Me and Writing... How it all Began

I can't even remember the first time I heard the story of Scheherazade, but I do remember the fascination I had with the whole concept. In case you're not familiar, Scheherazade is the tale of a Persian king, who every night would marry a virgin. After their wedding night together, the King sent his newly wedded bride to be beheaded. A thousand young women he married and slaughtered in this fashion. (You'd THINK that some of those girls would pull a Julia Roberts, tie up their tennis shoes, and run away... but okay). 

Then he met Scheherazade. Against her father's wishes, Scheherazade volunteered to spend a night with the King. (Gotta love the self-destructive types). When she was ushered into the King's chambers, she began to tell him a story. But she stopped only halfway through as the sun began to rise. The King was anxious to hear the rest, so he spared her life one more night so she could finish the tale. But the next night, Scheherazade told the King another story, even more fascinating than the one before. 

This went on for some time. In fact, a thousand and one nights (and a thousand stories) passed until Scheherazade finally told the King she had no more tales to tell. But by then, the King had fallen madly in love with her and made her his Queen. 

Now, just as a disclaimer... I'm not necessarily advocating a husband-finding technique for all you story-minded girls out there. 

But here was the cliffhanger born. 

I've always loved the fascination that comes with a really great story. I know all of you readers out there have found those books that you can't bear to put down; reading every last word as though it were with your last breath. And even you TV-lovers, movie goers, theater majors (see? I don't discriminate), you know the power of strong characters, finely crafted plots, and excellent writing. THAT'S what writing has always been about for me. Finding the stories that bring people to betterness (it's not a word, but go with me). 

To take an adventure.

To share an idea.

To rally for the victory of a beloved character.

To find the ability to better ourselves.

To inspire!

To envelop!

To imagine!

I cannot adequately describe the thrill of creating a name, a physical description from thin air. And then, rather suddenly, that physical description takes shape; an expression appears from the otherwise empty face. A personality emerges from the background of the character's past. And that singular (and rather fictional) being suddenly has more than a name... but a sort of spirit. 

Through that character, you take flight.

You discover the world.

You change the world... even if only in print. 

This may make no sense to some, maybe to most. But every idea began with a word. Every persuasion (both good and evil) started with a thought. 

And for me, the mission of capturing those thoughts, words, and actions into thought-provoking scenes... THAT is the ultimate goal. To create something that could live in the hearts of many and change the life of even one.

THAT is what I desire to do. 

And maybe someday I will be granted that ability.

The Wonderfulness, Splendidity-ness that are Mothers

No matter how the definition of a mother changes in the world, my heart will always look to the amazing woman who gave me life, who kissed my tears away, who took on my problems and concerns as her own; that is what a mother is to me.

If you've known or had a mother like I did, she's the most beautiful woman in your eyes. And not because she studiously applies her makeup every morning, or because she wears the nicest clothes. It's not about the length of her lashes or the height of her heel.

She radiates love and warmth and safety. Her arms are always open and wherever she is is a place of safety. I remember times as a child sitting in my mother's room talking with her, or lying in bed reading with her; and in those moments I knew I was completely safe and wholly loved.

I'm so grateful to my mother for everything she gave to me, and everything she gave up for me. Most importantly all the time she gave to me; time she well could have used for other things. But my mom was there. She was present. At every recital, at every music lesson, through every emotional crisis (like what socks I could possibly wear now that my purple ones were dirty), every day picking me up from school (even though usually a little late).

Though taken away from me early, I realize how much of her I got; and for that I am truly grateful.

For a woman who had four children closely spaced together (the first of whom was born when she was only twenty), I can't fathom how she managed to raise them. And then, I came twelve years after my closest sibling, and when my mom was in her late thirties. So it's needless to say that my mom was always a mother. And in my eyes, there was no one better at it.

Mom, I miss you more that I could ever express; so much sometimes it just hurts. You have always been the woman I'm trying to become, and sometimes it seems as though I'll never find my way to who you were (and still are).


I spent the majority of the day today looking through old pictures and trying to piece together what my mother was like at my age. And this is what I found. A beautiful woman, inside and out.

Um, yes. I do believe she's pouring a drink down her future husband's back. Go mom!

Ha, I love it! My dad's dancing with my mom's roommate, and she's just giving him the eye. 

Happy Mothers Day, everyone. I'm grateful for all the amazing mothers that I've had an opportunity to know in my life. From neighbors and ward members who have pretty much adopted me all the way to my sister Jen, who just recently became a mom herself. And of course my other sister, Melanie, who has been the best example of what a mother is in my adult life and what it means to love and be there for your kids.

Just one more thing. If you are able, tell your mom what she means to you. Don't let the opportunity pass you by. She deserves it!

Blessed

Life is just a struggle!

There are no methods of using the English language to describe this living that we do without recognizing that much. Life is hard. It tests you until you're bleeding and submissive. But what arrogant, narcissistic, (I'm not going to swear here, though I feel it's almost necessary) idiots would we be could we live without all of this? What kind of connections would we form without the ability to be humbled and open?

I feel that, though young, and sheltered compared to others' experiences, I've been through a lot. I've suffered so much heartache, so much pain (both physical and emotional). I've watched people I love leave me, people I needed be taken from me. There have been nights when I've prayed only to sleep without the images of my life haunting me throughout the night. I have felt abandoned. I have been alone. But here is what I've concluded.

My losses have made me acutely aware of others' pain.

I have sobbed openly into the arms of my sister, who said little but held me with a strength I could only describe as love.

I have watched other people, and have seen a glimpse of what my life would be like without the gospel; how completely hopeless this all would seem. It has enabled me to cling to my Savior with every ounce of strength I have left.

I have felt angels surround me. I have seen miracles; been witness to the great rewards of prayer and fasting. And without a bone in my body hesitant with doubt, I know that every single tear I've cried has been necessary. Everyone I lost, every chance I missed, every night I went to sleep dreading the ongoing progression of the mornings to come... every hour spent in misery was meant to prepare me; like a customized training manual, giving me everything I need to finish out my life in perfection.

I know this is starting to sound preachy, but I write here what I know; it's all I'm truly able to do. I believe that  everything in my life is preparing me for a future that I can make a happy one; I can make it the most joyous of lives. But it's my decision. I could wallow; I've done that. I've wallowed, and I've wailed; I've even almost got the whole gnashing of teeth thing down pretty well (Apparently I grind my teeth in my sleep). But life isn't meant to be hell. Life is meant to be wonderful. And no, I guess I can't say exactly how wonderful it's supposed to be. In comparison, I've only started living.

But I know that the depth of sorrow and pain is nothing compared to the depth of joy and happiness we can feel. And it's the difference that counts.

If I felt no pain, how could I enjoy the moment it ended?
How could I revel in the moment when I made it stop?
How could I feel that rush of joy when I defeat the darkness?

I am so blessed. In the midst of struggle, I have my family; I have amazing friends who have been with me through my entire life. I have new friends who I'm able to share my usual dysfunctional moments with of everyday life. And I have change.

I used to dread change. It hung over me like the blade the guillotine waiting to fall. But now I wait for it excitedly. My life could completely change in a matter of months. I could move somewhere far away. I could start a new, exciting job. I could welcome into our family a new little nephew (which I have luckily been able to do already this year).

Percy Bysshe Shelley said in a poem that I love dearly. "Naught may endure but mutability."

Nothing ever stays the same but the fact that things will always be changing.


This post went in a way I wasn't even expecting, and I don't believe that it really has a conclusion to speak of. But since when does real life (no, that does not include reality tv) have a conclusion? Any sense of finality?

So in a sense...

Friendship Never Ends!!!

Ali. Shae. Washburn.

This post is for you.

I get on Facebook the other day to see I have a notification pending, that Ali has posted a link on my wall. Come to find out it's a link to her blog. (Ah, this is sneaky, I think to myself. What a tricky way to get people to read your blog; just post the link to their actual wall. I mean, who wouldn't after you make such a personal request?) So I click on the link and begin to read one of the sweetest things anyone has ever written for me. Ever. She talks about how I do so much for other people, listing off a few rides I gave to the airport at horrible times of the morning or at night, as well as a few other things. But Ali, you failed to mention a few things in your blog post, so I think I need to set the record straight, if only for your own ears. 

Yes, I gave two people rides to or from the airport. I took someone up at 4:30 in the morning, and then picked someone up at midnight. Well, do you know who rode in the passenger seat the entire way? Yep, Ali came along for the ride, at both of these dreadful times of the night (no, 4:30 does not constitute morning in any way). Just so I wouldn't have to make the trip alone. Should I go on? Yes, I believe I will. 

So the night before I have to wake up at 4:30 to drive my dad to the airport, I have to close the law library, meaning that I am there until 12:30 am. Ali not only showed up to visit me, but brought me diet coke and stayed to keep me company until I was able to lock up and go home! I mean, really; how many people would do that? And then she woke up with me three hours after we had gone to bed to drive someone up to the airport she was not at all responsible for taking. 

Okay, so these are just a week's worth of stories of the friendship that you, Ali, have shown me. And yes, now I'm talking to you. Because no one reads my blog. Also, I plan on posting this on your FB wall, so you have no choice. You have been an open ear to listen to me rant, an open mouth to encourage me to be better (yes, I did call you an open mouth, but in a really nice way... and I mean, come on. You aren't exactly the quiet, shy type.). You have seen everything bad in me through the years, and have still managed to support me and make me feel worth something. 

Though we may not have been close through all our fifteen years living next door to each other, I see you in the memories of nearly every joyful and painful significant event in my life. And I hope to have you in many more. Yes, this entire post is corny and so sickeningly sweet, that it would "make anyone an instant diabetic" (yes, that's a GGirl quote). But it had to be said. If only to brag how lucky I am to have a friend like you!! (Okay, now I'm thinking Aladdin and the genie singing the whole song. You know, "you ain't never had a friend like me!". Okay, tangent over.) Love ya, Ali!

Those Schoolgirl Days

It's been one of those weeks; where all I want is someone to give me the tightest hug (you know, the ones that cut off your oxygen supply and make you feel wrapped in the warmest of blankets) and tell me what to do. It's just been one of those weeks.

Grief awakens at the oddest of hours. Nearly seven years ago, when my mom passed away, that same grief festered inside of me; it gnawed at my heart and destroyed everything I'd thought to be true. I was the kind of thirteen-year-old who still believed in magic; not the Santa Claus kind, but more the idea that all stories ended happily. I truly believed that every river in my path had a bridge, and that every bridge led somewhere more beautiful than the places I'd already been. I knew, in my heart and to the very depths of my soul, that she would recover. I had every confidence in the fact that I would ride Thunder Mountain with her at Disneyland again; that she would take my hand and race to ride it one more time before the park closed. These are the things that I knew, and these are the things that weren't true.

The grief was ever-present. It hovered over me like a heavy rain-cloud, drenching my cheeks in tears and striking my heart with stabbing pain. But I survived, and most days I couldn't tell you how. And it took years and years of trying desperately to live to finally get to a point where I feel happy, where I can deal with the life in front of me with hope and something resembling excitement. But then come those striking moments where I'm hit with a big decision, a momentous life experience, a rite of passage, a first, a last, and all I want is her; I want her to experience them with me. I want her advice, her luminous smile, and more than anything her arms wrapped around me.

I feel as though I'm failing in life; failing my education, failing at my job, and even failing my family. It is nothing I could ever describe to the satisfaction of my own mind. Logically, I know that I'm walking in the footsteps I should be walking in. I know that going to school, having a mindless part-time job, and living on my own are things that I should technically be doing. But when has my life ever fit into the mold  of what is considered "normal"?

If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?

What I write in these posts is very similar to the tree that falls alone. I write and vent and think out things in my own mind, and push a bright orange button labeled "Publish Post", yet no one (at least to my knowledge) actually reads the things I write out. But even so, I feel as if I shared it with someone. It's almost the feeling that I get when I pray (I hope that doesn't sound too sacrilegious). I know no one physically can hear the words I speak, yet I feel a peace about giving them to the One that really counts. For me, writing is learning. I understand the things that race around my head in a frenzy when I sit down and type them out on the keyboard. It's as though I finally understand what I'm actually trying to say.

Things I Know

(1) I am blessed
(2) Life is a struggle
(3) Pain is real
(4) So is joy