Lackluster

Another November, another NaNoWriMo. I find myself entering this year's goal with a lackluster manner. Almost a "meh" mentality. Like I can't get myself to be excited about writing. Which seems so strange. After such a phenomenal year my senior year of college where I spat out book after book, I don't know how to get myself back onto the bandwagon.

I look back at my writing life and think about how it all happened. If I'm honest with myself, I see a pattern forming. I write a book (or several), and then take a five year hiatus where I don't write much of anything. That's what happened before. I wrote my first draft of my first book and then didn't do squat for close to three or four years. Then I word-vomited five books and a novella in a year. And now here I am, struggling to find the words to even write a short blog post.

I don't know if this is due to a lackluster view on life that I have at the moment, or if this is due to simply a lackluster view on my writing. You're always your worst critic - or so I believe - and because of that, I think I, like many others, am prone to thinking too little of myself and my talents. Part of that is simply because I don't want to be big-headed. But there's something to be said for having at least a little pride in what you do and how good you are at it.

So, essentially, I'm going to tackle another NaNoWriMo and this year my hope is that when it's over, I find myself enlivened to write something new. Or at the very least, to really reengage my pursuit of publishing. I lost that fire pretty quickly when none of the agents responded or turned me down. Which seems silly, 'cause I know that there's always a million no's.

If I'm brutally honest with myself though, I admit that those million no's have 100% gotten to me in the worst way.

Exhaustion is the New Normal

Holy CRAP it's been a while. Proof that I've been spending a lot of time at work.

So, as I said almost three months ago, I'm at a new store. It's been a pretty rough ride these past few months. Lots of changes in the building (some directly because of me pointing out problems), and a good deal of insanity has resulted in me becoming nearly burnt out.

Why you ask? Because last Tuesday, my district manager walked into the building and declared our store a radical recovery. That led to me working a twenty and a half hour day. That's right. I walked in at 6:45 in the morning on Tuesday. I didn't leave until 3:15 Wednesday morning.

Yeah.

I'll be honest though, I'm learning a lot. Sure, I'm exhausted and can't wait until I have a vacation. But at least I'm trying to remain positive. I know I'm running low on my personal battery known as energy, however I think that all in all, this whole experience will merit some good growth on my end. So as I was blocking my store at 2 am last Wednesday, I remember thinking, "God is preparing me for something. I don't have a clue what it is, but He's certainly getting me ready for it."

Now I'm just kind of wondering what that something is. It's around the corner, it's just beyond reach. I'll just keep walking until I get to whatever that something is.

Meanwhile, I've had Pinkerton almost three months now. He's a huge cuddle bug, eats too much, sleeps all day while I'm at work, likes to chase squirrels up trees, and has a new best friend in Niki's new puppy. Right now he's acting like a cat and oozing off my bed as he sleeps. And there's white fur everywhere. I vacuum three times a week and it never ends.

For you writers out there, get your pens ready! NaNoWriMo is on the horizon! In just one short month, the race to a completed novel will begin. Originally, I was going to rewrite my third book because it very desperately needs it. However the other night, I was talking with a friend and he requested that I write a story about his life. A biography of sorts. He's excited about it and I've never done anything like that before. And seeing as I've been exploring all sorts of new things lately, I thought, "Why not?"

So sharpen the pencils and get your pen refills kids. The adventure is only just beginning.

Currently Reading: Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief
Currently Listening to: "Clarity" by Zedd

Last Day

It's been an incredibly surreal week for me. My dog Pinkerton is acclimating well to my house (easy to do when half of his past week has been solely with me around and the rest of my family gone), and I've spent a good amount of time sort of revamping the way I do things around the house. What with tearing my room apart, getting a larger bed, trying to finagle way too much stuff into one tiny space, and shove too many books onto one single bookcase.

What's made it the most surreal is that as of 3 o'clock this afternoon, I no longer work at the Staples store I've called home since I started there in the summer of 2007. Sure, I took a hiatus while away at school, but obviously I came back. Now, a smigin over a year later, I'm getting super promoted (I'm bypassing a lead position and moving straight to a supervisor which is like, right under a manager) and leaving the store and the associates I've come to know and love.

It hit me hard yesterday when I started the goodbyes and I hugged one of the guys I've known since 2008. As he hugged me I anticipated a rough, "Now get out of here!" and then a jocular smile. Instead, he started saying how I was gonna kick ass and be great at the new job and how he was excited for me. I almost started crying. Because I respect this man a lot and to hear him very seriously say that to me on my last day working with him (for now), I suddenly realized what I was doing.

I was leaving home.

That's what this is. I'm going to a larger, darker, and slightly disasterly store. My commute isn't much longer so that's not an issue. It's simply the fact that I'm walking on in as a supervisor to these people and I don't know who any of them are. I've been so spoiled this past year by walking back into my old store, knowing 60% of the staff and becoming fast friends with the remaining 40%. Now, I like to think I'm easy to get along with, but nonetheless, I had it easy coming back.

Everything is about to change. I pray for the best. I hope this winds up being exactly what I need. But above and beyond all of this is that I'm sincerely hoping that somehow, someway, I find my way back home again.

Currently Editing: Unity
Currently Listening to: "The Call" from The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian

Rejected

If there's one thing you learn to handle well as a writer, it's rejection.

Although that can be said for most jobs in the creative world. Acting, directing, writing, sculpting, drawing, etc. all come with a requirement that whoever the creator is had better be prepared to get a million "no"s. I've heard back from two agents and they've both told me that my book wasn't a good fit for them. Which baffles me, because based on their profiles it should have been.

This is an area of the writing life that can be incredibly disheartening. Getting told over and over again that your world isn't meshing with someone can make you re-evaluate everything. That's where doubt begins to run its rampant storm in your mind. What if no one likes it? What if it isn't good enough? What if I never get someone to support me? What if, what if, what if.

What a horrible two word phrase.

Ever notice how 'what ifs' always steer toward the negative? Why can't we say, "What if the book is so awesome that it gets a fanbase of its own and I can't keep up with them all?" Well, I know why we can't say those things. Those sorts of things can be considered "arrogant" and "pompous". I like to think that "what ifs" are the natural progression to keep our egos in check. For some people though, the 'what ifs' are so overwhelmingly frequent that they can't even begin to look on the bright side.

I know everyone hears it, but take it seriously: take rejection with a grain of salt (where did that phrase even come from?). Seriously. You're gonna hear it a lot. Regardless of your field, you will hear it. Rejection is a part of life and sadly, it's gonna be huge part of your book's life too. One day there will be a 'yes', and when that day comes, it won't matter how many 'nos' you got. 'Cause all it takes is one 'yes'.

Currently Editing: Unity
Currently Listening to: "Galaxies" by Owl City

Turning 25 Eh?

This is gonna be a good bit of reminiscing.

When I was eighteen and had just begun to formulate the general idea of what the End Game series would become, I remember thinking through what I hoped to do by the time I turned thirty. I had just read Eragon by Christopher Paolini and, though I felt a good chunk of his book was a rehashing of Tolkien, I still felt like somehow I too could be empowered to write a book and become published before I was thirty. In fact, I had this little daydream that was all about how I would become a published author before I turned twenty-five. I turn twenty-five on Friday.

Obviously, that little daydream didn't come true.

Although I don't feel like I'm approaching my birthday. I know I'm approaching a celebration because I'm going to New York state to spend three days with a good chunk of my college friends. But do I feel like a doomsday-esque mile marker is on the horizon? Nope. Can't say that I do.

At the same time, I feel as though I've let myself down. I had such great aspirations when I was nineteen and wrote the first (awful), draft of Genesis. I thought I'd at least have the first book published by this point and that there would be great anticipation for the following books. Now, reality has a way of laying things out differently then we think is best. I've found that these instances are the times when I need to be content with what's happening because in the end, whatever is around the corner is better than what I originally had planned.

Roughly every week (I'm gonna be taking this week off 'cause I'm getting myself ready for my dog and will be spending the latter half of the week in New York state), I've been sending 2-3 queries out to agents. Naturally, I haven't heard back from any of them. It makes me wonder if perhaps I've done something faulty in the process of sending the query. But getting caught in the "what ifs" never helps me in the slightest. So I try to stop myself as quickly as possible to keep from wandering down that rabbit hole.

So I'm gonna embrace the age of twenty-five. It's just another day. Just another year I happened to experience. It was a wild year, that's for sure. But I'm grateful for all that it's offered. The ups and the downs. 'Cause all along the way I've been learning.

Adventure well everyone! This'll probably be the only post I do. Especially come Wednesday. I'm rather excited for the weekend.

Currently Editing: Unity

Currently Listening to: "When Can I See You Again?" by Owl City

I'M GETTING A DOG

Oh my gosh, I'm getting a dog!

I'm so excited I can't even properly express it! So many images are coming to mind of what me and my pal are gonna be doing! Our walks and road trips and puppy therapy times at work (yeah, I plan on like once a week, taking him up to work and giving my coworkers a bit of puppy therapy). I think the thing I'm looking forward to most is curling up with him at night and playing fetch and going adventuring. I'm just so stinking excited.

I can't stop smiling.

I'm gonna go look at what toys I'm gonna buy him.

Currently Editing: Unity
Currently Reading: Brisinger by Christopher Paolini
Currently Listening to: "When Can I See You Again?" by Owl City

Seriously?

We all have countless friends like this on Facebook and/or Twitter. They take what have been termed "selfies" on a daily basis and then post said picture to their profiles. This isn't that big of a deal. Except for the fact that I'm seeing more and more pictures of young women showing off their cleavage. It's beginning to disgust me.

These are the same sort of girls that will then turn around and start posting about how they want a man's respect or they don't know why so much drama always happens around them or how tired they are of the games or, my personal favorite, that they're smart beautiful women that deserve to be treated right.

This goes back to a deep seeded frustration I have with some women. I know I wrote about this a while back (to be honest, I couldn't find the post. It's buried in here somewhere), where some "famous" person was on one of those late night shows. First off, she walks onto the stage wearing this skin tight, low cut, barely covering her butt dress. As she struggles to sit down without flashing the entire audience, the host asks if she needs help. About a minute later as she's answering one of his questions, she has the audacity to say to him, "Um, my eyes are up here."

The audience laughs as he looks around and he flounders for an answer. 'Cause he's the bad guy.

Seriously?! The audience finds this entertaining? A woman is practically shoving her body in the public's face and then demeans a man when he stares? What does she expect? Oh, she's expecting to be respected. 'Cause that's how respectable people dress.

Women, please stop kidding yourselves. We dress our best when we feel good about ourselves. When we want attention, we put on the clothes that we know accentuate our best features. All women do this. Stop pretending like you aren't doing it. You are. And please, if you're someone who thinks wearing next to no clothing is perfectly acceptable, then expect to get stares and don't be a witch with a capital b and call them all pigs. If you're gonna act like a billboard, you shouldn't expect to be treated like a selectively handed out flyer.

Rant is over.

I'm playing a waiting game on two fronts. 1) agents. 2) dog adoption agency. Yes, I'm actively pursuing getting a dog. I couldn't get a Mustang, so I'm going with my second bucket-list item.

Currently Editing: Unity
Currently Reading: Brisinger by Christopher Paolini
Currently listening to: the Man of Steel soundtrack

A Twinge of Regret

As life spirals around me in this sort of tornado type feeling, I find myself looking back over the past year. It's been a year since I graduated from college. Almost immediately after that momentous day, I was at Staples being rehired. Two days after being reintegrated into the system, I was working.

My sister just graduated from college a few weeks ago. She's currently out at Millbrook - a theater near Lehigh University - for the summer working as an actress and a set builder. After that, she'll be hopping onto a plane and living in Ireland for at least a year as she gets her masters in theater. Though we aren't very similar in our personalities, we seem to do the same sort of things with our lives. It seems as though we march on forward and wind up tumbling down hills into situations we originally didn't anticipate being in.

About a week ago, the two of us were chatting. I think I was sitting in the middle of her floor as she packed for Millbrook. At one point I said to her, "Y'know something I've found I regret? Not taking time off between graduating and working."

"Yeah, but you've got money now. That's a good thing."

Sure, I've got a buffer of funds for the "just in case something explodes" incidences. And that is nice. I really can't deny that I feel a lot more secure knowing that I have some buffer room financially. I could potentially lose my job and not have the world crash around me. This is definitely a good thing.

But at the same time, I feel like I jipped myself a little.

I think about all the traveling I would like to do. All the places I want to go. Y'know something I'd love to do? Take a cross-country roadtrip with a friend. Just travel and see and do for a while. Like two months or something. For a brief time, abandon what I know and adventure. Y'know something else I'd love to do? Get on a plane again and go somewhere. Y'know something else I'd love to do? Spend a week at a friend's house and see all those places they've always told me about. Stay up till three in the morning talking about random things that have no point.

So really, I wish I had given myself time to travel.

This may just be me, but I think that college kids should take a month off after they graduate. Granted, that's assuming they have a job they can walk into. I was lucky enough to have kept a good reputation at my old workplace and was even more fortunate to have a job practically waiting for me when I walked in the door. Not everyone has such opportunities. But I think that there's something to be said for relaxing and destressing. I'm not saying I necessarily needed to destress. I did have the easiest last semester of college ever.

But I also know a lot of friends that were on the verge of mental breakdowns at the end of their college career. There's something to be said for mental health. And I don't know if we stress enough how important it is to relax your brain for a time. And not just by sitting in front of the TV. But by doing something you've always wanted to do.

Like I said, maybe that's just me.

Adventure well warriors! Take today and do something you've always wanted to do. Be a little spontaneous. There's nothing wrong with making life an epic journey one small story at a time.

Currently Editing: Unity

Currently Reading: Brisinger by Christopher Paolini

Currently Listening to: "Into the West" by Annie Lenox

Overnight

One of the many ways I'm broken: I like the nighttime.

My brain turns on around ten o'clock and it keeps running circles until about three in the morning. Even when I'm most tired, I find myself unable to fall asleep before midnight. I write best during these times. It also helps that no one's around to watch me bawl at my computer or make faces or laugh at something I so wittily came up with.

We're at a stage at work where we have to do some overnight shifts to accomplish various tasks. I had been secretly praying for the opportunity to work them. So when my GM called me into the office two weeks ago and asked me to work the overnights he had in mind, I almost yelled, "THANK YOU." I love overnights. Not only am I most alert during that time, but there aren't any distractions. Well, not many. There's always at least two other people with me on an overnight shift. But it tends to be that the people I work with are just as focused on their tasks as I am on mine. So I'm rather thankful for the opportunity.

Also, this kind of helps me think.

See, as I'm running amuck getting stuff done, I normally have my headphones in. I listen to my music and I go through the motions of what I need to do. Though my body is very present in what I'm doing, my brain wanders off into my imagination and pulls images and ideas and stories to the forefront of reality. I wind up getting sucked into my creative mindset and essentially do a lot of brainstorming. I can't physically write stuff down during these overnights. But nothing's stopping me from thinking.

I got to work one overnight shift this week and I did a lot of adventuring in my mind. And we also sang along with Bohemian Rhapsody. That was fantastic. Oh, and I also started a new tradition - if you work an overnight at our store, you will go out to breakfast the following morning. Why would we do this, you may ask? Because it's five in the AM and by that time you're hungry! And, well, on Tuesday when I went in, I told my fellow coworkers it was my treat. They're the ones who decided it was now tradition.

I definitely am not complaining.

Adventure well my fellow warriors. Whatever it is that you've got set in your heart to tackle today, do it bravely! Go exploring. Take a road trip. Think aloud. Don't be afraid to break boundaries and push past limits. Make it your goal to become boundless and limitless. Go and be.

Go and do.

Currently Editing: Unity
Currently Reading: Brisinger by Christopher Paolini
Currently Listening to: "Paperman" by Christophe Beck (I'm convinced his mom just forgot to put an 'r' at the end of his first name and he just ran with it.)

You Ridiculous Person You

Adventures in Susan's mind chapter one.

Today I was standing with one of my coworkers as he toiled away and I waited to get on the computer to print something. As he worked, he brought up the fact that he was required to friendzone a girl he was seeing. "Why are you friendzoning her?" I asked.

"She doesn't meet my requirements."

"Okay, how doesn't she measure up?"

"Well, for starters, she's twenty-five, she works at a dead end job, she doesn't have a college degree, and her greatest ambition in life is to move out of her parents house. That just won't work for me."

I almost laughed in his face.

"That's so mean!" You say. I must not like my coworkers very much to want to laugh square in their face when they say something like that. I must be a cold-hearted individual to think such a response is appropriate. Hold your horses there cowboy. Just settle down for a sec. Here's why I almost laughed at him:

Because he was describing himself.

Aside from the "twenty-five years old" bit, literally, that kid just lumped her into the same category as himself. And he's deluded enough to think that somehow he's better than her! This kid dropped out of college after a semester, has allowed himself to rise to his own level of incompetence at our workplace (which is retail by the way), and whenever I ask him about what he wants to do with his life, he responds with, "I dunno." His greatest ambition is to build a quad and move out of his parents house. Aside from the quad, it sounds exactly the same as this girl that he's forcing into the friendzone.

See, this is why people are so screwed up. We all think that somehow we're allowed to put restrictions on other people and "requirements" on our potential spouse. But at the same time, don't you dare put a requirement on me. Somehow, that rule doesn't apply to myself, but it certainly applies to everyone else in my life.

How ridiculous. This is precisely why I can't take this kid seriously.

In other, completely unrelated news, I sent out queries & synopsis to three agents tonight. Hopefully, within the next two weeks, I'll be hearing something. Additionally, our Nonprofit group finally was authenticated by the government.

Currently Editing: Unity
Currently Reading: Brisinger by Christopher Paolini
Currently Listening to: "Clarity" by Zedd

Cars

So, my lovely Mitchell is acting up. What started as a minor jittering in the steering has evolved into something that no one seems to recognize. If this issue was only this one time and likely would be the only problem for several years, okay. Its part if buying a used car. However, I've already put nearly a thousand dollars into Mitch. That was six months ago.

When do you say enough is enough? This is my dilemma. If it turns out that I need to put a substantial amount of money into the car, do I cut my losses, trade it in, and get something else? I've been wrestling with this issue for about a week now. He just went to the mechanic today, and hopefully by tomorrow or Wednesday they'll have some news for me. Until then, I'm gonna keep mulling and praying.

In other news, I work an overnight shift tomorrow. Is it weird that I'm looking forward to it?

Therapy Weekend

I took an emergency trip to New York a few days ago. Why? Because I needed to get away from everything that was giving me stress and laugh.

So after working on Thursday, I drove six hours and arrived in Buffalo around midnight. I stayed up till three in the morning talking with one of my friends and then woke up at six in time for a coffee/breakfast get together with two of my friends. By four in the afternoon, I was on the road to Jamestown. By seven I was with my best friend and her husband out to dinner. By midnight I was cuddled with one of her cats, smiling as I fell asleep. By ten in the morning on Saturday I was up and about by the time one of my friends from Buffalo came down and then my friend from North Carolina showed up and we laughed for hours until my best friend and her husband came back. Then we took a car ride, helped someone move, went on an epic grocery hunt, went back to Jamestown, drove around until we found a viable Chinese food place, and watched a live action version of an anime while eating dinner. By ten in the evening, I had two of my friends trying to pull me back into the house, begging me not to leave just yet. To call out of work and tell my worship leader that I wasn't coming home yet - I had to stay with my family.

I smiled for an hour on my ride home; just thinking over all the laughter I had been part of within two days. When I crossed back into Pennsylvania, I already could feel my heart yearning to turn back around and spend just a little more time with my second family - the family I chose. The family that chose me.

My college friends and I have been through a lot. We've seen one another at our worst and at our best. We've laughed, we've cried, we've pulled all-nighters together and we've gotten lost together. Through everything that we've encountered, we've come out stronger than we once were. We spend ninety percent of our time together laughing. And I mean the, 'laugh-till-your-sides-hurt-and-joy-radiates-off-your-face' kind of laughter.

This was by far one of the most therapeutic two-day extravaganza I've ever had.

I pray you have a group of friends as wonderful as mine. Because there's a simple fact: I'm beyond blessed to have them in my life. Words cannot describe how much I love them all and how much I wish I could always be around them. Everyone should be so lucky as to have a group of friends that are so wonderful tied together that regardless of the time apart and the miles that separate one another, whenever they're together, it's as if nothing has changed.

Currently Reading: Brisinger by Christopher Paolini
Currently Listening to: "Miles Apart" by Yellowcard (fitting, right?)

One Important Message

There are lots of reasons why I don't want to spend my life working in retail. One of the most absurd is this theory some people have that because you're wearing a uniform for the store they're in, they can treat you like absolute garbage.

Today, I got to experience this again.

Not only did I deal with a customer that was so rude I wanted to punch her, but she was wrong the entire time she was there. Insisting that her ink that we advised she purchase (a high-yield cartridge), didn't fit into her printer, she demanded a refund, a discount on the "right" cartridge, and reimbursement for her time and money because she had to drive back. Okay. No big deal. Sure, we can handle that.

Then she not only called one of my coworkers dumb (at least three times that I heard), but she also told him to shut up twice (forcefully and then with wide eyes said to me, "God bless him, I swear!"). I almost yelled at her, "Get out."

No one says that to my friend. Coworker or otherwise. If I had been a manager, I would have told her to leave and never come back. I wasn't thinking of repercussions, so I might have been fired.

How arrogant can you be to completely demean someone else and call them dumb? How selfish and close-minded can you be to tell someone to shut up that you don't even know that is only trying to help you? My hands were shaking as I rang through her return and I tried my best to not talk. 'Cause I knew I would say something that would "get me in trouble."

People like that make my anxiety level fly through the roof. My stomach gets in knots and my body trembles. I want to yell at these people in anger. How dare they act that way? Don't they realize that words hurt? Don't they realize that everyone has something they deal with every day? How do you know your dialogue with someone won't drive them over the edge?

Look, this is one of the few things that I firmly believe in and I think everyone should hear. Treat others with as much respect and love as you can offer. Even if you don't know them. Even if you don't like them. Even if it kind of hurts you and you have to force it out. You might be the only opportunity to save someone's life.

Kick in the Pants

Sometimes you just need that smack upside the head to remind you what you were made for.

Sure, there are lots of things you can do. Talents and skills and abilities. Sure, there are roles we all fill throughout the day that sometimes put us into double digits on our hat wearing capabilities. Teacher, leader, role model, boss, employee, technician, sales person, CEO, print master, game player, etc. The list goes on and on and on.

But then there's that one thing. That one thing you were made for.

I'm a believer in the fact that everyone was made with some specific thing that they are gonna do. There's something, I don't know what, that you and you alone can accomplish. A task to perform, a role to play, a life to change. And only you can do it.

Personally, I got re-awakened to my own personal "one thing" this past week. So I'm dusting off the writer's block and I'm getting back to the grind. I'm preparing myself for sleepless nights and long days. The biggest thing I need to ensure I prepare myself for is the battle I know I'm going to face: laziness. It's so easy after a long day to justify to myself that I need "me time". Time to sit and do absolutely nothing.

Well, there was a time when "me time" was the same as "writing time". I think it's high time I got back to that mentality.

I don't know what your one thing is. All I do know is that whatever it is, you're gonna be epic.

The End

Ever feel like you just can't do anymore? That you're simply done, and it doesn't matter how hard you fight or how long  you struggle or how well you perform. It's finished. You're tired and sick and broken and you don't want to hear the excuses anymore. You just want whatever is supposed to happen to happen and to move on from the growing pit of anxiety and fear and depression that swells in your stomach.

Every day, I go to work and I try my hardest. I do what I can. It might not always be the best and I might not always do what someone high up in the stratosphere thinks I should do, but I do what I can. I attempt to smile and laugh. I try to offer encouragement to my coworkers. I keep my mouth shut to the best of my ability and I try to remain optimistic.

Y'know what sucks? Reality.

When I was young, I had this great idea that somehow, in some way, I might help change lives. That somehow I was gonna get published and that somehow, it would be something to someone. As I get older and as I struggle more against the world I find myself living in, I reach boiling points.

Today I reached a boiling point.

What do I do? What am I expected to do? Everyone tells me what they want, what they claim their ideal is. But when I stop and look around, I see those who aren't even trying reaping far more benefits then I could ever imagine. What have I done? How did I go wrong this time?

Will no one tell me what I did wrong? And can the reasons you give please be legitimate and not some on-the-spot, sorry-you-caught-me-with-my-pants-down excuse?

I hope your adventures have been better than mine was today. Gosh does Satan know how to attack harshly, even when I feel most prepared.

Currently Reading: Brisinger by Christopher Paolini
Currently Listening to: "Beautiful Things" by Gungor

Someone Write This For Me!

Seriously, someone just write my query letter for me.

Selling myself has never been my strong suit. I'll sell my books till kingdom come, but the moment someone then begins to ask about my qualifications and how I'm fitted to write, I become a stammering mess. Even just writing it out for the query has been rough. I think I've utilized the backspace far more frequently then I've ever anticipated.

After all this time, I thought for sure that writing a one page query letter would be easy as pie. It's basically End Game: Condensed. Like the back of a book cover. A brief synopsis and a smigin about yourself, the author.

Why does anyone want to know about me in the first place?

I want to write because I've got this silly epic story in my head, not 'cause I want people to care about me. If I wanted attention, I would have done like, music or something. God knows I can sing (when I want to). So why does anyone need to know about me? I'm just the one splattering words against a screen and then holding it up yelling, "I MAED DIS."

Yes, I did just become slightly stupid. Because that's how I feel sometimes. Sometimes I feel like the otter in that meme, screaming to the world, "LOOK. Now do something with it please!" Only I don't think otters say please.

In other news, my sister graduates from college on Saturday.

Epic adventuring to all! And to all a good night!

Currently Reading: Brisinger by Christopher Paolini
Currently Listening to: "Paperman" by Christope Beck

Adventure!

Guess what world? My friend Kate Hasbrouck is a published author! Or at least, she will be soon =)

I just think everyone should know that. I also think everyone should keep their eyes out and should buy it when it hits shelves! 'Cause it's awesome. It's beyond awesome. It's her story! And it's great!

That's all.

Currently Reading: Brisinger by Christopher Paolini
Currently Listening to: "Paperman" by Christope Beck

I'm Slightly Ridiculous

Tonight as I walked back from Wawa, carrying four coffees for myself and coworkers, I began to wonder just how much it would cost to invest in a Keurig for the store I work at.

So what have I just spent the last half hour doing? Researching the three different types of Keurigs available and debating on whether I can justify purchasing one for my store. I'm not joking - I'm seriously considering doing this. It would save everyone so much money, especially if I went with the Vue version - 'cause it'll do just about anything. The downside is, these things aren't cheap at the onset.

Naturally, this brings out the grocery shopper in me.

When I was younger, I always accompanied my mom on her trips to the grocery store. In doing this I not only got to spend some quality time with my mom, but I also learned the finer points of bargain shopping and how to figure out what the best deal is in the long run. Sure, we might not need a ten pound bag of rice right this instant, but rice lasts a while and we will use it.

How does this apply to buying a Keurig? Let me tell you.

Tonight I spent ten dollars on coffee. That's a tiny amount in the grand scheme of things, but let's look at it this way. If my three coworkers buy two coffees every day, that means that just the three of them are spending approximately ten dollars every day on coffee. And that's just from Wawa. That's not counting what they may be brewing at home. So then add in the several other coworkers that I know purchase a good bit of coffee every day from Wawa. You're now talking close to twenty dollars a day. Multiply that by five (assuming this habit is only fully encouraged while at work), and you get one hundred dollars.

A Vue Keurig costs approximately $250. Even factoring in purchasing a package of 75 qty capsule thingies, you've only bumped up the total to around $325. All that's left is to add water and maybe milk. Assuming we drink lots of coffee (which we do), you're maybe buying a gallon or two a week. So...seven dollars?

Methinks we need a Keurig.

Currently Reading: Brisinger by Christopher Paolini ('cause it's about time I finish this stinking series)
Currently Listening to: "United State of Pop 2012" by DJ Earworm

Sometimes I Want to Punch Past Me

I don't talk well.

Unless I'm super comfortable with someone, I just don't communicate my opinions, beliefs and views very well. I can communicate - don't get me wrong. I'm stellar at telling people the facts about things. But the moment I need to stand up for myself, my beliefs, my thoughts, my actions, whatever, I flounder and sputter and for some reason, my mind goes absolutely blank.

This is a primary reason why I'm perfectly content listening and not talking. Especially to good talkers. People that are excellent at always conveying how they think, feel or whatever captivate me. It's as though I think that by listening to them constantly I'll somehow learn how to do what they do. But regardless of it all, I somehow lose all semblance of intelligence during these situations of deep conversations about, well, anything.

My mind sort of goes white and the slew of thoughts I always have fade into obscurity when I try to recall capable opinions. I find myself saying "um", "uh" and "well", a lot. Conviction is not something I'm good at speaking with. It's in my arsenal - I know it is. I can do it when I'm with someone I'm comfortable with. I have spoken on a number of occasions with friends & family members with such conviction that I've made them rethink their views on things.

But most times, I just wind up faltering. Inevitably, I hate past me for being so incoherent. Why couldn't I have just said this instead of that? Why did I keep trying? What was my goal in saying that? Seriously, that was the best I could come up with? Why am I having better answers to so-and-so's questions now then I did when we were actually talking?

This frustration causes not only a great deal of stress on my life, but it also makes me feel really regretful. I know that I haven't done the person I was talking to justice at all and I wind up feeling inadequate. I know I'm intelligent (sometimes). But when these situations arise, I find myself feeling like a frightened child that doesn't know right from wrong or up from down. What's two plus two? I feel like I can't even answer that question when I'm put in these situations.

Then whomever I'm talking to thinks I get mad at them, when I just get mad at myself. 'Cause I can't talk well.

How do you prepare yourself at all times to be ready for these sorts of things, regardless of who you're talking to or where? Is it possible to become more steadfast in that ability? Or are some people just unable to do what I find so incredibly awesome - speak with conviction about everything you believe in. Why can't that just be in my skill set?

...

Wow, this was a whole lot more ranty than I had intended.

In other news, Camp Nano was completed by the skin of my teeth and I'm not happy with any of it, but I got another 50k words written. That means something, right?

Hope your adventures have been less harrowing than my own! I kind of want to redo this past week.

Currently Listening to: "A Thousand Years" The Piano Guys cover

Light Up The Darkness

I've been thinking things over and over and over this week. Boston. Texas. Accidents. Attacks. Natural disasters. The world collapsing around us. It's a lot to take in. It's a lot to digest.

I'm not good at digesting these things. These situations are the times where I want to fix everything. I want to protect those who need protection and shield the eyes of the innocent. I want to cry with the mourning and defend the helpless. Despite myself, I want to seek retribution, I want to punch those responsible for the pain and suffering and haul them off to their jail cell.

Instead, I sit at home and try not to dwell on what's happened. Because I simply can't comprehend what's occurred. My mind freezes and my words get tangled up.

Thankfully, I don't need to remain frozen and I can begin to formulate words again. In spite of all the pain and suffering and unnecessary evil in the world, there's something that can be done. Actually, there's lots of somethings that can be done. Here's a small list of those things: laughter, joy, selflessness, kindness, compassion, forgiveness, redemption, patience, understanding, sacrifice.

There's still goodness in the world. Regardless of the darkness, light always breaks through. Have you ever noticed how darkness can't pierce the light? I'm serious - it can't. It's physically impossible for darkness to break through lightness. The light, however, can shatter the dark.

Here's another thing: when it's pitch black and you can's see a thing, ever notice how even the faintest of light - like a flickering candle - can brighten the entire place you're standing in?

Go into the darkest places and illuminate everything.

Be the light.

Pictures in my Head

I think if someone were to sit in my brain for even one hour as I listened to music, they would lock me up in a nice padded cell. That doesn't even take my facial expressions as I'm writing into account.

Not only am I prone to quite literally talking to myself as I write (it's how I do dialogue. I can't just imagine something in my head - I have to hear it spoken. It's how I like to make sure the wording is natural. aka, would someone actually say this?), but I glare, frown, grit my teeth at and roll my eyes at my computer screen when I write. Without really thinking it through, I wind up acting out the actions of the person I'm writing about.

There was this one time in my senior seminar class when I realized I was doing this very thing. In a classroom. Filled with other students. Other students that could see me. Now, they were all writers. In theory, they understand the stupidity of what I'm doing. That fact didn't stop me from looking around with wide eyes and then hunching closer to my computer, trying to hide. Just in case anyone noticed.

As though this isn't a big enough worry. I know I'm quite prone to fully engulfing my mind into a character or scene - especially when I'm: 1) alone, 2) listening to music and 3) in my car. So I'm sure there are times when someone drives past me on the highway and glances over to see me screaming or crying or laughing at absolutely nothing. At least, to them it's absolutely nothing. To me, it might be the death of a character and I'm mourning them.

To the outside observer though, I'm just plain nuts.

Sometimes I want to walk up to someone after I've wandered off to imaginary land and ask them, "What were you just thinking about me as I stared off into space?" I get this sense that they'll ask, "What? I didn't even notice that you had done anything different." Because that's just how my life works.

I'm going slightly batty. I want feedback on my query so I can just send it out and start trying to find an agent. But the people I've asked for feedback from haven't gotten back to me. Frowny face. In all honesty, I've got this knotted feeling in my gut about it all. I'm beginning to feel the same way I did five years ago after I had written the initial draft of Genesis; can I just fast forward to a few years from now when this is all over and pick up after the hard part?

The hard part is where the greatest growth happens. I have to keep telling myself that.

Happy adventuring my fellow warriors. Press on through whatever hurdles you find yourself facing. You're strong enough to endure the struggle.

Currently Writing: Zero Point One
Currently Listening to: "4am" by Kaskade

What Goes Unseen

Over the past few weeks, I've had the opportunity to talk with friends about the things we struggle with. For years I've been embarrassed about the things that eat away at my mind and tempt my soul. The sins I suffer from most are ones people don't see - I have to tell them. In the past few months, I've come to the realization that yes, understanding that I sin and avoiding that temptation is a good thing, but hiding it in shame only proves that not only have I not come to terms with that struggle, but I haven't allowed myself to be forgiven of those sins.

So, I'm gonna tell you about it.

Hello, my name is Susan, and I suffer from the pretty severe temptation of lustful thoughts. This is to no fault of anyone but myself. These things aren't triggered because of anything anyone else does. In fact, it's all always my own stupid mind doing something, well, stupid. Since I'm a writer and have a myriad of characters running amuck in my brain, I utilize them to explore things I really shouldn't.

There's a specific reason why I have an antagonist that fights against the same thing. I know what it's like to have something haunt the mind over and over and over again. I'm incredibly visual and that only makes matters worse. It's a primary reason why I avoid certain movies and TV shows.

And no one knows this about me just by looking at me or interacting with me. At least, not to my knowledge.

Since this all happens in my head, there's no way anyone could possibly know what I go to battle against. This isn't something I always have to worry about. In fact, over the past couple years, I've become far better at keeping the thoughts completely and entirely at bay. Some days are significantly worse than others, as though I never made progress. But most days I go through my life with absolutely nothing attempting to rot my brain.

That's about it. I mean, I struggle with other things less significantly. Like envy (playing the comparison game!) and anger. Those two things pop up occasionally and normally attack me with a tidal wave. I never see it coming and I have to really fight to stay above water. Otherwise I drown into self-doubt (on the envy side), and absolute rage (on the anger side).

So that's a small glimpse into my personal struggles.

Hopefully this didn't completely deter you from reading any other posts. That wasn't my goal. My goal was to lead by example. I can't expect complete honesty from everyone around me unless I'm willing to be completely honest. So here I am, being completely honest.

Happy adventuring everyone. May your days always be epic.

Currently Writing: Zero Point One
Currently Listening to: "Promise" by Thomas Bergersen

What a Way to Go

So in my last post, I briefly mentioned how I wanted to die. For those who missed it, here's the overview:

If I could have my way, I would want to die by sacrificing my life for someone else. Taking a bullet, pushing someone out of the way of a car/train/whatever, taking someone's place on a death march, whatever it may be. The goal would be to spare their life.

Not only have I thought this through rather deeply, but I've also decided that I would do this for anyone. At least, I would try to. I can't boast to any extreme what my actions may or may not be, seeing as I've never been in a situation similar to this, but I like to think that I would offer my life for anyone - even a stranger. That's my hope anyway.

I suppose this is bizarre.

I've never thought it was so odd to actually want to offer your life for someone else. I mean, seriously, if I could die on my own terms, I'd in all honesty want to die for someone I didn't even like. If that makes me sound crazy, then I guess I'm crazy. *Disclaimer, I actually think about this stuff. Like, on a regular basis.*

I think about my favorite characters, whether in movies or TV shows or books, and most of them share a similar trait: selflessness. Once again, I'm not trying to say that I think I'm selfless. In fact, I'm brutally aware of when I'm being the very opposite of that. But nonetheless, here's a few examples: Daniel Jackson from Stargate SG-1 (sacrificed himself for the lives of a bunch of people that didn't even like him very much), Gandalf (willingly let himself become fully separated and had no intention of returning to the Fellowship to spare their lives and fight the Balrog), Aslan (offers his life for Edmund - a traitor), and Captain America (most notably seen in the movie when he throws himself onto what he thinks is a live grenade in order to shelter everyone around him from the expected blast - without even blinking!).

Obviously, I've just shown the nerd in me.

Regardless of that fact, I still really admire this trait in each of these characters. I try to emulate selflessness and sacrifice in everything I do. Not because I want people to sit back and say, "Oh wow, she's so selfless." That's all fine and good, but I don't care what you think about me. I'm more concerned with where that thought goes. Preferably? I want your next thought to be, "I wonder why that is," or better yet, "I should ask her why she does that."

All of this to say, I want to die by saving someone. Maybe I'll donate my whole body to whomever needs it. 'Cause I sure won't be needing my body after I'm dead.

This was a strange post.

Adventure well everyone! It went from 50 degrees to 85 in the span of like, three days here in PA. My arms are jelly from so much archery.

Currently Writing: Zero Point One
Currently Listening to: "Language" by Porter Robinson

Sacrifice

Today was the first Sunday of the month. Communion. Another ten minute reminder of the pain, suffering and ultimate destruction of Jesus on the cross as he died for our sins. As I sat in church, thinking over that selfless sacrifice, I began to think on that word.

Sacrifice.

I think everyone knows what the word means. Most people equate it to something that's lost or given up in return for something else - normally something of value. In war, sacrifices are made to ensure victory. Parents make sacrifices (time, energy, money), for their kids. Friends make sacrifices for friends. The act of laying down one's own desires or dreams or goals and instead, allowing those to be set aside or even forgotten for the good of someone or something else.

I then began to think over something I plan to delve into a little deeper sometime, and that's how I want to die. Sounds morbid, but stay with me. In a perfect world (ironic?), I would want to die saving someone's life. I'd want to take a bullet for someone, or push someone out of the way of a careening truck, or take their place in a death march. I don't know how exactly, I just know I'd like to go that way.

I'll dig into that some other time. For now, I'll just leave it at that and say that's how I want to die - laying my life down so someone else can live.

I think that's something that people almost immediately think of when the word "sacrifice" is mentioned. When a teacher sacrifices their life for their students when a crazed murderer rampages a school. When a boyfriend or husband protects their girlfriend/wife from stray bullets in a similar situation (like the incident last summer at the Dark Knight Rises movie). It's called a sacrificial death.

Ever wonder where that deep, intimate, loving action came from?

Well, it's a part of this love story, and it starts like this: "In the beginning..."

Judgment

So, Google put up a doodle of a dictator and not anything related (even a bunny?) to Easter. Naturally, this bothered me and my family. I have friends who have officially boycotted Google - uninstalled Chrome, changed their search to Bing, deactivated their gmail accounts.

I was on Twitter and was thinking through how I wanted to handle this situation. Sure, I was angry that the celebration that I hold very dear to my heart was overridden by a mere person, but then I sat back and took a few deep breaths.

Who am I to go off the handle about this?

Yes, this bothers me. Yes, I am disappointed in Google. Yes, I am a little offended. But I'm not going to condemn the people behind Google for this choice. I don't think their choice was a good one, but I'm also not going to start spewing hate at them. Not only would it accomplish squat, it would do nothing but show how judgmental Christians can be.

I can't judge the people behind this choice. The only thing I can do is love them in spite of their choice. Let's face it. At the end of the day, Jesus still died for those people too. Like I said, I'm not proud of Google, but I'm not going to condemn those responsible for that decision - I have no power to do that. There's only one Judge, and He's the one who sees it all. He knows the state of everyone on the planet. I do not. So who am I to determine the "judgement" ('cause remember, Google is a huge corporation. We screaming banshees of the internet are just a pile of noise they can choose to ignore), of someone(s) actions?

That's right, I'm no one. Just a fellow sinner trying to display God's love and compassion and Jesus' sacrifice. Remember fellow banshees, Jesus came to love the sinners and lead them to his Father's arms, not to pat the backs of anyone who can point and say, "You sin!"

So happy Easter all you adventurers out there. The real reason behind this holiday is to remember that we as Christians serve a living God, not one still lying in a hole somewhere rotting. The chocolate bunnies are just a bonus.

Currently Writing: Zero Point One outline
Currently listening to: "Glorious Day" by Casting Crowns

Old Tech

I like collecting old cameras. I've got a few at the moment and am constantly on the lookout for anything that looks antique and different.

The one on the left is actually an old film camera. The middle one is an old school Kodak and then the Pentax is what I used for my dark room photography class. Whether the two on the left work or not, I love having them, even if all they do is sit on a shelf and occasionally I take them off and play with them. Of course by "play with" I mean fiddle with, open a few times, take a couple pictures of, and then ultimately put them back on the shelf.

Though, if I had the ability to develop the film myself, "play with" would mean "run amuck and take lots of random pictures just to see how they turn out". Ever since my dad opened the film camera I've wanted to find the film and record something. I think it'd be awesome!

Anything antique immediately grabs my attention. I couldn't say why, I just get fascinated by how things used to look and operate before now. Especially with things like cameras. Computers have just gotten less clunky and cars have just gotten strange (look at the Kia Soul for crying out loud. It's a box. An ugly box that needs hamsters to advertise). Cameras though have gone through a plethora of changes over the years. With their accordion folding lenses to SLRs to point-and-shoot...the designs have been extraordinarily different as time has gone on.

Which is why I like collecting them. The other day I found a bunch of cameras (including an old Polaroid to boot!), in a silent auction. I probably won't win, but it was awesome to just stand there and look at them all. When I put in the bid, my brother asked me what I would pay and I said to him, "Well, you gotta remember, all I'm gonna do is have them sit on a shelf."

This hobby may wind up being nothing more than an expensive way of decorating.

Happy adventures everyone! In PA we're gonna be in the fifties for the rest of the week. You know what that means - archery time. My arms are gonna kill after this week!

Currently Writing: Zero Point One outline
Currently Listening to: "Hear You Me" by Michael Henry and Justin Robinett

Ultimately, Everything Comes Back To One Thing

I got a new laptop. I named it Aliquis (yes, I name my technology), after a character in the End Game series 'cause its colors match that character. Then I got a wireless mouse. Normally I don't name those, but when I found the white & red one, I knew I had to get it, simply 'cause it reminded me of Blaze.

So, everything comes back to my books. Always.

Though I haven't done much writing as of late (eesh. April is gonna be a tricky month to roll into), I still can't fully detach my brain from my characters and their stories. Granted, I haven't devoted quite as much time to them as I have in the past, but in the end, they're still a huge part of me. As evidenced by names for technology and choices of wireless mice. (Speaking of mice, check out this shirt I want on Woot.)

I imagine that this is how most writers are. In spite of whatever efforts we may make - whether conscious or otherwise - to distance ourselves from a story, we inevitably wind up right back in the thick of it. Our stories and characters become as real to us as reality is to everyone else. I like to think that's why so many writers have trouble focusing. We're a little busy getting lost in a world that, for the moment, only we see.

It'll be fun when the rest of the world sees that world too.

I finished my query and am waiting on feedback from some friends. Then I'm editing it again and letting my family tear it apart. Then I'm editing it again and letting some coworkers look at it. Then I'm sending it off to agents. For all I know, I'll have an editor by summer. Wouldn't that be strangely awesome.

By the way, Camp Nano is only nine days away. NINE DAYS. WHAT.

Adventure well everyone! We have near fifty degree weather this weekend, so I anticipate some archery will be occurring at my house. I'm excited. I'm also gonna go old camera hunting at thrift stores tomorrow. I'll explain that in the next post.

Currently Writing: Zero Point One Outline
Currently Listening to: "Language" by Porter Robinson

Other Protagonist

I've always had this secondary protagonist with the End Game thread. He was one of the first characters that I had, and he's always been one that I've been drawn to. His personality seems rather expected - the one that everyone sort of falls into line with. The one that you want to win in case our main protagonist doesn't make it.

You count on this secondary protagonist to stick it through and you count on them to never really deviate from who they are. Sure, they'll make mistakes - at least you hope they do, 'cause otherwise they aren't very believable. But on the whole, you imagine they're who they are, and that's just the way that it is. At least, that's how I've always felt about this one character.

Then this past summer, my brother and I were driving to Ocean City, and we began talking about this character in particular. My brother, being my biggest supporter and main soundboard for all things End Game, delves into my characters and ensures that they're as real as possible. I appreciate this about my brother.

Well, we both decided that at some point, my character in question did something that really changed him. Neither of us knew what it might have been. It might not have even been a bad thing; it just really jarred my secondary protagonist to the point of - most likely - a major change in his personality. Then I purposefully stayed away from finding that out, 'cause I got this feeling that it was going to completely change my image of this character.

The stalling stopped last weekend when I finally said, "Alright, what did you do?" (Just so you non-writers out there know, when I suddenly ask these questions, I really sort of ask myself in the manner of, "Alright, what did this character do, and how bad was it?" I then start thinking and usually, I'll find one random image in my mind and start following it. Next thing I know, I've got a story brewing.)

Now here I am, unpacking my secondary protagonists' history and finding a lot of nitty-gritty. I'm not terribly shocked. I always knew there was something hiding behind him, I had just never tried to figure it out. I always liked him the way he was and I didn't want him to change. I wanted him to always be who he was. That's the thing about writing believable characters - they've gotta change. No matter how much we may like one specific point of who they are, we can't keep them that way. It's in their changes and in their crisis that we see "real" moments for very fictional characters.

So I'll keep unpacking and, hopefully, by April 1st, I'll have enough to start really writing this nitty-gritty story for ZPO.

Adventure well everyone. Here in PA we got a glimpse of spring last week. Yesterday it snowed and tomorrow it's supposed to snow again. Yeah, welcome to winter/spring in my neck of the woods. It's like an identity crisis every day.

Currently Writing: Zero Point One
Currently Listening to: "Here You Me" by Justin Robinett & Michael Henry

Cursed

Yesterday, one of my coworkers wound up venting to me out of the blue about some frustrations he was experiencing. I listened as best I could and offered advice when he asked for it, but on the whole, I just tried my best to be compassionate and loving. After a good twenty minutes of him nearly yelling at me because of how angry he was, he let out a deep breath and said, "Thank you. I feel better."

"Anytime," I told him.

Shaking his head, he said, "No, I mean it. You're one of the few people I know that I can just vent at and you listen and you care."

"I don't know how not to care," I said.

"How dare you be cursed with a caring heart," he said with a grin.

It's a phrase that I've mulled over for the past day. Interesting way to put it, I thought. But I know what he means. In today's world, it's so easy to get sucked into this "me-centric" society we find ourselves a part of. For many people, blinders are the only way they go through life - with this blatant disregard for everyone and everything around them. I can't imagine seeing the world that way. I can't imagine not caring about other people.

I guess a curse is a good way to put it though. I never see it as such, but I can totally understand how someone might want to call it that. I mean, I've made three cakes and a cheesecake in the past month for my coworkers - whether for birthdays or otherwise. When my parents have given me this look of, "Really? You're doing this again?", I've tried to brush it off. To me, it's a great way to show compassion. And I love baking. That definitely doesn't hurt. But as I sit back and remove my mentality from the picture, I must look absurd to some people.

Really? Four cakes in the span of a month? What's wrong with that person? Do they have any idea how much money that is? How much time that is?

Funny thing is, I do know how much money it is and I do understand how much time it takes. And those two things are so trivial and so fleeting that I could care less how much of both of those things I need to sacrifice. If it makes one of my friends or coworkers or even a random stranger happy, then whatever might have been given in the process is entirely and fully worth it. I'm not here for fame or money or power or glory. I'm here to show love. It's the only thing that comes naturally to me.

Random post for tonight. Once I get Word installed on my laptop, I'm gonna hammer out another chunk of ZPO and I'm sure I'll have a boatload of writing bits to talk about when that happens.

Only a few more weeks till Camp Nano. I'm freaking out!

Currently Writing: Zero Point One
Currently Listening to: "Sleep" by Polyphony and Stephen Layton

Sometimes Five Hours of Sleep is Enough

Writing the ancient world of my books has been an interesting dilemma.

The other day I was attempting to hammer away at a chunk of ZP, all of which was literally the beginning of the world of Tilion, and I struggled to get the images in my head to coherently make their way to the page. After two hours to meagerly writing and coming up with nothing I was proud of, I sat back and stared at my computer screen. Arms crossed over my chest, I shook my head as I read what I had written. How could I literally shove five books out of my head in one year with perfect clarity and relative success as to continuity, but I couldn't finish one story about character's histories or about the ancient world of Tilion?

Then it hit me.

Remember, Susan, you spent five years planning out the End Game thread. (That's me talking to myself, in case you didn't catch it.) Five years. That isn't a trivial thing. In taking that much time to think (a lot of which was random car rides between school and home), I had figured out most of the story line and the major plot points. Sure, million of minute details still needed to be fleshed out, but on the whole, I was ready to go whenever my stubbornness was overcome.

Now that all of that is out of the way and I'm beginning to delve into histories (and possibly futures?) of my characters, no wonder it's taking longer. I haven't spent much time thinking.

Thinking is crucial for me when it comes to story creation. This past weekend, I got to visit a friend in Upstate New York. That five and a half hour trip was more beneficial than I could have imagined. Sitting in a car leaves me with little to do but think and imagine and dream. I follow random tendrils of ideas and explore avenues. I imagine "movie trailers" of each story. It sounds absurd, but that helps me get key images down in my mind. Sometimes I'll put a song on repeat if a specific image comes to mind, simply so it can be solidified in my head.

So I thought. A lot. I delved into characters I haven't fully explored before and began to pull at their nitty-gritty details. That's hard to do sometimes, especially when the character in question's history holds something you don't expect. By the time I got home, I was excited and ready to tackle the next story in the histories. Eventually though, I really would like to finish Arthur. That book being half done really kind of bothers me.

In other news, I've got another stand-alone story idea. This is a new concept for me. So I've written the basic idea down and maybe, when I'm ready to create a new world, I'll explore that avenue. I'm fairly certain that that desire isn't going to pop up any time soon. I've got enough to explore for the time being.

I'm exhausted, but that's what coffee's for.

Adventure well everyone! It's warm(ish) in PA right now, so I'm gonna take advantage of it and shoot some arrows into targets.

Currently Writing: Zero Point One
Currently Listening to: "Language" by Porter Robinson

P.S. - For the sake of Camp Nano, I've decided to chop ZP into four(?) books, each containing three character histories. Eventually, I'll shove them all together and it'll be a massive book of epic proportions that no one but myself and my crazy friends will want to read.

Ten Things

I'm gonna take a moment to tell you random little things about myself that not everyone knows. Those that do know these things find them odd and tend to laugh at me about them. I don't rightly care.

1. I eat M&M's by color and assemble each color group into a triangle, eating them one at a time, starting at the top. It bothers me when I can't eat them like that.

2. I love the smell of gasoline, bleach, freshly cut grass, and firewood.

3. I hate touchpads on laptops. I find them jumpy & skittery and though it's nothing life threatening, I detest using them.

4. Though I'm twenty-four and do like looking my age via my clothing, I love graphic t-shirts. Whether they display an image or a phrase, I love 'em. The feel, the look, everything about them. I could wear a knit sweater that's comfortable, but the moment I feel like I'm not doing anything "important" (aka, going out to do stuff), I change into a t-shirt.

5. It angers me when my cash isn't all facing the same direction. I will literally stop whatever I'm doing sometimes at work and organize the bills in my drawer. What way do I like them? Face up, with the top of the bill to the right. My mom always said I would make a great bank teller. I even fix bills in friend's wallets, simply 'cause it'll rub against my mind all day until I do something about it.

6. Whenever I find a penny on the ground, I don't pick it up. If it's face up, I leave it alone. If it's face down, I'll flip it over and then leave it behind. Some people are superstitious about stuff like that and think heads-up pennies are good luck. I'll take the bad luck for someone else if it means it'll make their day a little better.

7. I love seeing random acts of kindness. Those times when you act and you think no one is looking or listening and you do something simply out of the kindness of your heart. I love those moments. I think they should be reinforced and reiterated a thousand times. Because the small things matter, even if you don't think so.

8. Talking about myself has never been my strong suit. I'm far more comfortable sitting and listening to someone for hours - yes, hours - and never saying a single thing. I'm perfectly content with sitting back and listening to a great storyteller, even if they're only telling me about their day. Some people have this great gift for telling tales by adding sound effects, side commentary, and emphasizing things in just the right way that you're sucked into whatever they're saying. And when you think back on the conversation, you realize all they talked about was doing their laundry. I love those kinds of people. I think they're born storytellers, and I always want to record them, thinking that what I'm hearing isn't just some boring, run-of-the-mill tale, but a grand adventure.

9. My favorite number is 5, second only to the number 9. I don't know why I like those numbers, I just do. If I had to guess, it's because 5 is right in the middle of nearly everything (think of a number between 1 and 10 sort of stuff), and 9, though a high-roller, isn't nearly as obnoxious as 10, which thinks itself so important as to require a second digit. 9, I think, is a number perfectly content with itself and 5 is a-okay with being stuck in the middle.

10. I've always wanted to fly. And I don't mean Superman fly - that's the boring way to go about it. I mean with feathered wings. For as long as I can remember, I've always had this strong desire to take off and fly away. To feel the air glide through the soft feathers of my wings, to dart through a cloud, to skim a still lake and run my hand across the water. To escape the monotony of life and become something extraordinary. Whenever I see a beautiful sunset, I almost immediately think, "I need a camera and I need wings, pronto." To rise above - literally - and see the world in a whole new way. I think that's why I gave Jen wings. 'Cause if I couldn't have them, well, then I needed to write about someone who did.

For those interested, Camp Nano is coming back in April. Anyone gonna join me? I'm gonna use it as an excuse to really kick things into gear with Zero Point and hammer out at least three more stories from that.

Adventure well, brave warriors.

Currently Writing: Zero Point
Currently Listening to: THIS. On repeat. I seriously lol every time this comes on the radio now.

Stunted

Ever feel like you just stepped backwards? And I don't mean by like, one step. I mean more like eight years.

I guess the word "oppressed" is right, even though it sounds so horribly wrong. Never have I ever wanted to feel that a word so strong as that should describe how I feel about home. I guess I want to be an adult. I want to grow up and move on and move out. I'm sick of feeling stuck and trapped.

So how do I change that? The problem is, I like the people I work with. I don't want to get a new job because I'd miss hanging out with them. But, I know I can't stay where I am. Not financially. It sucks, I hate saying that, but I think it's what needs to be done. If I could make more money, then I could move out and get my own place and, for once, I could feel like I wasn't a child anymore.

It drives me mad that I don't have my own place. Most days it doesn't bother me, but then there are days like today, where I just kind of want to scream and run away and never come back until I have my own place and can look my parents in the eyes and say, "I'm fine. I've got this. You don't need to see me as twelve anymore."

Maybe that's what it'll take.

Random angry post tonight. Shouldn't be, seeing as the rest of my day was a great adventure. Well, here's hoping that you have a grand adventure tonight. Or tomorrow. Whenever it is for you.

Currently Writing: Zero Point
Currently Listening to: "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap

Some Things Shouldn't Come That Small

A few days ago, I watched the movie Courageous with my family.

From here, I'll say beware - for spoilers will tread here. If you haven't seen the movie and want to, I wouldn't recommend reading any further. If you've already seen the movie or simply don't care, then onward we go!

As I sat, watching the events of a child's death unfold on the screen, we got to the funeral scene. The camera panned across the small casket. It hit me in that moment that caskets shouldn't come that small.

Some small things are cute. Small pastries, small stuffed animals, small animals, small kitchen playsets, small gloves, small hats, small computers. The list could go on and on and on. Those things are adorable. You wind up gawking at them saying, "Oh my gosh! It's so cute! I want one!"

Caskets, hospital beds, breathing apparatuses, canes, casts...these things should never have to be small enough to facilitate a child.

Y'know, I'm not a huge fan of kids. My sisters can attest to that. Originally I had hoped that being around my nephew and my niece for a few months would have helped me gain a new appreciation for kids. All it did for me was make me have that much greater of an aversion to them.

That doesn't mean that seeing kids suffer doesn't rip me in two.

Kids are supposed to run amuck, playing games and making up stories. They're supposed to be creating and building, always smiling and never without hope and joy. Yet in this broken world, we sometimes have to witness the sheer brokenness of humanity by seeing it play out in a child's life. It makes me want to cry sometimes when I see a kid that should have no ambitions, fighting for their life. How heart-breaking.

Crazy as it seems though, these kids seem to be so optimistic. You constantly hear about these brave little children struggling against the hardest things imaginable. Thank God for that great representation of hope. I can't heal them, but I can surely pray for them, and for those that watch over them.

Personally, I look forward to when all that pain is gone.

Currently Writing: Zero Point
Currently Listening to: "Mirror Mirror" by Jeff Williams feat. Casey Lee Williams

Cabin Fever

In the span of two days, I wound up getting an intense case of claustrophobia in regards to my house. I don't know why, exactly. Just that I wanted out. I craved an adventure and for some reason, I wished to do so alone. Coupled with that was this sudden urge to not sleep.

Sometimes I get this strange desire to pull an all nighter, work until morning, watch the sunrise while I have some coffee, ease into the day, and then just barrel on through with whatever else needs to get done. Normally, I ignore this. Because it's crazy. It's bizarre. Normal people don't do that.

Recently, I decided that "normal" never applied to me and that I simply don't care what other people think of me or what I do with my time. So, following that mantra, I decided to stay up all night. It wasn't until around 5:30 that I realized my mom would be getting up and would undoubtedly question why I was awake. Thankfully, she didn't press the issue and let my randomness be.

Now, I really shouldn't call it an all nighter. I did nap for about two hours. (Aside, I'm smelling toast. I hope my brother is making something, otherwise, insanity literally is only moments away.) Anyway, now that I'm almost to my regular bedtime, I sit back and look at the day. I was incredibly productive. I had eleven things I wanted to accomplish. One of them was wishful thinking (building a custom bookcase). The only other thing I didn't get done was vacuuming, and that's 'cause I only just finished excavating my floor about an hour ago.

You've gotta blow up a room before you can clean & organize it.

Strange how I can function so well with so little sleep. I imagine that when I wake up tomorrow (later today?), I'll feel it and curse myself. At the moment though, I'm incredibly grateful for the fact that for once, I followed a brash and instinctual decision. I did a lot of nonprofit stuff and a ton of agent narrowing-down between the hours of one and five-thirty. Around six I began to get myself ready to go watch the sunrise.

All in all. It was a good day. I encourage you to do something random and unusual today. You never know what'll happen until you try something new. Make every day a new adventure.

Currently Writing: Zero Point
Currently Listening to: "Red Like Roses" by Jeff Williams feat. Casey Lee Williams

Introvert, or Extrovert?

When I'm in group settings, I tend to prefer to sit back and listen to others, rather than talk about myself. I mesh well with people who like to talk, because I love to listen. The tricky thing is, I remember lots of little details about people. Later in conversations I'll purposefully pretend like I forgot something about someone, simply so they won't find it weird that I remember minute things. Like what someone's favorite drink is to get when they go out to eat or a pet peeve that they off-handedly mentioned once.

One of my coworkers once said he hated how the British say, "Let me get me drink." He finds it irritating and thinks it's grammatically incorrect. Another one of my coworkers believes steadfastly that a needle and thread will dictate how many kids you'll have. One of my other coworkers almost got kicked out of school for standing up against a teacher that ridiculed a student in the middle of class.

That's just my coworkers. I could probably point to everyone I know and tell you one random fact about each of them that they wouldn't expect me to remember. I guess I'm a little bizarre that way.

As I talked with a friend tonight, she began to explain extroverts and introverts to me. Not in the world's definition. Apparently our perception that extroverts are bubbly and people love to be around them is wrong. Extroverts are people that like being around others and can mesh well with large groups (more than three people), whereas introverts would be searching for a way to get out of that large group and would strive to break off into a smaller, closer group. I, apparently, am an extrovert. Because I love being in large groups and listening to everyone around me, but I don't ever feel like running away or thinking about how to get off into a smaller group. But I love one on one time with people too.

Maybe I'm walking a fine line...

On another note, I slept for nine hours last night/this morning. That's a good way to spend my first day off, right? Tomorrow's supposed to be sunny and warm(ish), so I'm doing a bunch of different things that'll total the day flying by. Maybe some archery?

Adventure well, brave warriors! I'm gonna go back to talking to my friend about what it means to be an extrovert.

No, I don't understand myself.

Currently Writing: Zero Point

Currently Listening to: Some song by Bob Marley. It goes like this: "Don't worry, about a thing, 'cause every little thing, is gonna be alright"

Three Day Weekend

That's like a mini-vacation for me. I haven't had three days off consecutively in like, a month and a half. And what'll I do with that time?

Apparently tomorrow I'm watching movies with a friend, Sunday I'm building a bookcase, and Monday I'm setting up a computer. I also anticipate a lot of cleaning and writing in between those points. And, if the weather permits, a good bit of archery.

Change is coming to the Staples I work at. Whether it'll be a good change or not has yet to be determined. Am I thankful for it? Honestly, I can't answer that. I suppose I should be, but a part of me also knows that at the moment, everything I'm shooting for is sort of hanging on this precipice. It might all teeter backwards and fall back to square one. Or, it'll tumble forward and roll on into whatever it might be - good, fantastic, whatever. I don't know.

Sometimes I imagine that my life is just a tape someone set on play and forgot to edit out the boring stuff. Though, I guess that's what life is mostly. Boring stuff. The time in between major points is what makes us who we are.

Then I guess I've got a lot of work to do. 'Cause what I do in the time in between isn't quite on par with what I want to be known as. Seeing as most of my time in between is spent with me either saying, "AHH! What's going on?!" or, me saying, "I don't really care. Let's just start wandering .Eventually I'll find a path, right?"

Neither road is actually the one I want to be remembered for. If I'm remembered at all, I'd prefer to be known as someone who, despite the circumstances, knew that faith was an important ingredient to everything, and that sometimes, the faith needed to be blind.

Knowing me though, I'll be remembered for flailing about wildly and accidentally winding up where someone else probably should have been. I think my life has been a series of happy accidents.

Thanks for that one God.

Currently Writing: Zero Point
Currently Listening to: "Idumea" by the Millikin University Choir

Never Have I Ever

Tonight I had an interesting conversation with a coworker. Although most days I have interesting/strange conversations with my coworkers. So I guess that isn't news.

Somehow, we got onto the topic of alcohol and how I've never been drunk. A look of bewilderment on my coworker's face, he says, "You never got drunk in all your time at college? How does that happen?" I told him that I imagine that if I played "Never Have I Ever", anyone I played with would find my life incredibly boring. There's a lot I haven't done. He just stared at me with this half-smile as if to say, "I don't believe you."

I guess this'll be a fun fact post. 'Cause there are lots of things I haven't done.

I've never been drunk. I don't know what weed smells like. I've never smoked a cigarette or cigar. I've never been to a party where there was underage drinking. I've never seen porn (although a lot of Hollywood stuff is pushing that limit). I've never stayed out all night. I've never gone over 85 in any car I've ever driven (my dad's Sky included). I've never heard a gun fired in real life. I've never been in a life-threatening situation brought on by another person (aka, assaulted). I've never threatened or thought of running away from home. I'm sure there are many more things I haven't done.

Here are some things I have done.

I stole once when I was a kid (I don't remember what, I just remember stuffing something into my pocket and continually looking around all nervous-like. I was probably like, six). I cheated on a quiz one time in elementary school. I lied about a few of my classes when I transferred to Houghton (classes I should have passed and, because of laziness, failed). I've looked people in the eye and told them I loved them when all I wanted to do was punch them square in the face. I've rubbed my financial stability in the face of people struggling to get by. I've lied to my family about so many things I've forgotten them all. I'm materialistic when it comes to technology (legit). I can be a hypocrite if I'm not careful. I have anger issues. And many, many more things.

I guess that what I'm trying to say is there's nothing wrong with being "sheltered". Yeah, my life is pretty dull. For now. Give me some time. I've still got a few more books to write and quite a few to get published. One day my life will be a little more epic. Until then, I'm just gonna be a twenty-something working in retail, trying to make a difference in the people that inhabit this world.

Happy adventuring everyone. Go make today a great one, regardless of whether it's within a "sheltered" sense or not. It's your adventure after all. Make it one worth telling.

Currently Writing: Zero Point
Currently Listening to: "All the Kings Horses" by Two Steps From Hell

P.S. - Today one of my coworkers climbed into an empty box and had a fellow coworker push him across the store. Just in case you ever think that retail is boring.

Valentine's Day

This is a "holiday" I never liked. Not because I've never had a valentine with whom to share the day, but because of the absurdity behind it. The fact that our society literally takes a day and highlights the importance of having a significant other doesn't make sense to me. Why is it so important? Sure, I wouldn't mind having someone to share my story with - and I theirs - but it doesn't define me.

When Valentine's day rolls around, I don't start scrambling, hoping that I'll come across my soul mate within the allotted time. In fact, the day would go completely unnoticed - if people wouldn't harp on it.

One of my co-workers said to me today, "You need a boyfriend. It'll make you happier."

I don't remember what I said. I just remember that I walked away and rolled my eyes. Yes, because my happiness is exactly proportional to whether or not I have someone in my life I call my boyfriend, I thought. I wanted to tell my co-worker that I was fine without a boyfriend, because I have a Heavenly Father that loves me regardless of the stupid things that I do.

I have yet to meet a guy (or girl, for that matter), that through it all, dating, engagement and marriage, to love every facet of his/her girl/boyfriend-fiance-wife/husband. Inevitably, all those little things you used to find cute turn into the biggest annoyances the longer you spend together. Even the happiest couples I know fight and disagree. Everyone always seems to think they'll saunter into marriage and it'll always be roses and poppy fields. That you just go frolicking through life, hand-in-hand, without a care in the world.

This day doesn't bother me because I find myself alone. It bothers me because we've turned what could have been a day to celebrate relationships and instead flipped it on its head. Valentine's day has become this thing to exemplify how if you're important, if you're special, then you've got someone to share Valentine's day with. It kind of makes me sad when I see beautiful girls say things like, "I'm so happy I finally have someone to share Valentine's day with!"

...So? No offense deary, but you've gotta learn to be okay with who you are and who God sees you as before you can learn to properly love another person. At least, learn to love them in the right way. But that's just me. Little ol' me. I've never been in a relationship and I don't know if I'll ever get married. So maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm way off base. Something tells me I'm not though.

Thankfully, there are places like Chick-fil-A that spent the day handing out flowers to their female customers, telling them, "Happy Valentine's day ma'am." Do you realize how refreshing that was? For a large company to look at the world and say, "Y'know, every woman is beautiful, whether she's got a guy in her life or not. Let's celebrate that instead of emphasizing how you've gotta have someone, or you're no one."

Like I said though, I may be wrong. I may be a hypocrite and whenever I am in relationship, I'll be all gung-ho for Valentine's day. I'd be surprised if that were the case though. I'm not really a flower's & chocolate kind of girl. But who knows. Maybe that'll change. Maybe my cynical heart still has some hope.

Well, here's hoping you had a wonderful day - whether you celebrated Valentine's day or not. And guess what? You're beautiful. Or handsome, if you happen to be a guy and you're reading this. In which case, I congratulate you for trudging through the muck of my blog writing! I always kind of thought my writing didn't appeal to guys.

Happy adventuring.

Currently Writing: Zero Point
Currently Listening to: "Transformation" by the Cinematic Orchestra

Not My Strong Suit

I'm not so good at writing about myself.

I get hung up on the formality of it. Especially in the confines of something as important as a query letter. That's right, I'm working on a one-page document that I'll probably agonize over more than anything I've ever written. All 'cause this is my first impression. This is the only shot I get at these agents.

One page. Three paragraphs. That's all I've got to get this right. To snag the right agent's attention. Thank God I know people who are good at marketing, well, anything. I imagine that when I get an offer from a publishing house, I'm going to hire a few of my coworkers to be my publicists. Kid you not - I think some of them could sell anything to anyone.

So as I sit on my computer, going over and over my query while "Idumea" plays on repeat, I just wonder if it's worth it. Sure, I know whenever End Game hits the world and I market it properly, it's gonna get devoured. I know there's little out there like it. That's not me trying to be arrogant. The story God gave me is awesome. The world just doesn't know that yet.

In the past three weeks, two of my closest friends finished all five books of the End Game thread. They both offered resounding enthusiasm on how I chose to end the series. I can't even properly describe how great it is to have feedback from three very different people and to have them all come around and very honestly tell me what they did and didn't like. (An aside, but I do have awesome friends. They're so brutally honest with me that I can't help but trust them when they tell me things like, "I loved your books.")

Despite me literally trying to avoid writing the query (I just don't like how complicated this formula is! I always feel like a robot when I'm writing the third paragraph about myself), I've had nothing but encouragement to push forward. Three customers have asked me what I write and talked with me about what I do outside of work and two of my friends have attacked me - in a good way - about how they feel about my books.

I kind of have no choice.

I'll sleep on my query for tonight. I always see things better with fresh eyes. So tonight I'll continue to slowly chisel away at one of the histories and then tomorrow I'll hack at my query again. Then I'll go to work, talk nonprofit, then I'll go back to hacking at my query. Then I'll write up some website stuff, then I'll go to work, then I'll work some postcard design, then I'll attack my query, then I'll have a day off and apparently go to Asher's so my mom's life is complete.

Happy adventuring everyone!

Currently Writing: 1/8 of Zero Point
Currently Listening to: "Idumea" by the Millikin University Choir

One More Job

I work full-time hours at Staples. I'm not technically full time and don't reap the benefits of that, but I tend to work upwards of 35 hours a week. That's the job I get paid for. Then there's the writing. That's the job I try to do when I have time and energy after a long day and am attempting to fulfill at the moment.

Now I've signed up for a third job. It started as this epic conversation last week with a few coworkers while we were out to dinner. Somehow we got onto the topic of changing the world and being part of a group. The next day, one of my coworkers called me and started asking me about this nonprofit he's got in mind. Five days later we've bought the website, made the Facebook and LinkedIn pages, set up our emails and are beginning to figure out how much all of this will cost.

As I sit here attempting to collaborate and make a logo (which I'm really not that good at, by the way), I kind of want to kick myself. Why do I do these things? As if I didn't have enough time, right? The plus side is, this is forcing me to make time for my book stuff.

Take today for instance. I've got off work and put my car at the shop so its oil could be changed. That leaves me stuck at home with nothing more to do than work on my query letter and research agents. So far it's been an agonizing process and according to all the recommendations I'm finding from agents & other authors, I should work on perfecting my query for the next month. Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. Over and over and over again.

So this all boils down to me figuring out my schedule and my dreams. Making them coexist together whether they like it or not. There is a rather nice piece to this puzzle, and that's the fact that I work with the two people that are heading up this nonprofit with me. Naturally that means that when we're at work, half of our time is spent talking about our ideas for getting this thing off the ground.

Now if only I could get this logo right...

Until we're off the ground, I'm not going to release the link or name of the nonprofit. Just know that it's out there and that we're for serious. Can't tell us 20-somethings to just wallow in our college debt. No sir. We're gonna change some lives if it kills us.

Apparently snow storm Nemo is coming my way. First Gandalf, then Khan. I've gotta say, these have got to be the best storm names ever. Of all time.

Happy adventuring everyone!

Currently [re]Writing: Genesis
Currently Listening to: "Hope Will Lead Us On" by Barlowgirl

Nemesis

Story tellers will understand this all too well I imagine. For those that don't dabble in the rabbit hole of story creation, I'm about to tell you something that may explain your friend/sibling/family member/coworker/teacher and why they act the way they do.

If you give me an inch, my mind takes a mile.

I'm a very visual person. When something is described to me, I can see it in my head. I like to think that I write what I "see". Now, because of that, when someone starts describing things I shouldn't be seeing, my mind begins to fabricate just that. Nine times outta ten, I come up with something significantly worse than reality.

This is why 'what if's and I don't get along. Because the moment I start thinking, "Well, what if this happened?", I'm gone. Shot. Caput. My brain is already coming up with a story and already thinking of the worst case scenario.

For example: I have to talk to a friend soon about some issues we've been having. I'm not looking forward to it, but I really should. I don't want our friendship to be strained and, if at all possible, I want to get back to our ridiculous conversations and understood stupidity. However, my mind has already conjured up what the worst case might be. That alone makes me even less thrilled about the prospect that lies ahead of me. Somewhere in my mind, the entire time we talk, I'm gonna be replaying this imaginary situation in my mind and fretting over the "right" things to say.

Keep in mind, I'm probably not going to be having this conversation for a week. Just imagine what'll happen in the time in between. I could come up with all sorts of nasty end results that could plague me for days to come.

At the same time though, I almost never have nightmares. Crazy, right? Well, I might have them, but I sure never remember them. I can only remember two, and one of them shouldn't have qualified as a nightmare, yet it scared the bejeezus out of me.

Anyway, all of this to say: story-tellers and world builders tend to have this problem. Or so I've found. In the many conversations I've had with writers, we all seem to do this sort of thing. Making up stories about our lives as though that'll somehow be what happens. I've found - personally - that the moment I start pretending something in my life is gonna work out a certain way, it doesn't. God has a funny way of making things far more epic than I could ever come up with.

I do this though. Even though I know it doesn't help me, I still get caught up in this pretend reality. As though what I could imagine is better than what's actually happening. Sometimes, I think, I miss what's going on in my life because I'm too busy making something up that I think is better. Normally, I just wind up missing something and finding that reality was plenty of an adventure on its own.

I think that just stems from my desire for things to be more epic than they actually are. *Shrugs* That might just be me though.

Currently Editing: Genesis

Currently Listening to: "Homecoming" by Thomas Bergersen