NaNoWriMo is coming, it's only 10 days & some odd hours away...
I should probably figure out what I will write about.
Not necessarily the whole plot of the story--where's the fun in knowing ahead of time what will happen?--but I need at least a spark of an idea, a glimmer, a character, something to get the process started.
And I have so many plot ideas.
No really, it's unreal how many books are in my head right now. And not necessarily in a good way. :S
~*~
There's the girl whose parents die in a fire that she manages to survive when a mere infant, raised by a priestess of Ad'ny. She wanders the worlds in search of her purpose, watching her friends find their gifts while she discovers mediocre talent in everything she attempts. Then she finds a purpose when a prophet tells her she must find ... something. A word is given, but no definition.
There's also the woman who was born to a world without pain, death, or sickness. She reveled in song and laughter, until her people began to rip themselves and their world apart from the inside out. Sorrowing over what they had become, she and others of her kind watched as their home was destroyed and they were cast adrift, cursed with endless life to wander the stars in search of the hurts of others that were compelled to mend.
The man whose father sacrificed him to a dark deity in order to gain control of a world. His spirit was rescued by a shrouded woman who took him as an apprentice, and she led him into battle against the very forces his father sacrificed him to--and against his own father.
The woman whose village fear the cold-blooded beasts of the mountain; the dragon whose tribe loathes the hateful apes of the valley; and the friendship they aspire to.
The broken romance of a bird-woman that leaves her and her fledgling shunned and heartsick.
The red-haired thief, rescued from her prison in a tall tower by a man with a phoenix.
Half eastern dragon, half woman, and all cunning--traveling through the western lands is dangerous with scales.
In a Steam-Punk world: An oni-hunter leaves Japan in pursuit of a spirit that is plaguing the dreams of children. Their dreams are of a far-flung star that is drawing nearer, and is populated by bloodthirsty monsters. But is this yokai an oni, or is it just trying to warn them of something darker that is coming?
Inspired by the table-top game "Brass&Steel": in pre-WWI, the Aztec Empire never fell, it conquered. The reach of the Elite Jaguar Forces has stalled, but only for a lack of knowledge. The Emperor sends out the Ocelot Warriors--a secret task force known to none outside the Aztec lands, but held in highest regard by those who know they exist. The Ocelots are prized for their cunning, adaptability, intelligence, and insight. They have been given the task of discovering all they can about the outside world, instigating a disturbance that will keep the eyes of others distracted from the Empire, and learning how best the Aztecs might further the cause of their Emperor.
~*~
And that's all without looking at my past notebooks... no shortage of ideas here.
Do you have a favorite from any of the above? Anything you would like to see written more about? If so, please let me know--I'd love to hear from you!
Monday, October 21, 2013
Friday, October 18, 2013
November is Coming!
There is an event coming next month that I have been hearing about for years, but have never participated in.
NaNoWriMo
aka: National Novel Writing Month
The idea is that during the month of November I would take one of the myriad of story ideas whirling around in this brain and put pen to paper--committing 50,000 words to paper (or computer, whatever) over the course of 30 days & 30 nights. These words don't have to be edited (thank goodness!!), and they don't have to be the full story, but all 50,000 have to be written over the course of the month of November.
And you thought not shaving was a challenge. :P
It sounds amazing, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. There is a website to sign up at, to feel supported by others in the writing community, to cheer each other on, read excerpts of each others work, etc. You can find the event pretty easily with a web search if you don't already know about it. :)
This year, this year I think I shall attempt this feat of authorship.
one thing is for sure, it will encourage me to post on here more often! I will put updates & snippets of story, as well as stories about writing up here... if I remember...
SO yeah, will you be participating in NaNoWriMo?
Happy writing!
NaNoWriMo
aka: National Novel Writing Month
The idea is that during the month of November I would take one of the myriad of story ideas whirling around in this brain and put pen to paper--committing 50,000 words to paper (or computer, whatever) over the course of 30 days & 30 nights. These words don't have to be edited (thank goodness!!), and they don't have to be the full story, but all 50,000 have to be written over the course of the month of November.
And you thought not shaving was a challenge. :P
It sounds amazing, terrifying, and exhilarating all at once. There is a website to sign up at, to feel supported by others in the writing community, to cheer each other on, read excerpts of each others work, etc. You can find the event pretty easily with a web search if you don't already know about it. :)
This year, this year I think I shall attempt this feat of authorship.
one thing is for sure, it will encourage me to post on here more often! I will put updates & snippets of story, as well as stories about writing up here... if I remember...
SO yeah, will you be participating in NaNoWriMo?
Happy writing!
Song Lyrics
I heard some song lyrics in the car today--I have no idea what the song was (even the genre--I listen to the mixed station that plays everything from country to metal), or who the singer was. I couldn't even sing you the chorus, because I came in at the end of the song.
But what I heard, stuck. If you know who this is or what the song is, please tell me!
The lyrics I remember (it was a few hours ago, sorry!):
"You don't have to feel safe to feel unafraid."
There was also something about lions make you brave & giants give you faith (which is really cool too), but those words smacked me across the face & grabbed me in a hug that hasn't let go yet.
You don't have to feel safe
To feel unafraid.
Just think on that for a moment, let that one sink in.
Look at the difference:
Safe.
Unafraid.
The first is where we go to rest, to breathe, to let the world slip by while we recuperate from the battle & lick our wounds.
But the second--that's where we live.
It's where we sing, dance, laugh, and love--all from that deep place in the gut that life itself flows from.
It's where we wrestle with God, as Jacob did, and where we are blessed.
It's where we fight, and strive, and glory.
God did not call us to be safe.
But He did tell us not to fear.
To be bold.
Please don't misunderstand me--I think the Church should be one of the safest places in this world. It should be the safest place short of Heaven that any human soul finds. The Church should be a place of comfort, solace, joy, peace--a place where the wounded can come to have the love of Christ manifest in His people binding their wounds and salving their hearts.
I know that it's not.
That knowing drives me mad with sorrow, and it drives me to make myself into that safe haven for other people.
But I want to be a safe place. That doesn't mean I want safety for myself.
Love is not safe.
But it is good.
To love others is to be unafraid in stepping outside the safety that keeps us from hurt--to reach out to those that are hurting and expose myself to their pain.
So yeah, you don't have to be safe to be unafraid.
I like that song.
But what I heard, stuck. If you know who this is or what the song is, please tell me!
The lyrics I remember (it was a few hours ago, sorry!):
"You don't have to feel safe to feel unafraid."
There was also something about lions make you brave & giants give you faith (which is really cool too), but those words smacked me across the face & grabbed me in a hug that hasn't let go yet.
You don't have to feel safe
To feel unafraid.
Just think on that for a moment, let that one sink in.
Look at the difference:
Safe.
Unafraid.
The first is where we go to rest, to breathe, to let the world slip by while we recuperate from the battle & lick our wounds.
But the second--that's where we live.
It's where we sing, dance, laugh, and love--all from that deep place in the gut that life itself flows from.
It's where we wrestle with God, as Jacob did, and where we are blessed.
It's where we fight, and strive, and glory.
God did not call us to be safe.
But He did tell us not to fear.
To be bold.
Please don't misunderstand me--I think the Church should be one of the safest places in this world. It should be the safest place short of Heaven that any human soul finds. The Church should be a place of comfort, solace, joy, peace--a place where the wounded can come to have the love of Christ manifest in His people binding their wounds and salving their hearts.
I know that it's not.
That knowing drives me mad with sorrow, and it drives me to make myself into that safe haven for other people.
But I want to be a safe place. That doesn't mean I want safety for myself.
Love is not safe.
But it is good.
To love others is to be unafraid in stepping outside the safety that keeps us from hurt--to reach out to those that are hurting and expose myself to their pain.
So yeah, you don't have to be safe to be unafraid.
I like that song.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Musicals
I'm directing a musical.
It's a children's Christmas musical at the church that I attend--and the kids I work with are wonderful, and the story is amazing. And it's got me thinking about a lot of things, and remembering a lot of things, and wondering...
How did this happen?
No really, I'm not a musical person.
I didn't think so, at least.
But, while thinking back, I realized...
Maybe I am.
Why not?
Sure. :)
The first musical I distinctly remember being a part of was called something like "Candy Cane Lane"... I think. I was 7 or 8, and my family lived on a little military base in New Mexico. It was the kids' Christmas musical of the Protestant Chapel, and our director was a lady we all called Miz Teresa (with no H!).
That dear lady is what I think of whenever I hear the term "fierce".
Don't misunderstand me--I loved her to pieces, and I know all the other kids did too! And she loved us--fiercely. She did everything with so much vim & vigour that she just tickled all of us, she awed us with her passion and joy. I think that might have been part of her secret, she out-ran all of us, and what kid doesn't respect that?
I distinctly remember one story Miz Teresa told us that still fills me with respect and awe to this day. We were all of us feeling especially flighty and rowdy that day, and she felt that she needed to instill some good-old-fashioned fear of the Lord into us. So she got us all set down for a stern talking-to.
She told us the story of the Old Testament priests, and the temple, and how the Israelites worshiped at this temple. She told us about how the Temple was divided into three sections: the outer court, the Holy Place, and the Holy of Holies--or the Most Holy Place. She then broke this down for us.
The Outer Court, she told us, was the place that the Gentiles--non-Israelites--were allowed. That was as far as they could go, but they could worship from there. In our modern-day churches, this might be compared to our foyer, where we all have a good time and laugh and fellowship (she liked that word). The Outer Court was kind of like that for the Israelites--where they could buy and sell, and mingle and fellowship.
The Holy Place though, that was for worship. That was special--like our Sanctuary. (Here she gazed over her glasses at us sternly.) The Israelites only let those who were lawfully clean into the Holy Place.
And the Holiest of Holies? That was where the Ark of the Covenant was kept. (I don't know if I even knew what that was at the time, but her reverence when she spoke of it impressed me.) That was where God lived with His people, before Jesus came to the earth, and His presence was filled with power.
The Holiest of Holies was filled with so much power that the High Priest was the only person who went into it, and even then he only did once a year to pray for the nation. Even so, they tied a rope and a bell around his ankle, just in case he wasn't right with God & being in His presence killed him!
Then she compared the Holiest of Holies to the portion of the Sanctuary where the chaplain preached from.
In retrospect, I realize that it might be questioned whether that was the best story to share with a group of children, and I'm sure my memory has skewed the presentation in some way (it usually does), but boy howdy did she get her point across! I never acted without reverence around the pulpit again.
It is worth noting, that Miz Teresa managed to get the point across without making me afraid. I was never afraid that God would strike me dead if I acted out in church. Why would he? The only people He did that to were the hypocrites who were arrogant enough to intentionally enter His presence without recognizing His authority and power. The people who not just didn't love Him, but who rejected Him & were trying to lead others astray. I wasn't afraid because of what Miz Teresa told us, but I had a lot more respect for God and those places set aside for us to meet with Him. Even now, I feel a sense of awe and quiet whenever I enter a church's sanctuary, especially ones that resemble that church in New Mexico.
And no, my enthusiasm for the show was not dampened. I still volunteered for as much stage time as I could! I was originally cast as the chocolate drop (I was not excited about wearing brown) with no lines, but I managed to wriggle my way into being a bubble-blower, a dancer, and when one of my friends got a case of stage fright for her solo I stepped up and said I would sing with her--just so she wouldn't be scared, of course! ;) I wasn't scared, I stood up there with her and belted that duet out with pure delight at being center-stage.
I might have been weirdly attention-hungry, for such a painfully shy little kid.
It's a children's Christmas musical at the church that I attend--and the kids I work with are wonderful, and the story is amazing. And it's got me thinking about a lot of things, and remembering a lot of things, and wondering...
How did this happen?
No really, I'm not a musical person.
I didn't think so, at least.
But, while thinking back, I realized...
Maybe I am.
Why not?
Sure. :)
The first musical I distinctly remember being a part of was called something like "Candy Cane Lane"... I think. I was 7 or 8, and my family lived on a little military base in New Mexico. It was the kids' Christmas musical of the Protestant Chapel, and our director was a lady we all called Miz Teresa (with no H!).
That dear lady is what I think of whenever I hear the term "fierce".
Don't misunderstand me--I loved her to pieces, and I know all the other kids did too! And she loved us--fiercely. She did everything with so much vim & vigour that she just tickled all of us, she awed us with her passion and joy. I think that might have been part of her secret, she out-ran all of us, and what kid doesn't respect that?
I distinctly remember one story Miz Teresa told us that still fills me with respect and awe to this day. We were all of us feeling especially flighty and rowdy that day, and she felt that she needed to instill some good-old-fashioned fear of the Lord into us. So she got us all set down for a stern talking-to.
She told us the story of the Old Testament priests, and the temple, and how the Israelites worshiped at this temple. She told us about how the Temple was divided into three sections: the outer court, the Holy Place, and the Holy of Holies--or the Most Holy Place. She then broke this down for us.
The Outer Court, she told us, was the place that the Gentiles--non-Israelites--were allowed. That was as far as they could go, but they could worship from there. In our modern-day churches, this might be compared to our foyer, where we all have a good time and laugh and fellowship (she liked that word). The Outer Court was kind of like that for the Israelites--where they could buy and sell, and mingle and fellowship.
The Holy Place though, that was for worship. That was special--like our Sanctuary. (Here she gazed over her glasses at us sternly.) The Israelites only let those who were lawfully clean into the Holy Place.
And the Holiest of Holies? That was where the Ark of the Covenant was kept. (I don't know if I even knew what that was at the time, but her reverence when she spoke of it impressed me.) That was where God lived with His people, before Jesus came to the earth, and His presence was filled with power.
The Holiest of Holies was filled with so much power that the High Priest was the only person who went into it, and even then he only did once a year to pray for the nation. Even so, they tied a rope and a bell around his ankle, just in case he wasn't right with God & being in His presence killed him!
Then she compared the Holiest of Holies to the portion of the Sanctuary where the chaplain preached from.
In retrospect, I realize that it might be questioned whether that was the best story to share with a group of children, and I'm sure my memory has skewed the presentation in some way (it usually does), but boy howdy did she get her point across! I never acted without reverence around the pulpit again.
It is worth noting, that Miz Teresa managed to get the point across without making me afraid. I was never afraid that God would strike me dead if I acted out in church. Why would he? The only people He did that to were the hypocrites who were arrogant enough to intentionally enter His presence without recognizing His authority and power. The people who not just didn't love Him, but who rejected Him & were trying to lead others astray. I wasn't afraid because of what Miz Teresa told us, but I had a lot more respect for God and those places set aside for us to meet with Him. Even now, I feel a sense of awe and quiet whenever I enter a church's sanctuary, especially ones that resemble that church in New Mexico.
And no, my enthusiasm for the show was not dampened. I still volunteered for as much stage time as I could! I was originally cast as the chocolate drop (I was not excited about wearing brown) with no lines, but I managed to wriggle my way into being a bubble-blower, a dancer, and when one of my friends got a case of stage fright for her solo I stepped up and said I would sing with her--just so she wouldn't be scared, of course! ;) I wasn't scared, I stood up there with her and belted that duet out with pure delight at being center-stage.
I might have been weirdly attention-hungry, for such a painfully shy little kid.
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
It's important to remember
I haven't really written a lot lately.
There's a lot that I haven't done lately.
I haven't written.
I haven't ...
Well that got depressing real fast. I may like lists, but I think I'll stay away from that one for now.
Funny, how playing "I have never" is so much fun around friends. But by myself it's just kind of pathetic. Like a deflated balloon caught in a tree.
ANYway...
It's important to remember why I write, and I have forgotten for a while. But that post I mentioned jolted something back into place in my mind, and I think it's coming back.
The passion.
The fury.
The drive.
The joy...
Because that's why I write. All those trite little cliches that writers try not to use, they're kind of true.
Writing is my Anti-Drug... well, my Anti-Depressant would be more accurate, I guess, since I've never done illegal drugs...
I write because it's how I worship.
Writing is how I pray.
Writing is how I think thoughts that make sense,
And how I keep the darkness at bay.
Writing brings order to a chaotic spirit,
And it brings reason to the illogical nonsense that tries to pull me under.
Writing is how I show love.
It's how I unveil my heart.
Writing makes me vulnerable, and in my vulnerability I see how strong I am.
Writing is how I commune with the great thinkers of this time, times past, and times to come.
Writing keeps me sane,
Well, it at least leads me dancing to the kind of crazy that creates instead of destroying.
Writing is like breathing.
Those times when it is most difficult to accomplish are when it is the most important.
Like my heartbeat,
It keeps things flowing so smoothly that I don't even notice it until it becomes irregular.
How I've missed this!
This joining together of words,
This flow of one thought to the next--
The Symbols and the Power.
With this writing I do...
What?
Anything.
Everything?
What glorious potential!
I am halved when I miss out on this part of my very self.
Not writing is worse than neglecting a hobby or a gift,
It is self-mutilation.
Strong words, I know.
But maybe that's why I can't seem to leave my poor thumb alone.
Maybe that's why my prayers have been so difficult to speak.
Not writing, it's depriving myself of the very tool I need.
It's like trying to paint a portrait with my forehead, instead of the set of artist's brushes I could use.
It's a self-lobotomy, depriving myself of this medium, this vehicle for thought.
All those times in my past that I've felt alone in the dark--
They were times I wasn't writing.
Is it a symptom, or a cause?
Does it matter? Of course, but perhaps not as much as I think.
If gritting my teeth and smiling can make me feel happy,
Perhaps pushing through the blank page and writing can make me feel creative.
What are feelings for, after all.
I'm feeling more productive already.
Writing is more than how I think,
It's how I process my feelings.
Without writing, I allow myself to become a slave to my emotions.
Writing is how I and my emotions become reconciled, and we work together to create joy.
Isn't that what writing should be?
Creation.
Delight.
Joy.
There's a lot that I haven't done lately.
I haven't written.
I haven't ...
Well that got depressing real fast. I may like lists, but I think I'll stay away from that one for now.
Funny, how playing "I have never" is so much fun around friends. But by myself it's just kind of pathetic. Like a deflated balloon caught in a tree.
ANYway...
It's important to remember why I write, and I have forgotten for a while. But that post I mentioned jolted something back into place in my mind, and I think it's coming back.
The passion.
The fury.
The drive.
The joy...
Because that's why I write. All those trite little cliches that writers try not to use, they're kind of true.
Writing is my Anti-Drug... well, my Anti-Depressant would be more accurate, I guess, since I've never done illegal drugs...
I write because it's how I worship.
Writing is how I pray.
Writing is how I think thoughts that make sense,
And how I keep the darkness at bay.
Writing brings order to a chaotic spirit,
And it brings reason to the illogical nonsense that tries to pull me under.
Writing is how I show love.
It's how I unveil my heart.
Writing makes me vulnerable, and in my vulnerability I see how strong I am.
Writing is how I commune with the great thinkers of this time, times past, and times to come.
Writing keeps me sane,
Well, it at least leads me dancing to the kind of crazy that creates instead of destroying.
Writing is like breathing.
Those times when it is most difficult to accomplish are when it is the most important.
Like my heartbeat,
It keeps things flowing so smoothly that I don't even notice it until it becomes irregular.
How I've missed this!
This joining together of words,
This flow of one thought to the next--
The Symbols and the Power.
With this writing I do...
What?
Anything.
Everything?
What glorious potential!
I am halved when I miss out on this part of my very self.
Not writing is worse than neglecting a hobby or a gift,
It is self-mutilation.
Strong words, I know.
But maybe that's why I can't seem to leave my poor thumb alone.
Maybe that's why my prayers have been so difficult to speak.
Not writing, it's depriving myself of the very tool I need.
It's like trying to paint a portrait with my forehead, instead of the set of artist's brushes I could use.
It's a self-lobotomy, depriving myself of this medium, this vehicle for thought.
All those times in my past that I've felt alone in the dark--
They were times I wasn't writing.
Is it a symptom, or a cause?
Does it matter? Of course, but perhaps not as much as I think.
If gritting my teeth and smiling can make me feel happy,
Perhaps pushing through the blank page and writing can make me feel creative.
What are feelings for, after all.
I'm feeling more productive already.
Writing is more than how I think,
It's how I process my feelings.
Without writing, I allow myself to become a slave to my emotions.
Writing is how I and my emotions become reconciled, and we work together to create joy.
Isn't that what writing should be?
Creation.
Delight.
Joy.
Read titles too...
As promised from my last post...
If you want to write, you must first read.
But don't be picky. Read everything.
And I mean, everything.
Read the excellent literature your English teacher told you to.
Read the "fluff" your teacher sniffed at.
Read the poetry, of every kind and variety you can lay your hands on.
Read blank verse, and try to understand all of it. If you can't understand it, feel it.
Read children's books, and take time to look at the pictures.
Read coffee-table books.
Read the graffiti in the bathroom stalls and in the underpass on your way to work. And wonder what it meant to the person who put it there.
Read post-it notes, and grocery lists, and business cards, and imagine the people behind them.
Read warning labels, and ingredient labels, and instruction labels, and those labels on the inside of clothes that dig into your side and make you wonder if this will fit after you dry it.
Read the bottom of your shoe.
Read bill-boards, and advertisements, and instruction manuals.
Read catalogs, bills, envelopes, and magazines. What will become of them, when they are discarded? What will they become?
Read calendars, planners, and itineraries, but don't let them rule you.
Read magazines, ads included.
Read autobiographies, and biographies--take to heart the difference between how people saw themselves and how other people saw them. Then decide how that knowledge should shape you.
Read the Bible, preferably in several translations. And the Qur'an, the Apocrypha, Kitab-i-Aqdas, Tipaka, The Book of Mormon, and every other text used throughout humanity's history to guide their actions and thoughts. Read them with open eyes, heart, and mind, knowing that an essential part of the Human Condition is the pursuit of Truth.
Read foreign languages, even if you're not sure of what they mean.
Read newspapers--online, in print, and satirical.
Read blogs you agree with--and blogs you disagree with.
Read fiction--sci-fi, fantasy, historical, and every other kind as well.
Read textbooks.
Read scripts, playbills, Shakespeare, and acting manuals.
Read the dictionary.
Read the encyclopedia.
Stuff as much information into your mind as you think you can possibly hold, about everything around you. Become passionate about knowledge--hunger after it, be voracious! The written word holds so much power--and it's all around us.
If you want to write, the best way to learn how do to that well is to read.
If you want to write, you must first read.
But don't be picky. Read everything.
And I mean, everything.
Read the excellent literature your English teacher told you to.
Read the "fluff" your teacher sniffed at.
Read the poetry, of every kind and variety you can lay your hands on.
Read blank verse, and try to understand all of it. If you can't understand it, feel it.
Read children's books, and take time to look at the pictures.
Read coffee-table books.
Read the graffiti in the bathroom stalls and in the underpass on your way to work. And wonder what it meant to the person who put it there.
Read post-it notes, and grocery lists, and business cards, and imagine the people behind them.
Read warning labels, and ingredient labels, and instruction labels, and those labels on the inside of clothes that dig into your side and make you wonder if this will fit after you dry it.
Read the bottom of your shoe.
Read bill-boards, and advertisements, and instruction manuals.
Read catalogs, bills, envelopes, and magazines. What will become of them, when they are discarded? What will they become?
Read calendars, planners, and itineraries, but don't let them rule you.
Read magazines, ads included.
Read autobiographies, and biographies--take to heart the difference between how people saw themselves and how other people saw them. Then decide how that knowledge should shape you.
Read the Bible, preferably in several translations. And the Qur'an, the Apocrypha, Kitab-i-Aqdas, Tipaka, The Book of Mormon, and every other text used throughout humanity's history to guide their actions and thoughts. Read them with open eyes, heart, and mind, knowing that an essential part of the Human Condition is the pursuit of Truth.
Read foreign languages, even if you're not sure of what they mean.
Read newspapers--online, in print, and satirical.
Read blogs you agree with--and blogs you disagree with.
Read fiction--sci-fi, fantasy, historical, and every other kind as well.
Read textbooks.
Read scripts, playbills, Shakespeare, and acting manuals.
Read the dictionary.
Read the encyclopedia.
Stuff as much information into your mind as you think you can possibly hold, about everything around you. Become passionate about knowledge--hunger after it, be voracious! The written word holds so much power--and it's all around us.
If you want to write, the best way to learn how do to that well is to read.
Are you ready?
I love reading.
No, wrong word. I don't love reading. I read. I read like I breathe, like I eat. Reading satisfies an innate hunger--it is an automatic function that almost cannot be helped. My eyes see words and my mind automatically processes them and attempts to discern their meaning.
One of the things I read today was this. And it was beautiful, and inspiring, and reminded me of several such things I've read before, and made me want to do similar posts.
I just wanted to forewarn you about what may be coming... It won't all be about writing... but, well...
Let's just say, I accidentally asked for a mocha with 3 shots of espresso this morning--I had no idea they usually put 2 in them already!! I just walked up to the counter feeling like the walking dead I stayed up too late last night to watch (see what I did there? it's a show...), and now I feel a little more jittery than anticipated...
Hence the stream-of-I-forgot-how-to-spell-that-word... what was I talking about?
Hey, new blogpost ideas! Yay!!!
;)
No, wrong word. I don't love reading. I read. I read like I breathe, like I eat. Reading satisfies an innate hunger--it is an automatic function that almost cannot be helped. My eyes see words and my mind automatically processes them and attempts to discern their meaning.
One of the things I read today was this. And it was beautiful, and inspiring, and reminded me of several such things I've read before, and made me want to do similar posts.
I just wanted to forewarn you about what may be coming... It won't all be about writing... but, well...
Let's just say, I accidentally asked for a mocha with 3 shots of espresso this morning--I had no idea they usually put 2 in them already!! I just walked up to the counter feeling like the walking dead I stayed up too late last night to watch (see what I did there? it's a show...), and now I feel a little more jittery than anticipated...
Hence the stream-of-I-forgot-how-to-spell-that-word... what was I talking about?
Hey, new blogpost ideas! Yay!!!
;)
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