Fear.

Fear.

There's a healthy dose of fear in every ounce of respect.

It's cowardly.

It's universal.

It's thrilling.

It's motivating.

It's necessary.

While searching for a topic for this blog post, I got all philosophical with a bunch of people. College professors, college students... lots of people.

And I was wondering several things, and no one knows the answers to these questions.

Why, if fear is such a necessary part of our growth and experience as human beings, does society rile and ostracize against those who feel fear?

Is fear really necessary for growth? Our purpose in life is not to be afraid, but to be happy.

Is it the fear that is necessary? Or is fear just the opposition that comes that we must overcome in order to grow and become better human beings? Would any opposition work, but more often than not it happens to be fear?

People I talked to agree that fear actually stunts societal growth, not leaving people open to change. But fear is ingrained in our society, with we, ourselves, proclaiming it in adages that says that there is a healthy dose of fear in every ounce of respect. The media motivates people with fear. Our government motivates people with fear. We follow laws we are given more often than not not because we love people and respect those laws, but because we fear the consequences that will come afterward.

Nonviolent protests tend to be more productive and longer-lasting than violent protests. Why is that? Is it because there is an element of fear removed- people are not afraid for their physical selves, leaving only the emotional/mental fear of change to overcome?

Do we like being afraid? In a culture where scaring people is funny, watching horror films is a cultural norm, and "confronting your fears" is described as the most fulfilling thing some people do, have we made feeling fear and afraid a normal part of our lives?

Why do we get mad at children who are afraid of the dark or monsters under the bed? Why did we as schoolchildren call them names, ostracize their fear and marginalize them as scaredy-cats?

Why is it okay to feel fear when it comes to asking a girl out on a date, but "irrational" to be scared of bugs?

Why are people afraid?

In the Christian religions around the world, it's a recognized tenet that "perfect love casteth out all fear" and that faith should be placed in God and not man and that everything will be okay. There's similar feelings in several other cultures, where fear is replaced with love and the world becomes better because when we're not afraid of our neighbor because we're all humans and not crazy people out to get each other the majority of the time.

But I feel like we've forgotten that. People are going around saying that we can't trust an entire people because of the actions of a few, that weapons are necessary for protection, that God has forsaken whomever the media feels irritated at today...

What are you afraid of?

An entire people, because a few extremists of their religion decided massacre was what they were supposed to do? You know that idea is stupid, to let your actions against many be decided because of the few. You thought it was stupid when in the classroom the entire class got put in trouble because of that one guy that wouldn't shut up. What makes it different now? You're letting fear dictate your actions because of the actions of a few. You're scared of a few, so we hurt the many out of our fear. What great love.

What are you afraid of?

"I need weapons, guns, whatever I can get my hands on because when (never if) someone tries to attack me I'll need to protect my family." You're scared of someone that you don't even know is out to get you, but oh, they are out to get you. When one individual exhibits these symptoms, society calls it paranoia. We're all paranoid, afraid that someone will get us and hurt us. Maybe, just maybe, no one is out to get you. Maybe before you go out and load your houses with weapons, you should just stop and look at how the media and society is manipulating you and your fears of harm against you and your family. If you want to see someone out to get you, look no further than those manipulating you and your fears for gain.

What are you afraid of ?

"God has forsaken.... (insert whatever is wrong with society today and that's why we're all going to die except for the chosen ones)." First. God is a God of all people, even the ones you don't like. And you're doing a terrible job living up to your religion condemning people because you don't agree with them. My own church recently caused a ripple with some women deciding to wear pants to church instead of skirts, and the outcry was enormous. "Jesus wants you in a dress... all liberal women wearing pants are going to go to Hell..." Death threats were made by members against the leaders of the wear pants to church movement. By members. Acting out of their fear of change and whatever other fear they had, instead of the love we claim to follow Jesus and God with and claim to recognize in all people.

What are you afraid of?

Where is the love?

We claim to want world peace, but we can't even have peace in our households. Fear dominates our society, and we do nothing. We rail against those who claim to be afraid, calling them cowards, yet the media and corporations use that fear we all hide from each other to manipulate us.

To quote the words of one of my favorite characters, "Consistency is the defense of a small mind." But there comes a point where you jump from inconsistency to hypocrisy.

And I know I've written all these words, and all these thoughts, and I would be lying if I didn't say I wasn't scared to hit the publish button on this post. I've not only touched on fear, but also on gun control, feminism, religion, and a lot of other issues because fear is everywhere, especially in hot-button issues.

About 20 or so people will read this post. I don't know how many will actually make it to the end, or what people will think of me afterwards. I've worked on this post for three days now. It's been told to me that the things that keep coming to our minds are the ones that are the most important, those ideas that need to be written down and shared. There have been posts before where I was nervous to write them and publish them, but they were important and wouldn't leave my mind, so I shared them, and you guys responded. But this post outstrips them all.

I don't understand. I don't understand fear or anything or why people manipulate us or why people are scared or why anything. I've asked several people, they don't understand. We don't know why, we just feel. I don't know how fear and the universality of humanity relate completely, but I do know they relate, and I don't know why a lot of things. I can't claim to not be manipulated by fear, or that I'm not afraid, or that I'm afraid all the time either.

All I can do is claim to be human, to have thoughts and feelings and goals and hopes and dreams and fears and nightmares, just like every. other. human. being. I get hurt. I dance, I sing, I love people. I work, I play, I bleed, I cry, I laugh, I smile. What is there inside me to fear? I'm just like you. Just a little different. Variety is the spice of life. To admit that I'm scared of you means that I'm also, just a little bit, scared of myself.

There's a story, in the Book of Mormon, that always touches me. A group of Lamanites had been converted to the gospel, and determined never to touch weapons again to hurt anyone else, not even in defense of their own lives. More Lamanites who hadn't been converted were angered, and went to war against those who had been converted. The converted Lamanites didn't fight back. They knelt and prayed, praising God even as they were struck dead with the swords of their brethren. They did nothing. Slowly, one of the warring Lamanites looked and realized that the men, women, and children he was murdering were his brethren. He put down his sword, crying, and joined those kneeling to face whatever their brethren gave them. Then another warring Lamanite stopped, putting his sword down. Then another. Then another. Then another. Eventually, when it was all over, several of the originally converted Lamanites were dead and gone. But more than double the murdered Lamanites had converted and joined their brethren, pledging never to hurt anyone ever again.

Why can't we be like that? To not fear, to just have faith and know that no matter what, even when those you consider your brethren and love are coming at you to kill you, everything will be okay? Why can't we love each other enough to try our best not to hurt each other, no matter what?

What are we afraid of?

2112

Today is 12/21/12.

I'm sure you've heard that several times today on all your social networking sites. The world hasn't ended, and we're all well and happy. Well, we'd all like to be well and happy, but we're not dying in a blaze of fiery death. I guess that counts for something.

Anyway, for fans of the band Rush, today is something else entirely.

It's a day we get to celebrate the wonder that is the song 2112.

2112. A lyrical and musical wonder created by Neil Peart, Geddy Lee, and Alex Lifeson.

I remember the first time I listened to 2112. I'm sure I'd heard it before then, but this was the first time I listened to it.

My father was driving me to an orthodontist appointment in Alabama. It took a goodly while, being the next state over, but I've always enjoyed going on long drives. Anyway, we were driving, and we were listening to Rush music, as is our wont when my mother isn't in the car. Dad put in the 2112 CD, and I listened to it.

It was somewhat of a difficult listen, as the song is 20 minutes long and the instrumental to voice ratio is rather heavy on the instrumental, which was not quite to my liking a couple years ago. But in the third section, titled "Discovery", I found myself with a wonder quite new to my ears.

I was used to hearing Geddy singing high notes, with always a touch of screech to them, and the instrumental, my entire life. (Honestly, I think the man can sing higher than I can. But I digress.)

Then, suddenly, in that section... it changed. The music changed. It became more gentle, flowing. Playful, new, hopeful. It caught my attention. The guitar was handled with delicate care, and I felt it.

Then Geddy started singing.

These are the lyrics for that section.

[not sung] "... Behind my beloved waterfall, in the little room that was hidden beneath the cave, I found it. I brushed away the dust of years, and picked it up, holding it reverently in my hands. I had no idea what it might be, but it was beautiful...
I learned to lay my fingers across the wires, and the turn the keys to make them sound differently. As I struck the wires with my other hand, I produced my first harmonious sounds and soon my own music! How different could it be from the music of the Temples! I can't wait to tell the priests about it..."

[sung]
What can this strange device be?
I touch it, it gives forth a sound
It's got wires that vibrate and give music
What can this thing be that I've found?

See how it sings like a sad heart
And joyously screams out its pain
Sounds that build high like a mountain
Or notes that fall gently like rain

I can't wait to share this new wonder
The people will all see its light
Let them all make their own music
The Priests praise my name on this night

And with that, I was sucked into the story. I listened with horror as the man went before the priests, and was most terribly rejected. The words cut me to the very core.

I know it's most unusual
To come before you so
But I've found an ancient miracle
I thought that you should know
Listen to my music
And hear what it can do
There's something here that's as strong as life
I know that it will reach you

Yes, we know, it's nothing new
It's just a waste of time
We have no need for ancient ways
The world is doing fine
Another toy will help destroy
The elder race of man
Forget about your silly whim
It doesn't fit the plan

I can't believe you're saying
These things just can't be true
Our world could use this beauty
Just think what we might do
Listen to my music
Hear what it can do
There's something here as strong as life
I know that it will reach you

Don't annoy us further!
We have our work to do
Just think about the average
What use have they for you?
Another toy will help destroy
The elder race of man
Forget about your silly whim
It doesn't fit the plan!

Listening to those heartfelt pleas, I wanted to cry out, "I feel them, I feel it! It reaches me, I know it, this thing, this music you make is most surely beautiful!"
But those nasty, controlling, power-hungry priests couldn't relinquish control, not even to enjoy one moment of simple beauty.

The song continues, ending sadly as the man gets depressed as he realizes the dystopia he lives in, dies, and then even that dystopia is destroyed and taken over by that elder race of man the priests were ravaging against.

But those words.... listen to my music. Hear what it can do. There's something here as strong as life, I know that it will reach you.

Listen. It's strong as, strong as life. I know it will reach you.

Read the words I write. See what they can do. There's something there as strong as life, I know that it will reach you.

Look at the art I create. See what it can do. There's something there, strong as life, I know that it will reach you.

Look. Read. Listen, listen, don't you see? I've created something, something beautiful, something that can help the world. I know it can, I know it can reach you. I want to share it with you, come look. Think of all the good that can be done with this, it's beautiful and lovely. Don't you feel it?

It's a waste of time? Yo-you're fine without it? It... this... doesn't fit your plan? You... you don't want to see what I've created? But... but... there's no use for me, no use for what I've done? My work, this beauty, my art... a silly whim?

This music, this video, this painting, this writing, all this, all this.... is of no use to you? But... don't you feel it? Can't you see, don't you hear, are you even human? Can you not recognize what I do? Don't you feel it? I feel it, I see it, I live in a world surrounded by it and it amazes me. I've put my heart and soul into this... can you not feel that? I know it can reach you, I know it can, it must!

I... I can't believe you're saying... those things... they can't be true. Our world could use this beauty! Just think... think what we might do! Listen, listen to my music.

Read, read my words.

See what they can do.

There's something here... it's as strong as life...

I know that it will reach you.

Just... just... let it in.

Look a little differently. It's not hard. It's there.

See how it sings, like a sad heart. Joyously, screaming out its pain. Sounds, words, colors, that build high, like a mountain. Or notes, letters, strokes, that fall, gently, like rain.

I can't wait to share this wonder. The people will all see its light. Let them all make their own music! Let them all write their own stories! Let them all create their own art!

There's something here that's as strong as life.

I know that it will reach you.

Vacation and Videos

Well, finals are finally over. The semester is done, and I'm fairly sure I didn't bomb any of my classes (glory be and hallelujah).

My grandparents flew over to Hawaii to join me and my family for a lovely vacation we're having right now.

I hope to be posting a little more because, well, I'm on vacation, so I have more time in between having fun.

Anyway, for my first of the promised vacation posts, I thought I would share my final project my group and I made for our Intro to Film Art class.

It's titled I Am Not a Mormon, and showcases BYU-Hawaii's Student Body President, Mustapha El Akkari. Who is not a Mormon, but is a Muslim.

I should apologize for the poor quality of the feed, but... we were working with the cameras the school had for us to work with.

Anyway, without further ado, and with great pride in my groupmates, here is our video.

The End is Near

"Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan! My brothers. I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight! By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand! Men of the West!"

I have seen this quote floating around my Twitter and Facebook this past week, for mainly two reasons.

1) Everyone's going on a LoTR marathon before the Hobbit comes out on Thursday. (guess who's got midnight premiere tickets??? meeeeeeee :D )
2) Finals are this week. Or last week. One of those weeks, depending on where you go to school.

And nothing gets people more motivated to do something grand than to imagine Aragorn on his horse giving a battle speech. I mean, look at this.

If that doesn't make you feel like you can go and defeat your finals, I don't know what will. 

I sort of feel like at regular intervals during finals this week, people should stand right outside the testing center and give this speech to everyone entering. Of course, that someone would have to not have their own finals to take, so I just don't see that happening. 

This semester is almost over. I have four and a half days left and counting. It has been wonderful and fantastic. I feel like I've grown a lot, not just intellectually, but also as a person. I've made beautiful friends and had great teachers. If I didn't have to take these finals, this semester would be perfect. 

But alas, for some reason people feel that knowledge needs to be tested and measured by tests, because everyone learns things that can be measured by a test. However they wish it. 

I'll write a more comprehensive (and gushing) post about my semester after finals (that is my life. everything has to wait till after finals). I know I haven't posted in a while, and I'm sorry, but you know... finals. You are all wonderful and fantastic and I'll get back to entertaining you soon! Survive your finals, and if you don't have finals, be grateful. I'll leave and get back to seriously considering studying for my finals. 

Ever have one of those days

Where you have two papers and three final projects to do, all of them only really half done, and all of it due within the next week?

And then the actual tests for those classes the week after?

And yet, despite all this, it's all you can do to keep yourself in front of your computer and at least act like you're doing something minorly productive?

But it's not due tomorrow. So I'm okay... right?

Not to say that I would put off these very important things until the day before. Oh, no.

Think hours before.

I kid.

But only a little.

My mind is filled with questions like, why is pink lemonade pink?

Why is America such a jerk to Palestine?

What happens to people who overdose on Motrin?

What is the implicit irony is listening to Adele's Skyfall while I'm staring at such my pretty sky?

How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

When is Daryl going to text me back so I can find out when I'm escaping my house tonight?

Is it embracing my feminine nature to eat an afternoon snack that consists of pink lemonade, blueberry bagel, and strawberry cream cheese?

What did they do with that table over there when they put up the Christmas tree in the GCB?

Should I make myself do something productive today before I leave my house?

Do I want to go to history class?

When am I going to finish working on my harp?

Why is a capella music so awesome?

Why are dandelions the way they are?

Am I ever going to get around to getting this chipping nail polish off my fingers?

Will this blog post ever end?

Ok, now that all this is out in the Internet, I can go and do something productive with myself.

What if Money Didn't Matter?

I recently watched a video online, asking its audience the question: what if money didn't matter?

It was a beautiful and lovely video, and the question does bear some thought.

What if money didn't matter?

What would you do if money didn't matter?

In that video, lots of people said that they would become artists, poets, do other artistic things, all of them beautiful. All of them not much for steady money in the earning department.

The video ends, telling the audience to go off and live your life like money doesn't matter, because you'll be doing what makes you happy, and that's the only way to live.

Because happiness can buy bread.

To counter that, money cannot buy happiness, no matter what you think it may cost.

I like to think that my actions in life have not been set by money or a lack thereof. My goals certainly haven't.

What if money didn't matter?

But money has no bearings on my desires in life.

I still want to graduate college. Yeah, that requires money to do so, but even if I didn't have any money that would still be a desire of mine. I like learning, I enjoy the process of gaining skills and putting them to good use.

I've changed my major from English to Political Science. You might say that has been monetarily manipulated, as I've got more career options with a PoliSci degree than an English degree, where all I wanted to do was write books. That's not why I changed. I changed because I like politics. I like watching it, and participating in it. I have a bigger chance of helping people with this degree than with an English degree. It expands my ability to make a difference.

I want to make a difference, and help people. I want to get involved in a worthy cause. Whether that cause is teaching my future children how to be good people, or helping a friend who's lonely, or putting a smile on someone's face because of something I've written on here. Even better, inspiring someone to do something good because of what I've written on here. I can't start a huge charity or donate huge chunks of my time to volunteer organizations. I don't have the time or the money. But I've learned in my lifetime that it's not the big things that count the most. It's the little things that we can all do, and money doesn't play any part in that.

My dearest wish of all... I wish to get married and have children and create my own little family. Money has nothing at all to do with that.

Money does matter. We need it to survive, to feed ourselves and our families and put roofs over our heads and all those good things we need.

But even then, money, or a lack thereof, does not give one happiness.

Even doing what you love does not bring you total happiness.

What brings us happiness is something else entirely.

We're happy when we're working. When we accomplish goals. When we help people.

We're happy when we're with those we love. When we're part of a community that accepts us and allows us to grow and become better people.

We're happiest when we're left a little wanting. When we need to stretch just a little higher to get what we want. When we have a goal to reach for.

We're happy when our needs are met, and we're healthy and safe.

We're happy when we're creating something. When we look at something and see what no one else does.

We're happy when we feel the touch of grass on our toes, cool water pouring over our feet, or see a brilliant sunset. When we see nature.

We're happiest when we love and are loved. When those we care for the most are happy.

Money is a means to an end. It shouldn't have any bearings on our desires or whether or not we act on them.

Do something good, something to make someone happy. Everything will work out in the end.

Things to be thankful for.

So, as per usual, while my family was eating Thanksgiving dinner, we talked about what we were thankful for.

Here's the list of things we're thankful for in my family.

Food.
Friends.
Family.
Dihydrogen monoxide.
Ancestors.
Salt.
Job.
Education.
Sleep.
Sitting down.
Pepper.
Photosynthesis.
Light.
Chemical energy.
Dead animals (to eat).
Life.
Respiration.
Water.
Gravy.
Bacon.
Sugar.
Glucose.
Ice cream.

All in all, I think those are all great things to be thankful for.

What a Child Would Do for Her Country

Let's time travel for a moment here.

Back a few weeks. The election of  2012 was almost upon us. (We won't stay here long, I promise. I wouldn't want to stay there for an extended period of time ever again.)

I come home from my history class. I'm in the kitchen, playing with stuff. Mom's in there too.

"Carina, look at this." She hands me a piece of paper with my little sister Annie's untidy but somehow still legible scrawl scattered across it. (I shouldn't talk. It's the same handwriting I had when I was her age.) "You're gonna love it."

I read it. I loved it. I have never been so proud of my little sister as in this moment.

It was an assignment that had been given to the children at the local elementary school, to write a paper on what they would do if they were president. I had only read the rough draft, it still needed some subject-verb agreement and punctuation help and spelling fixes, but her ideas rang loud and clear.

In fact, so loud and clear I suspected possible parental involvement. Mom reassured me, "The teachers stated quite clearly that parents were NOT to help with this assignment. All we can do is help with spelling and grammer and such. They still have to write it themselves."

I didn't think it was possible, but I was that much more proud of my little sister. She came up with these wonderful ideas on her own.

I wanted to post this immediately, but like I said, it was a rough draft. It was also for a contest at school, and I didn't want to get my little sister in trouble by possibly influencing some of the teachers or judges (those who might read my blog).

So I decided to wait till it was over. Annie didn't win, but she might have gotten third place. (or she might have gotten nothing. I honestly don't know if mom told me or I'm just imagining things). Our neighbor, and Annie's friend, got first place, and I offer my hearty congratulations.

So, now it's over, and you've read through all of this patiently, so I shall write her letter presently and you can all read it.

*******************

If I were the President of the United States, I would want more schools to be improved. When more schools are improved, more people would learn things in school. Instead of started at 8:00 am, I think we should start school at 8:30 am, and end school at 2:30, so people will have more time to get ready for school. That way the kids would not be tired and would pay attention more. In elementary school, people should be able to choose what they want to learn. That way they would be interested in learning since they had chosen the subject.

If I were President of the United States, I would give homes to the homeless. When more homes are being built, more people will live happier lives. Instead of giving the fancy homes to the rich people, I would give them to the poor and homeless, so more people will have good houses. When people are buying houses, people should be able to buy it at a reasonable price. That way people can live in an affordable house.

If I were the President of the United States, I would have more people saving energy. I would recommend that people bike or walk to work and shopping to save money and energy. I would have people plant more trees in their yard to help provide shade. Trees are good for our environment. I would also recommend that factories don't pollute our air. That way we can have clean air to breath.

If I was the President of the United States, I would improve schools, give homes to the homeless, and work on the environment. I think that all these things are important for the President of the Unites States of America to do.

********************

This just kinda sorta makes me really super happy.

A Partnership Founded On Ice Cream

So, as you all found out in my last blog post, Amber and I recently finished writing our manuscript.

Glory be and hallelujah.

Anyway, she wrote a blog post about the experience (she beat me to it), which I found hilarious and absolutely true, which, I might add, is not something quite so good when class is about to start.

Here's the link, I hope you'll all read it:

http://www.thescribblerscove.blogspot.com/2012/11/co-writing.html

And, like Amber, I did learn a lot of things about writing and myself during this process.

Co-Writing:

-Communication is absolutely necessary. No duh. But seriously, those chapters where we didn't communicate, one of us would do something terrible. One of the reasons partnerships of all sorts fall apart is because of a lack of honest communication. Luckily for us, communication comes easily, due to some sort of mental connection and living close by and the all-encompassing Internet.

-Also completely necessary is compromise. I had to learn how to rein in my goofy fluff, and Amber couldn't get a flying train. (And no, I couldn't write fluff if she got a flying train.)

-If you're stuck, you have someone to bug for help, because it's their story as well. On the flip side, if they need help, you have to be a wall or create something logical to help them. Llamas don't solve everything.

-I have a good reason to get out of the house. Ice cream for brainstorming sessions is totally legit.

-Brutal honesty. I learned several times the art of rewriting a chapter, and the fantastic things it does.

-You need a lot of patience. Especially when your partner does not write well on demand. (And trust me... she does NOT write well on demand.) Waiting for the next chapter is one of the more painstaking things to do.

-There is no sympathy for getting stuck or having to write a difficult scene. Most difficult was one of our last scenes. We both had no idea how to write it. Amber wrote her chapter up to the hard part, and dropped it in my lap for the next chapter. Grinning maniacally. Probably laughing as well. It was indeed revenge for all the times I did that to her. One of our most common lines, "I don't know. You get to write that chapter."

-You will fight and want to kill your partner. Usually that feeling is temporary, but it's still there.

Other things that don't quite pertain to co-writing:

-There appears to be no force on this earth that can stop me from temporarily killing my main character. In all the manuscripts. (I'm working on it, Amber, I swear!)
-Amber is creepily good at writing torture scenes. And brainwashing scenes. It scares me sometimes.
-Never give your POV character an odd habit. Like biting her lip. Guess who's going to bite her lip for the next several years now. (meeeee!)
-Revenge is indeed best served cold. Especially when it's petty. So very petty. And so very worth it.
-I write on demand fantastically. In fact, it's almost necessary for me to write well, knowing that I have people who need to read it and keep going.
-Amber does not write on demand well. Cue the patience.
-The worst feeling ever is killing a character then discovering that he had a wife and daughter and an unborn son. We sobbed for a couple hours over that.
-I dream weird dreams about the story that I should never ever write. Make your partner write those, after you draw a doodle telling her about it.
-Our parents are oddly cool with us practicing torture on bread dough.
-Also, ice cream fixes everything. Unless it's mint chocolate chip ice cream. Then it's a lot worse.
-You should do research into cultural traditions BEFORE you start writing.
-Making depressed people happy is weird.
-Never ever tell a writer that you saw that coming. Cue the petty revenge.
-Amber loses all sense of punctuation when writing tense scenes.
-There is no such thing as emotional stability.

Despite the blood and tears and effort, we finally finished, and it's actually not that bad. I had a lot of fun, and would gladly do it again. Working with Amber was a lot of fun.

But later. After I get some emotional recovery. Much much later.

Little Big Things

I have a lot to tell you guys. Soooo much.

Let me start at a reasonable beginning, since I'm sure this isn't going to happen in chronological order.

1) I changed my major. It was English, but I have since switched it to Political Science.
Because I love politics. I might eat and sleep writing and reading, but I breathe politics.

2) My uncle and aunt and dear sweet baby cousin came to visit us last week. It was wonderful and I'm so glad they came. I don't get to see them nearly so often enough.

3) AMBER AND I FINISHED THE FIRST DRAFT OF SHADES OF GINGER!!!!
That definitely deserved all caps. And four exclamation points. After almost four months, 72 chapters and an epilogue, 243 pages, and almost 100,000 words, we finished. It is done. It is done it is done it is done and maybe if I say it enough I'll start believing it. We went to celebrate this last Friday. Ice cream. We also decided it shall be several months before we start working on the sequel. Because we definitely have emotional trauma we need to get over before we start being mean to those poor characters all over again.

4) President Obama got re-elected. Actually, the same night me and Amber finished writing the draft. Twas a night of far too much excitement for me.

5) I got a letter from my cousin who is on a mission. It was very nice to hear from him.

6) I started NaNoWriMo. That's National Novel Writing Month to all you who have no idea what I'm talking about. And good for you, because it's insane. Don't do it if you value your life and sleep. Also, make sure your story is long enough to work. I'm pretty sure mine isn't, but each story must be told no matter what the length.

7) Our piano got tuned and fixed. It's heavenly, being able to play middle C again.

8) Seven is such an odd number. So here you are. I hope I'll get back to posting more regularly soon. I also hope I'll start sleeping more regularly soon, but there you are.

No, I didn't die last night.

I know you were very glad to read that title. I'm very glad to be able to type that title.

Anyway, the tsunami passed almost invisibly last night. That few inches of water man....

I'm just running with the theory that Canada wants to destroy us, but it's being passive-agressive about it, so it gave us a decidedly minor tsunami. Just to show us it could.

So how was my night? Well, just to point out a few things.

I am the only one in my house to sleep on the ground floor. Which means that I had to move upstairs, and camp up there the whole night. Normally, this would not be such a bad thing. I have no problem with sleeping on a floor. If my carpet were softer, I might actually make a regular habit out of that while lying on the floor doing my homework.

But for some reason, sleeping on the floor last night in my little sisters' room... was an experience.

It's been a while since I've slept with children. I've enjoyed it.
Then last night my baby sister greeting me trying to go to sleep with her waving her flashlight in my face.
Whatever. I can deal with that. I told her that if she didn't stop, I would take away her flashlight.
It turned off, and I feel asleep just fine.
Then, I got to try and sleep on the floor. Which was being particularly hard and flat and not comfortable. My neck didn't like it at all.
Then, dawn comes. How do I know it came, you ask?
Well, first, living in Hawaii, you can't ignore the sun coming up unless you either don't have windows or have curtains that block all light.
Not to mention I opened my eyes and found my baby sister leaning over the edge of the bed, staring at me.
Just staring.
I tried to do a quirky eyebrow thing at her, scare her off staring at me, but due to an unfortunate genetic mix, I'm incapable of raising only one eyebrow at a time. Not for lack of trying.
After our weird little stare-off in the bright light of 6 am, she got out of bed.
Neatly stepping on my face.
Now, I'm not saying it was deliberate. But I've seen bulls run more gracefully through a china shop than my baby sister attempted to not step on my face.
My face notwithstanding, she left the room to rampage downstairs and stuff.
I went back to sleep, attempting to recover my face from being stepped on.

That was my night. Also the only night in recent history I went to bed before 11 pm. That clearly means I can stay up past 1 am this morning. Right? (Wrong, Carina. You still have to function tomorrow.)

That's really it. A tsunami sort of came and my sister stepped on my face and everyone's good. I'm definitely not a zombie telling people I'm okay in an obvious attempt to lure people to the island so all of us who died and turned into zombies can eat your BRAINZZZ.

Not at all. :)

TSUNAMI POSTING!

Ok, that title gave this tsunami probably far more urgency and worry to all you who just read it than it hopefully deserves.

But yeah. Canada apparently decided to have an earthquake, which then got the ocean so mad that it decided it wanted to send waves of anger out towards my beautiful Hawaii.

Might I just say, not cool. Not cool at all.

Anyway, living out of the floodzone, I'm actually just ensconced in a little corner of my parent's room upstairs, where almost my entire family has gathered, except for those children who are asleep in their beds.

So, for all my family and friends reading this... yeah, we're safe. So far. But it shouldn't be that big, so barring an unforeseen huge wave, we'll survive.

This is what we do in a tsunami.

Get all the stuff we think we might possibly need and want to survive a possible flood. Except for the piano, because unfortunately there is no way to bring that upstairs.

Gather in our parent's room.

Convince the little children that we're not going to die.

I must fight the urge to run around screaming "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE IT'S A TSUNAMI ERMAGERSH."

Text all my loved ones.

Check all my social networking sites.

Eat food.

PARTAY TILL THE WAVE HITS OH YEAH.
(which it hasn't yet)

Find something ridiculous to argue about with my brothers.
"This is an intimate gathering."
"No, I definitely feel like this is more of a party."
"Intimate gathering."
"PARTAY."
"INTIMATE GATHERING."
"THIS IS A PARTAY BECAUSE I JUST TURNED ON THE PIANO GUYS AND SO THERE."

Write a blog post about this tsunami.

Then wait. Wait wait wait wait wait for this wave to come. Hey, ten minutes left. It'll all be good.

I love all of you.

Chapters of My Cookbook

Hello! It's been a while. I missed you guys.

Anyway, while I was doing my English 201 homework the other day (which involved reading a book, shockingly enough) I looked down at my bookmark and was relatively surprised at what it was.

It was a doodle(ish) from one Sunday during Relief Society in June. My mother and I had been trying to figure out a Father's Day present for my father, and we got excited and started coming up with chapter titles, which I then wrote down. (which is just another example of why me and scrap pieces of paper don't work well together if you want my full attention).

Anyway, most of them are amusing, and they tell funny stories about my family's eating habits. Bon appetit!

The Aldrich Family Cookbook.

Chapter 1: I Don't Know.
because sometimes you just don't know what's for dinner.

Chapter 2: Shut Up and Eat It (and you'll like it).
Classic Southern traditions.

Chapter 3: But of course You'll Like It! It's Your Favorite!
It was that child's favorite. Up until 3 seconds ago, when they saw they actually had to eat it.

Chapter 4: Anything But _________.
All the recipes will have bacon. Because everyone loves bacon.

Chapter 5: Where's a House-elf When You Need One?
sometimes I hate being a Muggle.

Chapter 6: I Am Not a Short-Order Cook!
except when we are.

Chapter 7: Go Ask Your Father.
alternate answer to chapter 1.

Chapter 8: Rice: The Saga.
no, but seriously. how much rice can one boy fit in his 5 year old body?

Chapter 9: That Would Be Great. Too Bad It's Frozen.
for rejecting suggestions made in chapter 1.

Chapter 10: "Breakfast for Dinner!" "Yayyy!" "Noooooooooo!"
oddly enough, only I and my father scream no.

Chapter 11: "Here. Let Me Help You." ~Dad.
he knows when you're in his kitchen. always. and he can't stop himself if he fears you're creating a culinary disaster.

Chapter 12: Alton Brown and the Dream of a Perfect Kitchen.
curse Good Eats. and unitaskers.

Divining the Bones

Well, earlier in my history class this week, we were studying Chinese history, and we were talking about oracle bones, and the role they played in the culture. What would happen, is the priests would take bones, usually the shoulder blade of a turtle, and inscribe upon it the question they wished answered by heaven. Then they'd shove the bone in a fire and read the answer by the cracks inflicted upon the bone by the heat.

So I thought, if I can play at reading palms for fun, surely I can play at reading oracle bones. So here, is my interpretation of the concerns and answers to those concerns of the royals in ancient China.

The question: Will the other-tribe-of-people-who's-name-must-not-be-mentioned attack us this summer?

Answer: Not if you do a peace dance in the middle of the river during winter solstice. 

Question: What should I get my daughter for her birthday? 

Answer: A pony. 

Question: Who should my son marry? 

Answer: Not that ugly hag of your friend's cousin.

Question: Should I attack during summer or wait until fall?

Answer: Didn't I already tell you to do the peace dance?

There you are. Divination.

Into the Wild- Thoughts on Nature, Man, and Whatever Else Comes Out of My Fingers

There is, I believe, a most intimate relationship between nature and humans. There is something about nature that inspires us, that calms us. It has an unmistakable effect on our bodies and souls. Nature, oddly enough, is a great revealer of the humanity of a person. In nature, we find ourselves as we can in no other setting.

I recently finished reading Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer. For everyone who hasn't read it, it details the journey of a young man named Chris McCandless. The journey, as you might expect, ends with him dying of starvation in the wilderness (or maybe you didn't expect it. now you know.). He abandoned his family, friends, and civilization to live on his own, surviving by the land. And he did so, until he got trapped by a flooded river and got sick and starved to death.

Chris was driven into the wild by many things: his rocky relationship with his parents, his stubborn independent streak, and his love of nature. Like the title of a book he idolized, he indeed felt the "call of the wild".

Many people have judged Chris' character because of this journey. Some admire him for his courage and ability to follow his dream and actually survive in the wild for over 100 days. Some despise him, to the point of pure vitriolic hatred. They call him selfish, say that his journey was comprised of using people, letting them help him and care about him, then running off and leaving them in the dust. They also say he had no respect for the land, and he died because of that, and he deserved it.

While I personally do not believe that he deserved death (to quote one of my favorite books: "Will you butcher them for stupidity? Stupidity is unfortunate, but it hardly deserves that kind of punishment.") I don't exactly condone what he did either. I can neither praise him nor condemn his actions. How can one condemn a man for following a dream, something he feels like he has to do to make his life worth living? But then again, how can you praise it when it caused so much grief and left permanent marks on the lives of those who loved you?

His own mother said, "Many people have told me that they admire Chris for what he was trying to do. If he'd lived, I would agree with them. But he didn't, and there's no way to bring him back. You can't fix it. Most things you can fix, but not that."

The words of one of my classmates also sends a message: "We're sitting here, decades later, analyzing,  judging this guy, deciding if the decisions he made were right or wrong. He's dead. We're judging a dead guy."

We all have our own journeys, our own wild to go to and confront. And this book, I think, illustrates well the danger of confronting life, and the need we all have to live our dreams and see life on our own terms.

Chris' wild literally was the wilderness... but what is your own? Would you survive your own encounter with your personal wild? Does death mean that you weren't victorious?

Think about it.

The "Look" Challenge

This is a little game I discovered while I was blog-stalking the other day. While technically, I didn't get tagged in it, it still looked like fun, so I decided to try it out.

The game is, to take the current manuscript you are working on, find the first instance of the word "look" and use the surrounding paragraphs as a book excerpt on your blog.

So, I went and looked at my manuscript, and discovered that "look" is actually the fourth word in my manuscript. (Technically, "looked" but it's still the same word.) This is very clearly the first chapter in the story Amber and I are writing.

Enjoy.

~

Director Mendez calmly looked at the irate young woman standing before him.

            “This is idiocy!” she exploded. “I’m the perfect candidate for this program, and you know it!” She flung the unsigned application on the desk before him. “Why did you reject me?”

“Because you’re too young,” Director Mendez said. “You don’t have the experience we need, and-“

“Because every time you look at me, you see Mamá,” the girl finished bitterly.

“Andrea,” he said, his tone stern. “That’s below you.”

“It may be below me, Padre, but it’s the truth.” Andrea said.

Director Mendez sighed.

“Papá,” Andrea pleaded. “Yo no soy mi madre. Soy mi.”

“Lo sé, hija,” he said, taking his daughter’s hand. “I know.”

She moved the application towards him. “Then sign it.”

Director Mendez hesitated. “Hija…”

“Papá,” Andrea touched his cheek. “This is my country. These are my people. Trust me.” She smiled at her father. “It’s in my blood.”

Director Mendez picked up a pen and signed the paper. “Te amo, Andrea,” he said. “Make me proud.”

School- After the First Day

Well, if you read my last post, you know that these past two days have been busy and stressful as everyone on campus is trying to get ready for school and get everything to work out and stuff.

And I have to say, we're all doing a fantastic job of it.

College is so much more different than high school.

I mean, duh, we already knew that. But I never actually realized just how much different from high school college was.

I took AP classes in high school, actually taking three of them in my senior year. I thought that was busy and stressful and hard work?

Yeah. I spent my entire day today either doing homework or in class. Or eating, because that's pretty important.

And that's from one day of class. It's such a high maintenance level of work to be prepared for my actual classes.

And I love it so much. From two days of classes.

I don't even have the words to describe how happy I am to be back in school again, and how happy I am that college is different from high school, and how happy I am to be here, at BYU-Hawaii. I have awesome teachers, and I am looking forward to working with my classmates.

I'm a nerd, and I love school. I love learning new things, and I love applying it to what I already know.

Like those little moments when I can explain the genetic modifications I use in my story because of my AP Biology class.

When I'm world-building, and I have to come up with governments and countries... AP Government and We the People.

The fact that I'm writing at the level I am. Lots of practice writing not only stories, but also all those analytical essays for AP Literature and AP Lang. As much as I hated those essays, I learned not only what was important in stories and literature, but also ways to put it in.

And just pretty much everything else. I am so super excited. I feel like a sponge, and I just want to drink all this in.

And on a completely unrelated note, today I discovered one of my little brother's Lego ninjas has Bieber Fever. Because college can't be all work.

Enjoy your day.

The First Day of College- Before School Starts

You are reading the post of a very stressed, very irritated, and very unprepared girl about to start her freshman year of college.

I don't know if I even need to say more words, but I shall. Because I like words.

I'm not so very unprepared, but it seems like everything is falling apart.

I can't connect to the sites online I need to connect to because the server for those particular sites happen to be down. I can connect to every.single.other.site. just not the one that I need to.

My schedule is very full, and running across campus to get to my classes on time is going to be fun.

I'm pretty sure also that this is the only place I can be surrounded by food and will likely starve to death because a) I will never have time to eat and b) when I do have time to eat, I will be in a not-eating state of working, and so will not want to eat.

So, if I don't get run over by cars and people today, I will starve to death. Either way, I'm going to die.

And don't get me started on procrastination. Class starts in an hour and look what I'm doing.

So..... I'm going to be off now. Hopefully something will start working or something and yeah.

College.

The Hobo Adventures: The Three Hoboteers

One fine fall morning, three friends found themselves on the internet.

Their names were Flo, Moe, and Zoe.

While on Facebook, Moe posted on Flo's wall.

"Flo. Have you heard the news? Hobo Joe's gone missing. No one's seen him for three days."

"What?" Flo replied, flabbergasted at the news. "Hobo Joe's gone missing? Where else am I supposed to get my chicken to go?"

"I don't know, but we have to find him," Moe said.

"Well, that's just a great idea, Moe," Flo said. "It would work great if I wasn't on the other side of the world, separated from you by an entire OCEAN."

"This is Hobo Joe we're talking about here!" Zoe butted into their conversation. "You're going to leave him missing, possibly dead, just because you can't swim across the Pacific Ocean?"

"Nor can I exactly hitchhike all the way across the country," Flo said.

"Guys, you forget where we are," Moe said. "We're on the Internet. You can do anything here."

"We could maybe even find Hobo Joe, if we work together," Flo said.

"Yes!" Zoe said. "We can become... the HOBOS OF THE INTERNET!"

"Ummm..." Moe said. "We'll keep working on a group name."

"Goodbye, Hobo Flo! I shall see you soon as well, Hobo Moe," Zoe said.

"We're not hobos," Flo said.

"Yet," Zoe said. "But we shall be."

From Four Years Ago to Now

It's that time of year. The election is coming up in a few months. I'm finally able to vote, to make my mark on American politics. 

I can still remember four years ago, when President Obama won the election. I was a freshman in high school. During his inauguration, our teachers repeatedly told us how historic this moment was, and that we were lucky to be living through it. 

I and my classmates even got to miss fifth period (math, YES.) to watch the inauguration. We all stared at the TV, watching this indeed historic moment. 

The moment didn't last long. Growing up as a Mormon in Georgia, I was surrounded by conservatives galore. Not long into the class, while we were still watching the inauguration, the whispers began. They weren't nice whispers. They were filled with hate and vitriol and only a slight willingness to have some respect for the President. They at least had the courtesy not to whisper while President Obama was being sworn in. But during every other part of the coverage, and well into the next couple classes, the whispering continued. 

It piqued me. What reason could my classmates possibly have to whisper about a President? We talked about it. They pointed out several of their moral disagreements with his policy ideas, and various other things they heard from their parents. There was also the birther arguments and Muslims and terrorist disagreements they had. 

I agreed with some of their arguments and disagreed with others. One thing I will always give my classmates at Central, we all had the ability to have at least civilized debates. If all else failed, we just agreed to disagree. Not to mention also the fact that most of their arguments they had gotten from their parents. I could forgive their arguments because of the fact that we were all young and hadn't quite formed our own political ideas. 

One thing we all agreed on. Obama was still the President. There was nothing we could do about it, except wait four years until we could vote. 

Imagine then, after my civilized discussions and debates with my classmates, when I got online a few days later and got on Facebook, where I saw adults, grown people whose opinion I trusted and respected, metaphorically shouting about how Obama getting elected would bring about the end of the world. 

I felt horrible. This was terrible. This... this was what our country had come to. Name calling, derogatory comments, and an irrational ability to shut out facts or the truth. 

I pointed out some of these comments to my mother, and asked her why people would do this. 

"Well, Carina, they're just stating their opinion."

"But... Mom... he's the President. And this isn't... there is nothing nice at all about this. He's the President!" 

"Some people just don't respect him." 

"I can see not respecting him as a person, or his policy, but... they should at least have respect for his office, if nothing else." 

"They should. But they don't." 

And the walls of my political innocence came crashing down. Here I was, a young girl, still in high school, looking at the adults around me while they tried to teach their children moral codes and how to act as a proper adult...

And the contradictions that presented themselves whenever they started talking about politics. They couldn't even walk their own moral high ground. 

I grew up. Time passed. I learned more about the intricacy of our government, our politics, our Constitution. I began discussing policy issues and the upcoming election with my parents and friends. I turned 18 and registered to vote. 

The whispers haven't stopped. The only difference is that now I have access to hear the whispers that come from both sides. And at times, they aren't even whispers. Sometimes they're shouts, and no one seems to be able to stop shouting long enough to deal with the actual problems. 

I despair for the future of our country. This behavior is juvenile and ridiculous. This lack of compromise will destroy us if we don't do something about it. 

Our country was created on some of the best examples of compromise ever. 

The Constitution wouldn't have been formed if there had not been compromise. 

Yes, compromise takes time. It takes hard work. It takes listening to both sides. 

IT TAKES GIVING SOME THINGS UP. 

The Constitution took months to create. In the middle of summer. With closed windows, no air conditioning, and far too many clothes to wear. 

Today's politicians have all year, heating and air conditioning, and well, in their opinion, probably still far too many clothes to wear. 

However, if this is what is getting in the way of compromise, I vote they all dress up in ridiculous clothes, lock themselves in a room, and not come out until every single problem is solved. 

In the middle of a humid summer. Or a blizzard. Either one would work. 

Or just locking them in a room together until they come up with a solution. If that is what it takes, I will be more than happy for them to do that. 

Because the alternative isn't nearly so pretty. At least, one of the several not-pretty alternatives, if we keep going the same way we are. 

I've told you before, Amber and I are writing a dystopian spy story. It's set several generations into the future. 

America doesn't exist several generations into the future. In the history of our story, Canada, with an intellectual aristocracy, saw what was happening to America, and the rest of the world. They had had enough of Americans being petty and always arguing and creating problems because our government stopped functioning. The political hatred and vitriol didn't lessen, it grew greater, and it was affecting the world because we couldn't function. 

So Canada bombed us. Destroyed us completely. Wiped us all out. We had grown so embittered in our hatred of someone on the opposite of an invisible political line that we as a people would no longer listen to reason. Force was the only way to deal with us. And that's what they did. 

And with that, all democracy in the world died. 

We need to stop this path of self-destruction it looks like we've managed to place ourselves on. 

I noticed in some of our local elections, that some of the nominees would advertise themselves as being able to work with both sides of the political fence. 

Politicians shouldn't need to advertise the fact that they know how to compromise. They should ALL be able to do that. 

I don't ask you guys to share my stuff often. Or, ever, I think. But this is something that's really important to me, and it should be important to all of you, no matter your political views. 

But please, share this post. 

Put it on Facebook. 

Twitter. 

Your own blogs. 

Email it to your friends. 

Send it to your representatives. Local, national, state. All of them. 

If you can even find a way to send it to Romney and Obama, more power to you, and please do. 

This lack of respect and lack of willingness to listen is tearing our country apart. I don't want to face a future where this problem has escalated to the point that we can't respect our leaders or function as a country. 

I still have some small faith in humanity left. It's eroded, and often overpowered by cynicism, but there's still a small part of that little freshman in high school who believes that people don't deserve unadulterated hatred. No matter what. 

A Mess of Books

You know you've done something right when this is your favorite mess.

I came into my room the other night to discover that my little brother had been 'reading' in my room. I didn't know the little kid could read all those books in the space of a couple hours.

He's trying to look innocent. Cute little boy. How does he know I can't say no to him playing with books?

I mean, how do you say no to that? Who am I to deny him the chance to read and go on literary adventures?

Have fun reading, little buddy. Even if it's only to escape cleaning up the mess you made. :)

Writing as a Calling

So, yesterday, my friend and I were talking and hanging out, when our conversation turned to our favorite topic--writing.

We were actually originally talking about her Korean drama she's obsessed with currently, and how she loves the main character. I pointed out to her that there's a very good chance he's married and has kids. Although I really don't have any idea.

She looked confused, before realizing that I meant the actor, not the actual character. Then we were talking some more, and I said, "You know, though, if your mom's book theory is correct, somewhere in the universe, that story does actually exist. They all exist."

She turns to me. "That's not very comforting, Carina. That means that all the horrible things I do to my characters is my fault. That means that somewhere in the universe, I'm creating terrible lives for these people."

But then I had a thought. It's not the first time I've had this thought, but it hit me again right there. "Well, actually, I don't think we actually do the horrible things to them," I tried to explain it to her. "It's like... we just see what happened to them. We get the privilege of seeing their lives and writing it down for others. We're sharing their story."

That thought was slightly more comforting to her. But... why? Why do we, as writers, get the privilege-the responsibility-of telling these stories? What is so important about the telling of stories? Why is it that I feel this need to write every single day of my life?

Then, somehow, our conversation turned to the topic of freedom.

"You know, Amber, Loki had a point, in the Avengers movie," I said. "We humans... we do naturally crave subjugation. We don't even think about it. As much as we say we want freedom, a leader shows up and takes charge, and we follow him. We're like sheep, we don't even think about it."

And that thought, the notion that even me, if someone were to show up, use some force on people, and scream at us to kneel and worship him, would kneel as well... it scares me.

"But there was that old man," Amber points out. "He stood up to Loki. And he was awesome."

"Yeah," I said. "But what if we don't have any awesome old men to stand up and remind us that we have our agency? The human race will just fall, because someone has incredible leadership power and we get so blinded by it we don't even question him."

"Well," she said slowly, "I think that's part of our job. That's what writers do. I mean, all the prophets are storytellers. It's always been that way."

It made sense to me. "Well, look at history. The reason we learn the lessons we do is because they tend to be told to us in stories. We remember stories."

"I think... I think writing.. to be a writer... is a kind of calling. It's not a hobby. It's not even an addiction. It's a calling. We need to tell these stories, so that we can remind everyone about life and everything else."

"Well, I mean, it's awfully selfish to write and not share it," I said. "You can't. I mean... it's not writing if you don't share it. It's just something you wrote. But... it's a story when you share it. And we... we have the power. To remind people. To be that awesome old man who stood up to Loki in the Avengers. We can remind people that they have agency, that they aren't the only ones who go through hard times, and that there's always a way back."

I'm still thinking about that conversation. Throughout history, storytellers have been both welcomed and condemned. Ever wonder why free speech is limited in so many countries without democracy? Leaders who rule their people without proper authority know--they fully understand-- the power of words. They know that it would only take one person--running on one story--to realize the truth of their lack of authority, and to challenge it.

For years, America didn't allow slaves to learn how to read and write. The slave owners knew the dangers of getting an educated slave. They might get all uppity with this freedom thing. Maybe challenge the status quo. And they were right. Education is a dangerous and powerful tool. Reading, stories, writing... they are some of the most powerful things humans can access.

In the story Amber and I are writing together, it's a dystopia. The common people--such as there are--have no idea what's going on with their government. Because their entire education has focused on accepting their governments without question, they don't question it. They fear it. But every once in a while, people do realize. And they fight back. (and then the government kills them all, but that's not exactly the point.)

History is written by the victors, and that might be a reason we don't learn well from history textbooks. History is never written by the losers who actually made the mistakes. We don't get to learn what they learned.

Words are powerful. They're some of the most powerful things I've ever dealt with. I've never felt more empowered, more in control, than when I'm sitting at my computer, writing. I have a message to share with the world. All writers do. We might not realize it when we're trying to figure out how to write the next chapter, or doing stupid things so we can accurately describe it in our stories. But we do.

And I just hope I can choose my words carefully enough.

The Hobo Adventures: A Hobo Walks Down An Alley

Hobo Joe stumbled as he stepped up on the curb, and looked down to see what had made him trip. Nothing was there but a white glove stained with blood.

Hobo Joe dismissed it. He wasn’t in the best part of town, and anything could have caused the bloodstain on the glove. If it was even a bloodstain. It could have been Kool-Aid. Or melted Jello. Or really red dirt. He shrugged, and continued on his merry walk towards his dumpster, where his cat was waiting for him.

“Hey, Hobo Joe!” Hobo Poe called out to him. “I got you some chicken!” A chicken dashed out of a trash can, running into an alley and disappearing.

“Looks like the chicken was to go,” Hobo Joe said, cracking a smile. It was his favorite joke, and he used it every single chance he got. 

“Sorry, Joe,” Hobo Poe said. “I’ll get back there and fetch the chicken again.”

“Nah, I got it,” Hobo Joe said. He followed the chicken back into the alley, where he was startled to find not a chicken, but two tall men blocking his way.

“Excuse me, mister,” one of the men said. “Could you tell me if this smells like chloroform?” He held up a rag.

“Well, I would be mighty glad to help you out, but I’m afraid I don’t know what chloroform smells like,” Hobo Joe replied politely.

“Trust me,” the other man said. “You’ll know.”

Hobo Joe shrugged. It looked like the chicken was long gone. “Might as well give it a try.” He leaned over and sniffed the rag. 

A Hobo Follow-Up

Well, dear people, it has occurred to me that you may be thinking my last post might just be missing the actual story part.

It's not. I haven't actually written it yet. That post was a teaser for later this week, when hopefully, I will get pictures and have the first story written. (Of course there will be more than one. Adventures is plural.)

So worry yourselves not. All shall be as it should.... eventually. :)

Honestly, I was just so excited about this project I had to share it with you immediately.

So keep reading, keep following, keep sharing with your friends, and I shall strive to entertain you with hobolike whimsies.