The Lilies Bloom Beyond the Glad [for KK]

My cousin KK asked me to post this poem I wrote for her (it had to be about flowers... hmm!)

The Lilies Bloom Beyond the Glade

So, traitor, you will not be stayed

My bean seeds on the Marvel stove

The lilies bloom beyond the glade

Curled around yourself, we wade

Through spider-blind paths we wove

So, traitor, you will not be stayed

You move, to where the azaelia laid

Dead - dead - you killed this grove -

The lilies bloom beyond the glade

Not a lily, I too was swayed

(I wish I could find my seedling trove)

So, traitor, you will not be stayed

I miss my petals, I was waylaid

You betrayed me and I drowned you in the cove;

[The lilies bloom beyond the glade]

I'm sorry that my kindness grayed

You and I, to my earth I dove

So, traitor, you will not be stayed:

The lilies bloom beyond the glade.

(I'm not sure that I have a point to this poem, but here it is, for you, KK!)

Birthday Party

Tuesday was J.R.R. Tolkien's birthday. I can't believe I missed it, for now I am sad. Tolkien is one of my favorites.... argh. So, I'll now write a post in honor of Tolkien... but since he was such a brilliant author, I may quote a bit.

"All that is gold does not glitter
Not all who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither
Deep roots are not touched by the frost
From the ashes a fire will be woken
A light from the shadows shall spring
Renewed shall be blade that was broken
And the crownless again shall be king."

"Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens."

"It's a dangerous business - stepping out your front door. "

"Short cuts make long delays."

"I do not love the bright sword for it's sharpness, nor the arrow for it's swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”“It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: someone has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.”“I warn you, if you bore me, I shall take my revenge.”

Hehe... I love Tolkien. I promise I'll write a good post sometime before MASTERS... though I've no idea when...

Today is a Holiday

Indeed it is! Today, Bluejane and I have declared it International Kylie Is Awesome Day.

This is Kylie.





She is Awesome.

And we have dedicated today to showing her how awesome she is on our blogs.

This is us.



For those of you who don't know her, Kylie is the most amazing editor ever. I have worked with her for years, and she is the most amazing editor ever.

She is the Sr. Editor for Kids of Faith Online Magazine and The Ignition Project, which is an amazing feat.

Love you, Kylie. Thanks for being so Awesome, and being my editor.

"Alone"

"Alone" by Edgar Allan Poe
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were - I have not seen
As others saw - I could not bring
My passions from a common spring -
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow - I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone -
And all I lov'd - I lov'd alone -
Then - in my childhood - in the dawn
Of a most stormy life - was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still -
From the torrent, or the fountain -
From the red cliff of the mountain -
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold -
From the lightning of the sky
As it pass'd me flying by -
From the thunder, and the storm-
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view -

I am sometimes moved to tears by this poem. I am analyzing poetry for my college and writers guild studies and though I have only just read this poem for this assignment, I am continually touched by the loneliness Mr. Poe felt. How sad to perish alone without ever feeling the love he desperately wanted.

This is exactly why I want to be a great communicator. Because I don't want to be alone, but draw my passions from a common spring. But more than that, because I don't want others to call into an abyss and hear only the echo of their own voice. I want to be a part of that still small voice that whispers, "I know you. I made you." It makes me sad to think that some of the most brilliant and wanting minds died out loving alone and only loving what would bring them loneliness, when there was a God who was willing to fill them with love waiting the whole time.

The sad thing is that there are Poes all around us, disguised as ordinary people. I think about how many people I've brushed off, saying they're not worth my time. But the truth of the matter is that the ordinary people are the ones we're called to reach. We often read about Jesus among the lepers or healing the blind, those exotic conditions that capture our imagination, but Jesus was most often among the ordinary, forgotten people who are just as lonely and oppressed as the traditional missionary audiences we think of.

Can you learn to reach out and love like Jesus loved? The answer is, simply, no. But can you learn to surrender to God's calling and love as much as you can, with his help? Absolutely.

2 Peter 1:5a,7-8: But also for this very reason, giving all diligence, add to your... godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness, love. If these things are yours and abound, you will be neither barren, nor unfruitful, in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.

My First Ever Blog Award

My first ever blog award! Hugs and cookies to Judi for giving it to me :)




I award for their amazing awesome blogging and personal character:

My mother at Adoptyuen
Kylie at His Beautiful Love
Art at Think Outside the Globe
Jocelberry at The Jocelberry Patch
Aunty at The Schneider Web.

Hope you appreciate the award! Thanks for being so awesome!

No, I'm Not Dead

Sorry I didn't update in such an outrageously long time (and it truly is outrageous). School. Kills. My. Blog.

Here's a devotional I wrote for RTF:

I got back from a Christian speech and leadership camp in Tennessee just a few short weeks ago. I was exhilarated – and at the same time, discouraged. Looking ahead to the humdrum ways of real, regular high school living sounded remarkably unappealing. After a time of really focusing on God, it didn’t seem fitting that I should shove myself back into the routine of my regular year.

I’ve probably already made it very clear that I’m not all that into change. I’ve had the same haircut for five years, keep a calendar to help me manage my routine, and don’t like to mix up my daily schedule much. So I came up with a brilliant solution to my dilemma: I’d simply replicate my summer and try to stay in the same mental state as during my break.

A great idea, until I realized that it was an impossible goal. Ecclesiastes 3:1 states that there is a season for everything. By pushing my past season into my present season, I was only setting myself up for disappointment.

Here are some tips and tricks to transitioning into the real world that I found helpful:

Accept that change is going to happen. That was my biggest problem – denying that God had something else in mind for this season in my life. When I became excited about the new steps I would be taking, whether those be school-related, family-related, or church-related, I realized that I didn’t have to hold on to the things that were now past me.

Be excited - God’s doing something new! If you like to hold onto the familiar because it worked or you enjoyed it, be encouraged that God pushes you into new and fantastic things. If you’re determined to go along with whatever God has in mind for this new season in your life, you’re sure to be better prepared to do what he calls you to do.

Combine both new and old. If you’re not the kind of person who stays in a rut for long, be sure that you don’t toss out the great experiences you had this summer. Balance looking forward to the new, and remembering and learning from the old.

I hope you all have a great start to your school year!

Screening Calls

Why you should never screen phone calls:

The last time I screened an out-of-state call (Virginia), I found out days late that I had taken 4th in the Patrick Henry College short story contest (my story's on their website - here)

This time, my sister didn't answer a different Virginia call.

I find out today that I took 3rd place in the Home School Legal Defense Association (HSLDA) Poetry contest. It was a Sestina poem (not the one I posted a few months ago) but I'm not sure which one out of the two I wrote took the placing, but I'm really really really excited. It should be up fairly soon on the HSLDA website here. I'll post when I find out that it's been put up.

God bless,
Catey
Who has no luck in screening calls

***EDIT***
My poem is now up on the HSLDA website, and for the first time, I actually feel pretty good about this one. I did not expect this to be the winner (it felt pious when I submitted it, but it's a unique look at the topic.) but I am very very happy nonetheless. You may read it at this link: http://www.hslda.org/Contests/Poetry/2009/2009poems.asp#Catey.
Echoes in ink,
Catey
Who also has no luck in predicting winning pieces

***LAST EDIT, I PROMISE***
Vote on my poll down below my blog name... I'm trying to gather opinions on something, and I'd love for yours to be a part of it!
Echoes in ink,
Catey
Who adds multiple edits to her blog posts

Bored?

I'm not bored. But if you are, I have the ideal solution for you (or even if you're not, I have a great thing for you to do)!

Kylie, Joss, and I are putting on the first ever annual Ignition Challenge, starting today and continuing through the month of June!

The Ignition Challenge, which can be found online at www.ignitionchallenge.wordpress.com , is loosely affiliated with Kids of Faith Online Magazine and is put on and written by the contributors. Our goal for Ignition is to challenge and encourage believers to take their relationships with God deeper this summer.

It's really exciting - with devotionals, stories, humor, and in-depth looks at four aspects of our walk with God posted every day from now till July 1st! We're hoping to reach as many people as possible in the month of June, so consider checking us out! We'd love for you to come visit.

For more information on the challenge, check out our vision statement here. See you there!

In love and on fire,

Catey, Co-Editor of Ignition

The Smell of Thought

I wanted to hope for a gift
Something set free from a cage with wings
And desperately, I hoped to gain
Something that would free me too

But I could not be freed
Until I could learn to give
And though I hated the inscrutable wind
I tried to scream my whispered warning

To it as I longed for pale sunsets
And words that would give me
Some sort of wish
That would give me hope

But hope is a quality quickly fleeting
And though I loathed the smell
Of thought, I thought
And thought of things

That no mortal should ever think of
No mere man should ever write of
But I did, because the cage demanded
Escape, and escape was of the outside world

And the outside world held disgust
And I wanted to understand that disgust
And find a way to make it beautiful
For it was not wrong to write

About wrong, because for wrong to be
Right must be, for hate to be,
Love must triumph. And I made
It triumph in every thought

And though I loathed the smell of
Blood, I thought of blood and water
And how the sky would pour forth stars
And damage the unsuspecting earth below

And I wondered how long it would be
Before another thinker would enter and
Think the dark and troubled thoughts I thought
But none would come for they feared

That light would never be back.
Except for one, and that was of
Another time, another year, moment
And dimension, and I longed

For another thought, a thought of joy
And a thought that would remove this
Elephant from my chest and
Let my heart beat freely again

It did not come and I drowned.
Darkness is not unlike water and water
Makes one drown when it is all around
And suddenly, light and darkness

Made their solemn dance around me
Like a wedding march, marrying themselves together
I screamed.
Because I was drowned and I

Could not see or breathe…
But it was not the end.
Light and dark are two means
To kill and to birth

And to embrace the light from
The side of the dark
As a great illumination watches
Is to find a joy that cannot be found

To fight an enemy that cannot be killed
To find a way that does not exist
To eat from the hand that made you
To know a God who cannot be known.

I keep writing poetry. Once again, I'm trying to improve my contest entry, and this one isn't even the right form, so I decided to post it. Poetry is a raw art and is a language of thought, best understood when overheard, I've decided.This one was just expression of something I can't understand. But I'm trying. Echoes in ink, C.

Sestina

She sits with her back to the bitter wind
The quiet cries of the pale in her hand
The little bird’s trusting muffled song
From within the shifting of his wings
Makes silent rufflings in the shadows
In the bird’s hushed-gentle throat.

The girl looks down and clears her throat.
As her mother follows the wayward wind
Into the paths of darkness, painful shadows
With her destiny in the palm of her hand
And, soaring on a devil’s wings
Distorts the girl’s pure playful song.

The little girl wishes she could sing a song
Like the bird’s, but the dust pains her throat
Instead, she holds the bird’s steady wings
Keeping him from flying into the wind
Stubborn, she holds bird and mother in hand,
She will not let them cross the shadows.

For a moment, she heard the silent shadows
Speak, and their words were the words of a song
That treasure held in conniving hand
Is a knife pushed down magician’s throat
But treasure thrown to the wiles of the wind
Is treasure that will grow bold white wings.

And if the treasure has strong white wings
Then it will call out creatures of the shadows
Who praise the glory of the wind
Whose ears will hail no sudden song
That rises from a sainted throat
But hopeful whisperings of moon at hand

The girl raises her freckled hand
And, arbitrarily, bird tests his wings
A joyful song in the girl’s one throat
As her mother glides in hidden shadows
And both join in the bird’s free song
They see now beauty in the free wind.

The girl holds the shadows like clay in her hand
And the gifted wings fly like the song
In her brave throat and float above the forgetful wind.

I wrote this poem for a contest, but I didn't like it in context enough to submit it as my entry. I wrote a better one that will be my entry. This one is just a pretty thought. I hope you enjoy it. Echoes in ink, C.

Kids of Faith

I promise... I really will post the Continuing Store Clerk Drama sometime, but life keeps happening.

The new issue of KOF is up at www.kidsoffaithonline.net today. You can check out my columns and my sister's new column on the site.

We're also doing a sneak peak into a summer program that I'm the assistant editor for, called Ignition.

Sparks of illumination,
C.

Part V of the Purple Mold Series

A story of life, love, desperation and mold of a rather unusual color by Kylie and I. (click the names below for links to the previous parts of the story)
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four

The wailing wouldn't stop.

It was Iyanna's wailing and she couldn't control it any more than she could control the destiny that had seized her and her unwilling family. It had been only a day since the violet mold had appeared in the outhouse. A day since disaster had come to be.

"Yan," a voice said softly by her ear. "It's time to wake up." A masculine voice. Hmmm. There was something significant about this voice, wasn't there? If her tired, frozen mind could only melt a little, maybe she could remember...

She swallowed and opened her eyes. A man knelt next to her bed. Two piercing grey eyes shone out of the still of the dawn room. She clamped her mouth shut to keep the scream from escaping.

Who was this man and how had he got into her room? She looked frantically around for Westin, but his bedclothes were rumpled, signaling the fact that he had indeed left.

"Calm down, little sister." The man said, releasing her from the burden of his silvery eye contact. "I promise, I'm here to help you."

"Who are you?" She said, her voice painfully level.

"I'm called Arioch." He extended a hand. She looked at it, unsure of what he meant.

He pulled his hand back again. "Oh, sorry about that. Custom I've grown familiar with. I assume you are Iyanna?"

She narrowed her eyes. How did he know so much about her? "Yes. How do you know that?"

He smiled. A brilliant, silvery smile to be sure. The light of the stars was captured in his shimmering smile. "Do you like to fly?"

Fly? This man, Arioch as he called himself, was a lunatic. "What kind of question is that?" she snapped at him.

"A perfectly valid one." He said, looking down at his long, pale fingers. "Well, do you?"

"Like to fly?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I've never flown before." Lunatic. Stark, raving mad.

"Oh. That's a shame." He smiled again, and she couldn't tell whether he was joking or serious. "Do you want to fly?"

"No." The answer came to her lips without her thinking about it. Her heart started to increase its beats in speed. The crazy man was making her nervous.

"Again, a shame. Do you like sunsets?"

"Yes." she said cautiously.

"Good! Now we're beginning to understand each other!" He slapped a hand onto her shoulder.


Understand each other? Iyanna's mind raced. Understand? Nothing could be further from the truth!

Arioch must have interpreted the look on her face accurately, because he said, "Don't worry, little sister. You will understand much later. Tell me, what do you know about stars?"

She glared at him from under her eyelids.

He just smiled his roguish grin back at her. "That's fine. I just want to get to know you a little more."

"Then maybe you could actually ask me something that mattered!"

"What do you suggest?"

Iyanna stopped. What was important? "You could ask me about the violet mold."

"So, why has the Creator bestowed this violet mold upon you, sweet Iyanna?" Arioch leaned back on his elbows, stretching his long frame.

"I don't know."

"Then why did you tell me to ask that?" Arioch quirked one side of his mouth up.

"Maybe you have... answers." Iyanna's tongue was running away with her mind. What was she thinking?

"Hmm." Arioch sat back up. "Answers. I have no answers. Never. But the Creator holds knowledge in the palm of his hand. Inquire of him. Who knows? He may choose to speak through his humble servant."

It took Iyanna a moment to realize he was referring to himself. "No." She chewed her lower lip, bitter. "If the Creator would deprive me of my life, my safety, my brother, he's not worth it all, is he?"

Arioch looked serious. "Your brother? What about your brother?"

"The mold was his, wasn't it?"

"You seem to think I know things that I don't know. But if this is really something that disturbs you, then I need you to do something ridiculous."

Everything you've said so far has been ridiculous.

"Hold very tightly to my hand, and don't let go." He said, extending his hand in her direction. "Promise me, whatever happens, you won't let go."

Iyanna slipped her hand into his, her concern for Westin outweighing all reason. "I won't... let go."

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Arioch was gone. She was gone. Nothing.

Nothing.

The light had faded into nothing. Nothing.

She tried to move, but found that her clenched hand still bound her to where she was.

The darkness glimmered into hazy brilliance. What a strange dream. The world was back. She must have hit her head on the low ceiling or something. A bird was singing.

"Yan?"

Iyanna would know that voice anywhere. "Westin!" She leaped from the ground, which she now recognized as moss, and ran toward him. His face was pale, but he looked happy. Happier than he had been in a long time.

She couldn't reach him. Her hand bound her in place.

Whatever happens, don't let go. Arioch's words echoed across the familiarity of it all. Promise me, whatever happens, don't let go.

Iyanna let go. The nightmarish darkness, nothingness was here.

She had forgotten, in the lovely morning and her brother's warm face, the terror of this. She screamed, but the scream was torn from her throat in a desperate force.

"Sweetie, wake up." The voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel of wind.

"Katia! Bring her around!"

"She's having a seizure, sir! I can't do... anything." The voices were fading and growing, hitting grandiose notes of crescendo and decrescendo.

Then the roar overwhelmed them, and Iyanna was alone, away from Arioch, whose hand had fallen from hers.

And far, far away from sweet Westin.

So... did you see that coming? Check back on Kylie's site in the near future for Part VI.

Check it out...

I'm up on the Patrick Henry College site with my winning story today! If you'd like to read it, visit: http://patrickhenrycollege.com/acalltopens.php
Just click my name.


I also would like to continue on my wonderful Aunty's site and write a haiku (or maybe two or three... I tend to get carried away. Haiku is my second favorite poem, second to the depressing freestyles I write...)



White splash in sunlight

Darkness fleeing sunshine bright

Brilliance of morning.



Tree dances in wind

Mischievious giggles of breeze

Lovely soul of spring.

The Best End to the Worst Week

Okay, maybe the worst week is a little bit of an exaggeration, but it was a really bad week. I have been up sooo late (almost as late as the October-writing-contest-spree... but not quite) this week doing stupid stuff, like my million speech and writing assignments and Chemistry and listening to my stressed sister practice her speech over and over.

And then, someone has got mad at me every day for the past six days (no, I'm not counting. Why do you ask?).

My writing wasn't paying off anywhere. The up-til-two-ever-night-October-writing-contest-spree contests all came back negative. None of my recent queries have been accepted.

I was incredibly discouraged about everything. Was this really my thing? Was I really any good at this?

Obviously, no one thought so.

But all of that changed this morning!!!!!

So, using the approved venue of communication (a.k.a. the heater vent) I wake up to a familiar sound "CATEY!!!!!"

Thinking that my instance of someone being angry at me was coming a little early this morning, I ran upstairs. My mom is screaming into the phone and saying, "You are an honorable mention in the PHC writing contest!!!!!"

Story:

This was not part of the October-writing-contest-spree. This was part of the November "Why Can't I Have a Normal Life???" contest (yes, the one with exactly 1499 words and the creepy PakMail clerk... check it out here and here) I have thought for a while that this was also a negative response. Today was the contest deadline to hear back from the judges, and the contact was supposed to come through email by today. My inbox sits empty.

So, apparently, they broke their own rules. I was called yesterday evening (my sister didn't pick up the phone because she didn't recognize the number and didn't want to deal with a solicitor) but my mom didn't check the message til this morning!!!

So, the story is titled "Outside the Glass Box" and it's exactly 1499 words long. It will be posted on Patrick Henry College's website sometime today (I've been checking back often. Maybe a little too often). If you'd like to read it, I'll provide a link to the homepage of PHC's website (since they, ahem, have not posted anything yet) here: http://patrickhenrycollege.com/

Sparks of illumination,
C.

P.S. Coming up next.... Part V of the Purple Mold Series...

Because I Promised Kylie I'd Write A Short About Purple Mold...

Iyanna screamed. One long, loud note of desperation and horror rang out in the quiet of the small hut.

Westin ran in to the outhouse, where Iyanna stood, tears leaking from her eyes and both hands pressed hard against her open mouth. She was shaking. Her brother grasped her hard on her shoulders. "Yan! What's wrong? Answer me!"

Iyanna wanted to scream again, to tell him that the end had come, that he was hurting her, but she could never judge her brother. He was as afraid as was she... desperately afraid. She melted, sobbing, into his arms.

He stroked her hair, held her tight until the shaking subsided. "What's wrong?"

She sat up, looked him in the eye, and said, "Look around you, West. Look what's happening." She felt a tremor start in her hands again as he observed, with a look of pure terror, the walls of the room.

Reddish violet mold had crept up the walls in just a matter of hours. It gave the room a dark, dank hue and an unpleasant odor.

But that was not the reason for their fear. This mold was more than just a structural problem. Everyone in Voresct knew the significance of the violet mold. It's rarity made it instantly recognizable. No one knew quite where it came from, only that it was a gift from the God who had created their land. Simply put, the violet mold warned of conflict, of war, and mostly, of death.

War had not come to Voresct in sixty-nine years. Recently, it had threatened only the very outer borders. But this? This sign that open war and quick death were coming to Iyanna's farm? Something had to be wrong.

Iyanna sat, staring at the voracious mold that threatened their lives, long after Westin left. At thirteen years old, Iyanna hardly knew what to make of it all. She was too young to die. She hadn't done anything worthwhile yet. The mold could not speak of her death. Her three younger sisters? She shuddered. Not them. So tiny, so innocent. She would not allow it. Her mother? Too weak and careworn to be of any notice.

Her heart leaped. Westin? No. No. Her hands started to shake again. She bit her tongue and willed herself to stop tremoring. Sweet Westin, her adored, adorable big brother, was the air she breathed. He meant everything to her. She wasn't sure she could make it with him dead. No, she was quite sure she couldn't.

Tendrils of musty odor slipped into her hair. She clasped both hands together, hard. Please God, she said, If there is a God, save my brother's life. Don't let this omen come to pass. Spare us. Spare us.

( The purple mold is from Kylie. I promised her I'd write a short that involved purple mold that warned of attacks. This was the result. It's totally strange, but maybe you'll enjoy seeing a piece of my brainstorm-stories. If not, stick around and I'll post something more serious in a day or two. - C.
An added note: If you want to read Part II of The Purple Mold Trilogy [no, I did not come up with the name- that was Kylie] go ahead and visit her blog at www.reflections412.wordpress.com. -C.)

Totally Excited

You guys are probably all aware that I've been working on a lot of publishing opportunities and contests recently. I'm still waiting to hear back on most of those, but today I heard back on one that I thought God had closed the door on.

You may have heard me mention the online writer's group I'm part of (it's AMAZING!) The girl who runs it just got her book published. It's called Devos 2 Go, by Lydia Rule and the link for it is here.

She asked those of us on her writing group to write up some short devos/vignettes for her book. I just barely got mine in on deadline. Her editor got back to me and told me either he or Lydia would be in touch with me if either of my pieces were selected. I never heard back, so I assumed I hadn't made the cut.

Lydia sent me a copy of her book and I received it today. Signed on the inside was: Catey - Thanks for writing for my book! Enjoy! God bless, Lydia Y. Rule (See pages 105 and 110 : ) )

And there I was! Both of my devos are in there! I had NO IDEA!!! I'm really excited- this is, after all, my first print publication.

If you want to check out her book (it's really cool) you can at the link above.

Merry Christmas,

C.

Why Can't I Just Have A Normal Life???

You know what that means. It's time for another sort-of-true story about life (but this one happens to be totally true without any embellishment)

So, you guys are probably aware of my contest and publication craze that I did last month (you can read a little bit of my opinions on it here.) This month I thought I had it easy. One CWG assignment, an easy RTF assignment, some fun KOF assignments and one contest. Well, that contest was just about the death of me.

I submitted it today. Yesterday, I was finishing up my denouement (closing) scene. Now, my denouement is usually highly significant, highly emotion-packed and my favorite one to write. So I check my word count to see how long I could make it.

The short story was supposed to be 1200 words (insert one of Catey's loudest high-pitched screams). I had used up 1147 of them. Yikes. That's a really bad situation.

About three seconds away from a heart attack, I checked the website to make sure it was 1200 words. I was quite relieved to find that it was actually 1500 words, buying me an extra 300.

Still, 300 words???? What kind of short story is this???

So, after using all but twenty of my 300 words to tie up my story (which I was NOT enjoying and didn't even sound good to me) I started to read over for spelling/punctuation errors.

And that's when I realized it. Why was this section here? I had moved that scene to be the second scene, instead of the opening. What was going on? I read down the document - realized I had forgotten to delete the scene once I moved it.

I now had 415 extra words.

And I wasn't about to let them go to waste!!! I promptly went back into my document and inserted my 415 extra words, reread and...

Realized that I was now 60 words over count. How do I ALWAYS manage to do that??

Want to know my final word count? 1499 words.

A Short Opinion

I haven't posted in a while, so here are my less-than-entertaining thoughts about life.

Today was co-op. My mom, my friend Emily (of doomed razor fame) and I did an interview for writing class. It was so much fun, but now my brain is dead. That is bad, considering tomorrow is Chemistry (moles... moooooooooles!) and my brain can't be dead for Chemistry.

Today was also Lit class. We're reading Ivahoe, and one of the characters (Locksley is his name) is the equivalent of Robin Hood. All of us LOVE Locksley and LOVE Robin Hood. I personally think it's wonderful that in the wake of great events and substantial, formidable evils and spectacularly glorious bravery, we have such people as Locksley/Robin Hood. If we didn't have them, I'd be tempted to think that people were so very different then, so far from who I am, that I couldn't understand them.

King Arthur is my personal favorite maybe-true person. I like to believe that Arthur was real, in some form. He is so deeply imbedded in English history and mythology that it would be strange if some such person didn't exist, or maybe even several persons who made up, together, this King Arthur that we have come to love.

I was so inspired by this merry brave King that I decided to write about him in one of my stories. It is a rather unusual story, taking places over thousands of years and told in several perspectives. I put in some interesting twists to his character. His name isn't actually Arthur, but rather, his title (since he is a warrior) is the Bear. The word Arthur means 'bear'. He is sort of elected leader of his small city-state that he recaptures from the enemy, but not officially. He works through a weak monarch. He's supposed to be married to a girl named Gwynnhyfvar, who is a Welsh princess, but we all know the story of King Arthur's misfortune with his wife Queen Guinevere. This is the man I wrote to be King Arthur, but not in the same way as so many see him.

Thinks like these add interest to one's story, because they not only add credibility, but they make people, places, events and times real to a reader.

I call people like King Arthur, Robin Hood, Salome and the like the forgotten heroes of history. We don't even necessarily know they existed, and if they did exist, we are certainly not sure what they were really like. But certain actions who never have their source identified, certain character traits, certain things suggested by the story can be applied to these forgotten heroes to give them a new role in a story where they star now as heroes, and not simply characters who are and then are not.

It gives the writer ultimate freedom. If nothing is known about someone but the events and people surrounding him or her, the writer is free to do whatever he or she wants with the person. At the end of everything, this means that these people can even answer nagging questions that we've always had about a time period.

I think they're fun.

Have any of you ever thought about characters or people like these? Have any of you attempted writing them?

Forgive this rambling... it's my excuse for a blog update. : )

The reason I haven't posted in a month....

Well, there are actually a lot of reasons I haven't posted in a month, none of which would sound good - EXCEPT:

As some of you may know, I was pouring out my heart and soul in no fewer than nine writing assignments due between Thursday and now. It may interest you to know that I DID, indeed, get them all done, but that my brain was fried and I didn't post on my blog. Apologies.

Well, now you may see many of those heart-and-soul-poured-out articles on my wonderful friend and fellow writer's online newsletter: kidsoffaithonline.net.

Please visit if you get the chance - the newsletter is just starting to take off. Before a few months ago, Kylie (the editor) was the one and only writer, and then I was on for a month before being taken on as the second writer. Now, much to my delight, I am one of four wonderful young ladies and one amazing young man as contributors on the site.

And - one of the most exciting things for me - Kylie says I get to run the fiction column all by myself!!!! I haven't had my fiction published on a forum in FOREVER!!!!

On a more excuse-for-why-I-didn't-post-all-month- note, I totally killed my hand yesterday (and by killed, I mean, killed). We had friends over and for some UNKNOWN reason we decided it would be fun to play monkey in the middle. Yeah... that was really smart on my part. I am very small - like 5'2" on a really, really good day. My sister is my same height (but she's three years younger) and her friend who was over is an inch shorter than us. The other person playing was my friend - a young man of barely fifteen who quite decidedly towers above me. He is no fewer than eight inches taller than me - and that makes monkey in the middle very difficult. So, I found my newest athletic talent (chortle... what athletic talent?) in volleyball. I could jump up into the air and hit the ball out of the sky, but I would end up on the floor every time. The last time I did so, I tripped over my friend's foot on the way down and ended up smashing into a wall - hand first. At least that loud cracking noise wasn't my head... that's what he said, at least. Now my hand is bruised and I'm having a hard time typing with my right hand (which is bad... because I'm right-handed).

Anyway, for all the blog posts that I should have made, but didn't, visit: kidsoffaithonline.net

A Much-Needed Blog Update

Sorry for my failure to update. My aunt is staying with us and I sort of forgot about blogging. Here's a short story I wrote a while back that I think you might enjoy:

“That’s not possible.” Samuel looked up at his mother. This couldn’t be happening.

Elana was dying.

Samuel’s adored big sister was only seventeen. Out of the seven kids in the family, he and Elana were closest in age, only two years apart. The other kids were brats. His mom and Elana probably wouldn’t agree, but he couldn’t stand them. Collectively, Nina, Mia, Leslie and Izzy-belle were the four meanest people he could think of. Only he and Paul and Elana were the normal kids of the family. Technically, Paul and Elana weren’t normal, but they were nice. Even when Paul was being disassociative (which wasn’t a word unless you were Paul) or Elana got into one of her “Mother Theresa” moods, they were never mean.

“It’s possible.” Samuel’s mother drew him back into the present. “Elana is sick. She’s going to die.”

“Does she know that?” Samuel jumped out of the hospital chair, slamming his palm down onto the plastic table. “Did you tell her she’s dying?”

“Of course she knows!” His mother’s voice also escalated in volume, but not in anger.

“What did she say?”

“She wanted to pray about it.”

“Pray about whether or not she is going to die?” What was Elana thinking? You didn’t pray about something like that. You prayed about solutions. You asked for help. At least, that was how Samuel thought of it.

Maybe Samuel just didn’t understand God well enough.

-

Samuel refused to wait one second longer. He charged down the hall to Elana’s hospital room.

She sat on the bed, her peridot eyes focused on something Samuel couldn’t see, searchingly.

“Elana?”

She turned toward him. Her face was thinner than he remembered.

“Samuel! How did you know I wanted to see you?”

“Paul.” Samuel sunk heavily into a folding chair. “Paul always knows what people need.”

“Paul’s special that way. I was much like him when I was five.” Drawn into her memories, she continued in a dreamy voice, “You are special too. I think you have yet to discover your talent.”

“I don’t have one. I’m not ‘special’ like you or Paul, and I can’t do anything cool like the sisters. What’s my talent?”

She hesitated. “It wouldn’t be fair to God if I told you.”

“How can someone be unfair to God? Aren’t you always telling me that he’s in control of everything?”

“Of course.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“I’m sorry. I just see that you have a lot to learn.” She paused, but before she could continue, the rest of the family came in.

Elana exclaimed, “How did you know I wanted to see you all?”

“I don’t know.” Paul said. “I just thought you would.” His cornflower blue eyes shone.

“Just ‘cause you saw Samuel go in, Bug-Brain.” Leslie said.

Samuel ignored Elana’s sympathetic look. “Shut up, Leslie!”

Elana’s face fell. Why did it bother her when he wasn’t the perfect big brother?

She whipped the curtain shut. “I’m tired. I’m glad I got to see you before I go to sleep. Can someone come by to see me tomorrow? Samuel and Paul don’t have anything to do.”

Samuel’s mother hesitated. “Maybe.”

As the family exited, Elana caught Samuel and whispered in his ear, “God’s ready for you. Are you ready for him?” He started to ignore her, but she continued. “Show me how much you love Mama and those little ones. See you in the morning.”

-

Samuel flopped into a chair beside the hospital bed. It was not quite 3 am. He and Paul were up in the middle of the night, Samuel with questions, Paul with answers.

Paul had tried to explain what he called “sovereignty” to Samuel, but try as he might, it still didn’t make sense. All Samuel could think of to say was, “If God is a loving God, he wouldn’t do this. I need Elana.”

After Samuel had said this about three times, Paul gave up on him. “You know, if I’m the next best thing to Elana when it comes to explaining stuff to you, I’ve got a lot to learn. This is going right over your head. Let’s go see Elana.”

Samuel had protested, though that was really what he wanted. If Paul thought it was a good idea to visit her, he was probably right.

Elana looked over the edge of the bed at Samuel. “I thought you might visit tonight. Samuel needed someone to talk to. I’m glad you were awake, Paul.”

“I do a pretty miserable job at explaining to Samuel.”

“You’ll learn. What did you want to ask me?”

Samuel had a thousand questions before. Now only one came to mind. “Why is God doing this?”

Elana’s forehead creased. “Don’t know. Maybe my work’s done here and God’s ready for me to come home. Maybe it’s for Paul’s sake, so that he has a chance to use his gift without me getting in the way. Maybe it’s for you. Your faith and love, they’ve never really been real to you. This trial is going to make or break you. Do you understand?”

Samuel understood all too well. Faith and love were everything. He didn’t have either. Elana and Paul did, and you could see it in everything they did. The girls didn’t have that love either, and that was why they were so mean.

“Samuel,” Paul said, “Don’t cry on me. There’s a lot more than just that. Take my Bible for a second.” He handed a black book to Samuel from his coat pocket. “Look up 1 Corinthians 13:7-8 and verse 13.”

“Love always protects, always hopes, always trusts, always perseveres. Love never fails. And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

“So, even if I do die, my love lives on. It never fails. Three things remain, Samuel. Faith, hope and love. Faith is your trust in God. Hope is the expectancy that things will get better than this. And love is the greatest thing in the world. And that’s what binds me to you, Samuel. And nothing can ever break that. Nothing in the world. And, if I do die, you’re going to be big brother to all these kids. Your love needs to spill over to them. Can you do that?” Elana gazed down at him.

Paul crawled up on the chair behind him. “I’m always there for you too. I’m only five, I’ve got a lot to learn, but, I’m always there to pray for you.”

“I can do that.”

-

It had been a week since Samuel learned the power of love. Elana was still going to die, but somehow it was better.

Love never fails. .

That was what was getting him through.

He still wasn’t completely at peace with Elana’s impending death, but he knew God would get him through it. Love would prevail.

He sat down on the sofa. The cushion Samuel was on dipped. Paul crawled up behind, and wrapped an arm around Samuel’s shoulder.

And in that moment, Samuel felt love pouring down on him. A voice whispered, “I love you, Samuel. Nothing can separate us.”

He smiled. “Nothing in the world.”

-