Hidden

The real me likes to hide. 

I wish she wouldn't, but she feels uncomfortable at times, mostly around new people.  There's something about them that forces her to retreat.  But she's there.

She loves to read, and often judges a book by it's shape.

She's fascinated by ripples in water and the flashing scales of any fish.

She loves the colors green and blue, but detests the color pink. 

She often doesn't know what to do with her hands, and sometimes her face can't seem to relax. 

Sometimes she stutters when she's nervous.

On bad days she avoids mirrors, but most days she doesn't let their taunting bother her.

She likes to smile, and sometimes smiles for no good reason.

She wishes she could climb up trees, and she prefers pens over pencils. 

She loves a good rainstorm, but only when it's warm and accompanied by flashes of light and rages of sound.  And when she hears that first roar of thunder, she grabs a book and finds a nook by a window.

She likes to dance, even though she isn't very good.

She's kind and dependable, and surprisingly talkative. 

She's easily amused, and doesn't need a lot to have fun.  And when she ventures out of her fear, she's fun to be with. 

She only likes to paint her toenails, not her fingernails. 

Her favorite place to be is in a small crevice of salty rocks, so close to the sea that she can taste it and feel the spray of waves as they crash.

She doesn't mind being alone sometimes, but she likes to be with people too.

She drips her emotions on paper and when she bleeds, it comes out as ink.

Sometimes she lets her quiet twin take over.  But sometimes her courage gets the best of her and she kicks the quiet one out.  And then she finally comes up for air, and wonders why she ever stayed hidden for so long. 

Bring it on, Resistance

"There's a secret that real writers know that wannabe writers don't, an the secret is this: It's not the writing part that's hard.  What's hard is sitting down to write. 

What keeps us from sitting down is Resistance."

~ Steve Pressfield

The Dragon's Eye

Meet David.  He's a twenty one year old average college student.  An only child, his mother raised him herself after his father died when he was ten.  He has dark brown hair, green eyes, and a tall frame.  He's somewhat quiet, but strong-willed.  He may not be anything special, but he is fine with who he is.  An average day consists of college and work.  But now college is ending for the summer and David is excited to keep working and to have a fun summer with his friends.  Or so he thought.  One day his mother signed him up for a "special program" for other young adults his age.  She was very vague on the details and there was no way for him to escape it.  The program is at a cabin deep in the woods, with four other people David's age and older mentors who will teach them.  Soon David finds out that he and the others are meant to be dragon brothers, and they were sent to the cabin to learn how to control their new powers that are beginning to develop, and how to interact with the dragons he never knew existed.  And soon David discovers that there is a mystery surrounding his father.  

Will David learn about what really happened to his father?
Will David accept his new life and learn how to use his powers?
Will the dragons accept David and allow him into their lives?
Will David stop those who would like to see dragons extinct?

Broken Open- Cold War Kids

I locked my keys in the car
I'm pleading for some change
The meter treats me like a stranger now
Flashing zeros

I'm juggling a drink too full
While tugging on a leash that you pull
And jogging my memory for
The way to your door

I have been broken open
By my most trusted friend
I was the wild card, you were the safe bet
I've been broken open

I'm up and down that way
It's easier to say that I'm doing okay
Than bother to explain
The water rising

Threw out your crystal ball and your weather vain
Picasso don't pre-meditate he just paint
Tonight it's so easy
To overflow

I have broken open
Was a perfect gentleman
Now I'm smashing champagne, tying cans
Feel like celebrating

I have been broken open
Dug to china with bare hands
When you asked me if I'd like to dance
I've been broken open

Flow over me, flow over, flow
Over flow

It feels so strange to feel good
And when I was the fire you were wood
So when I was petrified
You understood

I have been broken open
This was not my master plan
I was comfortable watching from the stands
I have been broken open

All my edges are exposed
I was once content alone
Now you brought the one that I call home
I've been broken open

Flow over me, flow over, flow

Inky Excuse

I felt like I was being watched. 

I felt like I was being watched so I got off my bed and slowly walked around my room.  No one there.  So I stood still, twirling my pencil in my hand and and trying to stare the source of the feeling into existence. 

With the feeling only slightly pushed away, I sat back on the bed, my pencil going back to the numbers and signs that just didn't register in my mind.  That was when I heard it.

A tiny sound, a sad sound, something small and innocent.  But something about it scared the numbers from my head and the pencil from my hand.  I crossed the room to the source of the cry.  It came from the desk, but nothing there could have made it.  I decided it was all in my head and tried to call the numbers back.  And as I turned, the voice came back. 

"Just going to leave me here all month, are you?" it said.

"What?" Where was it coming from?  The only thing in that direction was a slender black pen resting on a yellow-paged notebook.   I slowly inched closer and let the tip of my finger touch the smooth shell of the pen. 

"That's the first time you've touched me in a month," it said.  Did it really say that?  I didn't know that pens could talk.  But something made me respond.

"I-I've been busy.  I don't have time to-,"

"Don't have time for me?  But you have time for those obnoxious pencils.  I thought you knew better.  Pencils hold you back.  Pens are the only things that make you take risks, make you unafraid.  We used to do a lot together, you know."  It was right.  I thought back on the times I used the pen to write a story or a poem or whatever it was in my mind that was screaming to get out.  It was a release, and I missed it. 

"I know," I sighed.  "And you're right."  I picked up the pen and the paper.  Both felt warm in my hands, felt right.  I curled up in the window, clicked the pen, and let it take over.  And it felt perfect.  The pen was like a bridge for everything that had been clogging my mind to escape by, to be captured on paper and to settle into it's warm fibers.  But that moment wasn't just for me.  It was for both of us.  To really live, the pen needed to bleed. 

School, I'm Having Trouble Taking You Serious

As I sit trapped in my desk with no where to put my legs, all my wandering mind can even fathom focusing on is the feel of sun on my skin, the smell of a good book, and ink flowing from pens.  I desperately want to get up, walk out, and run around with warmth on my back and grass licking at my feet and a book in my hands.  Is that too much to ask?



Inspiration

That feeling comes and makes you try something new...

Movies

Let's see...favorite movie....Well, it's too hard to pick one and if I named them all we would be here a while and you wouldn't like me very much.  Oh well. I'll try to keep it short.

I guess my favorite movies are the ones that dance in my head when I read a good book.  And I guess that provides the answer to the real question.  I think my favorite movies are movies made from books.  Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Percy Jackson, I Am Number Four, Narnia, and more.  There is just something about seeing those words find their own skin and become something completely visible. 

My top favorite movie changes about every twelve minutes.  The elusive group of favorites includes those ever alluring book movies, Tangled, Pirates of the Caribbean, old, classic Disney movies, and a lot more.

A movie makes my favorites list when it makes me remember it and think about it for a long time after.  When the lights in the theater come on and I still feel like I'm running in the woods or diving in cool waters away from bad guys or sneaking around trying not to be seen. 

At this very moment, my favorite movie is Prince Caspian.  I love the quotes and the music and the British boys and the mythical creatures and the nature.  It just makes me feel good.

Well, that's about as short as this will get right now.  I'm sure in a few minutes I'll remember a movie I've forgotten to mention, but I'll try to do it justice another time. 

My favorites will always keep adapting and shifting as new movies join their ranks and fight for the top.  But I don't think just one movie will ever make it to the top.  They are all too good of fighters. 

Tomorrow will be Kinder

"Black Clouds Are Behind Me
I Now Can See Ahead
Often I Wonder Why I Try
Hoping For An End
Sorrow Weighs My Shoulders Down
And Trouble Haunts My Mind
But I Know The Present Will Not Last
And Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

Tomorrow Will Be Kinder
It's True I've Seen It Before
A Brighter Day Is Comin' My Way
Yes Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

Today I've Cried A Many Tear
And Pain Is In My Heart
Around Me Lies A Sumber Scene
I Don't Know Where To Start
But I Feel Warmth On My Skin
The Stars Have All Aligned
The Wind Has Blown But Now I Know
That Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

Tomorrow Will Be Kinder
I Know I've Seen It Before
A Brighter Day Is Coming My Way
Yes Tomorrow Will Be Kinder

A Brighter Day Is Coming My Way
Yes Tomorrow Will Be Kinder"

~ The Secret Sisters

Favorite Color

The clear, clean day after it rains. That's the color of your eyes. So clean and clear that I'm not afraid to jump right in and feel safe. So fresh that I feel a slight breeze when you turn them on me.

How do you fit all that in your eyes? Some people only have room for the dark clouds that fog their vision. But yours...now you've found a way to let the dark clouds blow away, and somehow you've held on to the new, brisk day.

And when you look at me, I see light breaking through my own clouds. The rain turns from icy to bearable, and soon I find myself welcoming each drop as they gently warm my skin.  And then the rain stops, and I can finally see, farther than I've ever been able to. 

I live in the clear, clean day now.  The color of your eyes.  My new favorite color. 

Flying My Name

"My birthday began with the water- Birds and the birds of the winged trees flying my name Above the farms and the white horses And I rose In a rainy autumn And walked abroad in shower of all my days."

~ Dylan Thomas, Poem in October

Jealousy

A New Poet
Jealousy.  I love the metaphor she uses, how it makes it relatable and easy to understand.  The words flow so well together that you can swim in them.  The way she forms the words draws pictures in my mind and makes it exciting to read.  And it gives me hope.  It makes me feel like, as a writer, even if no one sees the beauty of my flower at first, one day someone will. 

When the Lights Go Out

Who are you, when the lights go out?  When the world turns to face the other way, does your face stay the same?

I scramble to pick up the broken pieces of my life, avoiding their sharp edges.  I do this when the world faces me and when it doesn't.  One day you came along, stooping down, hands outstretched, ignoring the scratches my shards carved ino your hands as you picked them up.  And somehow, your touch did what mine could not.  Your warm, strong hands binded the pieces back together.

You held the puzzle of my life out to me, your simple but handsome face encouraging and safe.  I began to feel...different.  But in a good way.

I just hope it will stay that way.

I hope that you're not like the others I've met, the ones who held me together until no one was watching.  The ones who, the very second the world seemed pleased, dropped my pieces and caused more to break.

But as I look into your understanding and comfortable gaze, I see something I have not seen before.  Concern, help, and someone who sincerely loves me, despite all my pieces. 

I lightly touch the fragments you've somehow made whole, and realize there is more to it than before.  There a new pieces, your pieces, pieces that fill the holes between my own.  We hold this new globe together, our two tender hands just enough.

That's it, then, the answer.   Your fitting pieces, your capable hands, your protecting eyes.  I can trust you.  Because you are you when the lights go out.

Wandering Mind

I lay my heavy head against the cool, enticing pillow.  It welcomes me back and seems content to let me rest on it, despite the dents and imperfections I always give back to it.  Closing my eyes, the pillow sucks away at everything that ever bothered me, giving me a break and allowing me to drift into blissful sleep.

My mind leaves the cage of my skull, jumping and flying to where ever it didn't get to during the day. I never know exactly where it will go.  Just that it will always come back in the light of a new day, its tense muscles now released, enlightened.  It tells me of the things it found, filling each crevice of my head with its charming tales. 

My mind is loyal to me.  I feel it coming back to me as the first rays of sunlight color the inside of my eyelids a gentle red.  I slowly lift myself up, a new awareness in my head, while the rest of my body catches up.  Rejuvenated and inspired, I face the day.

Stress Relief



I walked away from my house into the tall, protective trees.  I was alone, but the whistle of the wind through the leaves and the rustling of unseen animals was all the company I needed.  Sunlight leaked through the tallest branches, giving everything a layer of light gold.  It was perfect.

Soon the sun's golden glow recharged my tired self and I took off running.  A cool breeze hit my face, and as it passed it took with it all the cares and worries that had been riding on my back.  It was the exact relief I needed.  To be free, running and frolicking and dancing amidst the trees. 

Soon I had to go back and pick up my broken and left behind cares.  I put them back on my back, their nagging voices filling the natural, peaceful silence I enjoyed so much.  But their voices never truly reached my ears.  They were both already full of the quiet voices of the trees.  I had a stubborn smile on my face that refused to be taken down.  The cares tried and tried, talked and talked and even yelled, but I could not be distracted.  I stared ahead with my newfound peace, my back filled with the new strength it had been longing for.

You Were Right, Bones

My bones said they want me to be me.  They quietly whispered to me to read that book, to play that song, to draw that picture, to wear that shirt.  They said they ached with longing when I closed that book,  chose a different song, (which in reality, I hated), drew a different picture, pulled a different shirt over my head. 

At first I didn't recognize the aches as a call to find myself.  But I've learned to trust my bones.  They know exactly what kind of milk will help me to grow big and strong.  They've known all along.  It's the rest of me that needs to catch up.

Now I've begun to recognize those distinct, quiet and natural aches.  The aches that long for the books and songs a other things that make up the flesh that my bones must carry. 

Finally, one day, I listened.  I picked up that book, the one that no one else has heard of.  The one that speaks to me.  I played that song.  The one that isn't on the radio but brings me to life.  I drew that picture, the one that seems odd to others, but excites me every time I see it.  I put on that shirt.  The one that isn't in all the pictures but makes me feel confident.  Makes me feel like me.  Now?  Now my bones sigh with relief at the weight that was taken off them, and are more than happy to carry what they were meant for.

Does it hurt?

"Dying? Quicker and easier than falling asleep."
~Sirius Black

Quotes

"And I'll find strength in pain
And I will change my ways
I'll know my name as it's called again."

~ The Cave, Mumford and Sons

Fragile

It was too late when Elise turned and saw the piece of rock slam into Warren's chest.  She screamed and dove under the water, her emerald tail flashing in the dying sunlight and twisting her way to him.  How could Dad do something like this? she thought.  Her father had never approved of her falling in love with this human, but how could he possibly have taken his hatred this far?  To him, humans were nothing but a horrible fantasy in his daughter's head that needed to become extinct.

Elise finally reached Warren and swam his weak body onto the shore, water still lapping at his sides.  Blood was pooling down his shirt, each drop slowly taking his life away.  Elise tried to stay composed, giving him comforting words that held empty promises.

"Look at me, it's ok, we can fix this...." Her words were ebbed away by the sobs that escaped from somewhere deep inside her.

Warren lifted his shaking hand to her face, the pain in his eyes somehow being overcome by the sweet, tender expression he wore whenever he saw her.

"Hey," he whispered, his voice quiet and strained. "Don't worry, sweetheart.  I love you, more than anything.  It will be ok." Elise was amazed that he was comforting her, though she could see the pain starting to overtake him. 

She lowered her head, her lips finding his, but realized it was too late.  His head lolled to one side, and the rest of him became still. 

Elise let herself fall into his chest, the usual comfort of his heartbeat missing.  Her most delicate hopes, her wildest dreams...all had died with that heartbeat.  She hadn't realized before just how fragile it all was.  Oh so fragile.

Random Scenes from Random Books in my Head...

David turned and ran as fast as his weak legs would carry him.  He sprinted through tall trees, their branches looming over and hiding him from the prowling beast above.  Still he ran, because the steady gusts of wind above told him the creature was still searching.
His mind distracted, David stumbled and found himself in an open meadow, with bright healthy grass, blooming flowers and-Oh no, he thought.  Open.
Before he could get on his feet, the creature spotted him and landed, its huge form blocking the sun.  David looked up. 
The enormous beast was a strange shade of grey.  At first glance this was all David could make out.  But when he was able to focus more on the dragon, he saw that it didn't appear completely solid.  Where scales should have been was a wispy covering, giving it the appearance of a stormcloud.
David silently wished he hadn't been separated from the group.  The others had more experience; they would have known what to do.
The dragon lowered its head and examined David with one crystal grey eye.  David decided it would be best to stand his ground and stared back.  As he stared into the impossibly clear eye, he noticed that the iris seemed like liquid, like it was moving.  It looked like rolling, dark waters caught in a globe.
Suddenly the dragon unfolded its wings and lifted its head, still staring down at David.  Opening its mouth, it revealed impossibly long, razor teeth, and began to speak.