably give a little more sense of this guy, this MC whom I am trying to turn into a guy interesting enough to hold people's attention for 70,000 words or so. I feel like I must have read transitions somewhere that were brilliantly interesting and succinct and brisk. They're just not coming to mind.

Well. I am doing one thing halfway right. I will not write my next scene until I have written the transition leading up to it. Even if Da Boss is going to reveal that he knows the Main Character's big secret, and the MC in return is going to tell him a sad truth about Da Boss's loser son, which will kick off the major plot of the story....

Who am I kidding. That stupid transition can wait.

Grey Days

Sunshine and pines trees
go very well together.
Springtime and soft rain's a
perfect kind of weather.
Beach and blue skies and
windy days for a kite;
but grey days and adventures
somehow seem right.
When the wind's in the trees
and the sky lowers down,
when the colors are muted
and the leaves overblown,
when you feel gypsy restless
and the stars seem too near,
then the day must be grey
and adventure be near.

Who am I 

that you know my name?

What am I 

that you know my being?

What causes you,

ineffable giver of life,

to cast your eyes on a filthy clod

of dirt, breathing dirt,

like me--

and raise me up

and cry 

to turn me from mud

to clay

to pristine vase?

I fear the fire

I fear the molding,

I fear the forming of my soul.

But I know--

deep inside I know--

the joy of the potter's own.

I have seen, I have envied,

I have not dared to grasp.

But I don't need to.

You grasp.

I need only to be pliant

and to know that you are God.

Song of the Hermit

“Come home, come home!”
They call to me.
But I have wandered far too long
To give up being free.
“Return, O child,
And sit at home!
Return to the arms
Of our glad company!”
But I am used to being alone
And find I’m sufficient for me.
What need have I of mortal men
When I have found the mystic glen?
Why venture where the mad crowds dwell
When I have found the hidden dell?
“Return! Come home!”
They call to me,
But their voices grow so dim.
I do not heed, for I wander on,
Far from the haunts of men.

I would say this is the lazy way to post

but this blog post by another young lady (total stranger, sadly) was far too good not to share. I know some who stop by this blog (if they haven't given it up as defunct!) aren't on Facebook, which is where I found the post.

http://gracefortheroad.com/2012/02/03/idontwait/

Random writing

Someday, I might actually write this into a story properly. But for now, it's just a random scene that popped into my head.


Haylan swam slowly out to meet them, his dark eyes flickering from Lotan to Harod.
    “Did we scare you so much?” Lotan chuckled. “Did you think we were spirits?”
    Haylan reddened. “Of course not.”
    “But you were scared,” Harod said. “Because we’re humans?”
    “There’s nothing frightening about humans,” Haylan said scornfully. “No, for a moment, I thought instead…”
    They waited a moment for him to continue, before Lotan prompted, “Thought what?”
    Haylan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I thought you were water women.”
    In chorus, they asked, “Water women?”
    “You don’t know what they are?” They shook their heads. Haylan stared at them incredulously, and then turned and swam back to the bank.
    “Well, what are they?” Lotan demanded.
    Haylan caught at a bush and dragged himself onto the grass. “River demons.” Harod shivered in the water, and splashed to shore. Haylan made room for him on the bank and then continued mysteriously, “They appear as the most beautiful sylphs a man can imagine, with voices sweeter than harps and eyes like the moon on a fair night. And they sing. Whatever it is your heart dreams about, they sing. To a miser, they sing of gold; to a soldier, of fame and glory; to a lonely soul, of everlasting love.”
    “Demons indeed,” Lotan grinned. “I’d give a fair price to have a beautiful woman sing to me of my dreams.”
    “But they’re demons all the same,” Haylan whispered. “No faery dares approach the river when the water women sing.”
    Fascinated, Harod dropped his voice also. “Why not?”
    Haylan smiled grimly. “Because they’ll drag you under the waters and eat you.”

I've discovered Joseph Conrad.

He's most famous for his work "Heart of Darkness", which was an excellent look at the darkness in the human soul. But he captured me before I read that novella, with his short autobiographical story "Youth". The first two sentences did the trick:

"This could have occurred nowhere but in England, where men and sea interpenetrate, so to speak--the sea entering into the life of most men, and the men knowing something or everything about the sea, in the way of amusement, of travel, or of breadwinning.
    We were sitting around a mahogany table that reflected the bottle, the claret-glasses, and our faces as we leaned on our elbows."

Awright, let's have a little fun with words and look at the first sentence. It's a quintessential example of the way they wrote at the turn of the century--a long sentence that at once sets the scene and the time. It's also a masterly opening: "This could have occurred". That raises the prompt question "What?" Conrad doesn't answer the question till the following page, but you don't mind the wait. The scene: the broad, broad ocean and the English sailors upon her. The time: back when the ocean was England's great thoroughfare. Conrad makes reference to steamers as well as sailing ships, so the turn of the century is a safe guess for time. But we don't need an exact year; with Conrad, the general time is enough.

The second sentence is my personal favorite. It's such a well-crafted scene, with such economy of words and such a vivid picture. With that one sentence, we know they must be in a well-to-do setting--mahogany and claret are not for the lower classes! And it's well-kept, for the table is polished brightly enough to serve as a mirror. And that is also why I love this sentence: simply by mentioning the reflection, Conrad tells us what's on the table, what's going on, and who is around the table. He is non-specific as yet, and still clear enough that we understand.

The mention of the claret glasses and the men leaning on their elbows--it must be after dinner, and these men are meeting together to talk, either to discuss business or to visit. Visiting seems more likely, given the casual pose of leaning on the table, and further in the paragraph, we learn we're right. They're visiting with each other, and one man has a particular story to tell of an incident in his youth. But for now, they are meeting. That's all we need to know.

The rest of the story is interesting: a coal barque's trials in attempting to get the cargo to Bangkok, and the disaster that ultimately befalls the ill-fated ship. But those first two sentences--those are genius.

A metaphor

I stood on the bank of a river,

stuck in a toe and felt

invigorated, refreshed, yet chilled to the bone.

And looking over the waves, I perceived

swimmers in the torrent.

Some struggled, nearly sinking,

others floated, eyes glowing,

buoyed up by the icy flow.

I had thought I could swim;

now, I do not know.

But I long, I long

to the core of my soul,

to join those who float,

to float to the sea,

and see what becomes of me.