Creatures=Created ones

I wrote a super short story, but it is a story nonetheless! I can say a lot about my life right now...hmm, what should I say?

Haley's here! Haley is a friend of David's and she is awesome, but she is stealing my room tonight. I don't care, though, cuz that means that my long-awaited-sleep-under-the-stars-night has arrived! Hooray!

I bought a new NOTEBOOK (not journal) and I get really excited about notebooks. When they look cool I freak out and want to write in them 24/7. This notebook is devoted to taking notes during bible studies and writing about what God has done and is doing. It's fun :)

Okay, here's my story. I apologize in advance for any misinformation. I don't know much about potters.

Creation/The Potter

The potter looked at his clay, wondering what it would become this time. He stuck his finger into it experimentally. Cold, damp, and thick. It could be fashioned into anything.

He thought about what would give him the most money. Large vases were extremely popular at this time. He was one of few potters who could make them.

This in front of him was some of the finest clay; he could make anything out of it. Although the quality of the clay didn't make much difference after it was fired, there were some objects that demanded fine grains of the right minerals.

The potter looked at his clay.
And looked.
And looked.

Finally he decided that the most profitable product was the wisest choice and started out to make a vase.

the potter grabbed a large chunk of the clay and weighed it in his palm. Too much, he thought. Separating the chunk into two parts, he shook his head and said, "Maybe...I'll make a spoon." Spoons were lighter, more comfortable objects, and the potter's opinion was that there was no more gorgeous shape than a well-made spoon.

Taking half of one of his two parts, the potter stuck the rest onto the original chunk of clay and started working.

~~~

Six days later, the potter removed the spoon from his kiln. He smiled contentedly. Taking the spoon in his hands, he said, "It is good."

THE END

Very short.

OOOOHHH, Sand Pirates

My sister and I are both trying to write a scene a day (in my case a scene or poem a day). Sometime this week I wrote a scene and fell in love with multiple aspects of it, and today I wrote a scene from a different part of the same story.

Here's the first scene (I haven't edited, so it's kinda rough):

The desert traders pressed in close around her. Holding their sputtering torches away from their bodies like swords, they stared in fear tat the shimmering, angry mass before them.

The blood locusts were patient, but hungry They tried to smother the fire with collective wing beats, and the men had no choice by to bring their fire away and try to preserve the last guttering flames.

Ali was afraid. Of all the desert creatures, she knew that blood locust were the most vicious. No one ventured in the desert but merchants and sand pirates. They knew that underneath the golden dunes were millions of tiny monsters, sleeping until someone stepped on their nest. It didn't take much to wake them.

Ali hit the man in front of her, crying, "Keep them away! Keep them away! Dear God, keep them away!" She fell to the ground, shaking, hiding behind the merchants circling her.

"Ali," Gareth's gruff, even voice said. "We're doing the best we can. Don't worry, we will protect you with our lives."

Ali grabbed her knees and rocked back and forth. How long will those lives last?

Pressing her face against her knees, Ali tried to tell herself that she would live to see nightfall. She comforted herself with the thought of what lay beyond the desert and why she was crossing it.

A yell. A scream. Ali opened her eyes. One of the torches was gone. So was one of the men. The circle tightened.

Ali's breath shortened. She screamed and clawed at the sand, hoping for a miracle. Two more torches went out. Two more men were eaten.

"Ali," Gareth said. He tept his eyes on the locust, threatening them with the last few flames dancing on the wood and singing his fingers. "Hold my hand." his arm reached backwards. Ali hugged it tightly, focusing on the warm, comforting feel of a friendly hand.

Three more lights died. Only three men were left. Ali bit her lip and furrowed her eyebrows. She could hardly breathe. The pressure suffocated her. She was going to die. There was no escaping it. But she could escape this sad excuse of life.

She stood up, stepping outside the human barrier. "Just kill me already!" she screamed.

The locust stopped. For the first time in hours, the air was still and silent. The blood locust left, deserting the four wanderers to the mercy of the sun and sand.

Ali stared after them in awe.

"What just-" she felt a hand snatch hers and pull her around.

Dirk lifted her arm and pulled her hand backwards, staring at Ali,s wrist. A pulsing tatoo covered her soft skin. Dirk looked up, smiling at her the way he might smile at a ruby from Darcia's mines, or a golden vase crafted by Garralon's finest artist. "Faerie," he said.

THE END

Somethings that made me write this next scene:
Sand pirates
Blood locust
The names (EPIC)
The world.

The thing about this fantasy world is that, so far, I have three plots in it. I keep saying to myself, "that story would fit perfectly in that world". I love this fantasy world. It's species are EPIC. Soul Suckers, Blood locust, Faeries, Humans (oh, wait).

I love the names Gareth, Ali, Dirk, and, oh yeah, SAND PIRATES.

The other scene I wrote, not the next scene:

Ali pressed against the rough walls of the tent, putting as much distance between the Balruk and herself as possible. The Balruk sat down cross-legged on the floor, pouring wine into two fine goblets on a low table.

"Sit," he said. Ali obediently approached, keeping her eyes on the goblets. They had belonged to Bran. She turned her head away quickly, letting her hair fall over her tear-stained face. Bran ad been so kind, so young.

This man had killed him.

Ali stopped the tears and glared into the Balruk's eyes. "What do you want with me?"

"I want to show you a better life," he answered.

Ali bared her teeth. "As a slave," she spat.

"As a free faerie." Ali wanted to punch him. The liar! Why did he play with her like this?

"How do you think sand pirates survive the desert?" Ali shrugged. Why should she care? They probably used faerie slaves as guards.

The Balruk laughed, unwrapping one of his sand-colored wristbands. He poured wine into his palm and tossed it into the air.

It didn't fall. The wine floated above his goblet as if waiting for a command.

The Balruk's glinting eyes turned purple as he lifted his hand. The writ was coated with a dark Faeran tattoo.

"We're all faeries here," he said, leaning forward. "We steal from merchants to find our own and hide from humans in this glorious desert to live in freedom."

"But...you killed them!" Ali argued, horrified.

"And they would've killed you for money, just because you aren't like them." With a twist of his fingers, the Balruk formed the wine into the shape of a man. It was Gareth.

"Did you care for the merchants? Did you? Did you treasure those brave and noble men who gave their lives to protect you from the evil sand pirates?" Ali's eyes were locked onto the image of Gareth fighting against dark silhouettes. One of them ran a sword through his side and he fell to the ground, twitching in his death throes.

The Balruk punched through the wine and it fell back into the goblet. "They were protecting merchandise," he sneered.

THE END

THAT GUY IS CREEPY!

No Words

For a while I haven't really been able to write my stories, I haven't been able to think of plots (VERY unusual), and the past two days I've written poetry. The two poems I wrote are kinda similar and I might have stolen some of the ideas, but these are just doodles, not quite works of art, so I think I'm okay.

The first I wrote on Saturday and I entitled it A Poem. Don't you think that is a wonderful name?

A Poem

Memories are pure
We've never truly felt them
We only have shadows

Inspiration strikes
You feel it boiling inside
But how does it arrive?

Where does it come from?
Glancing back I wonder, how?
How can I attain it?

I snatch at the threads
Words emit, they have no soul
Words, words, words, nothing left

Where have you gone, why?
How did you leave, why why why?
Why am I left behind?

THE END

The next is many haikus strung together. This one has an epic title.

No Words

Hope and hopelessness
Never can those words describe
The true emotions

Being lost,alone
Never expressed hopelessness
There are no, no words

Hope is not feathers
It doesn't always tingle
There are no, no words

Cold and lifeless, words
Have nothing, feel nothing, words
Are they words at all?

Cold, hot, love, hate, words?
Light, dark, good, bad, true, false, words?
Hope, hopelessness, words?

Empty, full, dead, alive
Can you feel them? Are they living?
There are no, no words

Does their breath warm you?
Can it chill you to the bone?
Are there no, no words?

There is nothing left
But can those words express? for
There are no, no words

THE END

If you think on that for too long, there is a lot more than you think. A LOT more. I could write an essay on that poem. But don't take too long to think about it, because then you might begin to understand my mind and that would be CREEPY.

:D that is called a fake, online smile. You probably see it on every e-mail you get.

De-ja-vu and Crossword Puzzles

I have so much to say.

First, that today I was doing a crossword puzzle (Am I a geeky crossword-puzzle player? Yes, yes, I am.), the clue was 'Praise'. It was a four letter word and the last three letters were A, U, and D. So, I thought to myself "Praise...?" and the answer came, "God". I'm so happy he's penetrated my life enough that I would receive that answer.

Which reminds me of a joke. "A Sunday school teacher was telling her students the story of Noah's Ark. She was describing all the animals in turn. 'There was a great, big, gray thing with a long snout and huge ears. Rachel, what was it?' and the child she asked would say, 'an elephant!'. Sammy came in late, just as the teacher said, 'a gray and white animal with a long furry tail. Sammy, what was it?' He answered, 'I know the answer's Jesus, but it sure sounds like a squirrel.'." That was horribly told.

Back to the point. Recently I've been having huge symptoms of de-ja-vu. But it isn't exactly the same because de-ja-vu is 'disagreeable familiarity or sameness', or, as I say it, experimenting something for the first time and feeling like you've experienced it before. But what's been happening to me is experiencing something and knowing that I've experienced it before. It's eerie, it's scary, and I only have a slight memory of it. But I hate it.

I was thinking about something, a dream I remembered happening, and Brina walked in, said something, and left. Immediately after I realized that the entire thing had already happened before, down to the exact thoughts that I'd had.

On Monday night, I contemplated infinity.

I don't normally think about things that unfathomable, but we were stuck in traffic.

As un-deep as that explanation sounds, it really comes down to memories of a deep fear of mine.

Fear of infinity. Fear of crowds. Fear of being stuck somewhere until forever. Fear of the cold death that creeps up and inhabits me forever. Something that consumes all of time. Fear of infinity.

I was remembering Aquire the Fire. It sounds so childish a fear, but I felt like I was suffocating, yet I could still breathe. I have blessed the one caring human in that crowd of Christians so many times. So many times. If she hadn't come I would've been crushed.

Maybe not physically, but I wouldn't have recover for a long time.

I just can't believe that everyone who was once praising God and feeling love for the world, donating to share the Word, could turn into monsters the moment they could have a bathroom break. Only a few people could retain love even a few minutes after the event ended. I thank them with all my heart.

Infinity is outside of time. People think of it inside of time way too much. You don't remember 'before' in infinity. It is truly endless. People picture infinity as hour after hour after hour after hour e.t.c. But they're wrong. They think the worst thing would be endless time, but no time is worse. You can't think of the future when you are stuck in infinity. You can't think of the past. There is only a single thought revolving in your head. That is all. Infinity and sleep are both outside of time.

Infinity with a tiny bit of bad is a Hell. Infinity with a tiny bit of good is a Heaven. That is infinity. Infinity is extreme. Infinity is imposing. And infinity cannot be described nor can it be comprehended.

It is my personal theory that Heaven is God. I wouldn't put it past him. The only infinity I ever want to be in is God.

Today is a Good Day To Live

I had a great day today.

Normally, I judge my day by how many things go my way, and when things go wrong, I usually get mad. But this time I'm glad that my song didn't turn out sad.

That is lyrics to the song So Much for my Sad Song, but it fits today perfectly. We do judge our days by how we want them to go. We do decide whether it's good or bad by ourselves.

The day started well. No, it started perfectly. It's like when you play a piano piece perfectly and effortlessly, when your fingers take over and you are free to float with the music, like when you finally play that note quick enough.

Brina and I made breakfast. I got up after devotions and said, "I'm gonna make pancakes."
Originally it was only for me, then Brina wanted some, so we started to make them. I've always loved cooking with Brina, because we are so synchronized and we can work together perfectly. Making the pancakes was fun enough, but I wanted to dance when I looked out of the kitchen and saw the family all eating pancakes and chatting.

Our family only has breakfast on holidays when we plan stuff. It's not easy to gather the family, wake them up, and prepare something for that many people. And I'm cool with that. I'd rather eat when I want to and start school early most of the time.

But the moment I saw them at the table, pouring syrup on pancakes and pouring tea into their cups, I thought of God's promise to Abraham, "I will bless you and make you a blessing."

I realized that the pancakes Brina and I had made were bringing the family together for breakfast. They all sat down, they all ate, and they were all blessed. I'm not trying to make myself look good, because I never think this way, but I was so happy seeing people blessed by something I did.

I've been thanking God all day. I've been praising him all the time. I've been smiling so hard my jaw aches. And I've been happy.

God is not a god of weeping, of mourning. He is a god of happiness and rejoicing.

A year ago, the most emotional thing in church for me would've been the time I cried thinking of Jesus' death for my sins.

The most emotional thing now is the joy and happiness whenever I remember God. And it is so much more than the god of sorrow I was worshipping then. Now I worship the god of life, love, and joy because He is the only wise god.

Worship God with everything you have because you love him, not because you owe him.

Blame Jessica

So, I have an answer to the world's problems. All fighting will cease, and all people will become kind, if they just wear huge tie-dye sweaters. Libya won't be a problem anymore because all the rebels will become obsessed with their awesome-possum sweaters and say 'oh, yeah. We should be free, but I don't care that much, because this sweater is comfy.'

The back story behind this post: On Friday night, I leant Jessica my huge tie-dye sweater. She LOVED it. She was dancing and laughing and being less anti-photo than usual. At once I could tell that the sweater was helping her become a hippie. Therefore, if everyone wears them, everyone will be happy.

Can I just say, Aquire the Fire (or Choir of the Fire) was AWESOME? Because it was. I've decided that (whether she likes it or not) Emily is coming next year. I didn't really want to recommend it if I hadn't gone, though, so she didn't come this time. It was amazing. Thanks to my older brothers and sisters for looking out for me, 'cuz otherwise I think I'd still be lost in a thick crowd of pushy Christians.

I have a favorite artist now, called Jimmy Needham, and he looks like Gilbert Blythe. I think I'll end with that odd observation. (But honestly, the second I saw him I said 'wow, that guy looks like Gilbert!')

A Choir of the Fire

I wonder what that would sound like... Fwoosh! Scream! BURN! Okay...well...then...that is kinda dark and creepy.

Actually, the name is 'Aquire the Fire' (no one comment Wooo! Aquire the fire! please, because I will delete it), I almost wasn't going. I have a terribly sore throat. It's miserable, but I am going anyway (no one come near me). I am making chocolate chip cookies with Brina for the kids, so you guys (in the van) can be happily coated in melted chocolate disgustingness (I don't like the chocolate). I am very excited for a weekend spent with God. You can tell.

My brother asked me which one I'd rather had, begging me to stay, "Would you rather party with me or with Josh?" I answered, "I'd rather party with God than with you." I know this seems a bit too harsh to him, but it is truth. I want to worship God and know him more. I want to love him.

I was worshiping last week (First Friday rocks!) and it was amazing. For once in my life I realized that I was loving him and giving my life to him, not because I owe him, but because I want him. I want him so bad, it is CRAZY! Whenever I read my Bible at night, I want to keep reading. Whenever I start chording Mighty to Save, I want to sing along, but realize that I might disturb my Ipod-obsessed siblings. And, most small, but most important, whenever I think about God I smile. Because when you love someone they are all you want and it excites you thinking about them. When someone insults them you want to tell them everything they are missing and crush them into the ground. You want to protect them. You want them to love you back.

But with God, you can just drown in his love and in your love for him. You can immerse yourself until everything dies. You can cry with love. You can scream with love. You can whisper with love. And you can love with love.

A lot of what I say is something we've already heard a million times, but trust me when I say it is completely my own. It is my own relationship with God and it is unique. And, goodness, I can not wait to love him, I can't wait to be loving him, and I can't wait to fall to pieces under his ocean of love.

Quote

I just felt like sharing this quote (this should testify to my boring life). I wrote it a while back when I was feeling (don't hate me for making a pun) dreamy. These times come VERY rarely, and everything I write in them is either stupid and sappy or marvelous.

When you dream, that dream fills your life, your soul, and your mind. If you worry,
dreaming of everything that could go wrong, your life will become a nightmare. So dream what comes naturally, let it fill you, then release it to the world.

Soon, there shall be more of Rescue to read, if you can stand reading my cheesy 'soldier comes home' story.

Finally

I am over my sickness! I am SO happy.

Today I went to Target and discovered what I'm getting Emily for her birthday (it's gonna be good), had Fro-Yo with Bri-Bri, browsed at Tillys, and freaked out when I saw someone (who I thought was a manikin) move. But the best part of today (not the weather) was the fact that I wrote. I haven't written for a long time, and this is the first day my goal of 300 words (which I established on Sunday night) has been completed. I couldn't do it on Monday because after school I was home for about 20 minutes.

My writing isn't that good, but there is an element in it that excites me greatly. The main character is a guy (I'm AWFUL at writing guys) and he has a lot of character (I'm HORRIBLE at showing character). So I will share my work with you, if you want to read it.

Return (why did I write rescue?) (working title)

Matthew watched the fog move across the small farm building. The lows of cows, neighs of horses, and snorting of pigs filled the air.

With a quiet sigh, he lifted his leg stiffly. Matthew pulled the heavy army jacket tighter around his shoulders. Limping, step by step, he made his way down the hard-baked dirt road. Toting his small pack, Matthew walked with a lop-sided rhythm, a reminder of the hard war behind him.

Matthew clutched the camouflage strap holding his pack tensely. His brow furrowed into a weathered glare, the determined expression that had always occupied his face during battle.

“By all God’s grace, let this be the one,” he prayed, closing his eyes reverently and gaining a moment’s respite from the anxious dread in front of him.

With all of a soldier’s weary patience, Matthew stopped in front of the door and rapped the wood sharply. He waited for a few moments, leaning uncomfortably to the left, when a skimpy girl opened the door. She poked her head out, her body blocked out by the solid door.

Staring blankly at him, she greeted him with a sharp “hello”.

Matthew cleared his throat and responded respectfully, “Hello, miss. I am a wandering soldier searching for my family. Am I correct in thinking that the Bowers live here?”

She nodded curtly. “What is your business with them?”

Matthew’s glare lightened slightly. He answered, in a gruff voice, “My name is Matthew Bower. I am their son, and I have returned from war.”

The girl stepped away from the door momentarily, shocked enough for a softer face to be revealed behind the cold shell. “Their-their son?” she asked, moving close again. Matthew nodded. She shook her head slowly, avoiding his eyes. “C-come in.” Matthew pushed the door completely open to a small living room with a table, chairs, and a stone fireplace with a few low flames flickering quietly. He stopped slowly, running his hand over the table’s smooth surface. “Wait here,” the girl ordered, walking towards another door. Matthew nodded, still gazing at the familiar rings circling over the table.

From the annex came a muffled crash. The door swung wildly open as an old man, gasping, stared at Matthew with awe. Behind him, a woman tried to push her way in front. Matthew stared at them, unbelieving. Finally, the man let go of the door handle stiffly, staggering towards Matthew as if in a dream. “Matthew?” he whispered.

Sorry, that kind of ended abruptly.

Photography

I (now) understand (I think) why people want to be photographers. In my writing, I want people to see the beauty of the world, and sometimes it's obscure. This picture is something I found on stumbleupon.com, and I think it captures so much with just one shot.

Living Words

Thinking back on the title, it sounds like I'm going to talk about the Bible, but I'm not.

I seriously need to get back in life. All my inspiration comes from the one thing I do: watch Dr. Who. It is brilliant, but my writing is becoming too influenced by a TV show. This is what I hate about being sick. Since I don't go to school, I don't do a thing, I don't talk to people, I don't experience anything but illness. I cannot write when I'm sick. It all turns into trash! But it isn't just writing. I can't do ANYTHING when I'm sick. I feel like I'm trapped and I just want to burst that stupid seaweed bubble that's holding me back! Brrrg. It doesn't help that I can't sleep at night. I have no idea what's wrong, but I was up at 4 in the morning last night. I normally get to sleep around 11 (yeah, I know some people don't sleep at all, but sleep is something I cherish), but I was listening to a single episode of Writing Excuses for hours on end!

The worst thing about being sick is that I am fine at home! Most of the time, I just have a short attention span or headache or stomach ache. But when I go to school and I'm around people, like today, none of them think that I'm sick. And I can't blame them, because I don't act sick. I act normal. But when I'm especially noisy and hyper at school, that's when I'm having the worst time. I just try to ignore the fact that I feel like throwing up, or that I want to scream and die. But after school, even today, when I was there for only an hour, I was exhausted. I didn't want anything more out of life than a nap. I wanted to get out of there FAST. And so it bothered me greatly when people looked at me with these expressions on their faces 'YOU are sick?' and 'why have you been skipping school?'. Then they ask if I'm feeling better, and, if they're an adult especially, I have to say 'yes, a little bit' or lunge into a huge, dumb, useless conversation. As it is, I am feeling WORSE! I can't sleep. I can't eat. I think the only things I can do are blog, drink water, and watch TV. The life of a sickie.

Wow, so the title of the blog, An Author's Escape has so much more to it. Now, if you look beneath the surface, I'm sure you can figure out some of its meaning.

Doctor Who

Wow, no one following this blog besides Brina knows about Dr. Who! That is so depressing.

In an attempt to inspire my Whitcomb (did I spell it right?) sister to watch the most amazing TV show ever, I will list all the good things about it.

First off, I want to tell you (I enjoyed the pizza) that the soundtrack is BRILLIANT (in a British accent). Murray Gold is a genius (by even my standards) and he can inspire such emotional things in a SCI-FI TV show!

Second, the directors are also genius. They can creep you out, make you scream, make you cry, make you laugh. They can do anything they want with Doctor Who, and I respect them for that because that's where I want to be with my writing. I never thought a TV show could be a work of art.

Third, the screenwriters are hilarious. Like NOTHING they say is stupid and everything they say (like I said with the directors) can range from depressing to super freaky.

Fourth, the acting is just marvelous. The Doctor (don't ask me 'who?', that's his name) is always beautifully done! His companions are perfect reflections of his emotions and humanity itself.

Now, I reccomend this to anyone who is not afraid to be scared to death watching a time-travel show. The storyline is brilliant, though, and I think the chills are worth it. This show is nothing but pure brilliance! Man, I should watch The Christmas Invasion again. That was hilarious.

For Brina

So, here's my explanation, Brina (see comment on Brina's latest post). If you represent that cat, the duck represents the publishing company. Do you think little Orangey here (yes, I named him Orangey) got to the point where he could pet little Orange-Yellowy without slowly creeping up and getting closer? You need to sheath your 'claws' (translation: you can't just intimidate them with power, you need to give them your heart), as I just explained, you need to give them your heart. At first, they may hiss like Orange-Yellowy did (I can see into his past), but eventually you will be petting Tates Publishing Company like you are best buds!



Yay, Orangey!

Sick Monday

Wow, there's another title that could mean a lot...but the only thing it means is that I'm sick and it's a Monday! I am staying home from school, eating Ravioli, and writing a play for Rachel's birthday. Awesome. The down side is, of course, I'm sick. I guess its not too bad, but I'm kinda blech and with the headache and stuff...I slept in until like, 11 o'clock, so I guess that's a hint I should be asleep. Whatever. I should start posting chapters of my writing. This is such a boring post!

Oh, right. I actually had something to say. I have made a promise to myself (with Brina as a witness) that I will be completely truthful on this blog, but that's alright because I only have two followers. This ravioli is delicious!!!! The other thing I was going to say was if anyone wants to read a story about a dude named Mathew and his sister problems. It's a lot more complicated than that, but man I am tired!!!

Watch this video if you feel like laughing (sorry I can't upload, I don't know how!):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ad-pxjmlpds&playnext=1&list=PL90EE0A4B8EBE98E7

Oh, and Bri-Bri, you made my day twice in one morning :)

Bursting Seaweed

Yeah, I know that I've been putting a lot of posts up for only 2 days, but I just have to say this.

First, seaweed mango balloons are delicious and taste good with pomegranate Fro-Yo.

Second, there are some people in this world that I just can't understand. I'm not going to name any names, but they always say the thing that will actually get me mad. They always assume the things that affect me the most. They always insult my friends who they do not understand. They always think they are better than people. But the thing that I hate about them the most is the fact that they are perfect reflections of me.

Third, one of the things that I fear the most in THIS WORLD (no emotional tragic thing) is if I get a contract from a publishing company to write another book (WAAYYY in the future) and I miss the deadline. I have a few ideas of why I might fear this so much, but not really enough for a scientific theory. I have always been bad at evening out work throughout a large period of time. I always end up doing it last minute. I don't think I could do that with a novel.

Fourth, I can't imagine living without my best friend. She is my inspiration. This may sound creepy, but I'm trying to work out the difference between love and friendship (I do NOT mean this in a creepy way). Whenever I have to turn a critical eye towards her, I end up overlooking something without knowing it because in my eyes, she is already perfect. I can't stand it when someone takes her for granted. I want to wrench those people (see thing number two) apart and force my knowledge of her on them. I want them to feel everything she's felt and choke it down with arsenic sauce (sorry, that's just my nature). I am ranting SOOO much. Here's where I feel bad because I might be doing some of the things I hate the most... I'm sorry, CENSORED, CENSORED, and CENSORED! Yeah, I did just censor their names. I don't know, maybe there are three, maybe there are more...

Thank you for reading this entire tiresome post (if you did), I know this is just a whole lot of rant, but I needed it. I've been holding that back for a while. IT GROWS LIKE MEDUSOID MYCELIUM IN THE BRAIN!!!!!!!!!!! That was a Series of Unfortunate Events reference, sorry.

Depth

Sometimes people say I'm a really deep person, but I am definitely not. I may have the occasional deep thought in mind, but that is not enough to make ME a deep person. Emphasis on the ME. Saying that I am deep is like calling someone a genius when they've only had a few brilliant ideas. You are not truly genius unless at least 62% of your ideas are mad and the rest are smart. For me, my 'deep' thoughts come few and far apart (well maybe not far apart, I have deep streaks). Probably about 0.01% of my thoughts are deep, but the majority consist of 'That Dr. Who episode was genius, and anyone who says otherwise is selling you something!'. So, with that, I will say that I am obviously not a deep person.

Although, if anyone was looking at the title (of this blog) and saying 'wow, that could mean either so much or so little', it means a lot more than it looks like. That title is connected with some of my most deep thoughts, but that doesn't mean much. Figures, all of my depth comes from depression...LOL!!!! "My depth comes from deep inside."

I have so much more I could say on this subject, but I'll end with another little blurb I wrote listening to Doomsday by Murray Gold and the BBC Orchestra (Dr. Who soundtrack!!! OMG!!!) I hope I can get away with cheesiness by covering it with intense drama.

"Something's wrong. I put my ear to the phone and hear my heart beating. I look out the window and see a man kiss my lips. I open the door and feel a child's arms around me. I drink water and taste blood. Darkness surrounds me. Or do I surround the light?"

No Pressure

Have you ever felt the pressure of people crowing over you saying you're amazing? Or the self-afflicting pressure when YOU believe you have to do something awesome? "No pressure," as an awesome person (whose name starts with an E and ends with a mily) once said. That's how I feel about this post. Everyone expects something awesome from a first post! So I will give you a sample of my writing (which isn't awesome, but it's close enough).
Sorry if this doesn't make sense to you, but it makes sense to me.

I am stronger than you think
I think stronger than I talk
I talk stronger than I act
I act stronger than I am