Dae Writes

It Does Get Better - I'll Make Sure Of It

2012-01-16T17:01:00.000-05:00

This needs to fucking stop. I'm so sad right now, I'm crying. Eric James Borges contributed to the "It Gets Better" project, a series of videos by various people to let gay teens know that life will get better, and just keep hanging in there because there is hope.

January 12th, a month after he produced this video, Eric lost that hope and took his life.

I didn't know him, I won't pretend to, but this is just too much. The hate needs to stop. Life is hard enough. Never again will I tolerate someone hating homosexuals, or belittling us in any way. Fucking never.

I'm angry that it came to this, and that he surely isn't the only one hurting and struggling to find a reason just to go on every single day. I know I sometimes wonder why I go on living, why I don't just give up. I will go on for Eric, and for everyone else who has suffered so much and lost the fight. I will put my foot down for them and for the rest of us who are struggling to live in this world. This needs to fucking stop.

Because I need to say it

2012-01-13T17:57:00.001-05:00

I've been having a hard time lately trying to cope with a few things. Or maybe just one incredibly complicated thing. I can't put one particular word on it to definitively say what it is. It has to do with religion and spirituality, with self confidence, assertiveness, humility, and the right for one to be accepted for who they are.

I have a strange sense of morality. I don't believe in a God (neither Christian nor Pagan or anything in between) or even an abstract Higher Power kind of external thing. But at the same time, I think that maybe God does exist for other people, but that somehow I am cut out of that loop without the possibility to join it. I don't want to join it, to be honest, but it's still weird to feel like that one kid left out.

Yet, despite the fact that I don't believe in a God-like being, I do believe in some spiritual things. I believe in a sort of spirituality in improving myself, and having this strong love for humanity. I know that I am full of love, pure and unconditional love, but at the same time I don't believe I have a soul. Maybe this is because of the religion thing. Everyone I know seems to either proclaim themselves Christian, or they have their own sense of what a god(dess) to them is. Because I can't put my faith in anything that isn't real, because I refuse to conjure a god to believe in, I feel like I am less than everyone else, like some implicit part of my humanity is missing. Because I am not the type of person who would dare say that everyone else is wrong and there is no God. Maybe they are right, and I am wrong. Maybe I don't have a soul and that's why I'm incapable of feeling this spiritual thing that everyone else seems to. This first came to me in a dream after my stepdad passed away. He called me on the phone to tell me that he was in heaven and wanted to say goodbye, because we would never meeet again. I could not go to heaven simply because I did not have a soul. As good of a person as I may be, I was raised with Christianity, and it teaches that those who don't believe can never inherit heaven. I can't help but inherit those beliefs that are so engrained, even though it hurts me more than I can say. I can't say Heaven is or isn't a real place any more than I could say Hawaii is or isn't real. The only way I could truly know or not is by going there one day or not. Believing doesn't make it real, it just makes it easier to go on living.

Lately I had to try to confront this idea of a God. I had to find something that I could put in place of the idea of a "God" just so I could cope with life. Because I can't cope when just people telling me "one day you'll find God" feels like they are wishing me death. I simply have to fill in something for that one powerful word, 'God' that I could agree with. Something that I can believe in, something that gives me strength, something that is akin to me what 'God' is to those who believe in Him.

I found it. Myself. The part of me that is wise, and forgiving, and feels eternal. The part of me that reminds me of real logic when the depression comes and my inner demons try to tell me that I am worthless. The part of me that reminds me to hang on even though I want to let go. The part of me that just radiates all of this unconditional love.

But it's strange to say. I feel arrogant, or selfish, to place myself as this concept of "God". This is just because I was raised Christian and still believe in some of those ideals - worship no false idols. It's conflicting, I know. Imagine how I feel with these conflicting beliefs!

There's another hard layer to cope with, aside from not believing in God - being lesbian. Until recently, Christianity (for me at least) was unwavering on this. Homosexuality is a sin, they said. My own mother told my brother and I that dating another race was fine, but if we were homosexual, she'd disown us. Now my mother pretends she never said such a thing. No amends, no apologies. Just buried denial. I kind of hate her wondering how she can just go into denial and live with herself. I wish I could do that so readily.

Many people say that they are Christian and accept homosexuality. I appreciate that. Some sincerely do. But others - and it's hard to say who exactly - seem to accept me... but only because they believe that if they pray for me long enough, I will realize the error of my ways and turn to Jesus. Or they believe that if they forgive me for my sins, at least they are themselves being good. I don't want to be converted. I don't want to be forgiven. I am not a sin. I want to be accepted for me as I am. I know right from wrong without the fear of a wrathful God, or being denied access into Heaven. I don't believe I'll ever get into a Heaven, and still I do the right things, simply because I couldn't live with myself otherwise.

But I can hardly live with myself now. I respect so many people and accept them as they are now. I truly appreciate those who have other beliefs and are at peace with themselves. A man comes into my store now and then, carrying crosses and doves, and he always has a smile on his face and brings a smile to mine. But there are people out there who would want me dead just for loving other women, whether they'd say it to my face or keep the secret inside their hearts. They deeply terrify me.

I am to the point where I think that if someone were to tell me I was a horrible being and didn't deserve to live, I would actually apologize for existing, and mean it. I know, because I tell myself that I am less, that I have no soul, that I must be wrong somehow, that I am undeserving of the acceptance and compassion that I readily give to others. I've come to the point where it feels like I should have to die because I've sinned on some level just by existing. Somehow, all of these lies became a demon, and it lives inside of me. I don't need anyone to say these things to me anymore, because I have already internalized it all and let them win. I'm fucking sick of it. I don't plan on dying for a faceless group of hateful people, as if they deserve to live and I don't.

These words from "Make it Stop" by Rise Against remind me of what I believe in...
What God would damn a heart?
And what God drove us apart?
...
Push me and I'll push back.
I'm done asking, I demand.
From a nation under God,
I feel its love like a cattle prod.
Born free, but still they hate.
Born me, no I can't change.
...
This life chose me, I'm not lost in sin.
But proud I stand of who I am,
I plan to go on living.

There are people who would tell me that I am wrong, for being gay, for not believing in God. People who would tell me that I will burn in hell. I don't know why I accept them for those beliefs. It's not something I should accept. It's just hate, through and through. It's not infringing on their beliefs to tell them to take a flying fuck. Because I really need to do that now and then, for my own well-being. They are stepping on my beliefs, on my right to be who I am. I respect them, and if they tell me that their God damns me to hell, I need to withdraw that respect and stand my ground. I cannot be a mat for people to walk on, for others to spew their convictions at and look down at. I am human, you are human. You may believe in God, but I do not, and I don't want to live in your world.

It's hard to explain the difference. But the only way I can make sense of this is that there seems to be two different Gods for other people. One who is benevolent, and the other who is a lie and only exists as a way for them to feel validated and given permission to hate others. This is why it's hard to talk to a religious person either way - I always have to wonder if they are sincere and follow the teachings of that benevolent God who helps them be kind, or do they go through the motions to be a 'good Christian' to their false God, and to hell with everyone else? I see many people who are the latter. They don't love other people, don't try to understand or forgive or show humility, they just go to church and somehow believe that they are better human beings than everyone else. But I also see those sincere Christians, who love everyone without expecting anything in return, who send out good wishes to the less fortunate because they sincerely care. They use the Bible to better themselves and help others find peace, nothing else. I appreciate them so deeply.

I am not any better than anyone else. I am not more enlightened. I'm not pretending or even believing that those who believe in God are gullible. I think everyone needs something to believe in, and for me it has to just be my own inner convictions, and what I know is right. But I am also not less than anyone else, and that's the bottom line. I don't deserve to be stepped on. I deserve to be given the same acceptance as anyone else, the same rights, the same respect as long as I earn it.

At the risk of being taken the wrong way and upsetting any people who are true friends to me, who are sincere in their religions, who are pure-hearted, loving strangers...

If you think I'm going to burn in hell, if your love for me is conditional, if you think that I have sinned just by accepting who I am as a person and believing that I don't need a God to be moral or better myself spiritually, then very simply and sincerely, fuck you.

Here I am

2012-01-12T11:00:00.000-05:00

Okay, I'm back. I need to clean house on my blogs. I've been moping around the internet going, "where can I share my thoughts?" and then I was like, "duh, I used to have blogs I actually wrote in."

So one blog I'm using to keep track of my meals, cals, exercise, and weight. I am not overweight - I am 'obese' and I need that to stop. If anyone is interested in that journey, this is the blog: http://weightworry.blogspot.com/ but I'd like to keep things separated from now on. :)

So what else is up in my life?

My cat had babies 2 days before Christmas
My sister-in-law gave me another nephew the day after Christmas (I'm an auntie x3!)
I fell into and out of love. Ow.
I managed to keep my part-time job for long-term. Wow.
I've been happily writing thousands of words of fanfic. Big yay!
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic (no, the fanfic is not for that)
Typical dramaz at home

Oh, and my mom is planning on buying an actual HOUSE soon and moving me somewhere. Not a big move, distance-wise, but wow an actual house. My mind is blown. I thought for sure I was way too poor for that.

Night One

2011-08-29T16:45:00.004-04:00

Day one of my 'college' experience. What a not awesome experience. TL;DR below the cut

Call is for 7pm. Bring your gear, duffle bag, backpack, and prayers. I receive my gear last minute, wait in line for an hour with this two hundred pound bag, and I was even allowed to cut to the front of the line. One last shower? my roommate and I joke. But there isn't any time for that. Less time than we thought. Everything has to be packed. Shirt, shorts, socks, sneakers, hat, hair up. 6:30pm, let's get there early.

Duffle bag is so heavy on my back, the slightest sway of it makes me move in a whole new direction. Back packs are on our chests. I haul myself down to the field house, only to realize I'm late. Everyone stands in lines at attention, their items neatly stacked at their feet. I take the hint and start frantically unpacking my bags. My roommate is done at warp speed. I'm still stumbling, trying to get everything in order.

MTOs start yelling off names. I'm still frantic, feeling disorganized. Just when I think I'm done, an MTO informs me that my things should have been out of the packaging. Someone helps me unwrap a rain slicker, markers, pens, shirt stays, flashlight, laundry bag. Meanwhile they shout out items. Hold it high above your head. Write it down if it's missing. My face is red while I write. Stow it. Hold it up. Write it down. Stow it. I fall behind.

Run and get what you need. Run, now! Do it now!

I can't even keep up a jog. A group of people cheer at us as the forgetful ones run. It doesn't seem like a friendly cheer. Worse, I have to turn back and get my keys. Up the hill again - more cheering (or is it jeering?). I'm already sweating when I go up the stairs. Try to keep up a pace, but my legs already feel like lead. My lungs aren't doing their job. These stairs are a killer. Panting already as I head to my room. Frantic searching. I run back to the field house, out of breath already.

Pack your bags. I need help stuffing the blankets, sheets, and pillow in with everything else. Haul the heavy load onto my chest and back. I'm just strong enough to stand upright. As I walk into formation, I notice that everyone is slanted forward, their bags are so heavy. I am no different.

Flashlight on, start marching. Your left. Your left. Your left, right. Still panting, this enormous bag nearly the same size as me weighing me down.

Your left. your left. Your left, right. The ship is so far away. Even level ground is hard to walk on. I fall behind.

Fill in the hole, Mug!

I jog, trying to keep up. Can't exert too much, though. Keep a fast pace. Falling behind again. Can't go faster. Please don't leave me behind. Everyone else wants to go, but I can't keep up. Can't catch my breath.

Fall out, Mug.

I can go slower now, but fuck, I feel ashamed. Can't catch my breath. Someone takes my duffle for me. Still can't catch my breath. This is upsetting.

You have asthma, Mug? Sir, yes, sir. You have an inhaler? Sir, no, sir. Breathe, Mug.

Wish I could.

We reach another crowd of people. These ones are definitely jeering. We pass them quickly. The ship is so far away. People in the town are stopped, some on the sidewalks, some in their cars. All staring at us. Some take pictures. Can't help but think this is what hazing is.

We reach the pier. Females, fall out. Need to stand up straight and tall, but I feel ashamed. Everyone else could hold their own weight. A female officer brings my bag onto the ship and throws it into the room. Our rooms are nicer than the boys - only two people, a private bath, plenty of storage space. Even the mattresses are nicer here.

Keep your covers and flashlights with you, we're advised. Someone also mentions that we should sleep in our clothes. My new roommate and I rush to make our beds first. It's unholy hard to make it look half decent when I have to lay on it to make it. Lying down is such a relief, but there's battery acid twitching in my veins. My blood pressure won't go down for a week, no doubt.

Get out now.

We rush out of the room, drop everything and try to remember the essentials. Go, now. We move blindly through corridors, trying not to trip, trying not to lose the person in front of us. Dark outside. Covers on! Move it, Mug! Try to be courteous. Best plan is to shut up and move it.

More corridors, and then the outside deck again. Now we go up. And up. And up. The outer staircases frighten me a little. Everything is damp, and a bit open, and steep. I'm out of breath again trying to keep up. Finally we reach the top. Alpha, file up against the bulk head. Bravo, Charlie, Delta. Stand at attention. I have no idea what is going on, what will happen. They explain something to us. All I understand is that someone Very Important is coming to see us, and when we hear "Attention on deck" we need to stand at attention for him.

They hand out a pocket-sized book called the Maine Brace. Your Bible, they tell us. I didn't realize how serious about that they were. I barely thumb through it and stow it when I hear

ATTENTION ON DECK

Everyone repeats it in a shout, and then we stand there waiting, trying to be respectful.

Sit down, he tells us. We eye the open deck for a moment. He means it. We all try to sit down on the floor. There is nothing but this big, open, concrete floor, pillars, and roof. Not even windows. The cold and wind feels good, but the night is wet. The rain soaks the people on the outside edge.

He welcomes us. He tells us that we made the best choice by being here. I'm excited, proud, but also nervous, confused, overwhelmed. Why did I even come here? How will I manage to get used to boats?

When his speech is over, he leaves and the MTOs command us onto our feet. We all try to stand up at once, and in the process I am trapped and fall down. Everyone around me tries to help, and I thank them. They are so nice, and I feel like freaking Bella Swan.

Here's a list of things you need to pack in your bag. The MTOs march us out by companies, and lead us back to our rooms. The rain is thin, hardly noticeable as we head back down. Females go all the way to the other side of the deck, and we go back into our quarters. They feel like cages.

Time to pack our bags. I hustle to get everything in order. I feel like I'm going at a snail's pace no matter what I do. Stencils, PT gear, water bottle, slicker, flashlight, notebook, pen, socks, cover. I cross them off one by one. My roommate fills her water bottle in the sink, and nearly pukes when she takes a sip. The MTO comes by to make sure we're packing. I ask her where we can fill our bottles. The sink water is fine, she says. We fill our bottles with it anyway.

Are we done for the night? I start to wonder. My roommate and I both wait nervously, sorting out anything we can in the meantime. What time is it? Neither of us know. Can we go to sleep? Neither of us know. What's next?

The MTO returns and yells at us to get outside. We rush out with our bags and covers. Head and feet up against the bulk head! My bag is too large for that to happen, but I try anyway. Stand at attention, perfectly still. Now move it.

We file out through corridors again. Outside, and back into corridors. We're late again. I hurry to find a free space on the floor and copy was everyone else is doing - stencils out, back packs ready to be marked with a white marker. The MTOs instruct us on what to do and what not to do. Two-block the name, they tell us. Don't push too hard. Center it. Level it. If you screw up too badly you might have to buy a new bag.

I take care in my work. This is a pleasure, actually. Possibly the closest I'll ever get to "art class" again. Yet mine does not look the nicest. Not at all. Another failure. I run out of time. Everyone else is done and leaving. I try to hurry and put my stencil and marker away. My group is already gone. Thank god the way back is short, and I know it already.

Hurry back to the room. I set my back pack down, the same black back pack that every other Mug has, but now this back pack has my last name in white. Try to organize more things, square the room away. Nothing can be left unsecured. I shove my back pack into my locker, along with my cover. When everything is away, we're not sure what to do. I am definitely too afraid to go into the corridor, even to look around. Eyes straight ahead, Mug. Don't look at me, Mug.

My roommate and I lay down on our beds. Shorts, shirt, sweat pants, sweat shirt, and even shoes on. The mattress is so soft here. I don't even want to get under the covers. I'm warm enough. I like to be cooler, but I'm afraid of taking off any layers and being caught off guard. It's just relieving enough to finally get off my feet.

MTOs make their rounds again. Lights out, they order. I stumble out from the bottom bunk and turn off the lights, shut the door. The room turns pitch black, with only the port window letting in a little light, and a strip of yellow under the door. I find my way back to bed while the corridor rumbles with orders for the Mugs to get to bed.

I keep my glasses with me, right by my side. It's so warm that I even lift my shirt a bit, hoping that no one will come into the room. I didn't expect all of this. Just try to obey orders and ignore everything else.

First day in college.

First Unofficial Excerpt

2011-08-03T03:42:00.000-04:00

Let's talk about writing again.

Yeah, sometimes I write stuff.

Basically my WIP is about a girl who can't cope with her father's death. When a new friend claims to be a werewolf, she chooses to believe it and try to become a werewolf, just to escape from reality. Her friend was being honest, however, and the virus has an unexpected effect.

I guess I don't really have an interesting excerpt yet. Posting anything makes me nervous, because I want this to be published and such. I cut a bunch of stuff, though, because I was taking the wrong path in my writing. How about I share something that probably won't be put into the book whatsoever?

Warning: The following contains swearing and characters that touch and proclaim plans to eat dead rabbits. Roughly 1,200 words.

I must have stood there for twenty minutes, searching every possible crevice of that fucking rock. There was nothing that hinted to my father ever being here. I know he had to have been here -- I believed that -- but there was no trace.
I curled my fist and punched at the rock. My hand was still wrapped in gauze, still bruised, and it started throbbing in pain far too soon. I wanted to keep punching, but my body wouldn't obey, sending out feeble strikes instead.
I slumped against the rock wall, and then slid down onto the ground. There was broken glass all around me. Old beer bottles, I guessed. I didn't think I'd ever understand how it felt to drink your problems away. It didn't seem like a viable plan. It wouldn't fix anything, even if I was given the opportunity. My mother would be at home, waiting for me, ready to chew me out for leaving like this.
It was weird, because I thought mothers were supposed to have a bond with their kids. But she felt cold. More obligated than anything else. She'd been in California for years, but never settled down with any of her boyfriends, and never had any more kids. I don't think she even wanted to have me. All she wanted was that sunshine state.
As I sat there, a smell came through the air. At first it was too faint to place, but then it really hit me. Something rancid was out here. Something that smelled like three-month-old leftovers.
I got onto my feet and looked around, wondering where the smell was coming from. It was probably really gross, but I wanted to find out. I've always been guilty of being too curious, and needing to satisfy that curiosity.
So I plucked out a path towards the scent. The stench led me into the woods, and it was hard walking. For a while I had to carefully choose my footing, because the ground was so uneven with tree roots and rocks.
I found it before I could even see it. The stench was so strong, I had to cover my mouth and nose with my hand. Whatever it was, I could smell it, but I couldn't spot exactly what it was yet. Every step I took was very cautious. The last thing I wanted was to accidentally step in whatever this was. Then I saw a trail of fur, and the mystery was solved.
It looked like a snowshoe hare, judging by the mixture of white and brown fur. The poor thing never made it to winter. It's eyes were all glassy and wide-open. Did my dad die with his eyes open? Did some man in a lab coat cut him open on a table, the way they do on TV? I hoped to hell that whoever was handling him was giving him all the respect he deserved. Even though it was just a rabbit, the eyes bothered me.

"That's mine."
I nearly came out of my skin, whirling around to see who spoke. A girl about my age had somehow managed to sneak up on me. She had reddish hair that went past her shoulders. It was odd, because I couldn't place her. Of the very few redheads I knew from school, she certainly wasn't one of them. But this was eclipsed when I realized what she was wearing. Just a stained t-shirt, faded jeans, and worn-out old sneakers.
She stared at me for a while, and then walked around me. I watched her go to the rabbit, tilt her head as she inspected it, and then kneel down.
"Yours?" I asked. "Was it your pet?" I suddenly imagined Moose lying on the ground, glassy-eyed and lifeless. God, I didn't know what I'd do.
"Pet?" she repeated, as if not understanding what I was asking. She gave me a look that made me feel stupid, as if rabbits were terrible pets in her opinion.
I tried to choose my words more carefully.
"Do you raise rabbits?"
She made a 'hmm'ing noise as she thought about it, and looked at the rabbit again. "Sure."
This girl was strange. "Sorry about your rabbit," I said, but couldn't help but notice her dry eyes.
"It looks good," she said. I didn't get what she meant, and cringed when she stroked the pelt. Then she grabbed the rabbit by the neck, and -- accompanied by the most wretched sound -- peeled the rabbit off the ground. The fur on the downward half of its body did not come out of the frost.
"Oh my God," I said, covering my mouth and nose for renewed reasons. The sight was nearly as bad as the smell.
The girl looked at the rabbit in her outstretched hand, and then at me. "Does it bother you?"
"Of course it does," I said, but I dropped my hands from my face, trying to reserve a little dignity.
"Why?"
Was she serious? I couldn't fathom a stupider question, but then I realized that she wanted an answer. And the question wasn't so stupid to her.
"It's dead. Worse than that, it's rotting and it stinks. Why would you touch it?"
"To take it home," she answered, almost laughing at me. She started walking away.
"I don't understand." There was no point in stuffing the animal since it had lost most of the fur. "Are you going to bury it?" The only other thing I could think of would be if she wanted to get the bones somehow.
Then she really did laugh at me.
"I'm gonna eat it."
"You're kidding!"
"No," she stopped and laughed again, giving me a perplexed look. "You don't eat rabbit?"
"I - yeah, I've eaten rabbit. But that's is practically roadkill." Sure, there wasn't a road near here, but the word still implied what I meant. The animal was a wreck, and the meat had to be rancid.
"Same thing," she said, lifting the carcass at me in a way that was reminiscent of a shrug. She turned and walked away, and this time I didn't dare make any more comments to stop her.

Why it was cut:

1. I really want my werewolf to be more feral. She's supposed to communicate more with body language than complete sentences. I still feel awkward with the idea of writing broken dialogue, though. Even though I tried to keep her simple, I still feel like I failed on the challenge of this character.

2. No connection. Sure, one of the bonding points between them was going to be death. But this is doing it wrong. My MC unexpectedly showed compassion for the animal. My werewolf didn't teach her anything, just freaked her out.

3. Too creepy. I love creepy. I really do. But this rabbit scene pushed the limits. Sure, this book is going to a dark place. Sure, people tell me that the overall tone is very cold and depressing, as it should be. But my MC and the werewolf are supposed to become friends. Otherwise my plot crumbles. Well, not completely, but it loses a level of interest. With that above scenario, my MC should run away screaming and never look back, much less become best friends with her. So unfortunately, I will have to take a more placid approach to their friendship.

An interesting note: I don't think I've revealed the names of my characters on this blog. My MC and werewolf girl appear to be under wraps. I also don't describe my MC in the book.

Another interesting note: I changed/cut one line from my WIP, and the name of my MC's mother disappeared. I don't think it will be put back in, or ever mentioned in the novel. For the record, it's Lisa.

P.S. I really wish I had a beta like right now to help me as I write. -pout-

My Little Pony: Bright Lights (1986)

2011-07-26T21:11:00.001-04:00

My Little Pony: Bright Lights (1986)

Why this show is terrible (or possibly awesome)

1. Less than a minute into the show, I'm being taught that throwing ice cream on someone is an acceptable way to make them be quiet.
2. You should then expect the person you throw your ice cream on to buy you more.
3. It's okay to take off with a stranger without telling anyone, with no plan of returning.
4. You can be unlawfully imprisoned for trying to find your children.
5. Inconsistency - the "sick children" cast no shadows, but neither does anyone else!
6. More inconsistency - Knight Shade's mother is supposed to have no shadow, but in the last part she and her son are drawn with shadows BEFORE the shadows return to them.

But I've heard that the original MLP series was very inconsistent, and really that could easily fall into something that makes the old series good. The bad morality, flawed logic, and inconsistent story telling could prove to make MLP hilariously good.

Now that I finally have an episode list, I plan to track down more episodes.

Sleepless

2011-07-23T06:29:00.000-04:00

The babies ate quite well this morning. They're still alive! They got so cold, though. How could they be so cold when I'm so uncomfortably hot?! I added a hot pack under their blanket and gave them layers so they can snuggle up.

I'm so tired but I can never sleep in this kind of weather. I'm better cut for Alaska weather than Florida.

It's 59F in Alaska, and going to rain all week? Okay, I'm seriously moving to Alaska.

Feeding

2011-07-23T01:40:00.000-04:00

So I've attempted to feed the squirrels a few times already. I have a medicine syringe to fill with milk. I believe that one of the squirrels is a girl and the other a boy. So far only the boy seems to have an appetite. He's actually started nursing and ate a small bit of milk. The other seems to be more interested in sleep. I'm worried that she will die.

I wish I could stay up all night again. But I need to sleep.

More Squirrels!

2011-07-22T23:00:00.000-04:00

So the other squirrel I posted about is dead.

Tonight I found two more baby squirrels laying on the tar, all scuffed up. I thought they were dead at first. They are just as wiggly as the previous one, but much sleepier. This time I'm taking care of them personally, but I'm very worried. They seem dehydrated, and hungry, but I'm not sure if they're eating enough. I need to get some better milk, which I'll do if they live through the night. Right now they are in a bird cage, safe from my cats. I put in a nice warm blanket and covered them with a small towel to keep them warm, but give them the option to move. I'm gonna check on them soon and make sure they aren't still cold.

I'm being advised by others that killing them with a shovel is still an option. :(

July Blog Chain: WORST Opening Sentence

2011-07-21T08:38:00.001-04:00

Here is my contribution to July's Blog Chain, in which we break all of the rules to remember why we need them.

The Mini Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest means trying to write the worst possible first line of a book or story in the spirit of Edward "It was a dark and stormy night..." Bulwer-Lytton. "Worst" in this case is subjective, but florid and ridiculous purple prose is probably closest to the spirit of the thing.

Lillian Isabella Rosehem stared forlornly at her reflection in the mirror, studying the strikingly blue eyes, fluffy eyelashes, flawless skin, pixie nose, perfect lips, delicate chin, and perpetually silky long blonde hair, and sadly wondered why she had to be so amazingly popular at school and have such a boring, totally loving family that willingly gave her whatever she wanted.

Woo, boy, there she is! Ain't she a bute?

Check out the others:

orion_mk3 - http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com (link to this month's post)
AuburnAssassin - http://clairegillian.com (link to this month's post)
dolores haze - http://dianedooley.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
Horseflye - http://thecozylittleplot.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Proach - http://www.deannaproach.com/ (link to this month's post)
BigWords - http://bigwords88.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
jkellerford - http://jennykellerford.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
xcomplex - http://arielemerald.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Ralph Pines - http://ralfast.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
Diana Rajchel - http://blog.dianarajchel.com/ (link to this month's post)
pezie - http://www.erinbrambilla.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
Guardian - http://daewrites.blogspot.com/ (YOU ARE HERE)
egoodlett - http://wordlarceny.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Alpha Echo - http://writersramblings81.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Euclid - http://euclid-thoughts.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)

A Rescued Baby Squirrel

2011-07-18T21:53:00.001-04:00

Today my neighbors came to me, one of them holding a white towel in her hands. She'd found a baby animal lying on the ground and wondered what to do for it.

The little guy is hairless, the length of my thumb, has sharp little claws, and make BIG yawns. He's very active and wiggles all around and stretches his little legs.

Yaaaawn!

I'm pretty sure now that he is a baby squirrel. I know that normally one should not pick up the baby so the mother can claim it, but in this case I think the right choice was made. It seems like the baby was already abandoned on the ground for at least an entire night (the neighbor heard squealing noises last night) and he is also wounded, as you can see in the picture above and below. It looks like maybe a cat tried to bite him. It's scabbed up already, and I hope it will be okay but for such a little guy it's sort of big looking. He also has a scrape on the back of his head.

Next to a quarter, for size reference.

The neighbor has decided to take care of him (rather to my disappointment. I got so attached!) I printed off these instructions for her to take care of the squirrel. She'll have to keep him warm, feed him regularly, help him potty, etc.

Lucky for him that he was found today, because just after I brought him inside to identify him, it started pouring outside. Imagine this little orphan caught in the rain! Too many cats outside, as well. I'm amazed that he survived whatever attacked him the first time.

If he lives through the next few days, then things will look good for him! I have hope because he is such an active little thing, wiggling all around the way he did.

I decided to call him... Chance. Because I'm a sucker like that. :-P Here's to hoping!

ETA: It died.

Nothing but trouble!

2011-07-16T23:24:00.000-04:00

I've not worked on my novel in days. I'd like to blame it all on being so sick, but really it's just loss of motivation. I think I may have plotted out this novel so much, that now it's like, "Why do I have to write this AGAIN? Even though I haven't written it yet. I feel like that about everything. Every one else should already KNOW what I'm thinking! Gosh!

But I have been sick. I've been having "stomach" troubles. I say stomach because I don't want to address what it really is, which isn't so much my stomach (I think) as it is the rest of it. I've been dealing with it for years but lately things are terrible.

So I got things that are supposed to be soothing... I bought chamomile tea, and got some things that are full of fiber. Hasn't seemed to work a lick! I also have those Activia yogurts, but I'm worried now that part of my issue is lactose intollerance. I just can't stand lactose and its disgusting lifestyle! :P

But yeah, I hate talking about that stuff, so let's talk about ANOTHER thing. I woke up this morning with my bottom left wisdom tooth causing so much trouble! That particular wisdom tooth is the last one that has yet to erupt. My others are in and didn't cause me much trouble. But the gum was swollen up so much I couldn't shut my mouth!

My first solution was to wad up some paper and bite on it, so I wouldn't bite on the gums anymore (I think I tend to clench my teeth when I sleep). But as I looked up what it was (probably pericoronitus) I decided that it would be better to get up for the day and try to take care of it. Plus, My Little Pony was coming on!

So I gently brushed my teeth and the gum area, although it hurt pretty bad. This was worrying because it could lead to the only solution being dental surgery. Then I made a warm salt water mixture and gargled that for a while. I also ate a popsicle to get something cold in my mouth. They said to check for food stuck in your gums... I did manage to get a tiny flake of something out that might have been a popcorn shell. The swelling went down within no time!

I went back to sleep (after watching My Little Pony) and my gums have been good ever since. I noticed since then that the gums seem to be shredding, which hopefully means that the tooth is getting ready to emerge soon. I hope that the swelling doesn't come back, but at least I know how to take care of it.

Now if only I knew such a quick cure for my stomach problems.

Foot in Mouth!

2011-07-11T00:08:00.000-04:00

So I tried to make a joke by making a ridiculous, contradicting political claim. I tried doing this by mushing together liberal/conservative/republican/democrat and saying that they (as if all of these different groups were the same) would create a dictatorship/communist/fascist society. Funny because so many of those things are polar opposites, right? Well, except that apparently "Libertarian" is NOT a synonym for "liberal". Oops. So I very nearly offended someone who thought I was ripping on conservatives. I did offend her until I explained that I got the wrong word. Man, I fail! I tried to make a joke about political ignorance and ended up showing it instead.

I need to have someone like Inigo Montoya to always check what I'm typing and say, "That word - I do not think it means what you think it means."

I should just never talk about politics. Personally I used to think I was Democrat until I realized I have a lot in common with Republicans, and I've been confused ever since. But in my opinion both sides can be massive idiots. Maybe a dichromatic system is too black and white for me. So I don't know what I am anymore. I'm so confused by political jargon, that if it weren't for America's emphasis on WWII in history class, I might have ended up in the National Socialist German Workers' Party or some crazy thing.

I guess I'll just either a) stay out altogether or b) overdose on some sort of psychedelic drug that will permanently put me into a comatose state of My Little Pony hallucinations. That's a solid plan, right? If anyone knows how to raise my chances of success with plan b, let me know.

So excited!

2011-07-10T01:37:00.000-04:00

I'm awesome. Can I say that? I give myself so much flak - I think I deserve this one.

I have posted a 500 word minimum story/chapter each week for the last 210 weeks!

That's at least 105,000 words... which is seriously an underestimation because ONE story I have edges close to 160k and it couldn't have taken up 30 of those weeks. So a better estimate is 250,000 words.

This is 4 YEARS of consecutively weekly prompt fulfillment, people. Not saying all of those weeks are good. LOL. But I did them. Holy hay. Now I just need to wait for the moderators to confirm... and for someone to make my award. If I screwed up somewhere, I will be SO upset. I still want my shiny graphic, even if to some people it's just an image. It means EVERYTHING to me because I worked so hard to get it.

Now what will I do, I wonder? Aside from watch My Little Pony like a fiend! That's my new favorite show by far! But as far as writing goes, I need to figure out how to take this weekly dedication... and put it 100% into my novel.

Seriously, this is the best show ever. EVER. More on that later.

Fingernails freak me out

2011-06-30T21:11:00.001-04:00

Some people hate feet. I hate fingernails. I hate any kind of fingernail torture in horror (having them pulled off, or the infamous scenes of victims clawing at the floor or walls as they are dragged away by a killer, often ripping one off in the process. BARF.) Specifically, in real life, I HATE long fingernails. They creep me right the hell out, especially the people who have them. Let me describe the people I have in mind. These people never cut their nails. Only sharpen them. They seriously consider them weapons. They flick their nails together like they think they are mother freaking Wolverine, but with a much creepier sound effect. It doesn't help that the people I've known like this all have questionable mental stability. They scratch at everything with these horrific nails, like their arms in the middle of a silent room. Think nails on a chalkboard to feel my anguish. Skrch skrch skrch skrch skrch.

Let's play comparisons.

This is quite fine. These nails are sexy, in fact. They are trim and somehow you can tell that they will not at any time be used to draw blood, even though they are painted blood red. Awesome.

NO. HELL NO. Trim your nails, you psychopath! This person is even in the process of flicking their nails together. Skrch skrch skrch...

Sorry, but I will judge you in person if I see that you have such long, horrible fingernails. And this is YOUR fault, because likely the only reason I will notice your fingernails is if you are in the process of sharpening or otherwise celebrating your disgusting weapons. And I will judge you by telling you to never touch me while I run away in the opposite direction. Seriously, I have asked friends of mine to never, ever, ever touch me because of their horrible fingernails. (And they tormented me instead.)

Internet friends, I do not care. Just never ever mention if you prefer your fingernails kept in the way that horrifies me the most, and we are all cool. Sincerely.

P.S. I get about 98% of all the photographs I use in my posts from morguefile.com. It's a seriously free stock photo site. A little bit limited, but worth it to not face the hassle that other "free" stock photo sites create. My other site of choice is flickr.com, using creative commons images.

New Look

2011-06-30T14:26:00.001-04:00

I decided to make a change and see how it would go. I'm going to keep tweaking things, but I really like this new layout.

ETA: Hours later, the search bar finally works, I can quick edit my posts again, formatting is tweaked a little bit, and I accidentally managed to activate the feedback buttons on posts. I think I have everything I need... fingers crossed!

Time for bed.

Sick of it!

2011-06-29T09:12:00.000-04:00

It's amazing how many people pretend that is no discrimination against homosexuals or any other kind of sexuality differing from the hetero "norm". Do they really not see how straight people are allowed to be open about their sexuality, and others are told to stop "flaunting" it? It's amazing how they will call simple truths bullshit. I'm tired of arguing the point to death. Next time someone tries to explain why they "don't mind gay people, they just shouldn't be able to..." I'm just going to respond with a big FUCK YOU. There's seriously no way to reason with these assholes. I'm not going to tolerate their shit in a world that wants to decide whether two adults in love can get married based on whether or not their genitals interlock.

My Squeamishness is a Fickle Thing

2011-06-28T08:57:00.000-04:00

I never realized how squeamish I was until 10th grade, learning about the human heart. I got so sick, my handwriting got worse and worse in my notes, and then stopped because I couldn't hold the pencil. My wrists felt sensitive and frail. I wanted to smack my head against the desk. I wasn't going to puke, I felt I was going to pass out at any second.

I always thought that people who got sick in health class or biology class were stupid or weak. But then it happened to me, and I couldn't help it. And no one else was affected. A video about a girl breaking her arm got to me when it came to the healing process involved.

And it's stupid. Really stupid, because I can talk about gore all day long. *I* can. But something like an academic lecture about heart valves? Um.

I made this diagram so maybe the non-squeamish people can get a sense of how I feel when I get enervated by talk of blood. And it's pretty much always academic or medical talk that gets to me.

I suppose I have an overactive imagination. It bothers me, I think, because I start thinking about me and my blood and how it is pumping away in my veins and, oh dear...

A thread came up about vampires and blood loss. I could answer the questions, because I've donated blood before and I read the pamphlets. But as I wrote on, I started getting the above symptoms. I had to bow out. I keep peeking into the thread, but each time I do, I get sick again. Never been such a problem.

Now, me, I loved dissecting in high school. Except for the worm dissection because worms are just gross. I loved cutting up the frog legs. I could shove my whole arm into a dead sheep in real life. I don't mind getting my blood drawn at a clinic. (Last time I donated blood was a bit different, though.) But lordy, I can't handle someone else talking about it.

It sucks, one of my favorite things is gore. I like looking up those old medieval torture methods and devices. But halfway through an article listing and describing various tortures, I'm so badly affected I can't function. I have to go lay down... for a few hours. Pretty stupid, huh?

Flies Are The Harbingers of Death

2011-06-27T21:35:00.002-04:00

So because I haven't officially commented on it yet, I'll comment on it now.

I had three previous posts about my step-dad's condition.

September 20th, 2010 at 12:30 am, he died. Yeah, I'm not into the "passed away" nonsense.

He was gasping for breath, like a fish out of water. My mother called it a "death rattle" and she knew he was going to go because she worked in a nursing home for years. It's a horrible thing.

I'd never seen anyone die before. I have to admit, it is as terrible as it is rewarding.

I'd never seen anyone die before. I have to admit, it is as terrible as it is rewarding. I'm glad I was there to say goodbye. Unlike some people, I didn't feel anything when he passed. He kept getting quiet now and then, and Steve and I would look at each other wondering, is he gone? Then he would breathe again. This happened a few times, and the last time it happened, needless to say it was the last. It's a long moment wondering, will he breathe again? Now?

There's not much of a difference between someone who was just alive and someone who is dead. Maybe I feel that way because he was already so close to death. There was no change, just a lack of breathing, and time. His eyes were closed, his mouth was open. There was a fly in the room, already stalking the scent of death. I would have done anything to kill that fucking fly.

My mother was hysterical. She was so mean to him the last few days before he died, mocking him because he thought he could get from point A to point B, and he would fall down in between. I'm amazed that she managed to absolve herself so quickly.

I had to call the people from hospice, aka the vultures. I told them who I was and that Harry had passed away. I hate that phrase. She said in the most unbelievably patronizing tone of voice, "He is (Pronounced "eeez"). I hung up on that bitch.

I didn't want anyone near the body except for close relatives. It wasn't right, but they came anyway. They brought their fucking children. They said, "Give him a kiss." That's just freaking sick.

It was along wait for someone to come. I felt like I needed to guard his body. We had to wait for paramedics to come and confirm that, yep, we're not stupid - he was dead.

They took him and the bed sheet he was wrapped in. We all stood outside on the ramp that had been constructed not even a week ago just so Harry could get around easier. It was cold. We were crying and cold from crying. We stood outside for a long time, thinking of what to say, and trying to laugh whenever we could.

I went back to bed. Didn't dream. Went to school in the morning, but not to class. I hid in the music area and cried and called my dad and his family. They didn't understand. I found my friend at lunch and took her to a private bathroom and told her, and we cried. That was good, because I realized that usually when you cry, you fucking cry alone. I learned that later that night at marching band practice, when it hurt to keep going, and everyone else laughed in their own world, even though they knew, and I screamed.

He didn't live long enough to see his birthday in October, or my 18th in November, or my graduation on June 3rd. Goals I had jokingly held him to when he was alive. Sometimes you just can't make a goal.

I didn't dream of him for a long time. The first time I did, he called me on the phone. He wanted to let me know that he wouldn't be seeing me on the other side, because I didn't have a soul.

I think that's true.

My mother didn't want to sleep in the bed where he died. She slept in the lazy-boy for a while. But eventually she went back to her bed.

It took weeks and several strips of flypaper to get rid of the flies. They could smell death somehow, even after he was gone. I fucking hate flies. They are the true harbingers of death. You cannot comprehend how evil they are until they invade the area where someone died, searching for a place to lay their spawn, pissing all over your sense of reverence, reminding you that everything is filth.

Another thing I realized about death, is how unfair it is for someone to become past tense. You no longer are, you were. It's the worst injustice imaginable. I can't see how someone stops affecting the world. Some last longer in our memories than others. It feels like cheating them.

Some people get upset with the fact that I can still joke about death. Crudely. That's just too bad for them. Life goes on, even if it shouldn't. Too many people die for it to be offensive. Respect the people themselves, but death is not something that isn't worth laughing at. If only because we know that none of us will escape it.

If you think your life sucks

2011-06-26T02:56:00.000-04:00

I just spent a few hours putting this little graphic together. I'm kind of tired of my fellow Americans who bitch all the time but seem to take a lot of stuff for granted. Like being able to bitch about the government without being killed. I'm not saying that nothing is wrong with the gov. or that we shouldn't argue about it. Just saying that there are more fucked-up places in the world and we're better off than we think. For instance, I bet a lot of people reading this can go to their sink and turn on some nice tap water that's been regulated by health laws.

And yet I have to live in a world where people take this shit for granted, and act like complete assholes. If you seriously think that it's okay to blame a woman who gets raped ("She shouldn't have dressed like that") then go move to motherfucking Somalia. (This might sound unrelated, but my post was nearly just a rant about victim blaming. Yes, you've experienced your first rant on this blog.)

Here's a reality check.

Drop me comments for stuff that I missed. It was super hard to find facts. Let's discuss.

How I Cured My Mom's Mental Illnesses With a Wish

2011-06-22T08:05:00.001-04:00

Yes, a wish.

True fucking story.

My mother has a history of mental illness. Most of my childhood is filled with memories of her convulsing in a seizure that never seemed to end, or schizophrenic episodes, or her trying to kill herself. And I was spared from most of it, being very detached from reality as a kid.

I remember eating jelly beans as a kid, and sorting out the black ones for my mom to eat. Except that she fell asleep, and wouldn't wake up. And then she started shaking.

I remember having friends over for the night, and watching with them from my bedroom window while my mom was put into an ambulance for what felt like the millionth time.

I remember her losing her memory and me having to follow her through a strange city with no shoes on. She wanted to go for a walk and wouldn't wait. She stopped at a house I'd never seen before because we'd never lived in that city, and her insisting that she lived there for years and planted the tree in the front yard.

I remember her freaking out because she thought that there were locusts and rats all over her body.

And her swallowing all of the pills in her prescription bottles.

This went on for YEARS. It started when I was seven, as far as I even remember, and going on to junior high school (8th grade).

In 8th grade I met my first girlfriend, and consequently, I met one of her long-standing friends.

He was a lanky kid with shoulder-length greasy hair and a pimply face. The first thing he ever said to me was, "Will you go out with me?" I said "No." He cheered, explaining that he was on a hot streak of rejections.

He told me that he was a druid. He and my girlfriend very much enjoyed a variety of things that I can only describe as Tolkien-ish. It was beyond my understanding, but it seemed very high fantasy. It's still beyond my understanding.

One day he explained to me about wishes, and that for some reason or another (I might have done something to earn them, but I'm not sure) he owed me three wishes.

He begged me for days to make my wishes, but I waited. Because even though wishes seem impossible, I wasn't careless enough to just throw them away.

Finally I told him one thing that I wanted. I wanted my mom to be cured. Medication was like a wild carousel of Not Helping. She was either going to have a seizure and never wake up again, or she was going to kill herself.

He drew some symbols on the ground and did his thing. Then he asked what else I wanted. I told him I'd wait and see if my mom got better first.

I lost contact with him. I have no idea where he is and haven't seen him again.

Since then my mother has never had an issue. No seizures. No schizophrenia. No more chasing a woman who doesn't remember who I am. She's gone from completely unstable, having her driver's license taken away, some sort of episode once a week at BEST, to having a job, living a normal life, just being... totally FINE.

I didn't even connect the dots until earlier this year. I realized my life used to be a whirlwind of ambulances coming every damn night for my mom. None of that happened anymore. I told my friend about it. He was skeptical, but he couldn't deny that my mom had gone from a total jar of rocks to a normal human being. Coincidence, you could say, but f*ck you, it's magic!!!

One thing I learned, though, is that my mother is a massive bitch. :/ You can't blame bipolar for everything.

So, you're welcome, mom. I cured you with a druid's wish, and you don't even know.

Seriously.

I Need To Listen To My Horoscopes Forever

2011-06-20T01:17:00.002-04:00

I've had creepily accurate horoscopes before, but this one takes the cake. Today I made the mistake of calling someone out for their points of view and blah blah blah it's impossible to argue anyway. Like any debate, you're never going to change the person's point of view. I'm just not smart enough with words for this shit. All it ended up doing was raising my blood pressure to RAGE because, surprise, they didn't listen to what I was saying, they just basically heard what they wanted to.

My horoscope:

Although interactive Mercury comforts you while it is visiting emotional Cancer, your words seem more confrontational today than you intend. Your key planet Pluto is in a passionate tug-of-war with the cosmic messenger, allowing harsh words to easily slip off your tongue. The consequences of your current honesty could stir up a hornet's nest of complex feelings. Unnecessary stress can be avoided if you stop to consider other people's reactions before you speak.

I'm a little bit freaked out. I think I have discovered my Religion. Seriously, I need to start reading these every day and plotting my day accordingly. It even warned me a day in advance:

Fortunately, you are able to avoid a needless argument if you simply remember to tread softly. It just isn't necessary to get bent out of shape over something that ultimately isn't that important.

but I wasn't reading it because I never thought too much of horoscopes, even though I do relate to my sign.

So, yeah, I think that I need to start planning my days according to these horoscopes. Like, decide if I need to lock myself in my room for a day to avoid confrontation.

Seriously, I think they sell handcuffs at the local sex shop. Seems like a good investment right now.

Spells That Rhyme

2011-06-18T06:52:00.001-04:00

I haven't done my Wiccan Rede Study for a while, so let's get back to it. Even if you're not into it, I hope you can appreciate a bit of knowledge. ;)

To bind the spell well every time, let the spell be spoken in rhyme.

I would bet that you, the reader, can remember some nursery rhymes or lessons taught in school, such as "I before E, except after C."

"There once was a man from Peru..."

Very simply, the use of rhymes makes something easier to remember. All of the power in a spell comes from the person speaking the words, and giving them a meaning. If you do not concentrate on your words, and the meaning behind them, then the spell will likely not work, or will work incorrectly.

Like prayer, spells can be a simple offering of thanks to a god, or a wish for more money. One may cast a simple money spell, and soon realize that they come across more money than they think. And when they do, they will hold onto it. But don't think that money will materialize out of thin air for you.

One quick note: Love spells that force someone to love you are bad. You can make yourself more open to love, or even make them more open to love, but you cannot force them to love you. Just watch the move The Craft and see why it's bad.

Let's talk about supplies for spells

Now, technically you don't need a thing at all. Wicca is a really flexible religion, because no one thing is the right or only way to get something done. If anyone ever tells you otherwise, they probably just want your money.

That being said, there are things that can improve your spell casting. Writing the spell down on paper, for example, and then burning that paper while you say it. (Be careful with fire!)

Candles can be used to set the mood, and their colors can also help relate to what you're doing a spell for. White is fine and multi-purpose for all spiritual occasions, and is also popular for protection spells. Red is good for love spells, fertility, power, strength, etc. Green is a good color for money spells, health, luck, etc. Yellow is good for wisdom, creativity, happiness, mental energy, etc. Blue is a good color for peace, truth, protection, and communication. Black is also a color for protection, energy, and power. Finally I will add that purple is said to be the color for the goddess, and gold the color for the god. For more colors and more meanings for each color, try looking here.

There are also a variety of herbs or incenses you could include for a spell session. One could use a protecting herb like bay to begin every spell. There are far too many choices to begin to list. I recommend Scott Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs. It's really handy and has so much to offer, such as alternative names for plants, a way to look up which plants will help make it rain or other things, and some interesting facts. (Did you know that witches supposedly chewed celery seeds to help them fly on broomsticks?) Otherwise, good luck searching on the web. :)

There is no wrong way to cast a spell. One thing I do recommend is making a ritual out of it, to give the occasion some significance. A common way to do it is to start by cleansing your area - literally and figuratively sweep out negative energy - and then casting a circle. Make sure you have your supplies beforehand, and spell in mind. Then you could open by calling on the gods you pray to, and even doing a North East South West thing. Say your words - you may want to repeat them a few times (choose a significant number, like 3) - and light any candles or burn any incense that you want to. Spend a while visualizing what you want to come from this spell session. Maybe just some serenity for yourself. Do whatever you want to to reinforce your visualization of what you want. When you're done, thank the gods and dismiss them, then visualize your circle closing.

Remember that a spell is more powerful when it is written by YOU. It doesn't have to be long, and it doesn't have to be award-winning. It actually doesn't even have to rhyme. Just get out the words that have meaning to you. GIVE them meaning, and believe in it. :)

Why I'll Never Be Religious... But I Sort of Want To Be

2011-06-16T22:40:00.001-04:00

I wrote earlier about how people can have some conflicting things about them. One of mine is that I don't identify with a religion, don't believe in a God, and yet sometimes I really wish that I could believe in a religion.

I don't want to start a debate about religions here. It's kind of pointless in my opinion, and just ends up bringing out the worst in people. That's part of the reason why I don't like religions... the people involved, and the fact that it seems to tear humanity apart.

I've looked at the theories behind a lot of religions. I find that I can respect pretty much all of them, and find them admirable. In theory, at least. I've even looked up exactly what Satanism is. I found out that the only real difference between a Satanist and a Christian is that the former believe that if someone does you wrong, you strike back. It made me think about how many people I knew who called themselves Christians, but would without a doubt strike back.

Far be it for me to judge someone. I just wish that when a baby is born in the US, it isn't automatically assumed to be straight and Christian. It seems like a lot of people just go with what they consider to be the "norm" rather than actually choosing it. My biggest sign of respect to religion is to not call myself a practitioner of anything. I refuse to become a hypocrite and further give any religion a bad name. I studied Wicca for a full year, and decided not to call myself anything of the sort because I knew I couldn't live up to the "harm none" belief, while I still thought it was funny to laugh at other people's short comings. I was only 11 then.

My life would probably be fine like this. But I still have restless nights when I really think about the reality of DEATH. It's not a trip to fluffy clouds for me. For me, that's pretty absurd. Also, I acknowledge that I'm not a good person. If Christianity is right (sorry, others, but it's what I'm raised with) then I'd be going to hell. I've even had a dream in which I received a call from my stepfather and he told me that he wanted to let me know that I wouldn't be seeing him again, because I don't have a soul.

For me, the thought of death goes like this... What will happen? Will it be like falling asleep, but I never wake up again? Will I see new things, like in a dream, or will that be impossible because my brain stops working? I guess that it wouldn't be so bad, because if it's just like never waking up, then it won't be painful. But that's so sad at the same time, to never wake up, and never know. Just to stop existing. And then I think, but at least it won't happen to me. And then I think, No. It WILL happen to me. Like a roller coaster you really don't want to be on anymore, but you can't get off, and there's no turning back. It will happen to ME, whether I'm ready or not. And it's so scary.

I wish I could believe in a god, any god, and a happy afterlife to look forward to. But I really can't. I even wish I could lose enough brain cells to get myself to believe in something that sounds like a fantasy land. I already have trouble connecting with reality, so this shouldn't be so hard, you'd think.

I want to believe in you, oh sparkly ghost!

People have such interesting brushes with the unknown. This whole question is why I'm so fascinated by the paranormal, I think. But those superstitions and religions have existed for years, so I know I'm not the only one. The question for me is, did they find something real, or are billions of people just desperate enough or foolish enough to believe in a story that someone made up? How does it feel to be one of the people who say that they can look into their hearts and know these things to be true? I may find it ridiculous now, but I bet it'd feel pretty good to have faith in something.

And then I remember that it seems like too many people only believe so they can feel morally justified, or other selfish reasons. I know that doesn't describe everyone, and it shouldn't stop me from finding a religion, but it does.

Is it even possible to NOT see yourself in your characters?

2011-06-15T20:18:00.001-04:00

On the Absolute Write forums, someone posted along the lines of saying that characters shouldn't be based on real people, they should be stereotypes that walk and talk like real people do.

I'm a real person! Honest!

Cue a knee jerk reaction that, Noooo stereotypes are bad. But it got me thinking, any way. I still think writing a character as a stereotype is lazy and a bad way to purposely approach making a character. But basing your character after your best friend is not the wisest move, either.

Writers really shouldn't insert themselves into a story, but is there ever a character that a writer can't see themselves in at all? I don't think so - not if the character is well-rounded enough.

This is my outward appearance.

People are tricky, complex, contradicting creatures. I might as well just talk about myself as the only example, because I'm best qualified to talk about me. If I had to give myself a quick stereotypical description, I'd probably go with "attention whore". I always want something crazy to say to get attention. But at the same time I'm really reclusive and I suck at socializing with people. Is that description accurate? Yes, but it's grossly one dimensional. There are a million little things that make up who I am, and most of them are oddly contradicting.


Me as a writer. Yes, this disturbs me, too.

If you saw my profile on AW, its got an avatar with a fat unicorn and rainbows, and my signature is similarly packed with sickeningly cute things. Yet I don't often find something worth writing unless it's full of disembowelment or such things. I love unicorns and glitter, my personality to others is pretty much trying to be everyone's funny friend, but I write about death and mayhem. If I were a character, you'd probably throw the book against the wall because I'm so wildly inconsistent and badly written.

I am a character.

What? No, I didn't self-insert. At least, I didn't try to. I will confess, when I began my character, she was secondary and I could only describe her in a stereotype, knowing fully well that it wasn't all she was: "slutty". That was all that I could put my finger on. Now that characterization is kind of obliterated, but she's still the same girl. I see myself in her - namely, the lack of ability to connect to reality. I didn't even realize it.

My werewolf? I see my shared desire for the macabre.

Her brothers? I see my struggle with sexuality, how sometimes I can think I'm better and smarter than other people, and my fear of "settling" for what life has given me.

Every one seems to have a piece of me, or something that I can connect to. Even though one is closeted, one is racist, and one is family orientated, and those are things that are far away from what I am.

What I'm getting at is that it's okay to put a piece of yourself into a character. There's a difference between writing yourself into a self-indulgent fantasy, and putting a facet of yourself and your experience into a character.

This book emotionally destroyed me. So good.

I've been many people in my life. I've been an angry little kid. I've been naive and detached from reality. I've been a loving friend, and I've been a backstabber. I've been a criminal. I've been a philosopher. I've been the girl who lost a parent. I've been the one who will fight to the death over what she believes in, but who is too insecure to pick up a phone. To label myself as one of any of those things is ridiculously narrow, but I can use a few of those facets and build an entirely new character.

It's not just my characters. Take Animorphs, for example (I loved Animorphs. Okay, I still do). Jake, the virtuous leader. Rachel, the fighting spirit. Marco, the joker. Tobias, the emotionally aloof. Cassie, the bleeding heart. Ax, the curious and intellectual. I see parts of myself in all of them, even if I don't like it.

I'm interested - if you think about it, can you relate to all of your major characters, even if you have to admit it's through a bad trait?

People say, Write what you know.

Since when have you ever known YOURSELF to be a one-sided stereotype?

June Blog Chain

2011-06-14T16:51:00.001-04:00

Time for another blog chain!

This month's prompt: Setting the Scene

Write a location description, and make us feel as if we are there. No dialogue, no introductory comments, just a location. We're the tourists, you're the guide.

There's a divergence along the road, splitting off to the left. For the last few miles, drivers went by lush green trees with branches full of thick leaves, and only glimpses of a space beyond, glimpses at a silvery expanse of water. Now this new path leads to a clearing through the beautiful but isolating trees. The road turns from smooth tar to sun-baked dirt as it approached the water. There is a small row of parking spaces, and not another soul around. Leaving the vehicle behind, one can walk down to the lake's shore and look over the water. The sun is hot and bright, but a wind blows just gently enough to keep the air comfortable. There are colorful canoes along the far away sides of the lake. The water is a narrow stretch, but it is long - looking straight out, one can only see a endless path of water into the horizon. Perhaps it even does go out to the ocean.

A rusted sign says No Swimming, but a dip doesn't seem necessary anyway. A small dock stretches out onto the water. Walking onto the firm wooden planks is like being on the playground again as a child. On each side one can see rocks and plants just underneath the water. They have a yellowish tone, with light rippling around them, and a slightly slimy look. Unfortunately, there are no fish to be seen. As one walks out further, the water darkens until even squinting, the bottom is no longer visible. With a shift of weight, one can gently rock the dock side to side. There's something entirely relaxing about water, or the calm, quiet day, or the warm weather. A temptation to go ahead and ignore that No Swimming sign. Not that a swim would be necessary, but it would be fun.

orion_mk3 - http://nonexistentbooks.wordpress.com (link to this month's post)
juniper - http://www.katjuniper.com/ (link to this month's post)
LadyMage - http://www.katherinegilraine.com/ (link to this month's post)
dolores haze - http://dianedooley.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
jkellerford - http://jennykellerford.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
Ralph Pines - http://ralfast.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
AuburnAssassin - http://clairegillian.com/ (link to this month's post)
pezie - http://www.erinbrambilla.com/ (link to this month's post)
Inkstrokes - http://drlong67.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
WildScribe - http://DionneObesoBlog.com/ (link to this month's post)
Guardian - http://daewrites.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Lyra Jean - http://lyratorres.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
egoodlett - http://wordlarceny.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
cwachob - http://www.corriewachob.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Aheïla - http://thewriteaholicblog.wordpress.com/ (link to this month's post)
faerydancer - http://digitalinkwell.wordpress.com (link to this month's post)
TheMindKiller - http://www.jabberwocky.ws/ (link to this month's post)
Irissel - http://irissel.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
xcomplex - http://www.arielemerald.blogspot.com/ (link to this month's post)
Robbi Sommers Bryant - http://www.robbibryant.blogspot.com (link to this month's post)

Did I Even Go to a "Real" High School?

2011-06-14T15:13:00.001-04:00

I've seen so many things on TV, movies, and books about high school and teenagers that I'm starting to get concerned about what is a 'normal' high school experience.

I see these 30-something actors trying to act out an edgy screenplay. There's either so much bullying, these kids look like a hive mind mafia, or there's a large group of BFFs who are so close, they'd use the same bathroom stall and then reminisce in their diaries for an hour.

High school must be horrible for someone somewhere. I'm not even sure, because I've only been to pretty rural schools. No gangs, not much racial diversity, not so much with the rampant bullying. Do we have problems? Sure. My school still has drug users, fights, drop outs, and girls who get knocked up in the 8th grade.

Why are the problems so amplified in movies? There always seems to be a gang of uber-popular girls plotting to basically break some other person's kneecaps. I realize that a story needs a conflict, and some of these stories are based off of real experience. Sad for the person who had to go through that. But can we get a little more of a rounded view of it? If I based my thoughts of high school off of books and movies, I'd start to think I was going into a warzone, or that there's a 150% chance I'll come out pregnant and addicted to heroin or cutting myself.

First of all, yeah, I've known some people who did cut themselves. Let's dispell some stereotypes. They didn't walk around with gothic clothing believing that they are so much emotionally deeper than everyone else. They were mostly girls, but these were just the ones I knew about. They wore long sleeves and hoodies even in the summer. They were not friendless, they were not depressed 24/7 or suicidal. One girl I knew told me that she cut absolutely anywhere she could get away with. Not her arms, her entire body.

These people still have friends, though. Friends, boyfriends, interests, pets, things they love. At least in my experience, these people were not socially rejected, or completely alone. It's something else altogether. Something I don't think I could begin to dwell on, and won't attempt to do so.

Bullying? I won't pretend it's not a problem. Our school seemed to think there was a problem, judging by the poorly drawn anti-bullying posters on the walls. There was one boy that I'll call Greg for the sake of this post. When I first met him, he was picked on by other kids. I felt bad for him... for all of five minutes. Then I realized why he was picked on -- he made ridiculous claims, like that deer had opposable thumbs, or that he'd killed a wolf with his bare hands when he was 8. Moreover, instead of being able to laugh and let it roll off of his back, everything that people said struck him like a fatal arrow.

This is the age group that calls names, cuts other people's
hair off, and could get away with destroying property.
If your high school resembles this... just wtf?

Even when people were nice to him, he took it as the worst insult. He had a girlfriend for years, and in junior year he assaulted her and raped her. Everyone knew about it except for the right people. They stayed a couple.

The most recent bullying I saw in a movie was a girl with leg braces being called a retard by another girl and having a drink dumped all over her right in the middle of a (conveniently empty) hallway. High school, really? Because I've had drinks thrown at me... in middle grade. I've seen girls blow up about friendships and boyfriends over the slightest thing... in junior high. Why are these the things that get portrayed in high school? We kind of grew out of that, thank god.

But again, I've only been to one high school. Other ones sincerely do have problems with gangs, hard core drugs, weapons, etc. I was lucky, I suppose. I'm not trying to dismiss those other experiences. Just remember that my experience is valid, too. Not all high schools are full of horrible people. (But they still feel like prisons and incite anxiety and depression in plenty of people anyway.) I was not a jock, not a popular person, but I didn't have to live inside a clique. I was able to be what I wanted, and do what I wanted to. Popular kids would even talk to me or pay me a compliment now and then. Imagine that! What a relief.

My tip to anyone still in school: learn to let things roll off your back. Laugh it off. Things don't have to be so serious and grave all the time. Worry more about that 7 page report you have to write for the teacher you hate. But not too much. Just get it done and bond with some of your peers by complaining about it. ;)

I Am Ashamed of My First Novel (Which Isn't Even Written Yet)

2011-06-13T23:34:00.000-04:00

When I talk to people about writing, or ask them questions, I always try to avoid talking about what I'm actually writing about. I admit, I feel a little ashamed.

I am writing a werewolf story. Yes, werewolves.

Perhaps you don't see the issue. Perhaps you are one who instinctively grits their teeth. Perhaps you are a concerned sort. "But Dae!" you cry, "Werewolves and vampires are being done to DEATH. Why would you do this?"

Well, for starters this is no Twilight book full of vegetarian monsters. The plot started years ago. I actually remember checking out the book Blood and Chocolate by Annette Curtis Klause when I was in Junior high, 5 years ago. I read the book and thought to myself, why do werewolves and vampires always have to fall in love with a human or want to become human? Don't get me wrong, I loved the book (refuse to watch the movie) but yes, this started as an anti-Blood and Chocolate plot. I wanted to completely turn it on its head.

I started building my characters and plot about 4 years ago. It was simpler then. Or not so much. I worked out the entire family of werewolves meticulously - their names, their origins, history, personalities, relationships, desires, physiology, strengths and downfalls. I wanted my FMC to be strong, thoughtful, deep, intelligent, disconnected from the human world, anti-social, fiercely loyal to her family, and with an urge to go run free. She was born in Russia -- she spoke French. Yes, that was absurd and it got dropped quickly.

My secondary character started as just a girl labeled as a "slut". The girl with the bad reputation, and she hated it so much she embraced it. I didn't know what else to say about her. Here was this girl who would wreck my FMC's world. I didn't know what her parents were like, or her home life. I didn't know what her goals in life were. I still sort of don't. But I guess that's okay - when I was her age I wasn't sure if I'd ever see a future. I couldn't imagine one for myself.

Then I realized I wanted to make this story about BOTH of them. Somehow shove them both into the single spot of Main Character. Leave them each morally ambiguous and deeply flawed. Let the readers decide which one was the hero, and which one the villain. I kept feeling like my human MC was the villain... and then that she wasn't, and so on back and forth. But how would I ever balance both?

A friend of mine helped me come up with a subplot. While the book would continue to deal with my human becoming infected, there would be another issue - one of the wolf FMC's brothers (who had never had a big feature) hated himself and his family. He considered them monsters. He wanted to forcibly stop the spread of disease.

I had these two amazing plots to twist together. Now how to write? Nothing worked. I've been through a dozen different rewrites of the opening scene. How will the human MC and wolf MC meet? How will the infection happen?

It took me a while and I realized that my human girl needed a dad. She'd previously had a bitter mother who was divorced. Now I gave her a dad. A police officer - the only one in their small town - and she loved him. Her parents were still estranged, and seemingly about to fall into a divorce. The dad solved how I would introduce the two characters. But a new problem arose. With a dad, my character became a whole new person. She loves her dad, I realize. She went from the sexual, aggressive character I needed to becoming a shy, reasonable person. She was lovely. I needed ugly.

I had to kill her dad.

Not just take him away again. I realized I had to introduce him... and then kill him. It was what I needed to make her snap. I also realized that my human girl and wolf girl shouldn't be enemies from the start. They had to be friends. Perfect friends. In fact, I think that they need to fall in love.

My ultimate revelation thus far was this: my human MC is the main character. IS. No sharing lime light. No huge subplot. Her story needs to be told, from begining to end. And this shocked me. She started as such a minor character, and a stereotype. She was nothing more than an addition to the story of a family of werewolves. But no. This actually wasn't about them at all. Which made me cringe in fear -- if I wanted the other plot to ever be printed, I'd have to go for a series, or at least a sequel. If the first fails, the second will likely never be told. The story of the werewolves I labored for years to create will be nothing but background noise for a character who came out of nowhere. And I suppose I would be okay with that. I'm not upset - I'm amazed.

My book is strange. The characters are in the YA age group, yet I'm not sure if the book will be suited for it. Maybe I'm wrong - I haven't read many dark YA books for a while. The entire book is mired in blood, death, insanity, murder, blackmail, betrayal.

I have it plotted from beginning to end and back again. But what have I written?

5 words. My title. I'm afraid. But I feel that inevitably, it will happen. I have a fully written novel in my head, and not a lick has yet come out of my finger tips. I'm carrying a werewolf novel around that doesn't exist. I'm ashamed. But also so astonished.

A Whimsical Road Trip

2011-06-08T12:44:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I took a long trip to the coast of Maine. Destination: Castine

The goal was to find my college, and have some fun while doing so. It turns out that Castine is a pretty rural place, although my previous rural town didn't have a golf course! The school only has 800 or so students.

The trip began with a stop at our local Cumby's for drinks, and on a whimsy, a $2 scratch ticket, with lucky number 13. Well, it was lucky indeed... I won 4 times off that number, raking in a $20 prize. Big money! Mom decided that this was a good omen.

My mother and I started out following the school's directions to the interstate... and then realized that we'd gone 40 miles out of our way to begin with. What a waste! But we picked up the right interstates and continued onwards. Of course, my mother is beginning to have some legendary bladder issues, so our first scenic stop was in Palermo, next to a lake.

Just look at this lush greenery. It was pretty nice, except for the fact that letting the truck sit still meant that getting back in was HOT later on.

As a side note, I went to a graduation party the day before, which turned out to be lakeside. My friend and I planned on taking a nice dry paddle boat out into the lake to have some fun. Well, the sea-doo skipping around the lake decided that we wouldn't stay dry! Good thing I left my cellphone on shore.

And back to the trip...

So next, our directions became confusing again, naturally. We went a little too far and decided to go into Belfast and stop to look around.

This is the coast at Belfast. The residential houses and businesses were very nice to look at... very colonial architecture and lots of costal motifs.

We stayed just for a few moments to stretch our legs and think about the directions some more.

We knew we needed to get to Bucksport, and from there we'd make it to Castine. Fortunately I wasn't going alone because I would need a GPS and a trained guide to get me there.

We hit the road again... and I found myself being dragged into a shop by my very excited mother.

Behold, Perry's Nut House! What is it, you may ask? Well they sell foods like candies and assorted -- you guessed it -- nuts. They also have a safari assortment of toy animals, keychains, t-shirts, and so many things to do with lobsters or moose that your brain would pop.

And delicious fudge, which I am currently eating. Mmm.

Among the animals they had, there were a few choices of unicorns. Another good omen for this trip! I brought home a wild-eyed little uni on a keychain, along with a few other good-luck knick knacks. Little did I know how much I'd end up needing them!

After Perry's, and a lunch stop where I ate my desert out of a plastic children's bucket, we cut through Searsport towards Bucksport. It was 1:30pm, and our trip had begun at 9am. We were back to business.

Then my mother saw this beautiful monstrosity of a bridge (which promptly made her lose some bladder control, I believe). She hates big bridges, and this one was quite large for us. Exciting for me, terrifying for her.

We ended up stopping at a little scenic look-out spot before conquering the beast. It was nice, but not much to look at. A little history plaque told me that this was the scene of a big loss for the Americans back when we were fighting the British. We stumbled across a lot of these flashbacks to the Revolutionary War era.

The Penobscot River. Scene of a great American loss against the British. Big, beautiful, and proud. Hopefully less polluted than the Kennebec.

Then we drove across the bridge, my mother letting out a continuous scream until we finally rolled onto land.

We'd finally made it to Bucksport, which brought up the question - where was the witch's tombstone?
Are you not familiar with that question? Well, in Maine there is a legend about a witch whose foot appears on a gravestone at some cemetery. But we passed many cemeteries and were unable to find it the first time through. I ended up texting my very helpful brother for an address, which we realized was already behind us. To be continued!

From there on, the roads became very rural. The houses were small and lovely, and many were for sale. The salt water peeked at us every time we crested a hill, or rounded a shady waterfront road. We went through Verona Island, Orland, the town of Penobscot, and finally made it down to Castine, and found my school.

We headed straight to the coast and snapped some photos of the ships before trying to figure out where to go on the campus. On the right is a picture of a tug boat. It was pretty large, but the training ship the school uses is at least 3-4 times larger, and was unfortunately not docked that day.

This is the football field at my school. They also have indoor courts for tennis and raquetball, an indoor swimming pool (woo!), a rock wall and more. There were some frightening pull-up bars by the NROTC office. My ass is going to be kicked at this school.

We found the bookstore next and purchased a couple items - a very official-looking MMA shirt for me and one for my mother which even had "MOM" written on it. She was thrilled.

Most of the campus was locked down, so we went around with a map for a little while, looking at buildings, and then decided to leave. For such a long time, we didn't stay for even half an hour.

Goodbye for now, Castine!

Back on the road again.

We hit a long road and headed back to Bucksport. I wanted to find the gravestone with the witch's foot.

Imagine my surprise when the truck started drifting into the opposite lane of traffic. No, imagine my fright! I felt myself about to literally pee my pants at the sight of oncoming traffic heading towards us. A truck on the opposite side had to go into the ditch to go around us.

I yelled at my mom, "What the hell are you doing?"

Her response, "I felt like off roading. He needed to get out of my lane."

Thoroughly terrified, and my mom laughing at me to cover her mistake (sigh), we made it into Bucksport safe and sound, and located the cemetery (across from Hannafords). They have a specially built ramp and guard rail that leads directly to the tombstone.

Two plaques next to the gravestone told us the story behind the gravestone. This monument was erected for Colonel Jonathan Buck, the founder of Bucksport and all-around considered a great guy.

The legend is that he had a woman condemned as a witch, and burned at the stake for her witchery. She supposedly cursed him, saying that her mark would appear on his headstone. While she burned, one of her legs fell off and rolled out. Her deformed son grabbed the leg, cursed Buck, and then ran off into the wilderness.

Sixty years later, the town erected this monument for Buck, and the leg-shaped mark appeared. They attempted to sand it off, but it continued to re-appear. The plaque also states that it is not uncommon for granite to have a flaw that doesn't show up until it's been cut and polished. There is also a mark on the upper part of the monument in the shape of a sideways heart.

The legend of the witch's curse only showed up after the monument was erected sixty years later. Also, there is no record of anyone being executed for witchcraft there. Still an interesting legend.

When we hit the bridge later on, I made sure to describe our lofty journey in detail to get back at my mom for nearly killing me. My favorite was, "Whoa, can you feel the bridge moving back and forth?" Heh heh.

We had a great trip overall, and we hope to hit some more destinations this summer.

Next I want to check out the Desert of Maine.

Open Letter

2011-06-02T16:24:00.000-04:00

Dear freshman girl,

I had the pleasure of helping you in pep band for a short time. In that time, I grew fond of you, because of your affiliation of being a fellow percussionist, and out of sympathy and fascination for your personal life - namely, your "friendships".

I've heard from elementary teachers before that when you go into high school, even the strongest friendships are often ripped apart. For you, I hope that is true. This may seem awful to you, but in my own opinion, losing your friends could possibly be the best thing to happen for you personally, and anyone else in your position. I know they may seem so important now, but frankly to the rest of us, your friends are batshiat insane. They constantly upset you, and one has so many tantrums and emotional breakdowns it is a wonder that she has any friends at all (and honestly, she reminds me of myself at her age).

There's a sort of magical quality to high school, even one as small as ours. You can see someone every day for a year, but then their schedule changes, and suddenly you never see them at school. Never.

This is the death sentence to friendships, though it doesn't have to be. I had 2 best friends when I started elementary school. I was a horrible little girl back then, like your overly emotional friend. But things change, and personalities smooth out. I went from loving them to hating them to loving them again. And we are still friends now, coming out of high school. We stayed in touch through clubs, after school activities, and social networks.

But this magical disappearing act can be wonderful - and I know this sounds mean - to get rid of old friends. Sometimes you would have to put in extra effort to ever see someone. This means that a bad friendship can grow apart, and you can each go your own way. Perhaps you will become friends again someday. If they aren't good for you, let them go. And I beg you, bass drummer girl, let your two friends drift away. Let them grow with experience and let their minds and emotions settle.

You will all change over time, some more than others. They may come back to you, or you may realize you are so glad to never see them again. You may not even remember them. The thing is, we are not the same person we used to be years ago. I would not be friends today with many people I used to play with. I am friends today with many people I never would have gone near as a kid.

Lastly, one thing I wildly endorse is to be yourself. Dance even if there is no music. Sing when everyone is paralyzed with fear to speak. Do what you want to do, not what everyone else is doing. The result is that you will love life more, enjoy your days, love yourself. Those who make friends with you will truly like you for YOU, as opposed to a mannequin version of yourself who only knows how to follow the trends and listen to the popular music.

I care deeply for you, drummer girl, because I see so much of my troubled former self in you. Know that I don't have the answers to everything, but I have found personal happiness, and that is what I wish for you.

Sincerely,
A drummer girl

Lies My Teachers Told Me

2011-06-02T15:19:00.000-04:00

Graduation is truly an amazing experience. After years of hardship, frustration, and tedium, things begin to clarify and wind down. I've heard many things about graduating and preparing for what's next, and I'd like to put out my own experiences.

Mostly, I'd like to negate a lot of phrases that students will hear in their lifetime.

1. "These are the best years of your life."
Lord, I hope not. Academically, high school sucks. But I will admit, I had so much fun in high school, but here's why - it's because I learned to let myself have fun and laugh at the fashionable shoes of "cool" and "normal". I started as a little dorky freshman who had such low self esteem, she wouldn't look anyone in the eye. I was afraid to speak in class because I thought that I'd fail the course or something if I answered a question wrong. Then I dated, and though I wasn't ready for a relationship, that gave me such a confidence boost. And then I cut my hair. Long brown hair down to my butt - shaved off and dyed into a red mohawk. I had never been happier in my life! From then on I realized more and more that I should do what I want. I still had tons of friends, and better yet I knew those friends liked me for who I was, not because I was buying X brand of clothes. I fell madly in love with unicorns, I wore sombreros and giant sunglasses to class, I sang love ballads in busy hallways. I did have a great time, but it was full of a lot of suck, including a mental breakdown in junior year, when I realized I had to stop being a perfectionist.

2. "It's easy to get involved in __."
Can I just say how hard this can be? Sports, for one, are next to impossible to get into unless you've always been in them. The Fall sports start before school even begins, and you will not get the memo if you're new. Seek it out immediately and join. It's hard, but it's worth it.

In the same vein, music - join early and stick with it. I wish I had even known about music programs back in the day. There are awards that people get in things like marching band or sports teams for being in it for 4 years. Which means if you join a year late, you don't even get a chance. I love shiny awards at the end of the year.

Clubs - stick with them, but especially in senior year. I didn't really have time in my senior year for clubs, but I should have made time. Mainly it was laziness on my part. The trouble is, you could be the go-to person for your club one year, but if you're not in it senior year, no one cares. I joined the school's Honor Society in my senior year. Best choice, because I get all of the nice awards and none of the mandatory meetings.

Senior year is the time to jump through hoops to get your awards, and also volunteer because...

3. "Go to college."
No. College isn't for everyone. Think about it. If you only want to go to college to study some sort of liberal arts philosophy basket weaving thing, you're wasting your time and money. Sure, it might be a good experience, but college is damn expensive and in this day do you really think you're going to get a job as a philosopher? To be honest, I would rather go to a community college and learn how to work on cars for a living than go off to college for women's studies or something whose job market is an abstract concept.

4. "You can afford to go to any college you want."
Yeah, right. I've been told I'll get all the financial aid I need to go to school. My family has no income, I have no income, and I have no college fund. Currently I'm hoping like hell that the last scholarship that hasn't come back yet will come through for me. It's a big one, but there's still a risk that I'll be short 6,000 or more. That'll have to come out my pocket. And by that, I mean I'll have to take out a loan now (and assuming I get the loan at all) and then hope like hell I get a job when I graduate so I can pay off my student loans for years to come. I was literally told by my financial guide that choosing between schools meant "deciding how much debt you want to have." I want no debt at all! But someone like me is screwed because we need help and don't get it. Choosing college wasn't even a thing when I realized there was a 20k difference between my options.

5. "Apply to Scholarships"
This one is not a lie. The lie comes from them not promoting scholarships enough. Apply like crazy. Stay on scholarships as soon as senior year starts, like an angry hornet. Tackle every single one you might be able to get, big or small.

Scholarships tend to look for these qualities:
Academic decency
Atheltic goodness
Community service **
Financial need
You are a woman

To be honest, academic seems to be the least important thing on the list. B students are usually in the clear (okay, well this is coming from an A student so I'm biased). There are many scholarships for athletes but most important of all is the community service part. Scholarships seem to go crazy over you being able to show that you spoon feed old ladies every weekend. DO VOLUNTEER WORK IF YOU PLAN TO GO TO COLLEGE.

6. "You may hate ___ now, but you're going to miss them when you graduate."
No. I'm really a bleeding heart over lots of things, and I'm certainly not a staunch "My class needs to die" person, though I've probably said it at least seven times. As class marshall, I get to stand up in front of the class and direct them. I get a sense of pride when my class marches in, left right left, and they all sit down at command. We clean up nice. But will I miss them?

First of all, I don't really get to pal around with every single person in my class. There are, amazingly enough, a few I've seen just now and I have no freaking clue who they are or where they came from. The nice thing about highschool is that it breaks you apart from your friends. You may have 3 classes with someone every day for a semester, and then your schedule changes and you never see them again. There are kids I haven't seen in so long I didn't even know if they dropped out or not.

So when I see these people graduating, they make look nice for a change but it doesn't make them nice people suddenly. The drug abusers will still be drug abusers. The bitchy assholes will still be that way. The annoying kids will still make my skin crawl. The mentally unstable will still be prone to screaming outbursts. They may change years later... but not in one day.

August Coloring Blog Chain

2010-08-20T11:12:00.001-04:00

I'm participating in the August Blog chain at AbsoluteWrite. The prompt is: If you had to pick one color, and one color only, for an aspect of your writing, which one would it be and why?

The color I would pick is hazel, as it appears as in eye color.

Why? Hazel is something all its own, that is hard to describe in exact terms because different people have different opinions of it. Like my writing, it's hard to put into any one category. If hazel was green or brown, it would be called green or brown. But it can be both simultaneously, or neither. It has to have its own name. Hazel.

I also chose hazel because of the connection to eye color and eyes. Eyes, the window to the soul. Everything I write is a reflection of myself in some way. My characters all have a piece of me, good or bad, big or small, common or unique. Each plot and the way I write reflects who I am and life experiences, small truths twisted into metaphors or mostly fantastic scenarios. A blend of reality and the surreal. Like a blend of colors. Like hazel.

Other August Color Bloggers!
Aheïla: and direct link to her post
Ralph_Pines: and direct link to her post
AuburnAssassin: and direct link to her post
semmie: and direct link to her post
Anarchicq: and direct link to her post
CScottMorris: and direct link to his post
PASeasholtz: and direct link to his post
LadyMage: and direct link to her post
orion_mk3: and direct link to his post
DavidZahir: and direct link to his post
aimeelaine: and direct link to her post
FreshHell: and direct link to her post
sbclark: and direct link to her post
Bettedra: and direct link to her post
Guardian: and direct link to her post (YOU ARE HERE!)
M.R.J. Le Blanc: http://libraryofandunien.blogspot.com/
Alpha_Echo: http://writersramblings81.blogspot.com/
laffarsmith: http://www.craftingfiction.com/

Comes in Threes

2010-08-10T21:11:00.001-04:00

Cast the circle thrice about, to keep unwelcomed spirits out.

I'm doing this analysis entirely apart from the book.

First of all, this sentence can be exactly what it means. Circles can be an important part of ritual magic practice. They are often recommended to be cast before a spell. I'm writing this entirely from memory so take it with a grain of salt or anything else you like. ;)

The purpose of a circle: Circles can create protection from negative energies or spirits, as stated in the line. Circles are also cleansed when they are cast to rid the spot of pre-existing negative vibes. This spiritually cleans the spot so that a spell starts with a fresh slate, or the same just for meditation, etc. While the circle is cast, the chosen spot, inside or outside, is sacred.

How to cast a circle: There are probably a large variety of ways to do this, so I won't bother to specify things to say or even pretend that this IS the way to do it. I'm not saying it is, but again this is what I remember. :) Variety is the spice of life, so take from it what you will.

Circles are generally recommended to be 9 feet in diameter. The perimeter can be marked if you like, with stones, crystals, or herbs. Do whatever seems right. (Note that different herbs have different properties, so depending on the nature of what your circle is for, specific herbs can aid you. I recommend Scott Cunningham's Encyclopedia of Magical Herbs. For protection from spirits, salt is a catch-all.) At large, I've heard that casting a circle is largely a spiritual thing that can be done with an athame or your power finger/hand. Focus on drawing your energy and visualize it creating a circle drawn by your hand. Drawing this three times is recommended. You may also want to align yourself with the directions, North, East, South and West.
The next part, to be honest, I'm not sure if it comes before drawing the circle or after. This is the part of sweeping out any stray energies. You can use an actual broom to do this, and visualize the energies being swept away so that your circle is clean and blank, ready to be powered by your own energy and intentions. What you do with the circle afterward is up to you.

For more ideas about spell casting, check out my post "Spells That Rhyme".

The number Three.This is what I really want to analyze. Three is EVERYWHERE especially in religions. The Triple Goddess, either a trio of goddesses or one goddess that is recognized in phases: the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone. They represent a cycle of life. The waxing phase of the moon corresponds with the Maiden. When the moon is full, it is the Mother. When the moon is waning, it is the Crone.

Three is even important in Christianity. The Holy Trinity is the best example in my opinion: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Notice how similar this is to the Maiden, Mother, and Crone, but masculine?

The triangle, the three-pointed and three-sided geometric figure, is considered the strongest geometric shape for construction. Unlike a square, a triangle is very hard to distort. It's so simple, but so strong. I'm sure you can think of many other things that are related to three.

There is also the superstition that things, especially bad things, come in threes. (I hear this one very often. It was especially kicking around the internet when Ed McMahon, Michael Jackson, and Farrah Fawcett died within 3 days of each other in 2009.) There are many other superstitions that involve threes. Hearing three knocks can foretell death.

You don't have to take my word for it, though. You can look it up yourself. ;)

Downward Spiral

2010-08-04T14:07:00.000-04:00

Well, I didn't want to update on my step-dad until I knew whether or not he has lung cancer. He's being tested for that on the 18th. He is home now, but barely got a few days in before new things came crashing down.

My brother's fiancee, Anna, took off to North Carolina with their two sons, ages 1 and 2. She said she was only going to take care of some sick family member for a week. The claim is still that she's coming back on Saturday, but we have a lot of reasons to believe that she isn't coming back. She left huge bills for my mother and brother to pay, and wasted all of her own money before taking most of my brother's money "for gas" before she left. She was starting to work whenever she felt like it (not like her), blew money on a tattoo, and left without giving her job any notice or quitting. My brother found messages to her ex-boyfriend about how she wanted to be with him. She told my brother she would call him when she got to NC. It's been about 5 days and my brother has called every phone number he can find but her friends and family who know where she is will not tell him anything or give him her number. I think that even qualifies as parental kidnapping, but I think my brother is just going to call social services and get them to remove his sons from her custody, and take her to court to get custody. We have no idea where she is, so that might be hard. I don't think we can really do anything until Saturday goes by.

My step dad has had an increasingly hard time walking. Right now he needs assistance or he will fall down. He has to drag his left foot when he walks. He described it like there was a pressure cuff cutting off his circulation. He went to the ER because of the pain and numbness a few days ago. The doctor said he didn't want to "deal with cramps" and only peeked at his leg and told him to go home. My mother took him back to a different ER the next day and THOSE doctors told her his leg didn't even look right. When they did tests they found that his arteries are blocked up very badly, so there is next to no blood flowing to his legs. They wanted surgery ASAP to put stents in, but then found that the blockage was worse than they thought so they didn't do anything but scheduled more tests. He was supposed to get those tests today but that was canceled because they found something wrong with his kidneys. Might have something to do with the drug they insisted he take that nearly caused kidney failure last time he was on it, but they insisted. '

My mother is pursuing legal action against the doctor who told Harry it was just cramps. We can't afford a lawyer so we can only do so much.

I wish I was making this all up. :(

Living in Balance

2010-07-30T23:25:00.000-04:00

Ye must live an' let live, fairly take and fairly give.

This time I will focus less on what Mark Ventimiglia says in his book, because this line I would like to interpret for myself. It may seem self-explanatory. To me it almost is, but my opinions do differ here from his. So below, this is all me.

"Ye must live." This line has several meanings in itself. The Rede urges us to live. Does it mean to let our lives go naturally, or to live life to the fullest? To me it is both. Realize that each day, you are alive. Your choices influence the world around you. One should strive to make positive contributions to the world as often as possible. Help a friend, show someone you care, do something to take the load off of someone else. These things can be small, but they build up to be something huge.

"An' let live." This is the other side to life; realizing that you are not the only person in the world. There are other people, other valid points of few, and an infinite number of things that deserve respect and acknowledgment. These three simple words bid us not to interfere with another life in a harmful way. Do not kill an animal just for the sake of killing it. Try to disturb as little of nature as possible. Perhaps this also goes into the "fairly take" part of the line as well. If you must disturb life, either harvesting plants or hunting animals, then take as much as you need but don't become greedy and wasteful.

"Fairly take." One should only take as much as they need, or what actually belongs to them. There is a morality here: do not steal, do not more of anything than you deserve.

"Fairly give." Greed is an ugly thing. There is a true pleasure in being able to share with others. You share love and happiness as well as good will. But there is a line in giving that one has to be aware of. These are covered much later in the two lines, "When ye have an' hold a need, hearken not to others' greed" and "With a fool no season spend, lest ye be counted as her friend." I will save these two for their own time, and only say here: do not let people abuse your good will. True friends will stay with you even if you have no wealth to share.

In all, this line of the Wiccan Rede teaches us to live our lives in balance. Recognize the importance of everything around you, and your own place in the world. Do not let greed get the best of you. If you have what you need, then everything else should flow. There is nothing wrong with enjoying some luxuries, but overindulgence takes the fun out of a treat. ;)

What do you think?

In Perfect Love, In Perfect Trust

2010-07-30T22:05:00.000-04:00

Bide the Wiccan Law ye must; in perfect love, in perfect trust.

This is the first line of the Wiccan Rede, and where we'll start off.

Mark Ventimiglia starts by describing the rise of Christianity and the Church's efforts to convert other countries to their religion. (Any typos are mine.)

"However, there was not the immediate mass conversion to Christianity that history often suggests. The new religion was just that, a newly created man-made religion. It did not evolve slowly over many millenniums, as did Paganism. In fact, often entire nations were classified as Christian countries when in truth it was only their leaders who had adopted the new faith. Throughout the whole of Europe, and Britain as well, paganism continued to exist, more or less, during the first thousand years of Christianity." -- Mark Ventimiglia

There is no doubt that the Catholic Church held great power in this time. In my opinion, it was more influential than kings, especially at it's height. It still holds power today. Now I mean no disrespect to the Catholic Church, but I don't think I would have enjoyed being alive during that time. Despite the pressure to convert, paganism lived on through different people. There is enough history of witch hunts to prove this.

The height of witch hunts in Europe began in the 1500s and largely came to an end in the late 1600s. Nearly everyone is familiar with the famous Salem Witch Trials that occurred in 1692 in Salem, Massachusetts. Nineteen people were hanged for witch craft, one man was pressed to death, and several more died in prison. There are many different theorized causes of that time of hysteria. All that I can say is that many good people had their lives destroyed by these hunts. Many of those killed probably had nothing to do with paganism, but that is a different story.

Fact is that anyone who actually did practice witchcraft had every reason to fear during that stretch of time. Just looking at the implements of torture that were also popular during the time, I couldn't blame them. I can't even bear to read about those methods of torture. Again, I'm very glad I didn't live during that time period.

So we come to the point, and what Mark Ventimiglia believes the first line of the Wiccan Rede means. It is an oath for practitioners to live by. This is almost hard to imagine today, because in their time it meant that if a member of the coven was captured and tortured, they would never reveal whoever else was a witch. I cannot attest to how well they were or were not able to keep their oath. Many non-pagans were tortured until they confessed imaginary crimes as well.

The dark times are behind us, fortunately. What does "perfect love" and "perfect trust" mean in today's world?

Love and trust are essential in a relationship with another person. When joining a coven, it is important that you are able to completely trust the other members and that they are also able to trust you. You should feel completely comfortable. Magic isn't about glitz and glam, or snapping your fingers and turning people into toads. It is a spiritual religion, a way of thinking about the world and how to live your life.

"In perfect love, in Perfect trust", in my opinion, reflects a deep level of commitment. There is true belief involved, dedication, and love in your heart. If any of these are lacking, then nothing else will work, which is why the Wiccan Rede begins with this line. After all, you have to believe in magic for it to work. What is the point in following a faith, a system of beliefs that you yourself do not believe in?

Thoughts? These are just mine.

Wiccan Rede: A Study

2010-07-28T23:03:00.001-04:00

I haven't made any progress on writing my novel, so I thought I'd begin something I wanted to do for a little while.

Wicca is something I've been interested in for at least 6 years. I don't practice it anymore nor have I ever claimed to be Wiccan, but I still find it interesting and would like to study it again. The thing I like about it is that the beliefs are unique to each person. Personally I always believed that there should be some core principals that ground it, and then everyone can have their own unique ideas of how to practice and branches of what else they believe. Apparently that isn't the case. But oh well. That's probably why I would never get along with a coven.

I have this lovely little book called "The Wiccan Rede" by Mark Ventimiglia. It is largely devoted to explaining the Wiccan Rede verse by verse, and then there is added information about some spells, the lingo, herbs, etc. I thought I would read through it and make a post of my thoughts for each line, or a few at once if I don't have much to say about something. I will add links as I update with my thoughts on each line.

This is the Wiccan Rede, as written in the book:

Bide the Wiccan Law ye must; in perfect love, in perfect trust.

Ye must live an' let live, fairly take an' fairly give.

Cast the circle thrice about, to keep unwelcomed spirits out.

To bind the spell well every time, let the spell be spoken in rhyme.

Soft of eye an' light of touch, speak ye little an' listen much.

Deosil go by waxing moon, chanting out the Seax-Wiccan Runes.

Widdershins go by waning moon, chanting out thy baneful tune.

When the Lady's moon is new, kiss the hand to her times two.

When the moon rides at her peak, then thou heart's desire seek.

Heed the north wind's mighty gale, lock the door an' trim the sail.

When the wind comes from the south,
love will kiss thee on the mouth.

When the wind blows from the west, departed spirits have no rest.

When the wind blows from the east,
expect the new an' set the feast.

Nine woods in the cauldron go,
burn them fast and burn them slow.

Elder be the Lady's tree, burn it not or cursed thou'll be.

When the wheel begins to turn, let the Beltane fires burn.

When the wheel has turned to Yule,
light the log an' the Horned One rules.

Heed ye flower, bush an' tree, by the Lady, bless'd be.

Where the rippling waters go, cast a stone an' truth thou'll know.

When ye have an' hold a need, hearken not to others' greed.

With a fool no season spend, lest ye be counted as her friend.

Merry meet an' merry part, bright the cheeks an' warm the heart.

Mind the Threefold Law ye should,
three times bad and three times good.

When misfortuned is enow, wear the witches' star on thy brow.

True in love forever be, lest thy lover's false to thee.

Eight words the Wiccan Rede fulfill:
An ye harm not, do as thou will.

Man With a Dying Heart

2010-07-24T14:51:00.000-04:00

I visited my step father in the hospital today. As it turns out, the right side of his heart (the side that still works) is dying. The main reason why he's in the hospital, though, is because his lungs are full of fluid. They're only working at about 30% capacity right now. He can't have surgery for his heart because he would die on the operating table.

Basically, all we can do is try to keep him healthy for as long as possible. I hope he'll get to see me graduate high school. When he gets home, he'll have to be on oxygen. They recommended he quit smoking, but at the same time I guess they don't expect that to happen. My mother told me they looked at his father's history, and his father went down the same road. His father had to quit smoking, and died 6 months later.

He's still Harry, though. He was absolutely disgusted with their diet plans for him, and their mutant "cholesterol-free" eggs. He told me the hospital custard tasted like shit. :P I don't think my mother will make him stick to the diet when he gets home.

A Little Worried, Not Gonna Lie

2010-07-23T15:16:00.000-04:00

So my step dad Harry is in the hospital right now. He hasn't been right for a while. His feet and legs were turning a ghostly blue and swelling up. He was getting more and more limited in his ability to walk. He has having chest pains and difficulty breathing, along with dizzy spells.

The other night my mother took him to the hospital yet again. This time instead of giving him a medication and sending him out, they realized that he had fluid in or around his lungs. I'm not sure, but my mother told me he was choking on it. He spent the night while they medicated him heavily to get the fluid out, but it didn't work too well I suppose. His breathing was still strained from that fluid so a few hours ago from writing this, they sent him to a different hospital a few hours away.

I keep trying to think of what his chances are. He's in his early 70s now, with a heart so bad that supposedly there's literally only half of [the original?] left. I'm not sure, but my mother implied that fluid buildup is related to his congestive heart failure. As my sister in law told her 2-year-old and 1-year-old, 'He's strong. He'll be back.' If it's very serious, I'm not so sure, unfortunately. He's a hell of an ornery guy, but he's been talking about death so much lately. My mother was in tears, but I can't trust that to see how bad it is. I have to focus on facts. The facts don't sound too good right now.

My mother just left and will be gone the weekend to stay near Harry. I sent my unicorn and whale ahead of me so that he will have me by his side tonight.

I hope the next time I blog about this, it will be to say he's doing much better.

P.S. for my mother's sake, and Harry's, I kindly request some prayers and good thoughts his way. Thank you. ♥

A Hidden Fire

2010-07-10T18:44:00.000-04:00

I was hoping to dedicate my first post to some benign about-me shindig. Instead I find myself actually having something important to blog. Really wish I didn't, in fact.

"There's a fire in the basement; get out!"

That's what I woke up to this morning, along with my mother running out of the house. I didn't know how much to panic. I put on my shoes and couldn't find my dog, so I grabbed her muzzle, thinking of the parking lot swarming with fire fighters and police officers. We didn't know what to do with the box of kittens, only a day old. They got left upstairs, even after my mother went back up to get my dumb dog out of the house.

My neighbor Steve was leaning over the porch railing, coughing and spitting onto the ground. His (very pregnant) wife had been the one to run upstairs and warn us. A small crowd was already gathered outside of evacuated tenants. There was a police officer directing traffic, and sirens in the distance. When I touched the railing on the porch, it was incredibly hot. I thought I could feel an incredible heat, imagining the entire foundation of the house ablaze. It wasn't good. I wanted to scream out, "Please help" when the fire truck finally ambled into the parking lot.

The last time the fire fighters were here, they tore up to another apartment building to find that the "blaze" they came to put out was a pizza box in an oven. It was surprising then they are didn't find a large stash of drugs in the person's apartment. This time they walked slowly to the basement as if they didn't believe us.

The crowd of people had migrated and clustered together, staring on. A lot of people were smirking. I couldn't bear to stand by them so I went to the truck where my mother had put my dog and made sure she could breathe in the heat. I realized about then that it was probably just the summer heat I felt, not a blaze that was consuming the entire foundation of the house. Still I had to know exactly what had happened so I could assess the level of danger for myself.

It didn't take long for my mother to come back with a full report of what happened. Living with a busybody manager has its perks. She told me that a pipe had cracked in the basement and was leaking water near a bunch of wires. What they thought happened was that now and then water would hit the wires and send sparks flying. Each time that happened, some flames might have ignited.

My neighbors had been up earlier socializing over coffee when the smoke detector went off. They have access to the basement in their apartment. It's very good to know that it's in safe hands. When Steve opened the basement door he said he smelled wires burning. He saw fire and told his wife to call 911, then confronted the problem himself.

Steve had the initiative to use his fire extinguisher on the flames, which was what caused him to cough and choke so much later. The fire chief said that if not for this the fire would not have been contained as well and could have been more serious. If my neighbors had been gone, those sparks and flames would have kept going until the entire basement really was a blazing inferno. Even if Steve hadn't had the nerve to do anything but leave his house, who knows what might have happened?

I've known too many people who lost their homes or businesses to fire. For a while, I felt the acute possibility that I was about to become one of them. I gave Steve a very big hug and thanked him for what he did.

Thank you, Steve.