Joy

is what it's all about. Bringing joy to other people, doing things that bring you joy. Most importantly, bringing joy to God. I figure if I can find something that glories God, makes me happy, and other people can enjoy, then my life will be complete. My hope is that writing, art, music, or theatre will be involved in that thing, whatever it is. But wherever He takes me, I'll be content. I hope. *crosses fingers*

Tired tired tired

tired tired tired
Blah.
I've had a really great week, I must say. Hanging with relatives I haven't seen in ages and a couple people I'm not exactly/only sorta related to that I'd never met before. I've listened to good music and danced my heart out. I've been laughingly insulted and seriously complimented by people I truly enjoy spending time with. I watched my cousin marry a man that fits her perfectly, and observed another cousin and her fiance interact, a godly match indeed. I've considered what makes Love greater than like, and why I'm glad to be a young girl.
God is good. The Great Romance is good (re: Tedd Dekker). Love is good. All you need is love. Etc.
<3 that's all folks.

She's married!

Today, my cousin Erica Owens married Phil and became Erica Evans, which is a cute name anyway. :) The wedding was beautiful, we all worked quite hard to accomplish a lot, and they're married! It was a blast.

Oops.

So I didn't blog the past few days, messing up my all time record of what, six days in a row? But it's because, for some reason, my computer wouldn't let me log in to blogger! How odd is that? Anyways, we're pretty busy so I won't be able to write much today, either. :(

Driving... Driving... I'm in Michigan now!

I'm typing on the road, as we drive through Missouri, Indiana, Illinois, Indiana, and (sometime this afternoon) Michigan. I haven't put up any writings from the past few days, and I hardly wrote any Monday or Tuesday, although I did write some. However, I wrote a lot Sunday and plan on writing a lot today, so it makes up, I think. Here's the short story I wrote Sunday.

The lights are down low and the music is playing softly. The sound of worship resounds through the building. Softly, so unobtrusively that at first no one notices her, a young girl enters the room. She doesn't come through the entrances most people use, but she slides in using a door set into the back corner of the stage, tripping lightly past the drum set and flitting her fingertips through the atmospheric candles. In her other hand she holds the laces of two dirty combat boots, and tucked under her arm is an old, warn Bible. Softly, she folds up on the stage, back from the activity but still visible from the audience. Boots leaning against her knee, she peels open the corner of the Bible and begins to read.

When the musicians stop, they set their instruments aside and move past as if they don't see her at all. The pastor walks on stage and begins preaching. The girl sweeps back her tangled hair behind her ears and pulls a folded sheet of paper and a stub of pencil from a pocket and begins taking notes, tapping her foot under her knee as she writes, pencil, hair, knee, and foot bobbing up and down, offbeat from each other. Throughout the sermon she occasionally pauses and braids tiny strands of her tangled red hair, her bright green eyes flashing from the candles to the preacher to her notes and back. Near the end of the sermon she yawns grandly, stretching her lithe arms wide, and then pillows her head on her bulky shoes, clutching her Bible and paper close.

After the sermon ends, she peeks up and glances around, but whatever she looks for does not present itself. Laying back down, she props her sock-footed legs up on the piano bench. Her colorful but faded dress shifts, but its many layers drape so thickly that she is still covered. After a time, the chattering people move to and fro, drifting out of the church until only a few clumps of people remain, their children running around happily. One little boy gallops up the steps to the stage and stops, looking back at his friends. They continue playing happily. Timidly, the boy walks up to the strange girl and reaches out, as if unable to stop himself, gently flicking the tip of the girl's ears. Her eyes flash open and her feet swing around, stopping in midair inches from his arm.

“Hello there, little boy,” she says, dropping her feet and sitting up. “Are you lost?” the boy asks, but speaks again before she can answer. “Why are your ears pointed? Where are your parents? Won't you get in trouble for, for, for not wearing shoes and being on stage and sleeping during the sermon?” Laughing, the girl pokes his nose, shaking her head. “I know where I am, my parents are Someplace Else, I hardly ever wear shoes, I go where I want, and sleep when I want.” The little boy gapes in astonishment. “No shoes!?” he queries, shocked. She nods solemnly, and then says, “Shouldn't you go with your parents? I think they're waiting for you.”

Turning, the boy glances into the pews. “Oh, yeah, I guess I better go. Bye, Lady.” He waves, and tumbles down the steps, running through a knot of his friends, tugging on his mother's skirt and pointing back at the stage. “Not now, honey, Mommy's talking. What is it, dear? No, I don't see anyone on the stage.” As the family hurries off to their busy life, the boy looks back, and the girl wriggles her fingers at him, laughing. He smiles and hurries after his parents to the car. She laughs, gathers her combat boots and Bible up again, and flits out the stage door and off to wherever she came from again, happy.

(That's what I wrote Sunday, unedited, exactly as I set it down then. I think I'll add on to it eventually, and the main story will be about the boy grown up, either high school/college age or an adult. Here's what I wrote Monday. It's not exactly fiction, and it didn't get very far, but eh. It's what got written.)

Girls in love are like a cat chasing the little red dot from a laser pointer. We gallop after it at full speed, gracefully turning sometimes and running into chairs other times. Finally it's right there, and we pounce, only to see it floating just out of reach once again. Confused, we reach out for it, and it disappears, only to flicker up on the wall across the room, or right in between our paws for a moment before the person controlling the laser pointer gets bored and moves on, leaving us swiping the air and looking around bewilderedly, wondering what we did wrong.

(I wrote this after playing with Squirrel and talking with one of my friends about life. Here's two loose items from yesterday, and then I'll get to work writing for today!)

A comment about writing:
All the finely sculpted plots with lovable characters who say funny things and do exciting stuff that I've ever heard of are already taken . . . so I make do with my own writings.

A short poem:
Just because I'm colorblind
Doesn't mean I don't see the light.
My being stuck in a bind
Doesn't indicate a helpless plight.
Some times I trip and fall
On something I never saw,
Build a mountain on something small,
Rub it 'til it's raw.
But I have hope for a better day
That I can see up ahead.
I'll live my life a better way,
And not feel quite so dead.

(There 'tis! My writings from the past few days. Now I'll read for a while and then work on something for today.)

Note: I ended up working on my book for my writing today. It's classified, For My Eyes Only until I get somewhere I like with it, although I know some people who'll be willing to help me with editing, especially since I took a metaphorical red pen to their stories with a vengeance, Some of which happens to be the other writing I did today. :) But only because I like their stories so much, honest.
So that's all for the moment.


Now I'm in Michigan, talking with cousins about weddings, and music, and it's grand!

Just barely

Everything today is just barely. I wrote some today as well, but not fiction. Does that count?
And I haven't had time to type up my writing from yesterday or the day before yet. I fail. But hopefully tomorrow I'll get those things done. Right? Right? Yeah right. :p

I'll write later today

Because I don't really have time right now. I'm doing all my internet things real quick right now and then I need to go put the clothes I laid out for my trip into a bag and put my books in my backpack, fix me some breakfast, and anything else mom says needs doing.
<3 More later.

I wrote today... On paper.

A nice long story on paper can turn into a nice short story in a word doc. I haven't put up my two and a half page handwritten story yet, but I'll type it up tomorrow and put it in, ja?
<3 That's all for now!

Mansion in Turqouise

Again, this is one I started a long time ago, and my writing for today was adding on to it. I don't know if it will ever go far, but it's a writing excercise that I often do. I saw this picture and I just had to write about it. So here's the picture, and then the writing. NOTE: nevermind, the picture wouldn't load. I'll figure it out and put it in later. Sorry for any confusion.

As he scurried along the side of the plaza the young man carefully kept his face turned away from the stairs, the tower, and especially from the light shining through the many crevices in the walls of the central tower, the focal point of the entire set-up. He concentrated on the rough cobblestones at his feet, the fluted pillars along the walls, anything except that tower, with it's shimmering, captivating light, and the horrors he knew glancing at it would remind him of. For this reason he did not notice the large metal bar installed at head height along the wall until it was too late to avoid it. His last thought as his world faded to black was “I hope I have a concussion.” I suppose this seems rather odd to you, reading this account in your comfortable chair, seated in your comfortable living room, living your comfortable life. However, no one that knew the young man would be surprised that it was so. They would merely shudder for him, knowing his fate rested in unkind hands from here. Knowing that dying of a concussion or a broken neck would be a far preferable fate to that which awaited him if he was found. You may wish to put on some soothing music and perhaps pour yourself a nice cup of hot chocolate or lemonade, depending on the climate, because the next part of this story may cause you to lose a little bit of that comfort, that assurance in the ease of your life, as you connect with this young man. For the next part of our story tells how he was found, and what happened after.

thud... thud... Thud... Thud. THUD. THUD! THUD! The footsteps of the group of soldiers thundered in the eerie silence of the plaza as the paraded before their master. He frowned disapprovingly and muttered orders to the man, if he can be called a man, who groveled at his side. He was not the only one who watched, for his servants had flooded into this area in preparation for his arrival. One of them, trembling with fear and perchance the hope of a reward, walked slowly, cautiously, towards one of the men who stood, straight, tall, and severe, a few feet behind their master. The servant gestured furtively at a guard on the end, who bent his head down and glared at the servant. However, as the servant walked nearer, shaking nervously, and whispered in the guard's ear, his face lost its sullen stare and greed spread across it like a blanket spread out on a lawn in preparation for a picnic.

Striding up to the groveling man next to the master, he bowed even lower, because this sniveling wretch was second in command, despite appearances.

I did write yesterday, I promise!

I just didn't get a chance to put it up until today. It's for an English assignment, the prompt was to write journal entries from Chewbacca's perspective. I don't really like the way it turned out, but... Eh. Here it is.

Dear Diary,

Sometimes I just don't understand Han. The kid, Luke, comes up with all these crazy ideas and he just goes along with it. How come he never goes along with my ideas? But nooo, for me he shouts “Go on in, you furry oaf!”, and he called me dainty! Of all the... I think he's having a mid-life crisis, that's what I think. I'd never say it to his face, but when he goes from charging at a whole platoon of Imperial Troopers, BY HIMSELF, to mooning over that crazy princess, flirting with her all the time. . . I've gotta say, he looks more and more like he's gone over the deep end these days.

Sure, we've done some pretty off-the-wall stuff in our time, but he's hardly ever stupid. Showing off for that stuck up little human all the time, as if her opinion matters. It's always been us against the world, me and him, no girls allowed, ever since he was a kid. I've looked out for him, and he's looked out for me, even if we don't always see eye to eye. Looking into a humans eyes is hard, I tell ya, when you have to bend just to keep from hitting the ceilings! But we've always stuck together, we've always been partners. . . Now I feel more like a big fuzzy sidekick. Hold on, we're about to land on some jungle planet. . .
Dear Diary,
Now this is more like the Han I know! Grabbing the dough and running off to spend it, saving his own hide. Maybe now we can finally get back to having fun, instead of saving obnoxious princesses and taking them wherever they want to go all the time. OK, maybe we only did that once, but it felt like forever! She actually hugged me, can you believe it? Like some kind of teddy bear. Blech.

We'll probably head to some bar and spend some of this lovely reward before paying off Jabba and finally moving on with our lives. I almost prefer that big slimy monster to that Leia. Walking around acting like she's so smart, taking charge just because we're not always sure exactly what to do, even calling Han names. . . Man, I'm glad we never have to see her again! Hold up, Han's telling me something. . .
Dear Diary,
Can you believe it?? Just when I thought the man had come to his senses, Han decided we'd better head back and help the pathetic Alliance fight the most powerful force in the universe. What did they ever do to us anyway? I remember that princess never thanking us for our trouble, shoving us into a trash compactor, leading us all over the galaxy like her private jet. . . As if that wouldn't turn us away, she actually asked us to help her little force take on Vader and his Death Star. Of course we said no. . .

But then Han gets this idea to swoop back in and save the day, like some sort of cowboy riding out of the sunset! And after he and I rescued all their rears again, we had to stand through that awful ceremony, with all the shouting and throwing things, and that stupid princess put some sort of torture device on my neck. And that dumb 'droid who thought he was so much smarter than me was there again! Smirking it me just because I didn't memorize the handbook for that game. . . Bah. I'm gonna go spend some of that reward, long as we're somewhere with shops, not off rescuing people who don't deserve it.



That's all, folks! What do you think?

Things to Do Today

The list said "Things to Do Today" at the top. Innocent enough, but why was it sitting on my bedside table? I didn't recognize the handwriting, and the items on the list...
> Buy postcards, yogurt
> Cat silencer?
> Metal cages
> Fluffy slippers
> Application essays - talk about achievements! Be unique!
> Christmas presents
> Music to Torture/write/sleep By
> Wigs - realistic, not cheesy
> Binoculars (Not pink)
> Christmas hats - don't forget the fuzzy bobbles!
> Study for final - comprehensive! No explosions this time!

Well. Let us just say that some of the items on the list concerned me. I glanced out my window and saw a wall. No... I glanced to where my window should have been, and saw a wall. My hands rested on my own covers, arms encased in my own pajamas, my own bed and bedside table... But not the right room. My lamps, paintings, and post-it-notes dotted the room, much the same as they should have... But this was not my room.
What is going on? I thought to myself. I still don't know. My clock says 3:00, but AM or PM? And is it even accurate? It must have been unplugged... I have no way to know. The door is locked, bolted, and barred. I would say I'm beginning to freak out, but I'm past that point. How the heck did this happen?

Not Quite Right

Today I worked on a story I wrote a long time ago. I added to the end of it and did a tad of editing to the earlier parts.
Here it is so far.


I stepped into the elevator casually, not in any big hurry. My son would rather I take a long time picking him up anyways, he had friends to hang out with after school. “Oh, um, lobby,” I stuttered when the suited man next to me asked which floor I wanted. The elevator shifted and begin to rumble upwards.

The building had recently redone all the elevators with thick carpet, wood walls, brass railings, and a full length mirror in the back. We had all moaned and groaned about uncomfortably full elevators while the shut one after the other down, although they were careful never to have them all unavailable. Within minutes of riding the newly decorated elevators, however, complaints ceased. Everyone liked the feeling of importance, of sophistication, that came with these elegant forms of transportation–much better than the industrial steel mantraps we had ridden in before.

About two minutes later I began to feel it, the odd sinking sensation you get when your subconscious knows something is wrong, and you just haven't figured it out yet. I looked around, wondering what had set off my inner alarm bells. Nothing seemed odd–the elevator still slid up it's cables, the man stood uncomfortably near the buttons, as if hoping someone would enter at the next floor so he could feel useful.

It was then that I noticed something odd out of the corner of my eye. I looked to my left, at the back wall of the elevator, but it was gone. What had I seen? I faced sideways once more and again, something to my left just seemed wrong. Am I going crazy? I thought to myself. But suddenly I realized what I had seen–or rather, not seen. The plain looking suited man across the elevator from me had no reflection. As if my thoughts drew his attention, he turned and looked straight at me for the first time.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, with a sincere smile. I tried not to stare at him, specifically his teeth. I mean, I've read as much fiction as the next person, and by fiction I mean things that are NOT REAL... But I still wondered, just for a split second, if he had... No, this is stupid, I told myself. Get a grip. In a minute, the elevator will get to the lobby and you'll step off, never see this man again, and ride the elevator on the other end of the hallway from now on. You'll go pick up Bobby, and you won't think of this anymore.


I'm beginning to think this "write at least a little every day" won't be as hard as I thought.
:) The joy of simple things.
In other news, I had an excellent day. :D

Finals, College, Novels, Music

So this week is finals week... I've gotten off easy this semester, only three finals and I took one before this week. My geography teacher apparently has the tradition of letting you deside, at the end of the semester, if you like your average as is, and if you do you don't have to take the final, or if you don't you study really hard and try to raise it. I had an A so I left it as is. My chem lab final was a while back, so that's out of the way, and all I have this week is math tomorrow and chemistry day after. Pray for me!

And I just got back my PSAT scores. I've been talking with my admissions counselor. I've been planning what I'll do for school next semester and we're thinking I might/probably will go to ACU Fall 2010, a year ahead of schedule. I'm unsure as to whether I want that or not. I really want to learn, you know? But I'm not sure if rushing into college is the best thing for me. Ah well, we're figuring things out. As of now, I have a 50% scholorship to ACU, and mom is thinking about getting a job there again, which is 75% discount, meaning I'd get full tuition and meals/board too, probably. I had pretty good PSAT scores, so I might get National Merit Scholarship Semifinalist ranking, which is 50% almost anywhere.

I'm also trying to write a novel. I've said I would before, but now I'm really determined to actually get it done. I'm looking into various programs that say you'll write a novel in a month, four months, sixty days, whatever. The most important thing, the hardest thing, will be writing every day, consistantly. I may jot in a little something here every day, I know a lot of people who say posting something every day keeps them dedicated. Hopefully next year I'll do NaNoWriMo, and... Yeah. Hope hope hope. Chisel chisel chisel. Blocks blocks blocks.

My musical taste is quickly expanding. :D In the last month alone I've found dozens of artists that I already love but had never heard of before. That should also hope with the studying and the writing. I'll try to post a list of songs/artists sometime.

That's all I've got time for right now, but as I said I'll be trying to write regularly, so I might post some of my WIPs and my daily writings.
Signing off,
His daughter
*~ <3 ~*