%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
Not that you need to enter my crazy mind, but here you go anyway. Enjoy! |
| A personal journal about the crazy life of a writer, a mom, and an avid reader (sometimes I even feel like one person). I can't promise this will be organized or even stick to one topic, but I can tell you it will chronicle my efforts to get back into the writing community and build up my career. Thanks for reading, it's great to have you here. Feel free to reach out! |
| What is courage? Such a small word with such big meaning. Seven simple letters combined together to form a word that in so many ways has touched the life of the world. But what is it? The dictionary describes it as the quality of mind or spirit that enables one to face danger or hardship with confidence, resolution, and firm control of oneself; bravery. The first thought that comes to mind, every time, is a soldier. The man or woman who selflessly risks their life for their country. The soldier is the epitome of courage. That being said, think about it. Facing danger with confidence, resolution and firm control of oneself? Is that really courageous? What if someone knowingly endangered their life, having confidence, resolution and firm control of themselves, but they did it for pure delight? They weren't fighting for anything. They weren't standing up for themselves or what they believed in. All they were doing was showing stupidity. Risking everything for an adrenaline rush, and obviously not knowing what a treasure life really is. Not even thinking about how those in their lives would be affected should their plan fail. Now, it that considered courage? Do people truly think that is courageous? Well, I for one, do not. Courage is more than having confidence and resolution. More than being brave. It's doing what has to be done, when it has to be done, regardless of the consequence. It's being willing to lose all that you hold dear for the greater good. Risking your life to save someone else. Putting everything you know and love on the line so that someone else may have a chance to embrace life the way you did. Yet courage is in the eye of the beholder. It may be different, or it may be the same. It all depends on the heart of the one deciding. In the words of a poet, courage is anywhere from riding a bike to facing war. From enduring a great despair and handling it with grace to facing your own death with your head held high. Anne Sexton put it into words I could not express in her poem simply entitled, "Courage." "When you face old age and its natural conclusion, Your courage will still be shown in the little ways, Each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen, Those you love will live in a fever of love, And you'll bargain with the calendar And at the last moment When death opens the back door, You'll put on your carpet slippers And stride out." That is courage. Taking them as they come. Not being afraid, and if you are, facing your fears. Not thinking about what you will be losing, but looking ahead to what's coming. Just go. Still, that is just one aspect. To a four-year-old, courage may be being brave, like climbing a tree or getting up in front of the class. But as you get older, your idea of courage evolves. To some, courage is "putting yourself in danger to help something or someone." To others, it's "when you do something that you know is right and you stick with that no matter what anyone tried to tell you. You don't change your mind." As we grow up, our perception of courage matures. It becomes more developed as we come to understand what's going on in the world around us. Though the idea of courage varies from person to person, the concept is generally the same. It's always fighting for what's right, putting others before yourself---be it friend or foe, a stranger, or a loved one that you hold dear. But is there a difference between courage and love? Risking your life for someone else is courage. But risking your life for a friend is not courage. Not the way I see it. Courage involves thinking about what you should do and following through on it. Saving a friend is instinct. No thinking involved. It's a reaction. It's love. Love is stronger than courage. Always. In my eyes, there is a difference. "If your buddy saved you, / and died himself in doing so / then his courage was not courage. / It was love; love as simple as shaving soap." ---Anne Sexton Courage is seen in many ways. When my mother was younger, she and her sister had to take on a lot of the responsibilities for their family. Taking care of the house, their little brother, themselves. They shared their childhood with responsibility. They had to give up some of the normal freedoms of being a teenager. But they did it with their heads held high. They shouldered that burden the way no child ever should, and yet so many still do. Their courage to take on life with all they had shown brightly then and even brighter today. I respect my mother more than almost anyone else that I know. She is one of my greatest heroes as well as my best friend. Through her love and kindness, I have learned what courage truly is. Because of that, I have experienced life in a way I would never trade. I will always be grateful for that gift. |
"Kids have so much energy because they siphon it out of their parents like midget gasoline thieves." So let me tell you a little bit about my last few days. I put my darling child to bed on Sunday night, kiss my angel and tell her I love her, then crawl in bed next to my husband and go to sleep. Monday morning comes bright and early, the sun is shining, the coffee is brewing and I am ready to face the day. Dressed and ready for work I go in and gently wake my sleeping girl, hoping for a sweet smile and a "Good morning, Mommy." And then a demon opens its eyes. The next two days are nothing but tantrums, screaming, kicking, spankings, time outs (for her, too) and repeatedly counting to three. I am exhausted---and ironically unable to sleep. Whoever called it the "Terrible Twos" was drastically underestimating the demonic power of a toddler. Either that or they took pleasure is spewing deceit and misleading well-meaning adults into thinking they would get a reprieve when the kid turned three. Now, I love my daughter. She is the light of my life, the bounce in my step and the joy in my heart. My favorite times of the day are when she is telling me what she learned, laughing and dancing like a lunatic or just cuddling and saying she loves me. But there are some days (like the past few) when I would love nothing more than to string that child up by her toes! She hit the "Terrible Twos" head on at one and a half and has not stopped running since. Now, as she is gaining on three and a half and showing no signs of losing even an ounce of her attitude, (much to my dismay) I have come to the conclusion that I either need to wait the child out...or surrender. And that is a thing I will never do. Her father is right: she gets her stubbornness from me. There must be something about that age. Maybe it's discovering their own sense of self for the first time, learning to be independent or that there are some things they just don't need Mommy and Daddy to do. Maybe it's that toddlers are hardwired to push every button and turn every hair grey on their mother's head. Who knows? What I do know for certain is that it is not just my child. (Whew!) So I have come to another conclusion. Toddlers are not just tiny humans trying to find their own way in the world. They're tiny freaking terrorists sent to conquer it! One day, all of us parents are going to turn around and find our children holding up blankets and stories, herding us all to a designated area to be by ourselves for a while. They're going to take all of the grown ups and put us on an island while they go about their business of freedom and playtime with no bed time, rules or naps. Well. Let me tell you, if the midget gasoline thieves do banish all the adults to a desert island, the first thing I'm going to do is grab a stiff drink and a good book, stretch out on the beach and catch me some sun. My child can rampage across the universe and have all the rule-less fun she wants. This Mommy needs a break. :) |
| Happy New Year, everybody! I hope it brings you new beginnings and opportunities, or just another chance to make memories with the people in your lives. Here's to 2014! My New Years Resolutions: 1. Find an agent. 2. Finish Flickering Flame and Wild Rose 3. Have Spark in the Ashes professionally edited. 4. Publish a poem. 5. Attend a writing conference. Good luck to everybody on their resolutions this year! |
| Meeting him was the end of life as I know it. I found something in him. Almost like my other half. Something that brought me from the brink of the abyss back to life. Not that either of us knew it at the time. I met him as he leaned out a window and hollered at me in the middle of the night. It was nearly midnight in Ashland that cool night in October. The dorms were still awake with laughter and music. Bright yellow lights dotted the windows of the cement building all around me as an autumn breeze whispered through the night. I didn't mind it. The way I was feeling, I embraced the cold. I was drowning in despair every second of every day. At least when the crisp night air seeping into my skin I was able to feel something other than an unstoppable pain. That night, I sat on the stone ledge staring at the vast beauty of the stars, pouring my heart out on paper, when my agonized thoughts were interrupted by a jovial voice on the wind. Looking around, I spotted him hanging out a second story window of the building to my left. He was drunk, that much was obvious. But he was cute, too, and endearing. It's not a feeling I could explain, but I found my initial irritation at being interrupted dissipating into idle curiosity and an unexplainable desire to get to know this strange, somewhat goofy, boy calling to me in the middle of the night. He introduce himself, explained yelling at me like he had was part of a bet and asked if he could come down. While I was waiting, I couldn't help wondering what was on his mind. Why me? What made him want to talk to me in the first place? As time went on, I began to wonder why me on many levels. To this day, I do not know the answer. |
| Surprising Book Facts: 1. 33% of High School Graduates never read another book the rest of their lives. 2. 42% of College Grads never read another book after college. 3. 57% of new books are not read to completion. 4. 70% of American adults have not set foot in a bookstore for the last 5 years. 5. 80% of American families did not buy or read a book this last year. 6. The more a child reads, the likelier they are to understand the emotions of others. 7. Reading one hour per day in your chosen field will make you an international expert in 7 years. (RobertBrewer.org) I think this is incredibly unfortunate. Why is there such a stigma around reading? I have talked to people who are actually proud of the fact that they don't read and I will never understand it. I learn so much from books. Things I would have never even thought about being interested in have captured my mind and inspired me to read more about them. Because of this, I know things about subjects that aren't necessarily assumed that I would know. My horizon is broader and I look at the world differently with each new thing that I learn. The fact that some people don't read, don't aspire to learn new things about the world around them and prefer to stay locked in their own narrow little bubble makes me sad. Pick up a book. Learn something new. Enter a world entirely not your own. See things through another's eyes. Walk a mile in their shoes. Experience a perspective you never would have had the chance to experience without a book. Enjoy the words another has so painstakingly put to paper. Respect their hard work and respect yourself by bettering your mind each and every day. There are people I love dearly who don't read. I'm not judging them. To each their own. I don't think it makes someone a good or bad person. I don't think their lack of reading material makes them stupid. Not by a long shot. What I do think is that they're selling themselves short, passing up opportunities everyday and missing out by not opening a book---any book---and feeding and exercising their minds the same way they do their bodies. It's not a judgment at all, just an opinion. Learning should never stop at 18. There is so much out there, so much TO KNOW. I hope to learn as much as I can about the world before I die, be it tomorrow or in 70 years. If I read an hour a day about something that interests me, I'll be an expert on so many things. Isn't that a good goal to strive for? |
| One of my favorite authors just posted something about bad boys and how she's never wanted one and doesn't understand the appeal. The thing is, I think most girls want a bad boy. There's something about the dangerous aspect, the fact that your parents won't approve, and yes, the possibility that they will decide you are the one girl who can make them a better person, that is incredibly appealing. Then they grow up and realize that the bad boy is just that: a boy. And they want a man who knows how to treat a woman, who will take an interest in what drives them and treat them with respect. Who will think of them and be kind to them just to make them smile. They say nice guys never win, but a good man doesn't need to win. He is the prize. |
"A book is dead until you read it." --Clive Barker I think this is true. Without the reader, a book is just words on a page. It's sheets of paper bound together with glue and thread surrounded by a cover. Nothing remarkable in itself. But then something magical happens. Someone picks it up, opens the pages and begins to read the words and suddenly, the book is no longer just a pile of paper filled with ink. The words come alive, swirling through the mind of the reader, the characters acting out the stories so intricately designed, born from the imagination of the author and taking on a life of their own. When you read a book, you are no longer just reading words, but living a life far beyond your own. You are experiencing what the character experiences and the trials they endure stay with you. Through the heart of the reader, that book becomes alive and will live on in infamy. May we all give life to some poor, starved book. It is the holidays ;) |
| It's amazing how intricately you get to know someone by reading what they write. I, at least, tend to feel like I know the author as well as I know the characters. Ridiculous, yes. I don't know them personally. They have no idea who I am. Yet, because I've entered another world through their words, met unforgettable people, seen amazing things and been privileged with a glimpse into their soul, I feel a kinship with the author that makes no rational sense, and yet the affection I feel for them is as real as any person I've actually met in the flesh. I often wonder what it would be like to meet them. Would it be disappointing? Surreal? Amusing? Who are they really? Are they anything like the characters I love so much? What is their lifestyle like? Who do they turn to for advice? Who makes their blood boil, their heart race? What makes them smile? What makes them cry? And while I don't know the answers to these questions, I still know a bit about how they think, what makes them tick, what makes them laugh. I've seen it through the eyes of the people they create, the worlds they walk through. I've felt it in a kiss I've read. I've laughed with Puck, mourned with Bella. Sighed with Edward and ridden with Jacob. I've fought with Jace and for him with Clary. I've joked with Simon and pined with Will. I've been torn with Tessa and smiled with Jem. I have loved with Ash, been stubborn with Meghan. I've learned with Daemon and flown with Lucivar. I've shared evenings with Saetan and gotten into trouble with Jaenelle. I've sang with Katniss, baked with Peeta. I've hunted with Gale and drank with Haymitch. Fought fires with Reena and been slightly crazy but loveable with Bo. I've flown with Harry, gotten into trouble with Ron, and who can forgot that I've learned spells from Hermione. I've walked the corridors of Hogwarts, traipsed through the Wylds of the Nevernever, gone to an Orioles game in Philly, lived through three arenas, navigated the politics of Terrelle and witnessed the blessings of Kaelar. I've flown through the streets of New York, fought on the plains of Idris. I've gone to school in Forks and lived in the Institute in London. I may not know these writers personally, but in a way, I do know them. Because I know their characters, I know their worlds. Every time they put pen to paper, they poured out part of themselves and as readers, we are gifted with a chance to read it. If I have one goal as a writer, it is to have my readers feel about my characters, and through them, me, the way I felt about my favorite authors since I first opened their books. One day. |
| The problem with writing is that sometimes I have so much to write about that I don't even know where to start. it is overwhelming, and daunting and then I start to think about other things. The laundry I have to do, the book I could be reading (the book I could be writing), the studying I need to do, the fact that food sounds awesome right now, how hard it is to decide when something's ready, the fact that the whole process of getting published is long and involved and somewhat depressing, the fact that I desperately need to sleep and yet, though I don't really know what to say, I'm having trouble stepping away from the keyboard. Then I start to think that maybe it's not a problem with writing. Maybe it's just the trouble with life. Any path worth taking is going to be hard. Isn't that what people say? (Or some version of it.) So suck it up, make a freaking list, and do what has to be done next. (1am pep-talk done. Crisis averted. For now.) |
| Running from the past is a task that is incidentally obsolete. There is no escaping it. No matter how far you go, how fast you run, it will always be there. It's a part of you. It doesn't stay behind you, it stays with you, interwoven into the fabric of your soul. The only thing you can do is turn and face it. Then you have two choices. Succumb to it, or move on. At some point, your past is no longer an excuse for the actions of your present. There comes a time when everyone, for whatever reason, must take responsibility for their own life instead of living for the past, be it the memories of their childhood, a lost loved one or a broken heart. No matter what it is, the part it can play in the screenplay of your life is only so big. The only real question then, is when do you make the decision to live for your life now instead of living in the past? When does who you are now become more important than who you were? |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
.
