The Bane of My Existence, The Thorn in My Side, The Pebble in My Shoe, The Fly in My Ointment (AKA... my book)

I can hardly stand it any longer. It's tortuous, day and night. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't stop dreaming about it. I actually have devised a world in which I cannot escape. I would love to have someone else consider my novel genius and offer to publish it for me... sure! But the chances of that actually happening are so slim I can hardly stand to think about the possibility anymore. What should I do? Well, the simplest thing to do would be to forget about it entirely. And believe me... I've tried.

I am literally haunted though by my book. It occupies a great deal more of my thoughts than I would like to admit. I love my characters, so much that it's agonizing to have to keep them secret. I want to share my story, for it is my story that I tell. I've written simply a fantastical morph of the life that I've seen, with some embellishment (if you know me, you see already I am so good at that in real life).

This is a rant and nothing more. But I honestly can't stand the way my book stalks me. It will be something I will always love. I know that. But until I can share it, I don't think I'll ever be able to just let go. (I already know that's what a lot of people expect me to do. They think because I'm young that this is a phase. It is no phase. They are polite sure, but most (even many in my family) don't really believe I have a shot at the presses. And maybe they're right...)

Discouraged? Yes, but mainly because I recently received a rejection note saying this agent just wasn't drawn to the sample pages she requested. She dismissed me through boredom. I'm just trying to rebound now. I really do feel like one of those old single women who at the age of sixty nine lives with twenty cats. I'm talking about the women who always put themselves out there, but are constantly rejected. No one wants them. That's what it feels like to be in the "slush pile" (another idiotic agent/author/publisher/writing world term). Goodnight, America!!

Jhevalia

Lesylia Grey was eight years old when her mother sent her running through a dark forest all alone. The next morning found Lesylia asleep in a meadow and her parents dead in their car from a supposed crash. No one could explain it and no one tried.

Now, on the brink of her eighteenth birthday, Lesylia is being thrown to one more relative and returning to the place where it all happened, the cold landscape of a small Alaskan town. But living in the darkness takes its toll.

Dreams begin invading her mind, presenting five oddly dressed beings that, like her, all have sparkling silver eyes. Reality though will take a turn when her dreams come to life, revealing a magical race, one to which she belongs, one from which her parents ran away, and one that now needs her help.

With the five others in her coven, Lesylia must come to an understanding of the power that rests in her blood, the reality she sees in her dreams, and the dark secret of her mother’s locket. Lesylia must lead an army into Jhevalia to fight against The Order, her parents’ murderers, to save her own mortal world from complete annihilation.

But as they near the battleground, Lesylia’s psychic power foretells the brutal slayings of every member in her coven and she is left with a choice. What would she be willing to sacrifice to save them?

Query Shark

I was so naive at the beginning of this process. I thought to myself... Self, I will write a book and spend every waking moment on it for nearly four years, send it to a publisher and spend my days looking through glass windows at my name in print!! Okay, so while I was not quite that optimistic, I certainly didn't think I would go for nearly eight months of standard form rejection letters. Enter query shark.

I read about query shark in this month's Writer's Digest magazine. I was so excited. Janet Reid is a literary agent at Fineprint Lit based in New York City. Well, apparently she hosts a blog for young hopefuls such as I who all too often receive standard form rejection letters as opposed to actual replies. On her blog, you can submit you query letter and she will slash it to pieces (literally... there is a reason her blog is called Query SHARK!!!). I have not submitted my query letter as I am a 100%, born and raised coward, but reading all the posted shreds of query letters and her responses has made me re-organize my own quite a bit.

For anyone who has ever considered getting ANYTHING published (in which case you really will need a query letter), I URGE you to visit her blog here.

Moments of Grace

Ah, more philosophy!!! It seems to me that all I spout on here is moments of realization and my own personal eyes on the world, life, and just about everything else connected with it. I can't help it though. Here is my outlet, so if this doesn't interest you, shield your eyes or click off the screen (flip the switch).

The last few weeks have been dark, which is probably why it has been so long since my last post. Then again, maybe if I had posted something more recently, things would have seemed less horrible. In any case, things were bad. I had been to countless doctors, trying to figure a few things out. And while the sun was beginning to shine more brightly and the trees and flowers were blooming once again, I felt myself coiling into the darkest corner I could find. Everything has been attacking me lately, even such benign things as deadlines, money (I should probably say the lack thereof), my future, and my past. Saturday was the anniversary of my mother's death (though anniversary just doesn't seem like the applicable word here).

Every year around this time, when life again is forming and the sun stays up longer and the crickets chirp louder and the birds begin to sing early in the morning, I can't help but think of her. The late warm evenings bring to recollection every old memory of barbecued chicken out on the trampoline when my dad was out of town. And while these memories are all so very sweet, they leave a sharp pain somewhere inside my heart that continually throbs.

These things were invading my mind constantly over the past few weeks, making my heart throb like never before and leaving numerous tear drops on my pillow at night. I was in constant, tangible pain. And then I took a picture, one picture that changed it all. I never take pictures... ever... so it was a rare occasion for me to use this feature on my phone, but I was playing with my cute niece and felt it was important that I capture the moment. Sitting on my lap, she looked up into the camera with me as I took several hurried shots.

I looked at those pictures for probably fifteen minutes after taking them, moving from one to another constantly until I had every image burned into my brain. As I looked into my eyes, it was almost as if I could see a part of her there, like I was reflecting her in some way from me. Now, I don't look like my mom. At least, I never really thought so. And that has always killed me inside because of all things, I have always wanted to be reminded of her when I looked in the mirror, see some part of her in my eyes or mouth or chin. And on the fifth anniversary of her passing, sitting on my grandmother's front porch with my little Trish, I saw something.

I doubt if anyone would see what I saw when looking at those pictures. I highly doubt that there really is any similarity captured in that photo. Nevertheless, I was shown this for a reason, like she was reaching out herself to comfort my throbbing heart. It's as if she was reminding me that I have the potential to be everything she was: open, kind, loving, emotional (it's a gift), brave, and so very tough. I have the ability to become that way inside of me... Me!

I was reading a portion of my book the other day when a short passaged jumped out at me. I mean, it flew from the page.

“But then, in the most unexpected of times, we find those small redeeming moments of grace, shadowy glimpses of bliss. And though small and often far spaced apart, those moments make everything else bearable. There are even times when the joy is so profound that we would gladly take on anything more just to keep it a little while longer.”

I have felt my share of pain, but it will only make the joy more sweet. I deal with daily regrets and heartache, just like anyone else out reading this right now. And I can pack my pain around with me on my shoulders, using it to push others away and causing misery everywhere I go. Yes, that is an option. Then again, I could use it to brighten my life. I could use it to appreciate every smile I create or every laugh I can utter. I can use it to bring myself to the kind of person I want to be: kind, loving, joyful, compassionate, and emotional (I was once told that I have the ability to cry over things that matter to me. Believe me. I already have this one down!!)

This one picture on the SIM card of a cell phone was MY redeeming moment of grace, my shadowed glimpse of bliss. Through all the sadness and pain, I was given a gift beyond measure. I was given love.

On Faith and Believing

Often, I find myself looking for proof that a loving Heavenly Father exists. Unfortunately, in my head, this sometimes means that I start telling myself how this is my time. I've dealt with things, horrible things, and so naturally this is my time to get what I want, what I need. In some ways, I know this is a small part of why I've really put all my effort into finding an agent. In my head, I'm thinking this is finally going to be my break. A montage flashes across my mind of me accepting publishing offers and feeling the joy of writing and the satisfaction of sharing it with the world. And for some reason the Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head song is always my backup music, though that is nearly unimportant.

There is so much in this world that frightens me. On a global level, I cannot even begin to detail the crazy, awful things happening in today's world. On a personal level, I'm fearful that all the heartache I've felt will mean nothing in the end. See, I try to figure out in my head why all this happens to me. However, because I do not posses divine knowledge, I can't see that far ahead. On a personal level, I see the people around me dealing with their own lives as well that are all too often full of the same pain and uncertainty. On a personal level, I fear living in this world where so many live to hate and tear each other down. On a personal level, I'm scared I will waste my life away believing I am one thing when I am another completely. And yes, I know that again I'm making absolutely no sense.

So why do I read my scriptures and kneel in prayer? Why do I continue to attend church and sing hymns about love and peace and redemption? I could not answer in any way that would prove anything or make sense to anyone but myself. Feelings cannot be shown on paper on even written eloquently enough in this instance to describe just what I mean. But I know without a shadow of a doubt that He lives and has a plan for me. I have seen time and time again flashes of understanding, moments when even I can see a reason for a certain trial, for a necessary task.

I read books. I watch movies. I talk to people. And I cannot begin to comprehend the torture of living without any faith in a plan, in a God, in a loving being who watches over us and perhaps even cheers us on at times. And I should really be content to live the rest of my life in failure because I DO know that He lives. And I would not trade that knowledge for any number of published novels or Pulitzer prizes (Just for the record, however, I would be willing to take both).

A few chapters into my second book in the Jhevalia series, one of my characters asks the other if they believe in a divine creator. In response, the other looks out at a beautiful living world and responds that he doesn't know, but imagines sometimes that there is a reason and an explanation for the beauty that surrounds them all, for the glory of living and laughing and crying and loving.

In conclusion, I would like to list the things that I KNOW:

I KNOW:

Heavenly Father lives
He has a plan for me
He has a plan to use me for the benefit of others
There are angels watching over me
Oftentimes, my dreams are much more than just that... dreams
The scriptures will be a guiding tool for the rest of my life
There is really so little that separates us from those beyond the veil
We are given people in our lives at certain times to catch us when we fall

That which is good never ends... not really... not life and certainly not love

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...