When It Rains...

This is personal, probably more so than anything I've written here to date. I just feel compelled to say something. It rained today. The skies clouded up and the rain fell, soaking the world below.

Rain is so unpredictable. It falls in buckets. There is no way to shelter the world from the drops descending rapidly from the sky. At least in the case of snow we are left with a soft layer of pureness, of white. But when the rain falls, no such beauty is left behind with us. Instead, we find ourselves with drenched clothes and dripping hair. And this time, as in any other time, the rain seemed to fall only for me, only to bring back all that it reminded me of and that I had tried to forget.

Rain is heartache to me and not only that, but it is the essence of what a breaking heart feels like. My heart broke while the rain fell. I wasn't ready for it. I was much too young. And yet, the rain didn't seem to care. I sat there that night and watched it fall, that first night when I was completely alone. But it wasn't the clouds or the darkness that compelled me to stare, but the thoughtlessness of the rain that fell. It did not seem to care whose life it would tread upon. All was fair game. And I cried that night as I realized that just like the rain, my life was breaking apart and falling to the ground just as those individual drops.

I don't mean to bring a spell of a melancholy kind to any reader who may read this at some point in the future, but I can't help it. The rain always reminds me of an April nearly five years ago... five years. The rain fell that night and so many afterwards as a thirteen year old girl tried to piece together the reality of death and loss and imagining the rest of her life without the one person that made hers worth living.

The rain has no compassion. It's likely the rain will make us stronger. It's probable that because of it, our lives will flourish into new possibilities that may not have otherwise existed. But once it falls, there is nothing that can take it away. And so much can be lost forever... so very much.

So I sit here and watch the rain falling in its peculiar way and a part of my heart aches. See? I promised many of my blogs would be of little or no interest to you. I simply felt compelled to write. To smile, I often sing. To smile, I often strum my guitar. But to feel joy and often alive again, I write!

It is still raining...

L-O-V-E

Love. It must be the most defined, analyzed, thought upon topic in the world today and maybe rightly so. People swear it off, pray for it to come, and feel just about everything in between about it. No one is immune from its grasp, however, even in the most wall-building soul.

I want to say right up front that I'm not only speaking of the marry me and share my name, ride into the sunset on my white horse, and I was never complete until I met you dear kind of love (yes, you know who you are). At least not singularly. I'm speaking about the love shared between family members, close friends, and often people you've met only a short while ago. When I was in the hospital on one occasion, there was a little boy who occupied the room next to me. Of course, I didn't know what he had but could see it was serious. He was only probably about six years old and already had yellowed skin. And apparently he had been admitted for three months when I came into the hospital. Did I love this little boy? Yes, and not only because we shared a wall or similarly horrible hospital food, but because my heart went out to him just as if he were my own child or nephew or brother. And what else is that but love?

So love, we know what it is. And yet, perhaps the eternal question of life is why do we set ourselves up for it? Even in the relationships in families or between friends, love always brings about heartache and pain. Love is the sole reason for people becoming lonely. If there were never any love, they would never know compassion and the joy of sharing time with another individual. So why do we continue to seek after it, even if we pretend not to? Even if we build these pretentious walls around us to somehow protect what we are, we still want it and are ready to snap it up when it comes our way, sooner or later.

We can't live without it. It is the force that keeps people in tune. They say that when you exercise, the number of endorphins increases in your body, making you happy and clear-minded. When we interact with others and share our lives with them, I believe the exact same thing happens, only on a hundred-fold scale. This blog has little purpose more than to assure the world that loving others, even if it means being separated from them, is so vitally important. Without it we are lost. If we lose that human connection we all share, we have little hope left. I take that back. We have no hope left. No Hope...

Whispers

Hello all!!! Okay, so at least hello to maybe the three that are following me, if that. Still, there is something theraputic about speaking to an unknown audience even if no one else is listening.

I really have the best news I ever thought possible. I am brainstorming and even starting to write my second novel!! And I'm not even talking about the sequel to Jhevalia, but a completely different book. I am sooooo enthusiastic about this new project. More importantly, I'm finally starting to feel like an author. At first, I was just the author of a certain story with characters I have been acquainted with for nearly five years now. But this proves that I have other ideas and could make a living thinking of new ones. I am just so thrilled.

In this new book entitled Whispers, I won't disclose too much except that it is a futuristic novel about government with a hint of fantasy and science fiction. I am so excited to write something this deep. It goes through the necessity of real, loving communication and the dangers of a all too powerful government. I cannot believe how exhilarated I am about writing this new story. And no, I have most definitely not forgotten about Jhevalia and my beloved characters. I just two days ago sent out another five queries. I have already received one negative response, but that still leaves the number at six left. I guess we'll see what happens.

I got accepted to BYU last Tuesday and have been on cloud nine since then. I'm so excited for college life. It's going to be amazing!!! The only sad part is that I wanted to major in creative writing, but they do not offer such a major. I suppose I will major in English with maybe an emphasis on literature. Not sure yet.

My Goal: To find a suitable agent before I start BYU in the fall. I'm simply not going to take no for an answer. I feel different now. It's like coming up with another book has proven that I am truly an AUTHOR!!!

And Here She Comes, Sporting Dry Wit and Bitter Habits

I think that when concocting the idea of creating a blog, I had this picture in my head of sharing all my woes and triumphs with my millions of readers (and... laughter) until one day I would find someone who loved my book, sold it to a publisher, designed a cover, and then the world would natually love my book and flock to the store just to get their very own copy. I'm beginning to realize that just may never happen. Perhaps the only readers of this blog will ever be me and the occcasional family member who decides to take a glimpse (I don't think any of them have read more than my first one).

Okay, so what to do with that information. How can I somehow learn a valuable lesson that makes all the heartache worth it? Yeah, I'm not so sure yet. I guess I've always gained hope from the fact that my book is the one thing I have never given up on. I have never even put it aside for more that five weeks. And even then I was thinking of it constantly. However, going for a dream in that concentration for nearly four years now is just so exhausting. Sure, there have been other things in my life, but I can't even begin to count the days when writing that book and gaining a future from it have been the only things getting me out of bed.

Dreams are exhausting. I can now understand why some people stay in their dead-end job. It's safer there and nothing can really hurt them. Sure, they may be discontented, but it's comfortable. And yeah, if anyone else really is reading this besides my family, you may not think I have any idea of what I'm talking about at the age of eighteen. And maybe I don't. Then again, maybe I'm aware of much more than is given credit to me.

I'm ranting. This I know. Then again, it is the exact reason why I started it to begin with. I need somewhere to share my heartache when I know it isn't always wanted to be heard by the people around me. Now, I'm not complaining. I just know, by the looks I get and responses I'm fed, that it's hard for them to be continually lifting my spirits and hearing constantly of my fears. I understand it really. I just wish someone would listen to my fears as validated. Yes, I know I have my life ahead of me. The only problem is I can't imagine doing anything else besides writing. I can't fathom leaving the house at seven and sitting at a desk until the world is as bleak as L. Frank Baum described Kansas in his book, The Wizard of Oz.

Okay, so all that was probably the bitter portion of my title. I am really not a bitter person, though. I love life in general. I love my family more than I could probably ever aptly describe. I love to laugh (and I usually do... often at practically nothing at all). I love meeting new people and seeing different places. I want to travel more than almost anything else when I get older. I have a great desire to see the Swiss Alps and the Eifel Tower. I long to go somewhere in the heart of Europe and get lost for a few months in the beauty and culture. Again, another reason why I need to get this book sold.

Okay, so the dry wit thing. I know I don't sound all that hilarious on print. I don't understand it really, but I'm actually quite amusing if you can get me in person. I love making people laugh. If I hadn't found writing as my ultimate passion, I just may have gone in the entertainment biz (I could have been a clown...). Now, even I'll admit. People often don't understand my humor. I'm slightly offbeat. Every once in a while, though, I can put people on the floor (quite literally).

Okay, so here's to this Sunday evening. I have nothing really more to say except that I check my email every ten minutes (I wish to goldfish I was exaggerating), praying that someone will have said something in return. I'd rather have a rejection at this point that stand any more of this waiting. I'M GOING CRAZY!! And here I leave you...

To Write Or Not To... nevermind

I spent two hours late into the night typing away at my computer, starting the first chapter of my second book. Now, this wasn't the most convenient of times. It was one o'clock in the morning and I had just spent the last two and a half hours watching Sherlock Holmes in the Fairbanks Regal Cinemas. But it was those quiet, early morning hours that brought me something special. I learned how to write again.

I have spent the better part of the last few months sending out queries, reading rejection form letters, and stressing about the ones still out there. Last night I remembered why I started writing in the first place. It's amazing actually. I regained all that I lost sight of over these last several months. Not only is the beginning of my second book very exciting and almost shocking, but writing about these people again is just like reacquainting myself with long lost family or friends. I love them. I root for them. I cry for them. I laugh at them. And yeah, it may seem odd to have such a close relationship with fictitious characters, but creating them, their habits and their passions, their stories and their struggles, all after people I have seen and known, even things I have experienced myself, it ties them to me irrevocably.

Alaska is cold, though that’s no surprise. It really is so strange being up here again. Even just sitting around the house is odd and going to church was even more bizarre. It’s almost like I have two homes now and each one I feel at ease in for different reasons. Living up here last year was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. I’ll tease about my life up here, sure, but only because there were a lot of adjustments I had to conform to. In all honesty, meeting these new people from other sides of the country was fantastic. I loved the new experiences and different ideas. The frozen, beautiful landscape was a great inspiration for my book setting. All in all, it was the place for me to be at that time. I loved living with a family, becoming a sister to my niece and nephews. I have never regretted my decision for one moment.

Okay, so that was a really long tangent there. This blog today really doesn’t have a point or maybe even a theme. It’s pretty much just a bunch of jumbled thoughts. Then again, if you have ever spent considerable time with me, you know how my head works.

So here’s to the new book. Here’s to BYU (who sent me my acceptance letter on Tuesday). Here’s to my future and dreams I hope to keep afloat while I continue through these next few years. I’m terrified and excited; chomping on the bit though a part of me is hesitant. My life is truly about to begin. This is it.

To Write Or Not To Write… maybe that really is the question.

Jolly Old St. Valentine... wait... uhhhh

Valentines Day. It's the center of great dispute that probably goes past any other holiday. There are those who hate it fervently, referring to it as a sick excuse to parade a relationship. On the other hand, there are those who love the chance to show how significant their other truly is.

My fondest memories (note the sarcasm) of Valentine's Day bring me back to life in Junior High. It's hilarious to remember all those little tiny people giving flowers and making promises. Then again, there were the others, people who at the mental age of two never had a girlfriend/boyfriend. To show their personal independent nature, they wore badges to proclaim to everyone that they were ignoring this heart-filled holiday.

I don't believe I take either side in this never-ending battle. I have fond memories of making valentines for my classmates in Elementary School. Everyone got one from everyone, in that way provoking no one to jump off a roof from lack of love and attention. On the other hand, perhaps this ooey gooey holiday is centered too much around those with boyfriends and girlfriends. And maybe all those people out there who feel alone and unloved from the lack thereof should take a minute and look around. Cut out some construction paper and make dorky looking valentines for your parents, your friends, your neighbors. Perhaps we should all make this holiday a time to remember the people we care about and those who care about us. We should remember all those who have pushed us to become what we are and who continue doing so for our future's sake... Heaven bless them.

On a post script note, I have still heard nothing from the other three who have my manuscript. "The Other Three". Now there's a phrase that chills me to the bone. In any case, maybe this really is the end of the road. I have already received an acceptance letter to BYU-IDAHO and BYU's is due (whether rejection or acceptance) next Friday. Maybe all of this is a sign that my writing should be put aside for a while. Maybe my future is calling and writing that book gave me everything I needed to answer. Maybe the act of writing this story has given me more than publishing it ever could. Maybe these things are true and maybe not. Either way, these thoughts have kept me sane through the many long, torturous months I've seen.

Happy Valentine's day... Happy year of 2010... Happy, Happy, Happy (Sometimes you've just got to repeat it over and over until it's an emotion you feel)

On Hands and Knees

Four rejection letters down. How many more to go? Can I even stand this process any longer? Ah, there's the true question. And I don't know the answer. With every no comes the very sharp reality that I may never find anyone who sees the potential in my book as I do. I may never find an agent who is devoted to my characters, concerned for their welfare, and swept away by the fantastical setting. And what will happen if I don't? Will I have the ability to simply shelve my manuscript and forget it's there? See? This is going to be a lighthearted posting today!

I dream about my characters, my world. They talk to me. And when I put them down on paper, they often seem more real than many things in this world. I sound crazy. I know. But I think that kind of connection is unavoidable when someone writes the way I do. With my imagination, I am swept away in a fantastical world that perhaps no one can truly understand as I do.

Okay, so that's the beautiful, imaginative part of writing a book. And now that it's over completely, I am forced to compete with the millions of authors in the same boat as I, trying ever so desperately to catch the eye of SOMEONE!!

Maybe I should start my second book. I mean, I've already planned it to do so at some point. I just always thought I would try to market the first one all I could before trying my hand at a sequel. But I just don't think I can handle this part of a writer's life. Does that mean I'll give up? No, at least not for now. I want to explore just a little more, see if I can tear up any more pieces of my heart before putting my manuscript on that little shelf that I spoke of earlier. Maybe I will start the sequel, providing that time allows for it. I'm itching to continue her story (my main character) as much as my own... through her.

That's all I have for today. Rejections, rejections, and more rejections. Maybe, though, I will someday find an agent and all this heartache will seem so unnecessary. Maybe I will even look back on these times and appreciate all I've learned from it. In any case, I'm not giving up quite yet. You haven't heard the last of me and so on and so forth.