The Almost-Kiss

Today I did something I had not yet done in my true novels (granted I have done more in my short stories and random chronicles). I wrote an almost-kiss. By saying I've done more, I mean I've written plenty of kisses. But those were in stories that didn't matter because no one besides me would ever read them, so I was allowed to be shallow. In my second novel, I have to be deep because I am aiming for publication.
You would never guess how hard it is to write an almost-kiss without being mushy or blatant. For example, I could go for the romance novel for adults angle and say something like, "A hungry look filled his eyes as they dropped down to gaze at her mouth. He swallowed hard and leaned intimately towards her until reality seemed to infiltrate his mind, causing him to step away."
Or I could have done the cheesy, unrealistic, this-is-a-worldly-novel-written-by-a-shallow-author take on it, like this: "He stepped closer to her and leaned down. Her heart skipped a beat; was he going to kiss her? But no, a second thought turned him away an instant later, leaving her with only a memory of the would-have-been kiss."
Is it just me, or do both of those ways seem incredibly blah. So I decided my readers are going to be smarter than I usually assume they are (I like to think everyone in the world is less perceptive than myself for some reason) and went with a simple implication. I believe it ended up something like this. "She wiped moisture from her eyes, then looked up at him. He was still staring at her; there was a sort of hunger in his eyes. He leaned towards her, paused, then stepped away, rubbing a hand over his face."
Simple, well-put (if I do say so myself) and enough for any smart girl to know that he was about to kiss her. Now, I'm not really sure about guys... but they can ask their sisters.

What's Up?

Well, I've been pretty busy lately with different activities, and that will probably continue for the next several weeks... actually until Christmas. What's taking up so much time of a homeschooled teenager? Writing is one thing. Dancing is another. My sisters and I are now starting a dance corps at our church - just in time to choreograph, teach, and rehearse three numbers for our Christmas production. But how on earth do you get three girls together to choreograph when they all have different schedules and are only home all together for a good amount of time on Sundays? Have I mentioned that our Sundays will now be taken up having rehearsals at which we must teach others our choreography? So needless to say, I'm just trying not to panic or anything. I'm sure everything will come together in time, and it will be fantastic. 

As for my other occupation, I'm doing pretty well. Or was until today. I will most likely attempt to write today. This will be the scenario: I will do everything else I need to do such as typing up some flyers for auditions, then I will open my book and stare at the page. I'll place my fingers on the keys, look at the time, and decide it's time to play some games. Once I finish with that, I will once again go to the book, stare at it, and prepare to write. Then I will decide to go try some choreography. In this way, I will probably waste all day and never get more than a paragraph written. Anyone who thinks writing is easy should have their head examined. I can't imagine what it would be like if I were under a deadline! Panic extreme!

In One So Small

In One So Small

The world has ended

No one else realizes

But I know

They keep going

But I will never move again

There is a hand drawing me close

Words of comfort whispered in my ear

But I do not feel it

I do not hear them

Nothing can penetrate the darkness surrounding my heart

I am not sad

I do not feel sorrow or even grief

Those words are not strong enough to express my emotions

They are shallow

What I feel is so much deeper

There is no word for it

Tears roll from my eyes

But they are just a reaction

They do not show how deeply this pain cuts

Then something touches me

A tiny hand grasps mine

I look down

A little girl looks back up at me

Just a child

Barely more than a baby

Her eyes are wide

Her face is troubled

She whispers

"Don't cry, Mommy

I love you"

Can God have placed Himself in one so small?

I gather her into my arms

Draw me close to you, O Lord

Just as I draw my child close to me

Comfort me

Just as I comfort her

I finally realize

I still have something to live for

Things are not better

I do not laugh

I do not even smile

My life isn't fixed

My heart isn't healed

But I have a purpose

Time and prayer will heal these wounds

Can anything erase the scars?

But I have a hope

And a future

A reason to live

A reason to move

Can God have placed Himself in one so small

Just to remind me?

In honor of all those left behind - our prayers are with you.

"For we do not mourn like those who have no hope..."

Matt and Brody Knapp

May 7th 2009

Marcos Gonnet

September 8th 2009

Rejoice In His Presence!

What the....????

Last night, my sister walked into the living room and was greeted by an interesting sight which I thought would be fun to chronicle. So here it is.

My mom was sitting on the couch with a fuzzy striped sock on her hand (named Fuzzy Wuzzy of course). Next to her, my brother was sitting on the floor, singing a perpetual round of "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." He was on 62 and still counting. Beside him is my older sister's boyfriend; he was wearing a girl's cowboy hat (tightly secured around his chin), holding two wooden spoons, and repeating everything he said in a language that sounded half like German and half like Chinese and could only be titled Gibberish. My older sister is scrunched up on the floor with her elbow on the colorful gameboard sitting on the table. In the center of the board there is an egg, and beside it, a plank of wood. Someone rolls the die and suddenly two people whip out finger pistols, shouting, "This town ain't big enough f

or the both of us!" Another person tells my older sister that it's her turn, and while she whines for the next fifteen seconds that it isn't her "time to go," we all point fingers at the one who dared to use the forbidden word.

What possible reason could there be for this ridiculous mayhem? One word: Quelf. 

Haven't heard of it? Neither had we until very recently. Don't have it? I suggest you get it - but only if you don't mind making a fool of yourself.

God's Tears

This is a song I wrote half while in bed when I should have been sleeping and half while in church service when I should have been listening. However, although I wasn't doing what I should have been doing, I like the result.

God's Tears

Teardrops of heaven

Falling from God's eyes

To touch the world that needs

Spread the love He holds inside

Love 

Raining down

In every drop from the sky

Waters the ground

Bringing hope

Renewing life

For a single drop becomes a flow

That turns to torrents ever so

Giving love to the farthest soul

Hallelujah love rains down

Hallelujah love rains down

Hallelujah love rains down

As God cries for the ones He loves

Teardrops of heaven 

Falling from my eyes

To touch the soul beside me

Spread the love I hold inside

Love 

Raining down

In every drop from my eyes

Touches the ground

As I worship God

Adore you Christ

And that single drop becomes a flow

Passing on so now I know

Give out love to the farthest soul

Hallelujah love rains down

Hallelujah love rains down

Hallelujah love rains down

As I cry for the one He loves

Random Fads

I was thinking through what I've written lately, since I haven't been adding to my manuscript very much, and I found the results interesting. Two nights ago in the shower, I came up with and typed out a comedy bit for a middle-aged male comedian. That night, I wrote an introduction paragraph to a fairytale. The next night in the shower, I came up with a dialogue between two prim 1900's English ladies. What do you call that? Random? Normally, I would say yes, but I'd rather call it diversified now.

Here's why: have you noticed that lately (within the last year or so) it has become extremely popular to be random? Even before this style, it was becoming fashionable to be weird, but now it's mostly just randomness that people like to flaunt. It sort of irks me for shall we say a random reason. Most people aren't! It's so annoying when countless people advertise themselves as random teens, when in reality they hardly fit the bill. Fake! Call me weird (I don't mind since that apparently is still in style as well) but I don't like it that everyone has so readily accepted random weirdness from others and sought to mimic it. Few people are truly random.

For this reason, I think I am no longer going to call myself random or weird. If you know me, than you know why. I don't like following the crowd; I prefer to do the opposite of everyone else. So now, if anyone asks, I am special, versatile, and diversified. Not weird, not random. Just thought I'd let you know!

The Best Time to Write

11:30 on a school night, and I am in bed, the covers pulled over my head. What do you think I am doing? Sleeping right? 

Are you kidding??? What idiot sleeps at 11:30 on a school night while in bed? Ahem, well I suppose most people. Actually, it's probably me who was the idiot, but I had a moment of inspiration. And when a writer gets inspiration, she writes. So there I was, hiding underneath my covers and writing in my five-section notebook by the light of my ipod while trying not to wake up the sister in the lower bunk.

How do I go from drifting to sleep to frantically scribbling down an idea? Well, you have to understand my thought pattern I guess. Let's see if I can trace it for you.

The farthest back I can remember is when I was thinking about The Chronicles of Narnia. This led me to think about C. S. Lewis's use of mythological creatures. This led to thinking about other books that follow that same line, such as Lord of the Rings, Ella Enchanted, and Puck of Pook's Hill. This made me want to write a story about a time when fantasy took place in the form of mythological creatures. Naturally, I began coming up with the first chapter before I even considered a storyline. But I got all the way through the first paragraph, and this is what I wrote down to the light of my ipod.

I'm not going to start this story with the traditional "Once upon a time." I mean, that's so vague! It doesn't even give an estimate of what time the story is once upon. I'd rather start like this: this story happened at a time when decent rogues still fought with swords instead of just shooting each other, when women were expected to wear long gowns and be beautiful unless they were witches, and peasant was a common noun directly opposite of royalty. It is a time before mythological creatures became scared and started hiding and became endangered, hence gaining the title "myth." That is the time this story is once upon.

Anyone got an idea for the rest of the book?