Let's Talk

By the way, I quit my diet.

2009-12-14T20:01:00.000-06:00

The song was vibrant and lush. It was thriving, entwining notes within itself, and crescendo into a beautiful melody.

And then, very gradually, decomposed into a trickling clink of piano.

Their friendship was like a rocket launch. A few words passed their lips, and then, suddenly, they were thrown together for the ride. They blossomed together, learning, sharing, laughing. Within a few months they had created a tower of friendship so passionate they deemed themselves the best of friends. When together, everything was right. Reality was shoved in the corner of their minds. It occasionally pricked her thoughts, however, reminding that their friendship was coming to an end quickly. Sure, they would always be friends, but college would separate them. Distance would settle inside the space that would form. And she was scared. She didn’t want to loose her best friend.

But she only knew the surface of her friend. Her past was a hazy mystery that she was slowly untangling. Dark secrets would sprout to the surface. Being her best friend, of course, she would not utter them to a soul. Sex was a secret, but she was sure it was a one-time thing for her. After all, her friend wasn’t like that. She was better than that. She was positive that her friend would save love.

So she continued skipping through life, a grin illuminating her face. Everything was right as long as they had each other.

Of course, happiness needs a rest.

Secrets from outside sources filled her ears. No. They were tarnishing her friend. But they were oh so true. Sex still. Still. Her respect she once held for her crumpled. Let down. Falling, falling. She would keep that from her? She didn’t trust her? After all, they were best friends. Supposed to tell your best friend anything. Let down. Trust melting.

Feel alone.

"There IS no dessert!"

2009-11-30T19:01:00.004-06:00

The holiday season. Filled with sugar and warmth and bread. Things you probably take for granted.

You see, about a week ago my mother stumbled upon a little devil called "The Sugar Challenge," composed by Dr. Eric Snow (whoever he is..). The Challenge states that for three weeks, one cannot have any sugar except natural sugar. Sounds like no candy, right? Oh so wrong.

My mother leaped at the idea, and thinking this "diet" could help me evade Christmas pounds, I joined her in the challenge. 21 days. How hard could it be?

Hmph.

I'm only allowed to eat vegetables, fruit, meat, cheese, eggs, and nuts. That's right, no bread. I love bread. When I get home from school, sluggish from all the homework stuffed into my bag, I think nothing's better than eating something warm and with bread. I must resort to cheese now. Today I drank herbal tea. Rather a long shot from hot chocolate. And zucchini soup. Not even going to start on that one.

At lunch, I bring fruit. This isn't that big of a shock, as I've been snacking on apples for the past year in the cafeteria. But there's something about cafeteria food. It's, once again, warm and appetizing. After a cold morning of school, I need warm, comfort food. Does fruit provide this? Heavens no. It's cold and wet. It also doesn't help to watch people eat junk food the whole half-hour of lunch. And, of course, they get too filled up with all that saturated fat, and they offer me the food. I politely decline.

I walked by a vending machine and realized I can have nothing in it.

I miss granola bars, as they've been my diet for the past three months.

Despite all this lovely complaining, I'm hoping three weeks of this torture will pay off in the end. It's only the fourth day. Why yes, I'm being a tad over-dramatic. I'll keep updates to see if my view has changed on the Challenge.

keep in mind I'm a little rusty

2009-11-27T14:01:00.002-06:00

She was alone in a sea of people. Despite the close knit fabricated by the bodies, coldness still managed to bite her. She drew her frayed coat closer around her, trying to retain nonexistent warmth. Waiting for the subway was low on her list of enjoyment. She scanned the nearest people around her. Typical. A woman desperately trying to control her crazed children. A bulky man that looked like he could punch the daylights out of her. A young man clad in a suit, gripping a briefcase. Probably business man. Lawyer. Waste his life away in an office. He kept a straight face, because in his world the poker face was a necessity. Already going downhill, but frantically trying to pull his life together.

She blinked. No, his life probably wasn’t anything like hers. Or what used to be of it.

After agonizing minutes, the bullet pulled into its place. Like a herd of cattle, the ocean of people surged forward. Sucked into the tidal wave of boarding, she managed to squeeze through the doors. It would be a fight for a seat, but she was willing to claw her way to one. After today, she needed to sit down.

She mentally checked off what had gone wrong today. Rent was overdue. Job going to ashes. In fact, she hated it. What happened to her dream? It crumbled, and now she was left with the ruins she had now.

She mentally checked off what was going wrong in her life. Boyfriend had put her out with the trash. Boss had recently replaced his heart with a stone. Happiness was like a mirage. Seeing it, she ran full on, but once she arrived, nothing was there. Reality was there. Nightmare?

Pulling her bag on her lap, she fished out a photograph. A younger version of her grinned back at her, enveloped in the arms of four of her friends. Endless memories wove through them, each one stitched together with love. At the end of high school, promises blossomed. Yes, I’ll call everyday! You know we’ll be visiting each other every weekend. Driving up to your school isn’t a problem at all! It was goodbye, just an extended vacation without them. It’s just college. A few miles can’t stop us.

Apparently, distance held more weight than they thought.

A reunion. Proposed by the most creative one out of their group. After six years. To her knowledge, everyone had enthusiastically agreed. Heck, it had felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Maybe, it would be like there had never been an absence. Maybe with everyone back together, her life would pick itself back up and everything would be a blissful ride like it was in high school. Maybe they could fix her.

Friends can’t fix lives. The joy of reunion slowly decomposed to anxiety. All her friends were probably successful. Half were most likely married. Rich, even. Mothers, possibly? Self-consciousness swallowed her. What was she? Poor. Desperate. Failing job. Well, you’ve got it going on. What if they judged her? This question brought forth a new wave of fear that was starting to drown her.

Well, there’s no going back. The subway had kicked her onto the curb of her destination. An up-scale restaurant. She hoped she could afford an appetizer. Who chose this again? Oh yes, mutual agreement. She must have been on something when complying.

Take a gulp of air, she began walking toward the restaurant.

“Look! There... she is...”

“Oh! Um, hey?”

“Wow look at... you!”

Embarrassment slapped her on the face, leaving a blush. This was a disaster. She had fallen since high school. She didn’t belong with these people. They had risen above her. How rude wold it be to turn around and exit? She could say she had forgotten something...

The vision left her mind. Oh, God. What if that happened? She was screwed. If she had half a brain, she would turn around now. Stand them up. Sure.

She pushed the glass door open. One step at a time. One breath at time. She spotted them. Insecure, much? Too late to dash, they’ve spotted you.

“HEY!”

Four pairs of arms attacked her at once. They held her tight, their babbling voices cheerfully pecking her with questions. But she didn’t hear them. They still cared. That was all that mattered. They still loved.

a title is needed.

2009-11-18T17:12:00.004-06:00

I'm slowly inching my way back into this.

Very slowly.

Anyway, I have plans to run away from school , preferably tonight, leaving my mound of of homework in my backsack where it can wither away and grow yellow. This plan reminds me of another: overwhelmed with the thought of going through the college process, my friend and I have adopted the motto "Who NEEDS education?" and we'll be touring Europe sometime in the fall of 2011. After that I think we'll bum a living in the great NYC, me becoming a successful author while she's on Broadway. Lovely life.

School update:
APUSH has taken over my life. It's a historical monster that taunts me with the Reconstruction and Andrew Johnson, while it sprinkles dates on me that I have no hope of remembering. Too many reading guides, too many tests, and essays that go against everything you've learned in English. While all hope seems lost, however, the teacher (Hunsaker!) is "boss" as they say, and she makes the class worthwhile. For Christmas we're making her the correct depiction of Washington Crossing the Delaware, as the original painting is a spatter of lies.

For band, marching season is at a close. Now we just have to wait for the football team to lose in the playoffs so we'll never have to roll-step on that crummy parking lot again! Maybe Friday... maybe Friday. We're getting into concert mode, my embrasure is screwed up from playing piccolo (but that's okay) and we have mid-terms coming up and I don't even know the music. Woo.

Chemistry. I understand it! End of story. Go home and feel joy for me people, I'm raking in those As.

All other subjects are irrelevant at the moment.

If I had time, I would insert a little something from a story I had composed, but since I don't, be satisfied with this.

start

2009-10-26T12:42:00.000-05:00

A new design for a new resolution: let's blog more often, shall we?

Coffee, though I don't particularly enjoy it. Just Chai Tea Lattes.

really...

2009-10-26T10:59:00.002-05:00

It's been over a month.

I've never waited this long to post.

But junior year is the most hectic year of my life.

Between band and homework and friends, I hardly have any time. When I do have a moment to spare, I'd rather be outside. Or sleeping. Or something that doesn't require thought.

What has happened since September? Everything.

Band has been going well. We have our final competition Saturday at Northwestern University. Lovely campus.

Barbe is about to head off to the playoffs (I hope) within a few more games.

School has been.. alright. I don't enjoy it as much as I did last year because of the six hours of homework every night. Run down:
Mythology- easiest class ever. I eat granola bars/nap.
AP U.S History- class that requires the most work, but the teacher makes up for it because she's amazing and makes me laugh until I can't breathe.
BAND- the story of my life
AP Psychology- "The joke of the AP classes."
AP English- I enjoy it. All we've been doing is analyzing things, but it's not bad. Not bad at all.
Pre-AP Chemistry- ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. I have a B in this class at the moment. :'( Why? WHY! Oh well. I'm struggling to stay afloat.
Pre-Calculus- Eh. Being the teacher's 7th hour, she naturally hates us and I was surprised that she knew my name.

I'm still hanging in there, but I don't have any Katie Time. I'll try to post more often...

oh snap

2009-09-06T11:39:00.002-05:00

It's been forever since my last post! Oh well. School sucks all my time up! From stumbling onto the school parking lot at 6 a.m for band practice to busting out of school at 3 (followed with laziness and homework) I haven't had any time for blogging or writing, which is severely depressing. I HAVE thought of another story. Hopefully.

Friday was Barbe's first game! One of my friends and I rapped to Phantom of the Opera/ jammed on the way up to Tioga (some school that we CRUSHED in Pineville), and we later jammed in the stands! It would have been even more enjoyable if I was fever-free. I hope it's a good marching season.

I just finished the Kite Runner. READ it.

I am surprisingly doing well in Chemistry!

I need to practice my flute for honor band..

I was going to watch Pride and Prejudice today...!

I should write. Just sit down and GO.

I need to read the Scarlet Letter.

I want to make honor band. ContraBand!

I need to finish my homework (which is never ending woo!)

But overall, life's good.

junior year

2009-08-19T16:48:00.002-05:00

Today was the second day of school, my schedule is as follows:
1st- Mthology/Health
2nd- AP U.S History
3rd- BAND!
4th- Psychology AP
5th- English III AP
6th- Pre-Ap Chemistry
7th- Pre-Cal Adv.

A lot of work, but I think I'll be okay. I thought I would hardly have any friends in my classes, but I've been proved wrong! Gladly. Mythology is going to be easy, as well as Psychology. I think/hope. Chemistry will be the hardest class from what seniors have told me. And band is just going to rock this year! Look for us in those stands, jamming away.

On an Impulse

2009-08-10T11:25:00.001-05:00

Some things you just have to write, and then feel surprisingly better once it's out of your system.

She stared at her mask. It had been molded with a soft touch, and light colors caressed the round edges. It was a little worn, being in use for years. Lately, however, the mask seemed to be more frayed than usual. Sighing, she dipped her face into the mask, a frown hidden by the fake smile plastered on the front.

She entered the room. People mobbed about, laughing and drinking. She slipped into the shadows, letting her mask smile. Approaching her party of friends, she would try to be enjoyable, it was no use. New, exciting people flocked into the room, and the party would be drawn to them. The exotic ones would link arms with the party and waltz away. Too bad she couldn’t waltz.

Standing in the shadows, she watched the spotlight flicker from person to person. Anger began to boil in her. It felt like she had been in this position for too long. Days. Years. No one checks the sidelines. Rubbing her face, she tried to keep herself composed. Something fell away into her hands. A piece of the mask had slipped.

Not wanting anyone to see her, she rushed out of the room, true colors dripping with the hot, angry tears. Emotion ripped the mask from her. Shattered. She collapsed on the ground, letting the vivid feelings wash over her. How long before they could leave? She knew she could never reassemble the mask. It was broken forever. She was different. Acceptance was in question, but she didn’t give a care at the moment.

A numbness settled inside her. A beam from a streetlight was cast near her, and she tried to grasp it. Her fingers found each other instead of her wish. Every second the light seemed to move farther away. Anger at herself burst within; why couldn’t she stay close?

But she knew that she could go back. This new thought unfurled inside her, lifted and brushed her off. She crept back into the room. The exotic people were still holding the show. Uneasily she shifted throughout the room. Rounding a corner she and stumbled upon a group of people that weren’t absorbed with the rest of the party. They turned to her, eyes scanning and brains processing. They knew. With kind smiles, they opened up their arms. She felt her body rush towards them, strong arms receiving her.

A whisper escaped from her lips. “Thank you.”

and.. we're rolling

2009-07-25T15:00:00.002-05:00

My next few weeks of summer are BOOKED UP, starting tomorrow. Piccolo practice with friends, along with designing flute t-shirt ideas. Monday starts the beloved band camp. 4 hours of practice everyday for a week, Saturday is another CANOE TRIP, and then the next Monday I have band camp 8-5. Oh Lordy. I still haven't finished my assignments, but that can wait. Maybe. Not really. Let the freaking out begin...

But we'll be flyin' high the whole way! I'm so excited to see everyone again!

anything and everything

2009-07-11T17:57:00.003-05:00

My summer is in a wrap up. July 17 - 21 I'll be visiting my long lost best friend in Texas, the next two weeks after that I have band camp, one free week, and then SCHOOL. Already. Between then, I have two more summer assignments to do (Read Grapes of Wrath and do an American History assignment, but at least I finished How to Read Literature like a Professor)and... hang out with friends/school shop/find time to write, because I have a little story forming. I hope.

How to Read Literature like a Professor(HTRLLAP) was one of those books that all your friends hate reading but you secretly think it's not so bad. At times, I thought it pointless for me to read when I could be doing something else pointless, but it has taught me that I know absolutely about the Literature World. The author mentions countless examples, all of which I've never heard of except for a handful. I thought I knew stuff. I don't. It's like I'm at the beginning of a long, old, beautiful road, and I've barely put a foot on it.

Also, the book showed me that I absorb nothing when I read novels. When you have a story in your hands, it's not just a story. You read the facts, you get the literal meaning of the work, but there's this curtain, see, that magically appears after you read HTRLLAP. Then, after you lift a corner of the curtain, you find that symbolism is etched in novels but you're too blind to see it. At least for now.

Example: in the last chapter of HTRLLAP, the author includes the short story "The Garden Party" by Katherine Mansfield (I think). Read it. He asks what does it signify? Uh, a little rich girl's family throws a garden party, but right before she gets wind that her peasant neighbor died. She feels like they should cancel the party in his honor, but her family ignores her and continues on. Soon, she enjoys herself. After the party's over, the mother tells the girl to give the dead guy's family leftover party scraps. She does. Sees the dead man and thinks it's beautiful. The end.

Well, the author launches into this thing about the mom being Demeter and the girl being Pershepone and the dead man being Hades, and once he explains it I understand and think he's very clever for realizing that. Also, birds and flight is sewn into the story. (The girl's family are like birds who live in a tall tree, above everyone surrounding them.) That was very clever too, I thought. And I caught none of it. BUT I'm just beginning to venture on this new road of Literature, and maybe by the end of it I'll be a guru.

Preston, Oklahoma [the mission trip]

2009-07-03T19:52:00.005-05:00

Saturday, June 20
Departed from Lake Charles
Arrived in Dallas where we spent the night

Sunday
Went to a "black" church with Pastor G. We were the only white people there but it was awesome!
Scaled some rocks at a state park in Oklahoma (pictures on facebook)
Arrived in Preston, Oklahoma, where we would be staying on Indian territory

Monday & Tuesday
Worked worked worked: Propane tanks, hauling old lumber, etc.
On Tuesday we got to see Cherokee Nations and meet the Second Chief (another term for VP of the Indian World)

Wednesday
Water park day! Every guy in our group wore a speedo. Or almost every guy.
Ate at Steak 'n Shake, which can top Dairy Barn any day in the ice cream department.

Thursday
Painted a ceiling and a kitchen a "mint shake" green.
Attended an Indian church service

Friday
Painted a second coat on cabin and painted the outside.
Finished early!
Had an Indian closing ceremony
Cried

Saturday
Traveled back to Dallas, where we would stay for the night
Ate at SaltGrass, an awesome steakhouse
Went to a chapel, where we had our big devotion (I'll explain later)
Everyone cried and we stayed in the chapel until 1 in the morning

Sunday
Back home!

-
Last year when I attended my youth's mission trip to Missouri, I couldn't believe what I was feeling. Jesus in my heart everyday! It was insane but so beautiful. Naturally, I expected this trip to be the same. I'd feel God 24\7, la dee da, all would be well.

Not.

I didn't REALLY feel God. Sure, maybe a flicker or two of fire in my heart, but the full bonfire I wanted? Nada. This really started to bother me on Thursday, after we had attended the Indian church service. It was devotion time (devotion is when someone tells a story attached with a verse---it's our most spiritual time where we talk about where we saw God that day and what not) and one guy said he was just overwhelmed with God's spirit at the service. You know what I felt?

Nothing. That's when I started to question my sanity. We were in the bus, I was alone, and I typed the following on my phone: (Keep in mind I was very distraught)

I used to have a fire in my heart. Earlier this year it was blazing, but each day the flames seemed to dwindle. Eventually, nothing but ashes were left. I felt like I could ignite the fire anytime I wanted. After all the foundation of it was there. Each day the ashes sat, waiting and discengrating. I thought I was fine. I thought I was right. That I didn't need to kindle the fire.

I tried to light the fire.

Nothing sparked.

I can't do this by myself. Jesus I need you to be my match. My lighter. My fire. how can I stand here by you and not be moved by it? I'm hollow. I'm empty. I wasn't ready to listen before. Now I am. What's wrong with me, God. Why can't I hear you? Please enter me. The night at the service, people were ablaze with your spirit. How come I felt practically nothing? Is it because I'm trying to feel you? Does it not work that way? Do I have to just let go and stop waiting/searching for your spirit? What's wrong with me? Last year's mission trip I was overwhelmed by you. This year, I haven't really felt anything. Is it because I'm stained by sin? I want to be overwhelmed by you. Please tell me why you put me on this mission trip. What's my reason? I want to be happy again. I'm tired of trying to live life by myself. Please don't abandon me.

Make of it what you will. What I wrote, I wrote.

Friday came along. Spirit time! It was at the end of the day, where we had the Indian closing ceremony. Each youth member shook hands and we formed a tight circle and prayed.

I bawled.

Also at devotion, I was crying. It was wonderful! I finally felt God. Finally.

And Saturday, I felt the warm, fuzzy feeling all day. From devotion in the morning, all the way to the intense devotion at night. For devotion on Saturday, we gather in a circle in a chapel, all lights off except a few candles. This is the most memorable night of the trip. Everyone cries. This year, we had so many confession, ranging from suicidal thoughts to feeling God for the first time. I actually spoke up to the suicidals and told them that life was their mission and to not give up. I was told that people can see God in my smile. Many tears flowed. Many hugs followed.

In the end, Jesus was there. The beauty of mission trips is that no matter how deep in sin you are, a mission trip will pluck you out and put you back at the top.

mission trip!

2009-06-20T07:39:00.004-05:00

And yet again, another mission trip! We're supposed to be leaving at 8 a.m today, but the bus is being fixed at the moment... thus I am here.

We're leaving for Preston, Oklahoma, and won't get back until next Sunday!

And I hope the bus doesn't break down on the interstate again, but we're with God, so it should be okay.

what goes on in a girl’s mind at a certain time [spur of the moment]

2009-06-17T19:45:00.002-05:00

All the cheery outlooks of my life crumble, and irritation, frustration, and annoyance gush in.

Within the past 10 minutes, I’m ready to bust through my bedroom window and run down the street because:

I sit down and just want to relax but the tv is blaring, which is quite annoying because it shatters my thoughts and then my dad is sneezing which is very loud and that also shatters my already shattered thoughts and then he coughs which is just as loud as his sneeze and by now I can’t function so I go in my room to escape but nonetheless I can still hear the tv and my dad through the walls so I try to read a book I have to finish for a summer assignment but
every
single
little
noise of my house likes to amplify itself so I can’t concentrate so then I stand up and look at myself in the mirror, somehow hoping I’m thinner than usual because I didn’t eat as much junk food when I came home and of course I’m not so of course life isn’t fair and if it’s that time I’ll probably bloat and get even fatter than I am now and then I hear my two cats fighting and they won’t shut up and to top it all off every object I touch seems to tangle with my fingers and I end up dropping it.

So here I sit, glaring at the computer and whoever’s reading this because you probably think I’ve gone a bit mad, when I really haven’t. (And don’t you dare correct me because I started a sentence with “so.”) SO I’m going to curl up under my covers and growl at life; I hope you’ve been entertained by my misery.

i shan't have a title

2009-06-10T17:23:00.002-05:00

At the beginning of every summer I think the two following things:
1) I'm going to write write write write write!
2) I'm going to get in shape-- I shall have abs instead of ...nothing.

It never happens.

But maybe this year! Maybe I'll squeeze some time in to type a new story. First I just have to finish my English AP assignments, my American History AP assignments, work, mission trip, band camp, and the list goes on and on... (Notice I didn't mention working out. I don't have any motivation.)

Today, however, I took off from work and went to a friend's sweet 16. It was a pool party, so naturally I'm sunburned. And naturally, even though I wasn't wearing any sleeves, I've acquired a nice farmer's tan. No idea how that happened. It was fun though. Instead of swimming we pretty much sat in the water and talked. I'm glad I got to see my people.

Love Story Parody

2009-06-06T19:05:00.001-05:00

And yet another video! Click here.

A parody of "Love Story" by Taylor Swift.

Yes I am the dad, and yes I know I look like an idiot, but it's all good fun.

innocence

2009-06-03T18:32:00.001-05:00

His eyes trailed from the tufts of grass that sprouted from the sidewalk to a field on his right. The sun, which was outlined with a sea of blue, bathed the grass in its light. The wind was strong today, and a mighty gust entangled itself around him. The air stabbed his eyes, causing them to water. He brushed them with his sleeves, then took notice of a lone figure sitting in the field. A girl. He couldn’t see her face, but made out that she was in a sun dress. A red sun dress. The color went well with the surroundings. If he were an artist, he might have settled himself there on the sidewalk and painted the landscape. As he was not, he could only hope his mind retained the image. Suddenly, a blast of wind spiraled by, and hundreds of white rectangles were freed from the girl’s hands. Papers. They danced with the wind and were highlighted by the sun. He gazed. A girl caught in a hurricane of papers. It was beautiful. She stood, and the wind brushed her dress and played with her long, blonde hair that whipped her in the face. Her arms rose, snatching at the wild papers, but soon gave up, and she remained idle and watched. He heard a melodious laugh. A slowness seeped into the papers, causing them to linger in the sky. Eventually they floated back to the ground.

He rushed to help her without knowing why. Maybe because it was the right thing to do. Maybe he wanted to meet someone that liked to sit in the sun by themselves. Maybe because she and the wind had created a beautiful image. Maybe because she was beautiful. Once he had snatched a few sheets of paper, he walked over to her hunched figure. She stood, arms stuffed with belongings, and faced him.

His heart burst. It was her.

But how she had changed! Her eyes, wide with surprise, were a clear blue, traced with indigo. Had he ever noticed that? Her hair hadn’t been as light when he had last seen her. Instead of a dirty blonde, it appeared as if she had dunked her head in sunlight and bright strands had replaced the old ones. Her face was thinner. And yet, with him drinking in her complexion, he knew she was the same. She had probably bloomed, but she was still a child of the earth.

what happens on a lazy Sunday afternoon

2009-05-31T20:42:00.002-05:00

This afternoon I was curled under an oak tree reading. After hours of pouring over my book I looked up.

And smiled.

I don't really know why seeing the underside of a tree made me happy, but it did. The way its branches splayed over me and the dense, yet vibrant, green leaves sheltered me from... everything. The way the tree was like my own little umbrella, tucking me away from the world. Like it was wrapping its arms over me, allowing me to escape into a dream while promising I wouldn't be disturbed. I followed the trunk with my eyes until the leaves blocked it from view. I could climb it and see what the world was like at the top, but i was content at the bottom, gazing up.

summer is HERE #2 [last day of school]

2009-05-27T18:21:00.002-05:00

Today was the last official day of school. I took my last final (Free Enterprise) and I'm pretty sure I made 100 on it. My old, sarcastic teacher actually broke down and cried, something that almost made me cry, because he's always so hilariously heartless! And yet he has a soul... Good man Mr. Hall is, good man.

I said a million goodbyes, hoping that I'll see some of my friends over the summer. I already have plans to go to Coldstone Creamery tomorrow to visit one, as I didn't get to say bye to her today. Also turns out that maybe my crush (kind of sort of?) won't move after all, and to top it all off I spent the whole day being a passenger of Samantha, as she got her license today. Oh man.

A million goodbyes, a million hugs, and a million, "WE'RE GOING TO BE JUNIORS!!"

summer is HERE

2009-05-26T14:57:00.003-05:00

I love to go outside, soak up every ounce of sun I can, then crawl back into bed and take a cat nap while sun is radiating from my skin.

another end, another beginning

2009-05-23T17:36:00.008-05:00

Sophomore year is drawing to a close. I'm not even going to school Monday (forget p.e and English finals!), but I must go the next two days for Algebra and Free Enterprise. Should be a snap. Overall I think this school year was loads better than last year. Freshmen year I was in a shell, afraid to branch out in the big, new school. Even in band, I was rather suckish on the flute, though the director stuck me in the honors band, and needless to say I was last chair. I think I was just afraid. And I don't know why. I was standing in one spot, afraid to reach out and feel what was around me.

THIS year, however, was great! As early as band camp, I noticed a change. I wasn't new. I could play. Vibrato! I became a respected player among the flutes. Fourth chair. Throughout the year, I think the flutes became closer than we were last year, too, which helped. I also made honor band, and had an amazing concert season, which has me pumped for band camp. Weird. (But with a piccolo!) I got to know more of the juniors, too, which just brings the band closer together.

As for classes, I think I had it easier this year than freshmen year. I really only had to worry about Algebra and Biology because... well... in English we didn't do anything, and the same goes for Civics/Free Enterprise, French, P.E, and band is band. All you have to do is make sure you don't freeze up when the director randomly calls on you to play in front of everyone. I managed to get straight A's the whole year except the Algebra midterm, but whatever. Can get a 65 on the final and still have an A average! (Note: This is not bragging. This is for me to look back on and I smile and think, "Oh wasn't I a smart little bugger!") Oh man.

Also this year I grew in friendship with so many people. I love walking through the halls and having a bunch of friends smile at me or say "Hey!" This past semester I actually tried to be more cheery around others and gave extra efforts to smile at everyone. Maybe they needed it, maybe they didn't. I rooted friendships with so many people this year, and with my already-friends the roots grew deeper. Friends made me want to come to school. I looked forward to certain classes because I knew when I walked in, I'd hear "KATIE PRICE!" So happy. I'm actually a tad depressed for summer because I won't get to see them everyday.

I think I'm a shy flower, just starting to bloom. Hopefully junior will be amazing too, if not more amazing. I have three A.P classes to die in, band galore, and more friends to make. Graduation's tomorrow, I spent about an hour at Books-A-Million making posters for band seniors, I wish all seniors good luck, and I'm moving up.

piccolo

2009-05-20T19:14:00.003-05:00

The end of the year is here, which means band people gearing up for next year's marching season! Everyone had their fair share of drum major and section leader tryouts, and for me, piccolo tryouts.

Our director kept telling us that the pic auditions would happen soon, but the tryouts never came. One day I skipped p.e and went into the band room to practice piccolo; my opponent did the same.

I left disheartened. The chick was good. Better than me. For the rest of the afternoon I was a bit depressed and was in a mind set saying I wouldn't even make it; that there was no point in trying out. Nonetheless, I practiced that night, and realized that I was fine at playing.

And today the auditions occurred.

And I made it.

God truly is at work.

a wave of glass [the long fall back to earth]

2009-05-12T16:57:00.003-05:00

Some songs I float upon. I have no desire to reach underneath the wave of notes that's carrying me and see what composes it. I'm on a wave of glass gently chiming as it passes. I do not want to see the shards that make it beautiful. I am content with letting them ring with magic in my ears and letting it be a clinking confusion. Let it blanket me. Wash me away.

Other melodies I want to dissect. I want to know what each individual layer is, which notes are the foundation. I want it in me. I want to be in the ocean. I want to own it. But once this happens, the song almost loses its magical effect. I now know what it takes for the music to be that way. Sure, I digested it and it has my name stamped over it as "My Song," but it loses my interest. I can't get lost in it now, as I know my way out.

Maybe ignorance is bliss.

[The Long Fall Back to Earth by Jars of Clay]

tough times and ramble

2009-05-10T16:25:00.005-05:00

When people think "the economy," most have a strand of negative comments filling their mouths. Tension, depression, anxiety. Oh snap. Will I have my job tomorrow? Will I...? What if...?

But it is happening. Not to complain or anything, but my family is going to have to tighten its belt. Both of my parents could loose their jobs any minute now, but we have it better off than many other families.

And I have no problem whatsoever living off of Honey Bunches of Oats instead of our normal home-cooked meals.

We'll manage, though. Limit the items that aren't necessities, like extra clothes and restaurants. I'm just worried about our family emotionally. My mom tends to get frazzled easily, making our home reek of tension, which I don't handle well. I think if we keep a mask of happiness and continue prayers, we'll be fine. I feel guilty sometimes because I don't help enough around the house because I'm lazy and... lazy.

But not to be depressed! The news is drenched with enough sadness. Overall I'm dandy. Got my friends, got my man (maybe) and... I've never realized how fortunate my home life is. I know earlier I was just saying that my parents could loose their jobs, but we're closely knit. Most of my friends have trouble with their home life, but I feel like I have all this extra love. So I conclude that I should give it to my friends, just in case they need someone.

And now I'm talking about whatever. Tomorrow us band nerds try out for drum major or section leader, and I hope to play piccolo next year! And seniors are already done... Soon I'll be done... And life is going by too quickly.

to sing

2009-05-06T18:10:00.003-05:00

I have a friend who, bless her golden heart, doesn't... have the cheerleader looks, I should say.

But she has magic in her.

One day in band we were lounging around, and she was busying herself with algebra homework, a song was spinning in her head. She randomly sung a few lyrics, which reminded me of how lovely her singing is.

It's magic. Her voice gushes out of her, like a river that envelopes me in... satisfaction? Like my ears have been craving that particular sound, and she quenches my thirst. It's like a gate opening up for us to see everything inside of her. Light, color, energy. It's warm. It's how she blossoms. It sounds so pure. I don't dare sing because I know I'll sound like a dying cat next to her.

It's beautiful.

an inside look

2009-05-02T11:48:00.002-05:00

Why? I ask myself (yes I'm converting into first person) when I talk with one of my friends. Why is she so... cynical? Pessimistic? Sure, she enjoys a good laugh, but underneath it's like she can't trust anyone. And I guess not, as she's having the most terrible time trying to get along with her parents. They threaten to take everything from her, and I'm guessing their "kindness" has stained her view of the world. It's getting to where she doesn't care. She wants the easy way out. Give up? I hope not. She has potential, but her will is crumbling.

Also, I found out that another friend can take emotional overload. Numerous family mishaps have occurred within a few months, but she continued with the happy mask I always knew her to wear. Then, yesterday, everything came tumbling out. Tears, gasps, explanations, everything. I've never seen her cry. I've never known her to be anything except happy. And yet I sat beside her, trying to untangle the garbled words that she sputtered, and my heart... broke? Her mood washed over me, and for the rest of the day I was a bit depressed. I ached to comfort her. She had laughed a little, apologizing for crying, and I saw a flicker of the old, happy friend. But when the tears flowed, the sad girl I knew not came back. She had been tormented with all this news for months, and yet she never showed it. I never knew how strong she was.

orlando

2009-04-28T16:47:00.005-05:00

Back from the band trip. Dehydrated, tired, hungry, cold, and had a blast!

The 16 (or 15?) hour bus trip there wasn't too bad. We left at 10 p.m and started off with X-men blaring in our ears, followed by the day after tomorrow. Didn't get to sleep until 5 in the morning, stopped at mickey d's around 7, and continued on our merry way with American pie band camp.

The Sheraton (the hotel) was okay. The lobby was glassed in, which was neat. For dinner we ate at the Hard Rock Cafe and everyone danced! Back at the hotel, we had our share of gawking at water prices ($5 for a bottle!), crying (one of my friends was having a terrible time with a boy), making out in an elevator (again, one of my friends), and watching family guy.

The next day we wasted away at universal studios, which was amazing! We rode nearly every ride, and spent money on pointless things, like food and hair wraps. That evenings we screamed our lungs out at Medieval Times. Our team was the red knight, and ask any girl that attended, that boy was fine. All the other knights were "..." but this hero? Mmhmm. And he even won the tournament! Everyone wanted a picture with him, so naturally they thrusted their cameras at me and I was photographer for a night.

The following morning our voices were shot, but we went to First Baptist of Orlando to practice for the concert the next day. It was huge. They have the biggest organ in the southeast! And their sanctuary is bigger than the Rosa Hart theater at our civic center. Way bigger. Very impressive. After we loosened our fingers, we went to Downtown Disney, a city in itself. I was running low on energy, and basically just drifted through the stores, not really buying anything. We ate at McDonald's, as it was the cheapest "restaurant" there. (I didn't want to pay $17 for spaghetti.)

Concert day! We felt the energy while blasting our pieces. Amazing. After we blew away the judges, we went to a regular mall, where I was lured in by Floridians into buying lunch from a Chinese buffet (the Asians were yelling at me from across the walkway to try their chicken); the Godiva chocolate store (which was very expensive, but worth it) and other places. My friends and I ventured into Tiffany & Co. Diamond store, where we pretended we were rich, and we did the same in the Coach store. (You know, those purses everyone has with the C's covering them.)We spent the rest of the time in a furniture and a massage store chilling.

Awards! We went to Wet 'n Wild water park, where we would be receiving our gold. We got first in everything possible. End of story and can't wait until next year!

not an update, but...

2009-04-17T11:31:00.003-05:00

Yesterday she participated in a TOMS community walk, where people show up at Barbe and walk a mile barefoot on the track. The purpose of this is to show how little kids in third world countries feel because they don't have shoes. Thinking it was a worthy cause, she went.

And got blood blisters.

But on the positive side she's leaving for Orlando on Tuesday evening! It used to be two months away... one and a half... one.. and now four days to come! [enter scream here.] The band (for it is a band trip) will be going to Hard Rock cafe, Universal Studios, Medieval Times, and some mall for six hours. [enter groan here.]

So far spring break is... "eh." She filmed a video. (If you haven't already seen it well forget you.) But mostly she's been outside getting sunburned or indulging in cookie dough.

Last night she felt as if the world was speeding away, and she was anchored in one spot. Everyone is doing everything. And here she is. Still.

Englishmen in Converse

2009-04-14T09:56:00.000-05:00

For a taste of England.

turning

2009-04-11T12:07:00.002-05:00

Note: the Juilliard Project no longer exists. (Haha!) In place of its link is Stories.

For Easter: (for Jesus.)

typical spring

2009-04-11T11:40:00.003-05:00

It's been weeks.

A lot has happened since her last post. She's had her fair share of standardized tests. For three days she let the GEE drain her, and then the following Saturday she took the ACT, and surprisingly finished math! Science murdered her though. But that's okay.

And now it's spring break. She went shopping for an Easter dress... And then spent the entire day outside... plans to finish a bug project and film a new movie on monday... hang out with new friends...

And a new story is starting to take form. Forget about the Juilliard Project--- she knows nothing about New York.

No this is about a blind girl, from her point of view.

She knows no colors. Can't grasp the images her family reveals through their words. Her memories are based upon what she was feeling or hearing at that particular time. But like the girl form the Juilliard Project, she has a musical ability, but can't do anything with it. She can't play, as her family is poor and can't afford a piano worth their life. She can't write, because she never went to school. All she can do is listen. Listen to the music, to stories, and feel secluded because everyone treats her as though they can't see her.

Until...

to pluck a string (psalm)

2009-03-23T18:24:00.006-05:00

The prisoner sighed in his cell. Shackles clenched his wrists and ankles, limiting his movements around his hole in the wall. A small window scraped out of the cell dripped some life into him, but was nowhere near quenching his thirst for freedom.

Some food was shoved through a small opening in his cell door. His diet for the past couple of years has been bread and water. When he first arrived, it tasted like carpet, but eventually his taste buds had grown to accept the meager meal and now had no problem devouring the food. He would settle with the bread in front of the small window and gaze at the sky. The prisoner especially liked sunrise, when the sky was a canvas drenched with beautiful colors. New hope for a new day...

He picked at the chains that bound him. What would it feel like to run again? To fly without anything holding him back? He longed for a taste of... something new. He would give anything to escape.

The prisoner walked the streets, disgusted with himself. Everyone was staring at his chains as they chinked across the pavement. Why couldn’t he get rid of them? They never left.. The chains... The sin... Always rubbing his faults in his face... Always leading to more. Yes he was ugly, inside and out. Yes he had broken the law many times. Yes, he was going mad. Yes, he thought he was reaching the end of his rope. Yes, he wanted to give up.

He grew weary and plopped onto a bench. He tried to conceal his chains as best he could by tucking them under the bench, but he was sure it did no effect. Wind tickled the grass about him. Wind was free...

Flocks of people passed him and entered a tall building to his right. It was beautiful architecture. He admired it until his eyes read the sign. A church.

Mixes of emotions boiled inside him. Fear. Anxiety. Anger. He wanted to leave his bench and slip away to a more private spot where he wouldn’t be judged.

A jolt of anger choked him. Christians were a bunch of fools that had created God for their sake. They said they didn’t judge, he thought, but just wait. He would walk in front of the church and see how many people’s expressions would change. He would see disgust and revolt. They would quicken their pace and proceed into their church, where they wouldn’t be disturbed by him, an urchin scraped off from the street.

He stood and began walking by the church. He smirked at the sounds of his chain at his feet. Let them see what he truly was. Would they still smile? Still accept? Of course not. He was dirt. They wouldn’t welcome him.

“You there!”

His stomach twisted. Was somebody talking to him? He slowly turned around. A man of about thirty stood on the porch steps, grinning at him. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but a sports jacket and nice jeans. The man trotted down the steps and grasped the prisoner’s shoulder. “Want to come in today?”

Surprise swallowed the prisoner’s words. This Christian had foiled his plan! They were supposed to put him out with the trash... Not take him in.

Not waiting for the prisoner to reply, the man dragged him up the steps and into the church. No. No no no no no. He didn’t want to be here. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been in a church. He didn’t want to be with a bunch of good-doers. If that’s what they were. All this was fake, right? There was no such thing...

“How about I stand with you in the back?” the man asked.

The back. The back was good. Maybe he could slip away. The prisoner mumbled an okay.

A song started. The prisoner scanned the sanctuary. Three guys were busting it with electric guitars and another on drums. Since when...?

People started to clap. Oh no. He would not clap and be regarded as a fool... The man next to him started to clap. The sea of congregation clapped. Clap. The prisoner looked at the door behind him It was only a few feet away...

The congregation sat down. There was his chance of escaping. The pastor, or he assumed it was the pastor, stood in front of a podium and welcomed everyone. The prisoner fidgeted. But he decided to listen.

The sermon began. The pastor’s words were comfort. No. He would not be taken in by these Christians. He would resist there ways.

But...

The sermon continued, and the prisoner couldn’t help but listen intently.

The congregation stood. Another song ebbed from the people. The hundred people gathered there sang. A hundred voices flowed into one. One voice.

He figured he could try... He opened his mouth.

To sing forever would not be enough.

A trickle of song escaped from his lips.

Your grace has broken every chain.

Broken every chain.

His chains.

His sins.

The song and voice started pounding.

O praise the one who paid my debts.

They began to hammer at his chains.

And raised this life up from the dead.

One voice. One love. Singing. Hammering.

My heart sings a brand new song.

The prisoner, the beloved, looked up at the enormous window at the front of the church. Light caressed the sanctuary. Caressed him.

A glow was ignited inside him.

To sing forever will not be enough.

A love was ignited inside him.

Your grace has broken every chain.

Tears brimmed.

The beloved lifted his hands. No weight. No chains.

Free. He lifted his feet. No chains.

All the glory to You.

"To be noticeably different, you must choose the ways of God, not of this world. You should be unlike something or somebody else. We are to be made alive in Christ. Choose to stand out to be noticeably different even when your friends choose to blend in... You make the choice.
What will you choose?"

Disciple Now 2009

feel the heat on your shoulders.

2009-03-18T19:43:00.003-05:00

An ocean of blue sky,
A splash of shade,
Clocks set to springtime,
Nestled between trees,
A pinch of new leaves,
Black bark,
Petals that turn into butterflies,
Explosions of flowers,
Birds decorating the sky,
All stirred with music,
And throw it all out under the sun.

It's like her vision is set to green.

sixteen

2009-03-11T17:00:00.002-05:00

Another chapter of her life was completed on Monday. She is now sixteen.

On her last day of being fifteen, she tried to reflect on what she has accomplished so far.

Once she turned sixteen, she thought, "Screw this---I'm fine."

She's been spending more time outside and less on this computer; she's starting to find a bright screen lighting up the dark room less appealing than the blossoming outdoors. Everything is now a nice, light green, by the way, and flowers are exploding everywhere.

And overall this is very drab.

So she's going outside, where her eyes can quench their thirst for nature.

interpreting

2009-02-28T13:10:00.004-06:00

She was outside listening to music and absorbing what the earth was showing her. Her mind drew many thoughts, she was drenched with them, and yet here she sits, unable to conjure up a thing. She had felt alive. The music made her thoughts alive.

Speaking of music, she listened to this one song over and over again, giving her the following images:

The untamed wilderness lay before her. The sun drew a blanket round her shoulders. She heard the music flood the area, and the land drank its fill of it. She closed her eyes.

Enter.

Open. She gazed up the mountain's winding trial. Life's mountain. Gathering a breath, she began the climb. Step. This was just the intro. Step. A continuous beat. Step. Reaching. Step. Climbing. Step. Determined. Step. Empowered. Step. Nothing can hold her back.

There.

Panoramic view. The wind congratulated her, music suddenly lit up, the scene below her swirled. It was alive. Adrenaline. Colors, music, feeling...

Night. Quiet. Smiling.

Back. The sunlight greeted her warmly, and laughter was her companion. She was stronger than ever.

Flying? Skimming the water's edge and feeling the sea breeze whip her. Nothing was faster...

She stood still, and the world revolved around her. Have you felt that way?

End.

-Tryouts by Jerry Goldsmith from the Rudy soundtrack.

inner child

2009-02-25T16:49:00.002-06:00

The child opened his eyes. He rolled over on his straw mat, shivering under the patched sheet. Shelves were everywhere, mostly holding things he didn’t understand. He stared, unblinkingly, at them, his little mind trying to find their purpose. After a while he gave up, deciding that he wanted to go outside. He stood, dusted himself off, and peered around the room. There was no door. A jolt of panic lurched through him. No outside? He must go outside. He needed to play hunter in the forests, needed freckles to pop onto his skin, needed to get grass stains, needed the wind to stroke his chubby face, needed...

He bolted. His tiny body slammed against the wall, having no effect against the barrier. The child spent his energy on pointless punches, and tears began to stream down his face. He wanted out... Just to see the sun.... Why couldn’t he see the sun?

For seven years he had been trapped in the room, for short intervals at first, but then he gradually spent longer sentences in the room. He grew bored very quickly, and as he had nothing better to do, he slept.

But one little boy can hold energy for so long, and now he was ready to greet the world again. Only he couldn’t. Because the walls wouldn’t let him. The mind wouldn’t let him. The body wouldn’t let him. He was trapped until summoned in the mind, trapped until the body needed to be a kid again. Briefly he could shine when the body played a sport, but other than that the body kept a padlock on the mind, the boy’s prison.

Was the body afraid that the child would expose him as incompetent? That he would be immature? Unsuccessful? Loser? Say nonsensical things? At least the boy knew how to be happy.

He should be able to see the sun.

a new day

2009-02-24T17:32:00.004-06:00

Click here.
^Directed par moi.

Her old layout was getting, well, old. The black was too depressing, so why not white? A blank canvas...

She dipped her pen in a dream, and was about to attempt a small story, but the tv just cranked up its volume, which shatters every thought:
story? gone.
a girl? gone.
the news? here.
commercials? here.

Her thoughts, disgusted with tv, confirmed to leave her and take a train to someone else's head. She can't even describe the train, or the station, as they're already gone and NBC News with Brian Williams is talking to her instead.

Lovely.

think in music

2009-02-15T18:39:00.003-06:00

What does it mean to think in music?

Does it mean with every sight, a sound is channeled with it?

Does it mean moods are like passionate songs?

Does it mean withe every person, a melody floats around them?

Blog #2

2009-02-10T16:45:00.002-06:00

The previous story has planted an idea in her mind, and you can find the idea here.

If, that is, she has time.

If life were a color for her at the moment, it would be a dull yellow. Nothing out of the ordinary is happening, but everything is fine. Cruising a long...

She's wondering how different people imagine things. For her, when you drifts off to daydream, a movie starts. It features the same two characters over and over again, but the plot changes with her mood. When she has to stop day dreaming, she bookmarks her spot, and picks up where she left off later. If she doesn't like a scene, she'll rewind and start again. Is it like this for other people?

She hopes her story will work. It's not everyday one's garden starts anew.

one step.

2009-01-26T13:01:00.002-06:00

Welcome to story time.

Leah stared at her piano. She and four others had been chosen to perform in a musical competition, a scholarship to any school of their choice was the prize. She wasn’t fretting over the prize, however, but with whom she would be preforming.

Her finger pressed down on a key. The note disturbed the morning silence. Unsatisfied, she played a chord. The sound wasn’t as barren.

She sat at her piano on the small stage, waiting for her fellow performers to arrive. She was anxious to meet them. What if they weren’t as capable as her? Reason told her that they would not have been chosen if that were the case.

She was placed at the side of the stage, with a drum set behind her. A microphone hogged the center. A singer. Why should they have a singer? Voice ruined the instrumental effect.

The future group’s conductor stood by Leah, jabbering about something that wasn’t filling her ears. His name was Professor Keats. Within the first few minutes of greeting him, she concluded that he was an absent-minded old man who didn’t know that plaid and stripes didn’t match, as was his coat and shirt. He had white wispy hair and bifocals. And he was supposed to be genius.

A sudden jump of tone in his voice made her focus in on his words. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “Here is one of our violinists.”

Her vision targeted in on the boy. Young man was the more correct term. He walked with confidence, with his violin case tucked securely under his arm. He was tall and topped with dark hair splayed around his head He stepped onto the stage with grace.

“Ah yes! I presume you are Mr. Michael?” Professor Keats asked. The boy inclined his head. “Good, good. This here is Miss Leah, our lovely pianist.”

He flicked his gaze down at her then back to the old man. Leah set her jaw. Mr. Michael seemed rather unsocial.

Once the professor had told him that he may warm up if he wished, Michael turned and walked to the opposite side of the stage. She felt herself gasp. From his case he produced a beautiful violin. A handsome boy with a handsome instrument. How fitting.

Within a few seconds a melody unfurled from him. Leah pretended not to notice, but her ears disobeyed her brain and soaked in the music. He was good. Brilliant.

She heard the creak of the door open and shut. In walked a small boy with large glasses and baggy clothes. He too cradled a violin case. Once on the stage, he tripped over his untied shoe laces, sniffled, then peered up at Professor Keats.

“Ah dear sir, and you are Mr. Laurence?” The professor smiled. The boy replied with a high voice. He could surely not be in high school, thought Leah. Unless he hadn’t hit puberty yet. Laurence shuffled over to stand by Michael, whom he gave a small peep of a greeting. Leah turned back to her piano. The music in front of her danced across the pages, tempting her to play. Without thinking her fingers coaxed a few notes out. She stole a glance at the violinists. They were staring back. What would she create? With a smile she started the song. Her song. The song.

She had fallen in love with it when she had first gotten the music. She had let her fingers stroke the ivories until they mastered every measure. She could play it flawlessly, but she never tired of the song. It was woven in her heart. She was the pulse. The foundation. She cradled the rest of the instruments in her palm, in her music. She had to press the beautiful notes into the audience and awaken them.

She was lost in the song when a spill of light from outside interrupted her. The arrival of the drummer, she guessed, because he did not appear the singing type. Her first thought was that he was a punk. Tattoos on his arms and ragged jeans, he skipped up onto the stage, two taped drumsticks in hand. He looked at Leah, winked, then turned to Professor Keats.

“Mr.. Ah.. Jared?” the old man asked.

Instead of replying, Jared reached out to high five Professor Keats, and as he didn’t know what to do, the drummer slapped his back instead. He then made his way to the drum set, seated himself, and launched into whamming the drums with his sticks. She couldn’t play now. The drums would swallow her music.

Minutes passed with no show of the singer. Michael gave up trying to practice with the hammering of the drums staining the air. He leaned against the wall, occasionally glaring at Jared or glancing at Leah. She showed no warm emotion towards him. Little Laurence was determined that the room could have a lovely sound if he and the drummer played, but no avail. Jared was ruthless. He never stopped. Sure, he was excellent, but he was mutating into annoyance.

Then she entered. The singer. The member they didn’t really need. She strutted onto the stage and Leah’s heart was thorned with envy. Of course she was beautiful. Beautiful with a beautiful voice. How fitting.

“The last of our members! Miss Alexandra.” Professor Keats beamed.

“Alex,” corrected the singer. Her voice was sharp. Alexandra to Alex. Chop the name in half, leaving a lifeless name behind.

“Pardon... Now!” Professor Keats cleared his throat, “For the next few minutes, please get to know each other, as you will be spending a great deal of time with one another the next few days.”

Leah slowly stood and trudged to the middle of the stage, where Alexandra was. The boys followed. Professor Keats mumbled something about his wife and disappeared.

The five teenagers stared at each other. The singer cut in the silence and announced, “Well, I don’t know about you, but this is a waste of time. Let’s just practice. Especially the part where I come in.”

Anger bubbled in Leah. Seeing that no one else was going to protest, she said,

“Shouldn’t we start at the beginning?”

Alexandra zapped her eyes on Leah. “Why? Only you play there. You should already know your part.”

“Same for you! Why do you want to start in the climax of the song? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“The climax is the most emotional,” Alexandra growled.

“But in order to get to that level of emotion, we need to start at the beginning and work our way up.” Leah returned.

“Don’t know ‘bout you guys, but I say beginning,” Jared said. With that he settled himself at his drums. Alexandra shot a death stare at him, but Jared winked back.

Silently Michael and Laurence went back to their stations. Leah seated herself at her piano, and began.

There was too much tension in the room. She could feel it. Her fingers felt it. Her music sensed it. It wasn’t lush as it had always been. The music was attacking the air, not enveloping it into a lullaby. Her confidence dwindled, but before she could pull out Michael came in with his violin. He was supposed to hold her up and amplify her. Instead it sounded as if he were fighting her. He was struggling for his sound to immerse hers. To balance it, she struck the keys harder. A voice cut them.

“STOP!” Professor Keats exclaimed. “What is that? You are supposed to be great! I’ve never heard such a thing in my life! Flow together! You are at peace, not raging in a war! Again!” Leah’s eyes wandered toward Alexandra. She was smirking at her.

Furious with herself, Leah focused in our her part. At too fast a tempo the strands of notes came barreling out. She heard Michael shyly enter, as he knew this wasn’t right but didn’t protest.

“Stop! Leah, come here.” Professor Keats ended gently. Humiliation burned her face. Trembling she went to him. She looked at Michael. He looked livid. “What’s wrong with you?” the violinist spat. “You played it well before! I heard you!”

Her anger boiled over. “In case you haven’t noticed, the atmosphere in this room isn’t exactly peaceful.”

“Now what Miss Leah is saying is true,” Keats remarked. “This is a beautiful song, and without its performers feeling the beautiful emotions that are supposed to flow with it, well, this isn’t the song, is it? Now why are you five not content?”

No one stirred. Exasperated, the professor sighed. “Come now. There is no point in practicing if you won’t cooperate.”

“To me, it seems as if the pianist isn’t cooperating,” injected Alexandra.

“Look guys,” said Jared, “Let’s just do this thing, okay?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” suddenly squeaked Laurence, “but time is almost up. This is our shortest rehearsal...”

“Mmm yes I see... Well you five get a goodnight’s sleep, and be fresh for tomorrow!” Professor Keats tried to end on a happy note.

Leah felt tears threatening to spring. She was ashamed. Since when had she not been able to play? Forgetting her music, she dashed off the stage and slipped out of the auditorium into the failing light.

She lie in her bed, body pounding. Slits of anger cut her, while a cloud of depression muted the intensity. A thousand questions jabbed at her mind, wondering why she had failed. Sleep was out of the question. Leah rolled out of bed and stared out the dormitory window. Ants with headlights filed down the interstate. A small light grasped her gaze; a lone star shone in the ink. Probably a satellite, she mused, as no other stars were present.

On a whim she turned and walked out of her room. She padded down the hall, making sure she wouldn’t disturb the fellow musicians. She stifled a chuckle. Some musician they thought she was.

Once in the auditorium, and abandoning caution, she settled herself at her piano. Maybe they would hear her and realize that she could play; she just had to be in her element. Not wanting to listen to a couple of warm up notes, she plunged into the song.

The melody started, a relentless strand that slowly grew and cleared the way for the violin, who drowned her after a few measures, but that was the beauty of it. The drums would then come in, supporting her, and the second violin would fly...

She restarted. The music was in her blood now and her fingers danced across the keys. Let everything out. Her pace quickened. The angry energy and thoughts from the afternoon poured onto the piano. The still air gulped her sound and became alive.

Once she was satisfied with her playing, and had probably woken everyone else, she let her fingers walk, playing whatever path they wished. Leah closed her eyes and listened to what was being created. She realized that she had started the song up again, only this time it sounded different. More passion? She opened her eyes and added her other hand. More. Grow. Build. The violin came in, and she let her heart fall onto the ivories.

The violin. She wasn’t imagining it. She whirled around. Michael stood staring at her, violin poised “Why did you stop?”

“W-Why are you here?” she mumbled.

“I heard you. It was like a dream, so beautiful.” he walked over to her. His hair was ruffled. “I had... to join you.”

She smiled at him and faced her piano. “Start from the top?”

“You don’t mind if I stand here, do you?”

“Not at all.” Leah whispered.

She stitched the air with the song, passion was the thread. After a few measures, Michael crept in with a crescendo. He flicked his bow, creating a counter melody that meshed with hers. He steadily grew louder until he was dominate and she was supporting him. The second violin soared in, lifting them to the skies. She and Michael kept rising, and Laurence reached as high as he could go. Leah blinked and found Laurence standing beside them, eyes closed and playing his heart out. She grinned and turned back to her hands. The drums suddenly started, a soft beat, helping her piano part keep afloat in the beautiful chaos. He eventually surpassed her however, as it was supposed to be. She listened to them leave her behind with a smile.

The unexpected voice slammed her down to earth, and with shock she watched Alexandra sing while staring at Leah. She kept playing the piano and stared back, determined to not drop her gaze first. She soon realized that it was a wasted effort, as Alexandra’s expression was gentle. Alex was gentle. Leah smiled, and the singer smiled back. Her voice took control of the song with Laurence backing her up. The voice smoothed a path in the midst of the music, allowing them to gush past into the non-existent audience.

When they finished, no one spoke. Echoes of the sound still hung in the air. Professor Keats had joined them with tears in his eyes. Leah’s heart was pounding; she had never experienced anything like this. Alex burst out into a joyful laugh. Leah followed. The two locked eyes and were branded by friendship.

The audience was a whisper. All eyes, including the judges, were on the five musicians. Leah sat behind the piano, hands on the keys, waiting. Someone she didn’t see announced who they were. Individual names were pointless, she thought, as the past days had formed a bond around them She tossed a glance at Michael, who nodded back at her. Jared winked, Laurence smiled nervously, and Alex beamed. They were whole.

They were ready. The people were ready. The hushes died into silence. Leah’s heart imitated a jackhammer. The spotlight was all on her. If she messed up...

She pressed down the keys. Her body started moving with the music. She coaxed the melody into the people; she had to break down their guard. Her pulse hopefully melted them away...

Michael eased in with her. With his bow he aided her into awing the audience. She and the violinist were flung into a deeper level of passion. His sound flooded hers; she had formed a crevice big enough for him to get into the audience’s minds. He streamed through.

Laurence’s part leaped over them, beauty tailing his notes. He surged by, widening the crevice into a gap. They were getting through. When Leah could be heard no more, Jared grasped her with his rhythm. He barged through the gap cracking it. Their sound flowed in. They grew. Unstoppable. Michael prepared for the voice. Breaching any resistance from their listeners, Alex pushed them all through. Leah and her part stood back listening. Their sound rushed by her, leaving her to pay her same melody. The same beautiful melody.

random

2009-01-20T16:33:00.002-06:00

She has nothing to say. Sometimes she moves as if she's in a movie. Trees were swaying with the wind yesterday. It made her want to dance, though she doesn't enjoy dancing. She was happy Sunday. All of Sunday. She helped a friend. She made honor band. she saw a massive group of birds dominate the sky. She thought it was magic. There is magic. One just has to look for it. Her thoughts are gushing out of her mind.

Why is she writing a blog post? She has nothing to say. Maybe a story should form here.
Maybe it shouldn't. She's going to rewrite Augustine and lengthen it.

There's her story.

Overall this post is pointless.

But she's well. Just not cultivated well.

2009-01-13T16:52:00.002-06:00

There is no time to write. Everything is tugging on her, demanding its attention before writing. One night she came up with a good first line for a story. Any story. And there it remains. Nothing added. Scream.

She also needs to read. She wants to plunge into an ocean of novels; but responsibilities are chaining her to the shore.

She sat in English class, staring at her score. Her friends fluffed themselves up with pride, as their grades were extremely good. Shouldn't she be extremely good? She normally was. Why today? Why on this test? Was she an idiot now? Anger burned inside her. Why couldn't she have done better? The room was silent except for the teacher's voice lulling the class to sleep, except her. Her body was tense and coiled. She wanted to bolt out of the room. She wanted to race down the hall and fall into nature's arms.

Her body remained in her still position, while her mind pulsed. Was she slipping? She had been steadily climbing a mountain of grades, defeating it with a smile. Had she lost her balance? Was she falling?

Falling...

cookies

2009-01-11T17:58:00.001-06:00

Click here.

By me.

In the car, the voices pounded into her ears, so she turned up the volume. Escape...

The sun fell, sucking all color with it, leaving silhouettes.

help Lord.

2009-01-02T14:18:00.003-06:00

She stood in a white room. It was empty except a few paints in the corner. She felt placid and dull, staring at the walls. Nothing. She could go to sleep and dream to escape this drab confinement.

Her eyes wandered over to the paints. All the basic colors were there, untouched and brand new. Brushes and a glass of water stood by them. Her hand twitched. She crossed the room to the paints, mixed up a nice shade of green, dipped a brush in it, and stroked the wall. One trail of one color.

Nothing yet. Maybe she should just sleep.

Sighing the continued to paint. Maybe something would spark.

On one patch of the wall, she had made colors weave in and out of each other. A rusty gear in her mind began to turn. More colors. The gears were increasing their speed now, as was the amount of paints on the wall. She drew vines constricting trees, wind that whipped the rain to fall in a certain manner. A forest. A kingdom. A girl stood in the middle of it all, looking up at the clouded sky and tasting the drops on her lips.

One wall was done, three more to go.

She can't finish it. The room was supposed to be filled with thousands of things, thousands of ideas and thoughts. Thousands of ideas she can choose to write about, but it cannot be. Everything is hiding from her. She reaches her hand out to pick up an idea, but it shirks away. She is left with nothing. There is a hole in her mind.

She sat at her piano, trying out different keys. A few notes strung together, then died. No song would come.

She needs a story. Desperately.

2008-12-31T19:18:00.003-06:00

January 1st.

She blinked.

It's December 31st.

Fast forward: Turning fifteen and hours of listening to music and swinging and going to school and biking riding and crushing and writing and dreaming and napping and playing the flute and taking tests and going to Atlanta and a mission trip to Missouri and working at a day camp and not taking any finals and going to band camp and starting her sophomore year and getting her permit and marching competitions and writing Augustine and joining the Bayou Writer's Group and MAKING HER FIRST B ON HER ALGEBRA II MIDTERM AHH and making videos and reading and all of her series have ended and a bunch of other stuff she has forgotten.

2008. A whole year of her life. Used up. Did she live it out to its fullest? She's gotten more in tune with herself. She thinks.

And now 2009. She blinked.

It's December 31st.

Also, click here.

poe

2008-12-27T18:01:00.002-06:00

Click here.

She can't tell if the noise she hears is the wind or a hundred fluttering wings.

Memories of Christmas

2008-12-25T10:33:00.003-06:00

The vibrant thread slowly stitched together to form a recognizable image. Colors flowed into the newly formed picture, rivers of emotions flooded the scene. The memory.

Throughout time, more memories caressed into each other. They formed a figure. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes in waves, they splashed into their position, creating legs, arms, and a torso. Thousands of images. Thousands of occasions. Thousands of memories.

All standing still.

The body, the human, was there. The eyes peered out but saw nothing. The ears strained for a sound but heard nothing. The mind was mindless. The heart was there but felt nothing.

Then He came. (Yes He not he.) He walked silently up to the body and touched it. His hand wrapped around its., jump starting it. The standstill pictures suddenly awoke, the eyes opened and drank in sights; the ears welcomed whispers; a door had been unlocked and the mind entered a world of its own; and the heart brimmed with life, flooding the human with love.

He walked back, smiling to himself. But he never left.

Memories create who you are.
— Roger Templeton.

---

One more day and it’s all slipping with the sand.
Her insides threatened to spill out. Threatened to scream, rip, cry, plead. Emotions clouded her mind and her vision, confusing and misleading her. Through the night she streaked down the street, as the tears were streaking down her face.
We got nowhere to go and no home that’s left.

The water is rising on a river and turning red.
Panic choked her, despair made her choice seem more reasonable.
If everything we’ve got is slipping away,
I meant what I said when I said until my dying day.
No one would miss her. Not after what she had done.

You touch my lips and grab the back of my hand.
She shook off the clasp, she wanted to be left alone. She turned away, back into the darkness and He shook his head.

Maybe it’s all gone black but you’re all I see.
The light of the moon illuminated her. She searched the sky to find the white orb, but found none.

The walls are shaking, I hear them sound the alarm.
Glass is breaking so don’t let go of my arm.
Her world as she knew it collapsed. The barriers melted. She blinked and could see.
The tears are coming down,
They’re mixing with the rain.
Her new vision was pooled with tears, but she didn’t mind.
I’m holding on to you, holding on to me.
Maybe it’s all we got but it’s all I need.
You’re all I need.

A smile.
And if all we got is what no one can break.
I know I love you, if that’s all we can take.

A laugh.
We’re grabbing at the fray for something that won’t drown.

Merry Christmas.

2008-12-17T16:06:00.000-06:00

Dedicated to Samantha for her civics midterm:

I walked into the band room feeling confident about my biology midterm that I was supposed to kill later in the day. Samantha, however, was having the opposite feeling. She had her civics review splayed around her, tears in her eyes. Half her hair was torn out. She was in a nightmare.

But when she saw me, hope ignited her eyes.

And then after five minutes, she was helpless again.

I called out the questions, but her mind drifted to other things, therefore making her distracted. Our first attempts of studying went like so:

Me: "The Bill of Rights guarantee what?"

Her: "Huh?"

Me: "The Bill of Rights guarantee what?"

Her: "Uh.. DANG IT. My stupid parents wouldn't help me study! They just wanted to watch tv and wrap presents! That can be done at a later date! I just know they want me to fail."

"But what do the Bill of Rights guarantee?"

"I don't know."

"The right to a speedy trial by jury, freedom of speech, and the right to bear arms."

"Mmk. Jury, speech, and right to bear arms. Got it."

"So what does the Bill of Rights guarantee?"

"... Wait! Hold on... Uh.. Jury? .. GAH WE WENT OVER THIS LIKE TWO SECONDS AGO!"

I know.

But Samantha had cookies in her backsack, and I dare say they saved her. In French we worked out a system where every time she got an answer right, she got a piece of cookie. Even if it made her hyper.

Her: "Cool! I know this one!"

Me: "Good. Now---" *Samantha gets distracted.*

*I wave the cookie in front of her face. Her attention snaps back.*

*She starts laughing for no apparent reason.*

We're good.

At lunch she zipped through the notes, and my feelings of dread had subsided. She knew most of it. But would she do okay? She couldn't make a B. She was worried she would fail with a B. I hoped she could scrape an A together..

At the end of the day, after I was drained from taking my own midterm, I headed to my locker, wondering if I would see Samantha.

I saw her.

Tears were in her eyes.

Fear choked me. What..?

"I GOT A 99!"

the teen age

2008-12-12T20:03:00.000-06:00

Our backdrop is night. The city lights illuminate our presence. Hard rock runs through our blood, which we enjoy spilling. Fast cars adds to our adrenaline rush, zipping down the concrete that is spattered everywhere in our word. We naturally choose the color black to cloak us; besides, it goes well with our midnight guitars. Neon is our stars, of which we don’t see anymore. We have too much on our mind to stand in awe of the sky. Too many emotions pulsing our heart and mind. Too vibrant of emotions. Not just a little hate. Not just a drop of love. They dump themselves into our hectic lives. Having to fit school into our system; it’s too mellow, too drab. Where’s the color? Where’s the flashing lights and the screeching music? It’s a drug, these lights and songs and life; we need it to escape ourselves. We don’t know our real selves. Who wants to? Who wants to see what’s underneath our tattooed skin? We don’t like truth. But racing through the night, the world a blur, you can forget.

But then, when it’s over, we feel more alone than ever.

And then, when it’s over, we’re handed the world.

--
Funny, how she can write something totally unlike her nature while listening to rock music.

don't really know, but kind of cool

2008-12-11T16:32:00.000-06:00

He ravaged through the land, a monster building inside him. All this rage, all this passion, and he had no where to dump it. His hands grew into claws and foam dribbled down his chin. His eyes held a permanent glare, spattered with hatred. Or was it love? He didn't know nor cared. All these emotions, all these thoughts...

He reached the edge of small cliff. Half of his crazed mind told him to fly off, but he saw a figure at the bottom. He could clearly see that it was a girl with a book in her hands. She looked up at him and smiled.

So pure, so innocent. A smile. A book. A dress. The wind. Caught the papers of her book and splayed them into the air, but she didn't move her gaze.

A flower blossomed inside his chest, its petals dripping the sweet smell of love.

But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars.
--Martin Luther King.

misfortune and luck

2008-12-08T16:26:00.000-06:00

Misfortune and Luck stood side by side, comparing two souls. They were nothing at the moment. No thoughts, no emotions, no life. Yet. Soon they would enter the world, gifted or cursed.

Misfortune smirked and decided to stain the soul on the left. See what would be become of this little girl now. Luck uneasily shifted its weight and granted itself to the boy on the right. If only it could save the girl too. But alas, it was not meant to be.

Years later.

He set his home-cooked meal on the table. His youth group was giving a free meal to the homeless. They would file in, eat their fill, and the church teens would give out gifts. It was most likely their only Christmas present.

He entered the kitchen for a knife to slice his brisket. After rummaging through a drawer, he found a large one and went back into the church gym, where the poor would eat.

Shattering pierced his ears and a liquid showered his back. He swiveled to find the punch bowl splayed on the ground and, once he looked at his Hollister jacket, punch dripping from it. He laughed. What a stain.

One of his friends crawled to him and begged for his forgiveness. Sure, he said. After all, it was only a jacket. As long as his cell phone wasn't ruined. His quickly slipped it out of his pocket to check. All good.

The homeless came. Many women were shawled in ragged clothes, and small children were wide-eyed and silent. Men were sparse, but those who were there weren't dressed any better than the women. A teenage girl caught his eye. Her svelte body was covered in a t-shirt with no jacket in the December weather. She instantly locked eyes with him. He tried to cast his gaze downward but couldn't look away. They seemed to share something.

music unites.

2008-12-02T16:39:00.000-06:00

He struck a chord on the piano. His fingers slowly unfurled and stretched to cradle the melody. He held it, then opened his hands and watched the notes fly away.

The small girl skipped down the dirt path, swinging a straw basket in her tiny hand. A halo of flowers rested on her black hair. The notes found and kissed her, and she started singing in tune with the song.

A man sat at his desk wondering when the day would close. His twirled his chair to face the window and gasped at the sky's canvas. The sun did make an excellent artist before it's bedtime. The song crescendo in his ears, and he too fell into the melody.

They swaggered down the street, boasting and thinking they were invincible. The notes brushed them and they stood still. Tears fell, but they couldn't help but sing.

The village's battered instruments accompanied the song.

A nation heard the music and the people cried out in unison.

The world's voices now produced the song, everyone untied. Every living thing singing the same thing.

2008-11-27T18:13:00.000-06:00

The man laughed raucously in his chair. His belly was filled with the feast, as none remained on his plate. His patted his stomach, his suit was becoming a tad too tight. The man eyed the leftover food on the table. Just because he could, he snatched a drumstick and sank his teeth into its juices.

After a swallow, he joined in on the now raunchy conversation. His companions fluffed their pride and rambled on about topics most knew nothing about. His eyes grew bright from the wine while his heart lost its shine.

Most of the guests had retreated to the smoking room and he planned to join them. Standing, he was about to turn when his eyes found a scrap of paper abandoned on the table. He picked it up. It was the forgotten prayer.

His mouth twitched, and stared out the window into the night.

The girl huddled with her younger brother under the bridge. She broke their dinner, a loaf of bread, and handed him half. "Happy Thanksgiving, little one. Give thanks to the Lord."

Her brother, only seven, shivered in his thin jacket. "Why? Look at those rich people across the lake. They actually get... get a feast! And we just get..." He clamped his mouth shut once he caught her glare.

"Don't ever speak like that! You've no idea how lucky we are! Sure, we may not have a house, or turkey, or parents, but we have each other... and that should be enough! Besides," her tone softened, "it's not every day we get a whole loaf of bread. Now time for our scripture."

She pulled out from her ragged sweater her precious but beaten Bible and flipped open to Psalms. Her voice filled the still night air. Her brother had already scarfed down his dinner and was now snuggled next to her. She stroked his hair, and after a moment fell asleep curled next to him.

East of Eden

2008-11-25T13:44:00.000-06:00

"He had the most dreams and ideas, but no one would give him any money for them. But of course---he had so much, he was so rich. You couldn't give him anymore. He was already rich in spirit. Riches seem to come to the poor in spirit, the poor in interest and joy."
-East of Eden by John Steinbeck

Maybe you should just listen.

Maybe she wanted to escape the world of sin. Take my hand and we'll put our heads together and find this valley of richness. Where the sun warms your cold heart and the wind coos a lullaby in your ears. Maybe an overwhelming sense will trickle to your heart, and your eyes will well with tears. Maybe. Leave your lust behind, but make sure you have enough passion for the world.

Maybe she wanted to write her words like music: beautiful.

I stand at the beginning of the path, stretching my hand out for you. Come with me; escape with me. The sun is our compass, as is the North star. A cross gleams in front of my breast; of course we will not get lost.

Just make sure you have enough passion for the world.

disgrunted. if that's even a word.

2008-11-19T19:29:00.000-06:00

She didn't want to ride the bus today. She wanted to walk home and think, iPod disrupting her thoughts. On the road, she saw her bus pass her. The kids were probably looking at her, wondering why she was on the roadside and not at school. Concealing her face, she slipped into a side neighborhood. She would wait here until her bus picked up the remaining kids and passed her.

She strolled down the narrow street, noticing that a man was mowing his lawn. He was probably wondering why this random girl was entering his neighborhood, but she didn't really care. She probably wouldn't even see him again.

Walking down two lanes, she turned back onto the main street, still finding the man mowing. She cast her look downwards and quickly exited the neighborhood. He was probably perplexed by her actions. She laughed at herself. Why did she want to avoid the bus?

Just because.

Because her heart had been ripped a bit. Well, not ripped, but torn. A bit. But still enough to hurt.

And being hurt required to think to get the mass of thoughts untangled.

The walk wasn't as grand as she planned it to be. Her backsack suddenly weighed down her shoulders, and traffic was congested. She did pluck a flower though, just because it seemed like a delicate thing to do. She sniffed it, but no scents wafted to her nose.

She needed God to scrape her off the ground, mold her back together, pat her on the back and give her a little shove forward so she could be on her way. And He probably did do just that, but she's too blind to notice.

anti-boyfriend

2008-11-17T18:11:00.000-06:00

The earth's colors were sharply defined today. Her eyes soaked in the art, and she wondered why she didn't always see the land like this. She swung in wonder, content that the vibrant paints showed themselves.

Maybe she didn't need a guy. Now. If she had one, she would always be distracted and miss the earth's beauty. She'd grow half-blind and crippled because she would never experience the small things... things that one doesn't notice if their not paying attention. But she was paying attention, or now she was. She wouldn't stray from God. She needed to blossom within in herself first. Right? She could be independent. She could stride through the rest of the year, smirking and satisfied with the world. And everyone would see.

If she was in love, she might not have noticed the earth's colors.

I feel so far from where I've been
So I go, and I will not be back here again
I'm gone as the day is fading
And you, maybe you'll remember me

Lifehouse - Everything

2008-11-16T18:06:00.001-06:00

Her church youth group presented a play titled "Project Reality." (Instead of Project Runway.) It showed how Bible times doesn't vary greatly from present times. (As in backstabbing and sorts...) Also, a few of her fellow teens acted out the video Lifehouse Everything skit. Intense. She loves it. Almost cried the first time she saw it. Sigh.

Anyway, after a four hour play rehearsal on Saturday, she attended the Bayou Writer's Group conference, where she received 100 copies of Augustine. 100 copies. Snap. She actually autographed a few, while thinking "WHAT AM I DOING?" and she managed to sell seven of her stories, raking in a whole $14.

She needed to pledge her remaining November to her NaNoWriMo story, which is now over 6,000 words. She's lagging behind... Extremely. Oh well. At least she's having fun.

100 years

2008-11-06T18:50:00.001-06:00

Fifteen, she gripped the ropes that held her swing, mind rocketing. Her thoughts were anywhre but in her backyard. She sung, not caring if the neighbors heard.

She needed to stop being conceded. The story was about the characters, so step aside.

But what if someone was watching the author?

She grinned and continued flying.

100 years by Five for Fighting.

I'm 99 for a moment, time for just another moment and I'm just dreaming to where you are.

When you've only got 100 years to live.

Her hundred-year-old self lay on her deathbed, reviewing her life. Her teenage self stared back, her jaw set and eyes demanding. What had she done with her life? Had she forgotten the thoughts she spun when she swung those decades ago? Had she been corrupted by the world's ways? Had she forgotten? Her young self wanted to know.

But there was no time left. Mustering her last strength, she gave a weak smile. She attempted to nod, but breathed her last.

Climbing to the heavens, she gave a last look at earth---her life. The teenager stared at her, tears spilling over her eyes. She reached out wanting to touch her. The fifteen-year-old nodded, confirming that she would not lose herself. She would not let her spirit die.

As she was now.

Had she done enough? 100 years? And it all dwindled back to swinging on a blustery November afternoon in her backyard. She smiled. She drifted upward with the sun's rays, leaving the teen to grasp the world in her hands.

15 there's still time for you.

a memory of the elder filled the novel...

2008-11-06T18:50:00.000-06:00

She stumbled upon him and gasped. Surprised, her brain melted into a jumble of words. Lord. Why was he here? He glanced up at her, his beautiful eyes locked with hers.

A memory of an elder filled the novel...

The world spun on his fingertips, all colors bleeding down his hand. He smiled, for he had created them all.

Excerpt of her NaNoWriMo project coming soon. She hopes.

She would be swinging, then the wind would strengthen, the music would crescendo, and her thoughts rocketed from her head.

It was a wonder she didn't start flying, for her spirit was.

Let's make this our story
Let's live in the glory
Time it fades away, precious as a song
Because someday we'll be gone.

new day

2008-11-04T09:59:00.000-06:00

November 1st marked the beginning of the NaNoWriMo challenge, and she's crazy enough to attempt it. (National Novel Writing Month~ write a novel in November, can sound like rubbish but as long as the book's 50,000 words.) She started two nights ago, and she's up to 1,000 words.

A 1,000 words.

She's going to die.

And her story isn't even that complex. She'll probably finish telling her tale before she reaches the amount of words required.

She also (obviously) decided on a new theme. The old one was cutting her imagination with the small text box. She needed the classic blog look, et voila. Elle peut penser avec des abres.

And she has homework galore. On a day off from school, she can't even enjoy it. She also has to finish a demonic presidential booklet.

Her mother said if Obama wins, she has to clean her room.

Soon she'll have a presentable post typed up.

closer

2008-10-27T10:46:00.000-05:00

Well you thought you let go,
but you're still hanging on.

The music prodded her to step
outside on the blustery day.
It suggested that she swing,
only to find that the continuous
movement wasn't enough.
She needed to feel the rush of
adrenaline; she needed her
heart to throb.

Mother Earth's slowing down,
she's still spinning around.

She needed to go on a bike ride.

And we are getting dizzy.

Summer memories drew

themselves in her mind. She

hadn't pounded down a ribbon

of road since school started.

If you need more love,

well you've got to get closer to me.

The October air was nipped with

cold and the North wind grasped

her arms, making her realize that

a jacket would have been a clever

idea. But her thoughts were swept

away by the music humming from

her iPod, and all traces of

unpleasant weather forgotten.

If you want my love,

well you've got to get closer to me.

The summer heat usually caused

her to slow down, but the brisk

air breathed new life in her,

causing her to race down streets---

all caution left behind.

Sure she could get

swamped by a car, but at least

she would be singing when

the incident occurred.

You're my shirt, I an arm.

While laying on the peninsula

in the park, watching the

white-capped waves, she

realized that music gradually

grows to be part of one's body.

It stirs emotions and plants

ideas within. It attaches to

the heart.

I'm the tick, you're the bomb.

The sun warmed her blood.

You're the L and the V,

I'm the O and the E, and we...

She needed a story.

Am I speaking clearly?

2008-10-22T20:03:00.000-05:00

She's not quite sure if Youtube videos can fit in this particular theme, so take a visit to her other Wordpress blog: http://fullofsoap.wordpress.com to see her English project. Her and three friends filmed a video on The Titans. Twelve Titans played by four people.

And of course, she must take the credit of writing the script and directing it.

And she really needs a story to write.

starting anew

2008-10-19T11:33:00.000-05:00

Like everyone else, she is now using Blogger. Why make the switch? Because Blogger can upload new themes, and she is not limited like she was for Wordpress. So, basically, she's transferred sites because of themes.

She's a visual person.

And she couldn't resist her current theme, because it was as if someone had snatched the image from her mind. She imagined running through a meadow, running to God. And here it is.

Jostled her a bit when she stumbled upon it.

She'll keep her Wordpress blog up and running, but this is the new one. Still titled Descending Sky. Still written by Fullofsoap.

And this text is off to the side for some reason..