What I'm Into January 2014

Linking up with Leigh Kramer's What I'm Into series again. I love this series because it encourages me to remember the highlights of my life the past month, try new things thus making new highlights to write about, and I get to read what many others have found and done, expanding my community, even if only a little bit.

The start of the new year was a somber and contemplative one for me, and January has been a challenge. This month I've been in South Carolina for six months, but everything is still fairly new and most things are yet undiscovered. Friends and family are far away, and I didn't feel much like celebrating on New Year's Eve. New Year's Day greeted me as the something inbetween.

My parents drove into town for a pleasant visit (and we missed getting a picture? hm). It was strange how the move has changed things, and how my family is the same yet also different after so many months of life. I wonder how they thought I had changed? I also talked on the phone with my brother in Oklahoma for his birthday, the first I've been really and truly away for. I wished I could have been there to put up the birthday banner for him.

I'm still taking steps to be who I am and be seen for that. This month I got a pixie haircut and took steps to declutter and simply my closet to make that part of life less stressful. It's easier to like what I see in the mirror now. But I'm still filled with doubt about my choices in general and I struggle to trust my instincts. I want to adopt everyone else's passions as my own and enjoy the same intensity, but as that doesn't work for long (if at all) I'm still determining my passion(s) and my cause, and how I will go about pursuing them.

And that leads me to the most important book I read this month. I finished The Complete Idiot's Guide to the Power of the Enneagram, finally learning, after weeks of uncertainty and doubt, that I am a 9. It's a combination of relief and agony to have that label clear things up. When I read the chapter describing 9s, it was like the author had seen into my soul--I felt all the things described in those pages, and I would have cried if I hadn't been reading in a public place--and then dissected it. Ouch. Of course "there isn't a strong individual self in the 9, and that's the challenge--learning to develop one" - page 163. Of course that's me. (insert self-depreciating scream of rage here. oh, wait, I might have something...)

"9s struggle to have a strong and consistent sense of self." - p 159 Sigh. It's true. Yay, me.
Now that I know, I'm trying to learn, trying to grow, trying to be more assertive and be me, not someone else. But man, that is the challenge.
(...I was going to write a separate post about discovering my Enneagram type, but I think that covers it pretty well.)

Over the New Year's break I read the greatly enjoyable The Runaway King, the second book in the Ascendance Trilogy. I wrote about the first one here. Like the first one, I read the second book in just a few days. I wrote a brief review on Goodreads. The third book in the trilogy, The Shadow Throne, comes out next month! Can't wait.

I have discovered the hilarity, awkwardness, and joy that is the show FRIENDS. How did I miss this? As it's not on Netflix, I'm glad my library has it, because I'm getting in the queue. (...I've been watching a lot of British shows over the last several months. Yes, Sherlock is a big culprit. As is Doctor Who.) I think I enjoy it much more now than I would have when it was on because of how I have changed and because I'm now the same age as the characters.

Also, thanks to the library, this month I learned how to suspend my holds until certain dates, so I'm timing the movies I get so that I can actually watch them before they're due back. I should have a Bollywood romance coming available just in time for Valentime's Day! I consider this the perfect way to celebrate another year of singleness. With some tea or wine, of course.

I watched Bride and Prejudice, and it was amazing. I posted this on Facebook when it was over:

It made me wonder about the impact and reach our creativity can have, now and into the distant future. It makes me hopeful.

I tried some anime shows on Hulu, RideBack and Kino's Journey. Both interesting, for different reasons. Neither quite along the lines of what I usually watch (or read). I finished RideBack. Kino's Journey might be a bit more intense than I prefer, so I haven't watched more than a few episodes so far, but I like the concept. I also watched the first episode of Game of Thrones. Not sure what I think of it, but I was curious and wanted to see for myself what many others have been talking about.

I joined a local writing group. They meet every weekend, but I'll probably only try to join in once a month. I didn't read anything I brought, but we had a fun writing exercise where we had to include five different items in a scene and try to answer the question, Who owns these things? My heard pounded so hard when I read, I had to slow down to breathe, but when I finished, the room was silent. Then the leader said, "Wow. Welcome to the group!" I can tell you, as a self-doubting writer that was what I needed to hear.

My friend Jaimie Krycho released the first in her trilogy Bloodlines of Epheria on the Kindle, and I happily bought my copy. She originally published the story on her website, and I always looked forward to each installment. She had me loving the characters, wanting the powers, and worried about what would happen. Now I'm gonna reread Lorin's--I mean Sifani's--adventure (though I understand it is a little changed from the original?) and eagerly await the next book in the trilogy.

I had the pleasure of joining The Red Couch's book discussion on Jesus Feminist. (Mostly I read, and still am reading, the comments of others.) That book gave me much to ponder and The Red Couch and She Loves magazine inspire me to see a wider world than I can currently walk abroad.

I also signed up for the We Heart Books virtual book exchange. I've been paired up, and it's time to shop!

The other day I happened upon the song "I Lived" by OneRepublic. I love the brief interview on the song here. Adding this one to the list of inpires-me-to-move-become-and-live songs. It's pretty much been on repeat the last, what, three days.


As I was working on this post, my sister-in-law came in and asked if I wanted a chocolate cheesecake beater to lick. This month started rough, but it's ending fabulously.


So, what have you been into?

One Word 2013

A year ago I learned about the idea to choose one word instead of making a list of New Year's Resolutions. Yes, please, I loved the idea right away having many times been frustrated by lists, lists, lists. I either could never come up with things for a list that I actually cared about or I knew the list wouldn't last beyond the first three weeks of January. Or both.

At first I didn't know what my word would or could be. But two things happened and I had it in an instant. My sister-in-law had mentioned One Word 365 and that she chose to keep her word private and personal. I knew I could pick a word if I didn't have pressure to share it, because I knew it would be an intimate thing. Then I read the post that explains One Word 365 and mentions that if the word doesn't scare you, that's not the right word. 

My heart skipped a beat as my word for 2013 slammed into it like a clingy ping pong ball. I knew my word. I knew there was no going back. And I knew I had to try.

I feared failing, and just as much I feared succeeding. Because my word would turn my world upside down if I let it. Which is exactly what I wanted, and exactly what I feared.

My word seemed impossible.

It was also the thing I wanted most.

I started strong but directionless, trying to find ways to live my word out in the little things. Life is daily, and so was my word. It was encouragement, it was a challenge.

There were brief seasons the whole thing slipped my mind, but the word always came back, ready to urge me onward.

And there were days I saw my life taking the shape of my word as I made hard choices while keeping it in mind.

It seemed impossible, yet here at the year's end, I have embraced and lived my word for 2013 more perhaps than I ever have before. And because of it, I'm looking forward to how much I will own it and live it out in ten years because I took the first steps now.

My word was FREE.

Now I'm looking forward to the next year and the next word. I’m not sure what it is yet, and I feel a bit like I'm trying too hard to find it. I'm not sure the fear will feel the same as it did last year, because last year my word was terrifying, and also I've seen what incredible things can happen in my life with a focus on one word for the bigger picture. Though I haven't quite found my word for 2014 yet, I think I'm close. I'm hoping it will clutch my heart and hold on fast much like free did. This year I'm more hopeful and a little bit less scared.

What I'm Into November 2013, or Things I'm Thankful For

I've been watching Leigh Kramer's What I'm Into posts, enjoying them, and wanting to participate. Now I'm finally going to do it!

An old friend acquaintance sent a message earlier today that got me thinking about the things I've done lately, and I realized quite a few things of note happened last month.

All month:

So, first off, in October I wrote a post about National Novel Writing Month and my intention to participate again. The goal of 50,000 words daunted me working full time and living in a new home, but the pattern of it quickly became a comfort. The set up of my word processor, music, and earbuds became a ritual; I was entering sacred space and I loved it. There were a few times I fell behind and wondered if I could catch up, but I allowed myself grace at the same time that I required words. It was a funny balance, but I learned about my own writing mechanics. I also pantsed the entire story to date, allowing more freedom for the silly and nonsensical, time travel you know and all that. I still write serious and need to work on my humor (funny is hard!), but the characters and events are better for my lack of a strict outline. On November 29th, I reached that longed for word count milestone. On November 30th I wrote some more because the story wasn't done and I had the itch to keep writing. And so I did, and so I shall.

In addition to writing, I indulged in as much Doctor Who as I could, catching up on all the series before the 50th anniversary episode, when my household had a party with Jammie Dodgers, Jelly Babies, popcorn, and more. I love that show, and the 50th anniversary episode did not disappoint.

After The Day of the Doctor, Peter Capaldi's eyebrows showed up in a game my brother and sister-in-law played on each other. I was the unintended victim a couple of times, and it was great. Eventually it escalated, and the 12th Doctor's eyes were vandaleyes'd. No pic of that, though, sorry.

Last month, I was also told that I am an empath. I hadn't realized such a thing was a real-life possibility and not just the stuff of superheroes and fiction, but it explains so much of my past and present, how I experience life and other people. I'm keeping my eyes open for more resources and information on this subject.

Firsts:

It's hard to believe it was such a short time ago now, but in November, on a beautiful, fresh Sunday afternoon, a friend took me to see the ocean, which I had never seen with my own eyes before. I knew I'd be going back and I already have once.

The last morning of November was spent on a yacht, traversing the harbor with the family. It was great to get out and do something with everyone, and the admission price was a present for Toys for Tots, which my niece was very excited about giving. Near the end of the trip, the boat went under the bridge pictured below. It's huge and amazing (it's actually one of my favorite places in the area--the view!). I lingered outside, taking in the vastness of the bridge, sky, water, and breeze. Also, no pictures, but I caught my first glimpse of a dolphin jumping out of the water!

Travel:

Midmonth, I went to Columbia and drank coffee. To clarify, I did not leave the country, or even the state. I headed to South Carolina's capitol city and watched a dear friend, a wonderful and inspiring woman, graduate from basic training. After the ceremony, I had the blessed time of enjoying an Olive Garden lunch and caramel macchiato with her and her family, some of my favorite people. It was so, so good to see them, and so hard to leave.

Reading:

I started reading Jesus Feminist (which I knew about primarily through my sister-in-law and Leigh Kramer, so thanks, ladies!), and it is amazing. I'd say my viewpoint on "women's roles" has changed even in the last couple of weeks, and for the better, in part due to this book's examination of how we live and what should be normal. I'm not through the book yet, but I don't expect it to take much longer.

It's also been a month since John Flanagan's book The Royal Ranger came out and I haven't read it yet! I pre-ordered, then decided to wait until December so I wouldn't be rushing through it (I anticipated bleed-over rush pace from writing so fast in November). Then I decided I should read one book at a time (I forget why, something about focus), and I started Jesus Feminist first. But this one is next (sorry, Jane Eyre) since I've been anticipating it for months.

Listening:

Like many, I have been introduced to Pentatonix's performance of The Little Drummer Boy, one of my favorite Christmas songs, and loved it. I'd heard their cover of Radioactive with Lindsey Stirling and liked it, but didn't know what I was listening to. Now I do and Pentatonix has a new fan. I love a sound that is full even without instruments.



Whew! It's been an odd, interesting, and typical month, jam packed with the ordinary and realizations, routine and special events. It's been even fuller than I'd realized. And I didn't even mention Thanksgiving, with my niece and brother racing on the Wii, or the fact that my list of "what I'm thankful for" was simple and I was too embarrassed to give one that was heartfelt. I do have a lot to be thankful for, and I'm learning how to express that, in the special and the ordinary both. This blog list is a good start.


So. What are you into?

The Tipping Point

It's been a long time coming, and once that tipping point arrives, there is no slowing down the follow through. It will come and it will be swift.

I'd been thinking about it for months, did I want to, did I have what it took, could I choose almost blindly, praying for faith at the same time that I exercised it?

The tipping point came when the theoretical turned tangible.


"Norman took the job in Charleston."

I blinked. It was only yesterday that there had been the faintest other possibility, not one that would be great. This, however, was exactly what we'd all been waiting for. Whether or not it was the where we'd been waiting for, well that would remain to be seen.

"He...he got the job?"

Mama nodded. "He just called."

This called for celebration! Finally, a solid tenure track position. They wouldn't have to be moving every year, my brother was getting the beginning of his dream, and more and more I'm hearing how lovely a place South Carolina is.

At the same time that I wanted to jump for joy, my world took a strange nose dive. The kind that a fighter plane takes and builds up speed. It can either swing up out of it with more momentum than ever, or it can stall out, continue to fall, and crash.

The theoretical had just become tangible.

I talked with Mama for a few more minutes about it, plying for answers, though nobody had any real details yet, just the big idea that my brother and his family once again had a new destination for the upcoming school year. Then, bubbling with excitement at all the possibilities, I climbed the stairs and faithfully logged on to Facebook. I sent one private message to two recipients. One word. "YAAAYYYY!"

Then I stepped away, though not far, and wondered how everyone's lives were about to topsy around.

A chime.

I looked. I had a new message.

From my sister-in-law.

"Did you want to come with us?"

I could feel it then, the tipping point, the door of no return, waited in front of me. My plane started diving. I was running out of time to decide.

But I had already decided a few months ago. I just had to work through my process and accept that I wouldn't know all the answers and that it would be okay anyway.

I got my final council from my closest advisor, tearfully admitted that it was what I wanted and it was even hard to say so, and finally accepted.

And then there was no stopping me.

 

Spring is Alive

Spring is my favorite season. It is renewal, fresh air, excited hope, open possibilities. It's alive.

It's also usually my most restless season. After my first big fight with allergies for the year, usually involving a day or two down and a week regaining my normal strength and breath (and getting rid of that nagging cough!), I feel better than ever and I'm ready to take flight. I suppose I want to make up for lost time. It doesn't matter if I have a direction or not--the one I'm traveling at any given moment will do--I just want to go. To drive. To travel. To see or try something new. To move.

Spring is energy. The grass regains its color. Fresh flowers and leaves spring up everywhere, an embrace to the change of weather. Even the sky and clouds take on a new, fresher color and vibrancy. Then the storms come. Energy colliding in a wild dance with thousands of partners in the air. Bolts of energy create the light show; thunder provides the beat. Rain quenches the thirsty performers, and sometimes hail decorates the ground like confetti.

With so much energy, so much newness, it seeps into my skin and fills me up until I can't hold still. I have to move. I have to go somewhere. I have to join the dance and freshness and do something new. I long to bloom and grow like the trees and flowers surrounding me. I ache to whip by like the fluffy clumps of cotton in the sky. I'm ready to sing like the birds and make something beautiful that was not there before as the flora do.

And yet, I'm only beginning to learn, only just guessing at how to do this. I'm ready to go in every direction, without focus. Which means I usually don't go in any direction; I just explode wherever I stand, only to build up again the next day or the next week and repeat the cycle...until suddenly spring is over and I've yet again missed the opportunity I feel every year to join the world and bloom, grow, and stretch out.

I'm afraid. Afraid of making mistakes mostly, but also afraid of accomplishing or discovering grand things. If I find out I can, I may never stop. And what then? I won't want to go back to the wading pool I'm familiar with, even if it's safer, if I discover the ocean.

This year, I hope, will not be the exact same futile cycle. This spring, I hope I'm more willing to take chances, to see that the day is full and long and waiting, and to try. This time, even if I don't know all the steps, I'm going to join the dance.

I'm alive.

Drumroll....

Thirty days into the challenge and two days after officially winning NaNoWriMo...

And with an official NaNoWriMo word count of 53,207...

I HAVE FINISHED MY STORY!!!

Do You Nano?

Okay, deep breath, I'm plunging in. Without enough time to talk myself out of it, I have decided I'm going to participate in NaNoWriMo 2012. It's time for some writerly abandon, forget the rules, which I tend to be a stickler for (well, if someone tells me to do something in this way, I'll do my best to match it. I might experiment if specifically given permission to do so. Otherwise....), and let my whimsies and fantasies take flight on paper. Or computer. ... Eh?

Yes, I know that was weird.

Oh well, forget the "rules", right? NaNoWriMo isn't supposed to be the prettiest thing I ever write. It's just supposed to get done.

I've written two novels before. Both in first draft form, one took about a year, the second made it somewhere in probably five months (...hey, I just realized, that's progress!). Now for the one month challenge. This is going to be awesome. And just like major exercise after not using those muscles much for a long time, I'm going to be oh so sore.

But I kinda like being sore. As long as I'm sure I'll recover. You know why? Because it means I'm getting stronger, and yes, I can meet the challenge.

Now is warmup time. Mentally and emotionally mostly, probably. Gotta get ready and head off the stereotypical writer's block and depression before they have a chance to hit.

Because I can do this.

I plan to be a winner.

What I Do is This

Someone explain to me how one person saying I'm courageous + painting a room for an old friend + non-fluffy conversation with that old friend + Inheritance by Christopher Paolini + a hot shower can = knowing what I do (and therefore, in part, who I am).

Seriously. Can you explain that?


Maybe I can try. I'm going to start with courage.

I recently asked my friends, via Facebook, what do they think when they think of me? I got a little variety in the responses. But one in particular, the one that began with "full of courage" (and a few other things) took me by surprise. I thought to myself, What is she talking about? She doesn't know me very well, and she thinks I'm courageous?

It was a pretty insightful response for someone whom I hardly ever see and talk to, so I had to take it seriously. Maybe she knows me better than I think she does. Maybe she's right that I am courageous.

Now, the easy answer is a brush-off (whether sincere or false modesty--one of the things my friend and I talked about while painting). And another easy answer is to say, "But of course." I don't wish to go for the easy this time. Most of the time I do not think I'm courageous at all; I'm pretty chicken...and selfish. But there are a few times where I can recognize that I have been in a situation that took courage and I was able to exercise that courage. But mostly? As a defining characteristic?

I wish I was courageous.

How much bravery does it take to be in my shoes, really? To stay with my parents, fully supported by them, and mix life with writing, chores, doctors, prescription runs, barely keeping up with the dishes (sometimes), dreaming of making my room into a little haven, seeing friends, church, various outings (sometimes brief, sometimes long, sometimes alone, sometimes with Mom)...


I wish I could tell you I was brave enough to write this out. But everything in me is saying not to. It's not a "don't post this" it's a "don't write this." Why? Because I don't want you to know all these details. I don't want to admit my shortcomings. Honestly, I don't want to admit that I live with Mommy and Daddy. And I neither want to project false modesty nor smugness.

::deep breath:: Time to plow through.


I will admit I hate introducing "what I do" when I meet someone new. I let my best friend tell whomever when I can because she can put it in a way that it honestly sounds good. But I think it honestly sounds...well, small, childish perhaps, weak even. What I do is simply this: I write, and I fail at writing; I live with my parents and help my family and particularly my mom at home, and I fail at that too; I spend time with friends and try to grow relationships, and I fail at that as well. I follow Christ, and I fail at that. Everything I do I manage to both do well and to fail at doing well. Positive or negative spinning, either way, this is simply what I do.

When I do try to explain it to people, or mention that I'm not seeking a 9-5 job in order to continue doing what I do, I feel like the uttermost loser in the room. I can't explain it in a way that makes sense to others, I can't even understand why I think my choice is a wise one half the time.

And yet, there I am, painting the wall with a dear old friend and talking about life and anything that comes up, including somehow my writing and lack of income and trying to manage things...and follow my dream, really.

Do I want to support myself and live on my own? Of course I do. But I'm taking a year (1 month down, yikes) to work on my writing. Near the end of the year I will reassess again.


What of Inheritance? Well, in the story, the characters all have a true name, and I was recently reading the part where Eragon tries to and does learn his own. The true name is spoken in the ancient language which has magical properties, and no one can lie when using that tongue. The true name reveals the deepest, most real core being of a character, and with that name one can have complete power and control over the one named.

The true name is not biased. It covers both the good points and the bad. Achievements and shortcomings alike. Personal history, knowledge, and attitude. Anything and everything about a person. It is the fullest answer to the question, "Who am I?"


So, thinking over all these things--courage, painting, the serious conversations, and true names--in the relaxing shower, I realized, what I do is a part of who I am. It's not biased; it just is. I have good qualities and bad. I lack courage (to strike out on my own), and I have courage (to stay where things are not my own, and to imagine that my dream can happen). I am a grown adult, and I live with my parents. I do things, and I fail at them. I keep trying, and I postpone.

It's not exactly pretty. And it's not exactly ugly either. It simply is. It is what I do, a part of who I am. At this point, it's a very large part of who I am.

And, realizing that, I think I can step closer to accepting that. Someday I may even be able to do what I do to it's full advantage.

It's probably not what you do, and it's not who you are. I can be very similar to you, but I will never be you. And you won't ever be me. We simply are who we are. And this is who I am and what I do.


My best friend read this post (trying to help me determine whether or not to post it) and mentioned this verse. I think it fits pretty well.

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.  -- Philippians 3:12-14

Speak Up

I've had something on and off my mind for a while, and it's recently come up again. I've thought about blogging about it for months, but never got up the nerve to talk about it. My thoughts had been fairly organized, but now it's been a while so I have to do some re-thinking. But it's time. I may not be liked for my stance, I may get zero feedback, but it's important enough that it's time I step forward and say my peace.

I'll be back as soon as I can get my thoughts organized enough to share.

We Love Authors, Do We Not?

Ever been discouraged? Ever think "This is it. This is all there is for me. My life might as well be near its end."?

Me too.

Recently I was talking to my students about the two doors of story (for more on the two doors, read James Scott Bell's Plot and Structure). The first door is The Change that thrusts the character into the story. It's where the story actually begins. Before The Change we simply have introduction...of the main character, of important side characters or villains or love interests—whoever is logically located and important that early in the story, of the setting or world, of the rules of magic or law or ordinariness, and things along those lines. Sometimes the introduction is so brief it is practically a part of The Change. Sometimes there is a lot of setup before The Change.

Sometimes we see the story goal before The Change. But it's often more clearly expressed after The Change. That's when we really understand what the protagonist is trying to achieve or gain. That when the story embarks. It gets underway. It leaves the nest to build its own home. Gandalf marks the door and dwarves show up with a thievery plan. The Ring can no longer stay in the Shire. Bruce Wayne returns to become a symbol for Gotham. Dom Cobb takes one last job so he can return to his children. Echo Sackett arrives in town to collect her inheritance.

That when things get interesting. And complicated.

I was thinking about this, The Change, the first door. And I was thinking about my life. If my life were a story, how far into the tale of events would it be? The end? The introduction? The huge plummet before the resolution? Somewhere else entirely?

If I were writing a character based on myself—an early twenty-someone, aspiring but distracted writer, trying to help take care of her family though she is neither a wife nor mother, waiting for something to turn for the better but unsure if it will because many of her dreams have been crushed or forgotten, who is so confused as to where she is in life that she doesn't know how to navigate anymore—where would I put her in the story?

Actually, I would place her right before The Change, right before the first door where the story starts hopping along. Things would be building and falling into place, and I would set up a large story that she has no idea is about to happen. A grand, life-long adventure that would sweep her off her feet, build her up, break her heart, bring healing and unprecedented joy. She would take some steps that set her in the right direction, and the choices of others would send her on her way.

And I believe that I am a part of a story. A big story. Bigger than I'll ever author. It may not be exactly like I would plan it, but that's okay. That just means it'll be better. And it's far from over.

Did you know that Jesus is described as an author? I've recently been encouraged by Hebrews 6:9-12, 10:35-39, and 11:35-12:2.

Therefore we also, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which so easily ensnares us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Hebrews 12:1-2. (NKJ)

If we enjoy a story and think it's worthwhile, we like the author. Or, even if we don't like the author, we at least recognize that we like what they created.

God is The Author, and real life is His story. If I would care enough about a fictional person to give her something good and use her to tell a compelling story, how much more will my Father orchestrate my life to be and to receive blessings that point back to how good of an author He is?

Boggart

In case you haven't read the Harry Potter books (I believe it's introduced in book three, the same year that Lupin enters the story), a boggart is a creature that takes the form of the thing it thinks will frighten you most. And the crafty devil is highly intuitive.

For a long time I've had a hard time putting my finger on what my boggart would be. It's not that I don't have fears (just put a spider in front of me and see if I jump...or avoid it as long as possible, as I've done with the dead crispy one in the light socket above me [fluorescent light inset fixture] instead of cleaning it out and replacing the light bulb). But things like spiders and creepy bugs aren't my worst fears.

Today I was able to put a name to what my worst fear is. And I realized, I've already faced it several times, leaving the encounter scarred but whole. Also, a boggart might have a hard time taking a precise form of my fear, as it is not so much of an object or person as it is a concept.

So, what is it? Well, I'll tell you.
My worst fear is rejection.

It can take scads of forms, and I've seen it several times, some more subtle than others. Before I remembered I'd already faced and fought it for years, and when necessary moved on, it was the thing preventing me from taking actions that would allow me to move forward in the adventure that is life and discover what's next. Why risk rejection when I can simply avoid any possibility of it by standing still (yes, that dead spider is still above me, but if I don't look up....)?

But I've had some pretty tough to take rejections and have been able to learn, heal, and move on from them. Why should I fear what I've already handled? I know what it's like. Of course I don't enjoy it, but I know from experience that I can work though it and move on. So I should.

So, I will, and I'll laugh at that silly boggart until it explodes.

Okay, now I've got to ask: What's your boggart?

Refocus and Weekend of Until Next Time

Short and sweet. I've gotten a little off track in my thinking about this blog. It doesn't have to be just about writing. It's about all aspects of life, specifically what I experience, express, and learn. And those things are shared through the unique medium of story, whether fictional or not, creative writing or just the facts, ma'am. I've forgotten this and got overly stressed about reaching a weekly "quota" of posts or figured I had to hit the mark with something that's "writerly."

What I've forgotten is I'm not the author of my own story. Sure I take actions, and I am a character, but I would need too many drafts to get it right if all the plotting and cast and setting and pacing and...everything...were up to me. I just have to determine my goal, and I can change it as I need to. So, new goal: don't stress, enjoy the adventure that is life, take it as it comes, try not to lose sight of the big picture, try not to take over the big picture.

In light of that, this weekend is kind of going to stink. My brother and sister in law are packing it all up and moving. I think we've gotten pretty close in the last couple years or so. We're bound by blood relation, but also by camaraderie and friendship. Now, for one year, that bond will have to be held by Facebook, email, and gmail video chat. It just won't be the same as the sanctuary Jessie always offered me to rest in her comfortable abode when I want to cry and Lucy vies for my attention. ::sigh::  In a way, it will be one less group to help, but I think their presence helped me as much as I helped them with little things like the few times I babysat or was chauffeur. And that sanctuary that I used more than once, that to me was desperately needed and priceless.

My dear Norman and Jessie and Lucy, I'm going to miss you, no two ways about it.

...Until next time...

Growing in Beauty - Old Blog New

After more than a year of inactivity, I am taking a new look at the world with Uluwehi, my old blog.  Beauty has been on my mind and heart, and at Uluwehi I hope to share with you my thoughts and experiences on the reality of beauty—both of the world we live in and of women—not to-do lists that anyone has to live up to.  I write Uluwehi with the hope that it will be a place of encouragement.

Gentlemen, you can read this blog and join the conversation.  It might grant you a better insight into the hearts of women (it's not impossible).  Ladies, Uluwehi is written with you in mind.  I've met women who didn't think they were even pretty, who thought their form of beauty wasn't enough, who were afraid of being overlooked, who would rather stay hidden, and more.  I'm one of them.  So I come at this blog in an effort to correct my thinking to the truth and to share it with you.  We don't have to be Megan Fox in order to be absolutely stunning beautiful.  You are beautiful.  You may or may not think so, but you are.

Obviously I am not the ultimate say in the matter of beauty, but I hope to look to the One Who is as I write Uluwehi and as I live life.  I will be imperfect.  Though I will always put effort into writing with clarity, I may not always succeed.  I don't even know if the blog will be of any help or not, but I think this is important, so I will try.

I've added a link to Uluwehi in the sidebar under "There's More Here" and you can click this link to jump directly to yesterday's post renewing the blog.

The End Has Come

Ironically, there was never an end to When the End Comes...  Until now.


And, yes, my diet was ruined.  Though I wasn't really on a specific plan, other than to eat.  Come to think of it, I haven't stopped eating, so maybe my diet wasn't ruined?

Walk on Fear, Someday to Fly

I'm fighting the fear.  I've let it keep me from editing my stories, from finishing old projects, and from moving forward on new ones. But that's the fast track to nothing.

I remember my first rejection letter. I had sent a short story to a magazine and waited a few months for a reply. I expected a rejection, but knew there was a possibility that they'd buy it. When I opened my rejection letter, I wasn't discouraged; I wasn't beaten down. For some odd reason that I still can't quite explain, I was encouraged and excited. Probably because I'd taken another step forward, and I knew I would still take the next step forward.

And I am.  I've just started a Facebook Fan Page.  Take a look.  It's my new Facebook home.

Someday I'll walk. Then my feet will fly over the land and the wind will refresh my face, and I will run.

Today, I take another step with my head held high.


What fear are you facing?  What will you do to overcome it and keep moving forward?