There was a girl I knew
Who found herself saddened, yet wise,
So after a couple of heartaches
She bound up her heart in ties.
At first it seemed to give relief,
No ache or sting in her chest,
But a heart of stone only has so long
Before it is not at its best.
Slowly but surely, the form fell away
Smoothing the edges and corners,
Until there was only a rock in the cavity there,
With no one left to mourn her.
One day my friend with the heart of stone
Met someone unlike any before.
And then a new ache started up in her chest
One she thought would be there no more.
Her awakening was painful, as the rock
Was chipped and reformed back into a heart
Yet my stone-hearted friend couldn't feel again
As she and love through the rock, were kept apart.
(Alternate, happy ending, replace last stanza with:
Her awakening was painful, as the rock
Was chipped and reformed back into a heart.
So my stone-hearted friend and her found-again feeling
Were never again to be apart.)
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Merry Christmas.
Wow, I haven't posted in a while. It's been hectic. Sorry.
I just wanted to say (as I won't be on tomorrow or Christmas) that I wish you all a very Merry Christmas. I am reminded almost every day of the kindness and giving present at this time of year. And though the sentiments of Christmas have been said "many times, many ways", I feel that the words of Jeffery R. Holland sum it up best, as he references both the holy account of the Christ child's birth found in the Book of Luke, and Dr. Seuss' childhood classic, How The Grinch Stole Christmas. He says:
"You will recall from Dr. Suess’s holiday “horror” story, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, that the devilish Grinch determined to rob Who-ville of every holiday treat. In a nefarious scheme in which the Grinch dressed as Santa himself, he moved through Who-ville taking every package, tree, ornament, and stocking.
We now come upon him as he leaves the city, chuckling to himself in delight over the pain he will have caused children like little Cindy-Lou Who.
Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Crumpit,
He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!
“Pooh-Pooh to the Whos!” he was grinch-ish-ly humming.
“They’re finding out now that no Christmas is coming!
“They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll do!
“Their mouths will hang open a minute or two
“Then the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry Boo-Hoo!
Part of the purpose for telling the story of Christmas is to remind us that Christmas doesn’t come from a store. Indeed, however delightful we feel about it, even as children, each year it “means a little bit more.” And no matter how many times we read the biblical account of that evening in Bethlehem, we always come away with a thought—or two—we haven’t had before.
'And she brought forth her firstborn son, and [she] wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and [she] laid him in a manger.' (Luke 2:6–7.) Those brief pronouns trumpet in our ears that, second only to the child himself, Mary is the chiefest figure, the regal queen, mother of mothers—holding center stage in this grandest of all dramatic moments. And those same pronouns also trumpet that, save for her beloved husband, she was very much alone.
I have wondered if this young woman, something of a child herself, here bearing her first baby, might have wished her mother, or an aunt, or her sister, or a friend, to be near her through the labor. Surely the birth of such a son as this should command the aid and attention of every midwife in Judea! We all might wish that someone could have held her hand, cooled her brow, and when the ordeal was over, given her rest in crisp, cool linen.
At this focal point of all human history, a point illuminated by a new star in the heavens revealed for just such a purpose, probably no other mortal watched—none but a poor young carpenter, a beautiful virgin mother, and silent stabled animals who had not the power to utter the sacredness they had seen.
Shepherds would soon arrive and later, wise men from the East. Later yet the memory of that night would bring Santa Claus and Frosty and Rudolph—and all would be welcome. But first and forever there was just a little family, without toys or trees or tinsel. With a baby—that’s how Christmas began.
It is for this baby that we shout in chorus: “Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the newborn king! … Mild he lays his glory by, Born that man no more may die: Born to raise the sons of earth, Born to give them second birth.' 'Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! ‘Maybe Christmas,’ he thought, ‘doesn’t come from a store.’”
(full Christmas address may be found at http://lds.org/ensign/1977/12/maybe-christmas-doesnt-come-from-a-store?lang=eng)
With that, Merry Christmas, and a very happy New Year.
I just wanted to say (as I won't be on tomorrow or Christmas) that I wish you all a very Merry Christmas. I am reminded almost every day of the kindness and giving present at this time of year. And though the sentiments of Christmas have been said "many times, many ways", I feel that the words of Jeffery R. Holland sum it up best, as he references both the holy account of the Christ child's birth found in the Book of Luke, and Dr. Seuss' childhood classic, How The Grinch Stole Christmas. He says:
"You will recall from Dr. Suess’s holiday “horror” story, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, that the devilish Grinch determined to rob Who-ville of every holiday treat. In a nefarious scheme in which the Grinch dressed as Santa himself, he moved through Who-ville taking every package, tree, ornament, and stocking.
We now come upon him as he leaves the city, chuckling to himself in delight over the pain he will have caused children like little Cindy-Lou Who.
Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Crumpit,
He rode with his load to the tiptop to dump it!
“Pooh-Pooh to the Whos!” he was grinch-ish-ly humming.
“They’re finding out now that no Christmas is coming!
“They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll do!
“Their mouths will hang open a minute or two
“Then the Whos down in Who-ville will all cry Boo-Hoo!
Part of the purpose for telling the story of Christmas is to remind us that Christmas doesn’t come from a store. Indeed, however delightful we feel about it, even as children, each year it “means a little bit more.” And no matter how many times we read the biblical account of that evening in Bethlehem, we always come away with a thought—or two—we haven’t had before.
'And she brought forth her firstborn son, and [she] wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and [she] laid him in a manger.' (Luke 2:6–7.) Those brief pronouns trumpet in our ears that, second only to the child himself, Mary is the chiefest figure, the regal queen, mother of mothers—holding center stage in this grandest of all dramatic moments. And those same pronouns also trumpet that, save for her beloved husband, she was very much alone.
I have wondered if this young woman, something of a child herself, here bearing her first baby, might have wished her mother, or an aunt, or her sister, or a friend, to be near her through the labor. Surely the birth of such a son as this should command the aid and attention of every midwife in Judea! We all might wish that someone could have held her hand, cooled her brow, and when the ordeal was over, given her rest in crisp, cool linen.
At this focal point of all human history, a point illuminated by a new star in the heavens revealed for just such a purpose, probably no other mortal watched—none but a poor young carpenter, a beautiful virgin mother, and silent stabled animals who had not the power to utter the sacredness they had seen.
Shepherds would soon arrive and later, wise men from the East. Later yet the memory of that night would bring Santa Claus and Frosty and Rudolph—and all would be welcome. But first and forever there was just a little family, without toys or trees or tinsel. With a baby—that’s how Christmas began.
It is for this baby that we shout in chorus: “Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the newborn king! … Mild he lays his glory by, Born that man no more may die: Born to raise the sons of earth, Born to give them second birth.' 'Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before! ‘Maybe Christmas,’ he thought, ‘doesn’t come from a store.’”
(full Christmas address may be found at http://lds.org/ensign/1977/12/maybe-christmas-doesnt-come-from-a-store?lang=eng)
With that, Merry Christmas, and a very happy New Year.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
A Note to All Aspiring Writers
If what you write is what you think,
And words and feelings are in sync,
Then listen to some small advice,
Before you throw that artsy dice.
Be careful what you put in print,
'Cause it if has a tiny tint
Of what must ever not be said,
The public, then, will have your head.
Beware, beware the fresh and new
Avoid the red line or your own skew
Comply and don't forget, conform,
To what is called the social norm.
Accept what is pushed down your throat,
And to the public eye devote
The tired ramblings of thoughts long thought,
You'll never write just what you ought.
For when you're thinking for yourself
You'll find your book put on no shelf
Be careful not to be unique;
It doesn't matter what you think.
BEHIND THE POEM:
I see so many books on bookstore shelves that, if not for their glitzy covers, would be sold as the same book. There is nothing original about them. All are about A. Vampires B. Werewolves or C. Vampires and Werewolves. It's tiring trying to find a book not in a series that I've already started. And what's more, 90% are trash. They aren't original, they aren't well written, and they most definitely aren't worth the paper that they're printed on. Do I have a problem with supernatural books involving supernatural creatures? No. One of my favorite series, The Mortal Instruments, uses this a main part of their world. The difference is, is that the story behind (or rather, in front of) the creatures is interesting, engaging, and well written. So please, take my poem as the satire it is, and think up original ideas.
---inspired by National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)---
And words and feelings are in sync,
Then listen to some small advice,
Before you throw that artsy dice.
Be careful what you put in print,
'Cause it if has a tiny tint
Of what must ever not be said,
The public, then, will have your head.
Beware, beware the fresh and new
Avoid the red line or your own skew
Comply and don't forget, conform,
To what is called the social norm.
Accept what is pushed down your throat,
And to the public eye devote
The tired ramblings of thoughts long thought,
You'll never write just what you ought.
For when you're thinking for yourself
You'll find your book put on no shelf
Be careful not to be unique;
It doesn't matter what you think.
BEHIND THE POEM:
I see so many books on bookstore shelves that, if not for their glitzy covers, would be sold as the same book. There is nothing original about them. All are about A. Vampires B. Werewolves or C. Vampires and Werewolves. It's tiring trying to find a book not in a series that I've already started. And what's more, 90% are trash. They aren't original, they aren't well written, and they most definitely aren't worth the paper that they're printed on. Do I have a problem with supernatural books involving supernatural creatures? No. One of my favorite series, The Mortal Instruments, uses this a main part of their world. The difference is, is that the story behind (or rather, in front of) the creatures is interesting, engaging, and well written. So please, take my poem as the satire it is, and think up original ideas.
---inspired by National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo)---
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Reflections While Sitting on a Curb
I sit down on the corner,
And watch people go by.
And as I watch them pass by me,
I cannot help but sigh.
I watch the groups of people
In couples, or in threes,
But throughout these swarms of people,
There's no one alone like me.
I tell myself that it's ok,
That I don't mind at all.
"How exhausting," I think, "to so constantly be
At somebody's beck and call."
I laugh as it hits me, "How lucky am I?
To live without some to care for?
To exist without cares, rules, or plans,
Responisbility-ha! What a bore."
I sit on the sidewalk corner,
"How carefree and happy am I!"
And my heart is cheered while my brain is sad,
Because it knows one of them is telling a lie.
I watch the couples walk along
The grassy path in the park,
While the happy pairs of hummingbirds
Pound on the oak tree's bark,
And I think:
"In this world, as big as it is,
How fortunate am I.
For I have no one to gaze at the clouds with
Or count up the stars in the sky.
How lucky I am, how carefree and happy,
How fortunate, how blessed am I,
Because, though I have no one to love,
I won't ever have to say 'goodbye'."
And watch people go by.
And as I watch them pass by me,
I cannot help but sigh.
I watch the groups of people
In couples, or in threes,
But throughout these swarms of people,
There's no one alone like me.
I tell myself that it's ok,
That I don't mind at all.
"How exhausting," I think, "to so constantly be
At somebody's beck and call."
I laugh as it hits me, "How lucky am I?
To live without some to care for?
To exist without cares, rules, or plans,
Responisbility-ha! What a bore."
I sit on the sidewalk corner,
"How carefree and happy am I!"
And my heart is cheered while my brain is sad,
Because it knows one of them is telling a lie.
I watch the couples walk along
The grassy path in the park,
While the happy pairs of hummingbirds
Pound on the oak tree's bark,
And I think:
"In this world, as big as it is,
How fortunate am I.
For I have no one to gaze at the clouds with
Or count up the stars in the sky.
How lucky I am, how carefree and happy,
How fortunate, how blessed am I,
Because, though I have no one to love,
I won't ever have to say 'goodbye'."
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Health leaves much to be desired.
So I have been feeling sooo crappy for the last 3 weeks. And I was like seriously? Am I just allergic to school? But this went on for a while, me thinking that I was insane. I was fatigued beyond belief (imagine needing to sit down and breathe hard after climbing 1/2 a flight of stairs), headachy, tired, and had some close calls with fainting. So I went to the doctor's on Wednesday to check it out. Turns out that I'm severely anemic. That would have been good to know. So now I am banned from physical exercise, and have to take 3 different pills. Two of which are HE-YUGE. They are seriously ginormic. So that's an update on my health. I am feeling a bit better now, because I just woke up after 12 hours of straight sleep. Except my brothers are being sooo annoying right now. But other than that, yeah!
The poem has been written for 3 weeks and is right in my room. I'm too tired to go get it.
...blame it on the anemia.
The poem has been written for 3 weeks and is right in my room. I'm too tired to go get it.
...blame it on the anemia.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Twisted Cinderella
The poem will happen, I promise! But for now, an assignment I had to do for English that I'm rather proud of.
"Twisted Cinderella"
Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl named Ella. Her mother died when she was young, so her father married a widow. Shortly thereafter, her father died, leaving poor little Ella all alone with her cruel stepmother and stepsisters. They took away all of Ella’s nice things, banished her to the rat-infested basement, and forced her to do all the housework. They gave her a cruel nickname-Cinderella-from all the hours she spent cleaning the chimney. An invitation was sent from the palace inviting all in the town to a ball for the prince. The wicked stepfamily left Cinderella at home, but a fairy godmother appeared and sent her to the ball. Cinderella and the prince fell in love, but she departed at midnight, as the spell began to wear off, leaving only a delicate glass slipper and a brokenhearted prince behind. The prince made a kingdom-wide search to find the person who fit the slipper. Cinderella tried it on, and produced the other one from her pocket. She was suddenly in a shining gown, and she and the prince were soon married. Her wicked stepfamily begged for forgiveness, and Cinderella, who was a kind as she was beautiful, forgave them. And they lived happily ever after.
The End?
Um, no. Not only is this story sappy enough to make Hallmark lovers everywhere toss their heart-shaped cookies, it is positively filled with inaccuracies. Let’s go over a couple of the more glaring ones.
Myth 1: “Cinderella was treated horribly by her wicket stepfamily, but overcame adversity and married her true love!”
Hahahaha, no.
First off, neither me, my sister Drusilla, nor my mom Alexandra are wicked. We treated Cindy just fine. She had her own room/palace in the basement, she had a hotline to the chef who lived next door, and we even bought her a puppy. But does the ninny care? No. She ignore the puppy and talks to the rats, eats leftovers every night, isolates herself in her mansion of a room, and once she marries the prince, all she can talk about is her life of abuse and isolation. Give me a break. Actually, don’t. I’m not the sympathetic character in this story. That would be the prince.
Myth 2: “The prince married his true love! What do you mean, ‘sympathetic’?”
Well, I mean sympathetic. The poor guys didn’t even want to get married! He played golf 24/7, and was planning on abdicating the throne. His parents were nearly as self-centered as Cindy. The mall was less of a party and more of an “You’re legal, go get married!” And you thought fairy tales had good morals. At least one good thing happened to the prince. They didn’t release his name. If you thought Drusilla was bad, try Jejomar. At least he had four middle names to make up for it.
Myth 3: “What about the fairy godmother? She was amazing!”
This is the worst part of the story. It make little girls from 4-9 (and certain middle aged men) think that if you knelt and cried, you’d be bippidi-boppiti-bood into happiness. Well, come down from whatever fairy-dust induced high you’re on and listen. Yes, Cindy got help from her fairy godmother. And man, do I want one sometimes. But Godmother didn’t do our princess any favors. All she did is make Cindy feel like she never had to work and things would come together. That’s a great moral.
Myth 4: “Wait, Cinderella did all the housework! That’s why you called her Cinderella!”
Seriously, you have got to stop reading fairy tales. They’re turning your brain into mush. Little miss princess couldn’t tell the difference between a mop and a broom! She never did any housework, just stayed in her room eating leftovers that we would push under a flap in her door. Second, Cinderella is her given name. She was born with hair as black as soot. Get it? The girl must have gotten her brain from her parents.
Well, to wrap up, here is the real story of Cinderella. Enjoy!
Once upon a time, there was a spoiled brat named Cinderella. She was treated like a princess by her well-meaning but sadly stupid father. The father married a rich widow in order to keep money in his savings account, but died shortly after. His daughter became even more spoiled as her new family tried to comfort her until she refused to come out of her room. When an invitation came from the palace for a ball, Cinderella declined out of “exhaustion”. She waited until her family left, then snuck out of the house, hoping to catch a ride with the handsome son of the duke. She got tired walking so she sat a cried, and suddenly, a fairy godmother appeared and whisked her off to the ball. Cinderella enchanted the king and queen with her stunning beauty and even more stunningly small feet. Cinderella and the unwilling prince were to be married the next day, but Cinderella ran off, as the magic began to wear off, leaving a glass slipper behind. The unhappy prince arrived at her house, where Cinderella was magically beautiful again. They were married in a week, after which the prince resigned himself to one golf game a day. Cinderella published her memoirs (entitled “Rats, Slippers, and True Love”) and never bothered her stepfamily again.
And they all (well, the stepfamily at least) lived happily ever after.
The End.
"Twisted Cinderella"
Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl named Ella. Her mother died when she was young, so her father married a widow. Shortly thereafter, her father died, leaving poor little Ella all alone with her cruel stepmother and stepsisters. They took away all of Ella’s nice things, banished her to the rat-infested basement, and forced her to do all the housework. They gave her a cruel nickname-Cinderella-from all the hours she spent cleaning the chimney. An invitation was sent from the palace inviting all in the town to a ball for the prince. The wicked stepfamily left Cinderella at home, but a fairy godmother appeared and sent her to the ball. Cinderella and the prince fell in love, but she departed at midnight, as the spell began to wear off, leaving only a delicate glass slipper and a brokenhearted prince behind. The prince made a kingdom-wide search to find the person who fit the slipper. Cinderella tried it on, and produced the other one from her pocket. She was suddenly in a shining gown, and she and the prince were soon married. Her wicked stepfamily begged for forgiveness, and Cinderella, who was a kind as she was beautiful, forgave them. And they lived happily ever after.
The End?
Um, no. Not only is this story sappy enough to make Hallmark lovers everywhere toss their heart-shaped cookies, it is positively filled with inaccuracies. Let’s go over a couple of the more glaring ones.
Myth 1: “Cinderella was treated horribly by her wicket stepfamily, but overcame adversity and married her true love!”
Hahahaha, no.
First off, neither me, my sister Drusilla, nor my mom Alexandra are wicked. We treated Cindy just fine. She had her own room/palace in the basement, she had a hotline to the chef who lived next door, and we even bought her a puppy. But does the ninny care? No. She ignore the puppy and talks to the rats, eats leftovers every night, isolates herself in her mansion of a room, and once she marries the prince, all she can talk about is her life of abuse and isolation. Give me a break. Actually, don’t. I’m not the sympathetic character in this story. That would be the prince.
Myth 2: “The prince married his true love! What do you mean, ‘sympathetic’?”
Well, I mean sympathetic. The poor guys didn’t even want to get married! He played golf 24/7, and was planning on abdicating the throne. His parents were nearly as self-centered as Cindy. The mall was less of a party and more of an “You’re legal, go get married!” And you thought fairy tales had good morals. At least one good thing happened to the prince. They didn’t release his name. If you thought Drusilla was bad, try Jejomar. At least he had four middle names to make up for it.
Myth 3: “What about the fairy godmother? She was amazing!”
This is the worst part of the story. It make little girls from 4-9 (and certain middle aged men) think that if you knelt and cried, you’d be bippidi-boppiti-bood into happiness. Well, come down from whatever fairy-dust induced high you’re on and listen. Yes, Cindy got help from her fairy godmother. And man, do I want one sometimes. But Godmother didn’t do our princess any favors. All she did is make Cindy feel like she never had to work and things would come together. That’s a great moral.
Myth 4: “Wait, Cinderella did all the housework! That’s why you called her Cinderella!”
Seriously, you have got to stop reading fairy tales. They’re turning your brain into mush. Little miss princess couldn’t tell the difference between a mop and a broom! She never did any housework, just stayed in her room eating leftovers that we would push under a flap in her door. Second, Cinderella is her given name. She was born with hair as black as soot. Get it? The girl must have gotten her brain from her parents.
Well, to wrap up, here is the real story of Cinderella. Enjoy!
Once upon a time, there was a spoiled brat named Cinderella. She was treated like a princess by her well-meaning but sadly stupid father. The father married a rich widow in order to keep money in his savings account, but died shortly after. His daughter became even more spoiled as her new family tried to comfort her until she refused to come out of her room. When an invitation came from the palace for a ball, Cinderella declined out of “exhaustion”. She waited until her family left, then snuck out of the house, hoping to catch a ride with the handsome son of the duke. She got tired walking so she sat a cried, and suddenly, a fairy godmother appeared and whisked her off to the ball. Cinderella enchanted the king and queen with her stunning beauty and even more stunningly small feet. Cinderella and the unwilling prince were to be married the next day, but Cinderella ran off, as the magic began to wear off, leaving a glass slipper behind. The unhappy prince arrived at her house, where Cinderella was magically beautiful again. They were married in a week, after which the prince resigned himself to one golf game a day. Cinderella published her memoirs (entitled “Rats, Slippers, and True Love”) and never bothered her stepfamily again.
And they all (well, the stepfamily at least) lived happily ever after.
The End.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
So I know I promised a poem...
..And I will post one! Soon, I promise. But for now, a funny anecdote.
So I was at the mall with my mom, my sister, and my two brothers. The lady who parked next to us had a couple bumper stickers that were really funny. Me and my brothers were pointing out our favorites. Mine was "Give al-Qeada a chance. Vote Obama 08". My brother goes "I like the one on the left". It read "Impeach Obama". I mean yeah, I liked it, but it wasn't as funny as the other ones, so I was like 'Why?". Ken laughs and goes "They're calling him a fruit. I'm peach Obama, hahahaha!!" We started laughing sooo hard, and explained that it says "impeach" not "i'mpeach". Ken goes "Oh, I thought they just forgot the apostrophe."
Things like this make me love kids even more.
Poem before school! Promise!
So I was at the mall with my mom, my sister, and my two brothers. The lady who parked next to us had a couple bumper stickers that were really funny. Me and my brothers were pointing out our favorites. Mine was "Give al-Qeada a chance. Vote Obama 08". My brother goes "I like the one on the left". It read "Impeach Obama". I mean yeah, I liked it, but it wasn't as funny as the other ones, so I was like 'Why?". Ken laughs and goes "They're calling him a fruit. I'm peach Obama, hahahaha!!" We started laughing sooo hard, and explained that it says "impeach" not "i'mpeach". Ken goes "Oh, I thought they just forgot the apostrophe."
Things like this make me love kids even more.
Poem before school! Promise!
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Part 1 of your promise
O.k., I'm not as busy now! WE FINISHED EDITING THE STORY!!!!! WHOOT!!!!!!!!!!!! And I finished the next two units for my online PE class!!! So, I'll post a book review! (Or rather, 3!!)
I just finished books 1-3 of the Knight and Rogue series by Hilari Bell. Fan. Freaking. Tastic!!!!!!!!!!!! (Note: The narrators (Fisk and Michael) switch every chapter)
Book 1: The Last Knight
My Review: 4.8/5 stars.
I loved this book! Michael and Fisk (especially Fisk) are amazing! The plot was interesting and kept me hooked! And laughing! And cheering!
Book 2: Rogue's Home
My Review: 4.7/5
I loved this almost as much as the first one. It was a tiny, tiny, TINY bit hard to get into, but once you do, WOW!!! This one focuses on Fisk, too!!!!!!! Yay! I love Fisk! And Michael! And Fisk!!!
Book 3: Player's Ruse
My review: 4.9/5
As close to perfect as a book can be!!!!!! Even more amazing than the first and second ones, and that's saying something!!!! This one was so intricantly woven that I didn't put it down until I was finished. At 2:45. Whoops, prolly shouldn't put that on my blog... (Gomen Nasai, Kaa-san! I promise to never do it again!) I cried at the end!!!! (For like 2 seconds, but still!) Here's to another one! I have so long to wait, this one came out Jan 2010. *cries* *eats ice cream* *loves Fisk so much!!*
I just finished books 1-3 of the Knight and Rogue series by Hilari Bell. Fan. Freaking. Tastic!!!!!!!!!!!! (Note: The narrators (Fisk and Michael) switch every chapter)
Book 1: The Last Knight
My Review: 4.8/5 stars.
I loved this book! Michael and Fisk (especially Fisk) are amazing! The plot was interesting and kept me hooked! And laughing! And cheering!
Book 2: Rogue's Home
My Review: 4.7/5
I loved this almost as much as the first one. It was a tiny, tiny, TINY bit hard to get into, but once you do, WOW!!! This one focuses on Fisk, too!!!!!!! Yay! I love Fisk! And Michael! And Fisk!!!
Book 3: Player's Ruse
My review: 4.9/5
As close to perfect as a book can be!!!!!! Even more amazing than the first and second ones, and that's saying something!!!! This one was so intricantly woven that I didn't put it down until I was finished. At 2:45. Whoops, prolly shouldn't put that on my blog... (Gomen Nasai, Kaa-san! I promise to never do it again!) I cried at the end!!!! (For like 2 seconds, but still!) Here's to another one! I have so long to wait, this one came out Jan 2010. *cries* *eats ice cream* *loves Fisk so much!!*
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Bad Girl!
Slap my wrist. I haven't written in nearly 3 MONTHS!!!! Sorry.
On the flip side, I have done so much reading that my eyes are about to fall off. And dry up.
So this is just me checking in, I'll post a book review AND a poem soon so I don't feel guilty. ONce school starts it'll be easier to remember. I swear.
BAD GIRL!!!
On the flip side, I have done so much reading that my eyes are about to fall off. And dry up.
So this is just me checking in, I'll post a book review AND a poem soon so I don't feel guilty. ONce school starts it'll be easier to remember. I swear.
BAD GIRL!!!
Sunday, May 23, 2010
So my sister is writing a book with her friend.
And I'm basically Alpha-Chief-Editor-Slash-Reader. Lots of stress, right? So Cecy (My sis) and her friend have lots of little things wrong with their writing (along with a couple big things! Sorry Cecy/Reagan!). So I really appreciate it when they recognize the faults in their/each other's writing, because it makes my job a lot easier. But something that has really helped, especially when they have to write guys, is Writing Excuses (http://www.writingexcuses.com/). It has a bunch of 15 minute podcasts for different aspects of writing: ie, writing guys, breaking the 4th wall, writing an epic, etc. I love it because it keeps her entertained while she learns. And for Cecy that's a blessing! So to any aspiring writers out there (No, Cecy, I know you are), check out Writing Excuses. I'll leave this with a quote:
"Haven't you ever heard that modesty is an attractive feature?"
"Only from ugly people. The meek may inherit the Earth, but right now it belongs to the conceited. Like me."
--Cassandra Clare
"Haven't you ever heard that modesty is an attractive feature?"
"Only from ugly people. The meek may inherit the Earth, but right now it belongs to the conceited. Like me."
--Cassandra Clare
Monday, May 17, 2010
Why I love my siblings:
So my littlest brother was coming in 2nd at Payday, and he was comparing himself to Joseph (The coat of many colors dude) in Egypt, saying that the Pharaoh was the richest, and Joseph was the second richest in Egypt. But he mixed up Joseph with his father, Jacob. When we corrected him, this hilarious monologue happened: "Oh yeah, because Joseph's the son of Jacob! And Jacob's the son of Isaac! And Isaac's the son of Abraham! And Abraham's...the son of GOD!"
Gotta love 10-year-olds. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
Gotta love 10-year-olds. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Yay!
Feeling soo much better!!!!! Yay! I can eat food again! Food tastes wonderful again!
So I'm editing my sister's and her friend's book with my sister every night. So I'm tired like EVERY morning. But it's a good tired! We edited out over 300 words out of one letter (they're writing through the letter game)! Yay~
Didja notice the goodreads quote majiggy to the direct right of the top post? I'm so excited! And everytime I refresh, it changes!
Peppy and hyped on Ibuprofen right now.... =)
So I'm editing my sister's and her friend's book with my sister every night. So I'm tired like EVERY morning. But it's a good tired! We edited out over 300 words out of one letter (they're writing through the letter game)! Yay~
Didja notice the goodreads quote majiggy to the direct right of the top post? I'm so excited! And everytime I refresh, it changes!
Peppy and hyped on Ibuprofen right now.... =)
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Just Checking in
I'm just checking in, making sure I don't forget about this blog.
Wow, I feel so sick, I sooo want to stay home today. And I don't really stay home. The last time I stayed home was Oct 2008 when I got pink-eye and my Mom forced me to stay home because I was contagious.
Ugggg...
Wow, I feel so sick, I sooo want to stay home today. And I don't really stay home. The last time I stayed home was Oct 2008 when I got pink-eye and my Mom forced me to stay home because I was contagious.
Ugggg...
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mother's Day Poem
Softly lilting
Many colors
All beautiful
And bright.
Flapping slowly
Guiding on
Their young as
They take flight.
As they go 'round
A rosy glow
A warm and welcome sight-
This shine you see
Is around us all
It's love, a
Mother's light.
Many colors
All beautiful
And bright.
Flapping slowly
Guiding on
Their young as
They take flight.
As they go 'round
A rosy glow
A warm and welcome sight-
This shine you see
Is around us all
It's love, a
Mother's light.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Top 5 Quotes of the moment
Here are my 5 favorite quotes right now (it varies day to day):
5. "I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." -Louisa May Alcott
4. "I just want to be wonderful." -Marilyn Monroe
3. "Maybe we can all live beyond what we're capable of." -Markus Zusack
2. "Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools speak because they have to say something." -Plato
1. "The question isn't 'Who's going to let me', it's 'Who's going to stop me'." -Ayn Rand
5. "I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." -Louisa May Alcott
4. "I just want to be wonderful." -Marilyn Monroe
3. "Maybe we can all live beyond what we're capable of." -Markus Zusack
2. "Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools speak because they have to say something." -Plato
1. "The question isn't 'Who's going to let me', it's 'Who's going to stop me'." -Ayn Rand
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Balloon
I have not been putting up poems. Bad poet. Here we go.
Creak, creak, creak
The air rushes
To fill the empty space
On top.
Fwshhhhh...
Some people laugh
Having fun
On this ride
Full of hot air.
As it takes flight
I have an urge to
Pop!
A pin in the side
And watch
The air hiss out
'Til it's like it was-
An empty shell.
"Hey! You awake?"
My reverie stops and
I'm brought back to the
Classroom.
The crowd's laughing
At a stupid joke
He made.
Fwshh...
I would love to
Pop!
That balloon.
Creak, creak, creak
The air rushes
To fill the empty space
On top.
Fwshhhhh...
Some people laugh
Having fun
On this ride
Full of hot air.
As it takes flight
I have an urge to
Pop!
A pin in the side
And watch
The air hiss out
'Til it's like it was-
An empty shell.
"Hey! You awake?"
My reverie stops and
I'm brought back to the
Classroom.
The crowd's laughing
At a stupid joke
He made.
Fwshh...
I would love to
Pop!
That balloon.
The process of finding a name...
...is harder than it looks. Here's a time-by-time replay of my English class (When I wrote this):
1:54
Names??? Hmm... options:
Cardboard Poet
Reluctant Poet
The Poet Speaks
2:05
Ugg. THis is harder than I thought. I don't want something faux-deep. Hmm...something straight-forward and kinda snarky. Something easy to spell...
2:06
Ah! Thesaurus Time!
2:07
Hmm, but what do I look up?
2:10
Scratch that idea. I can't reach the shelf where my teacher keeps the thesauruses.
2:12
I'm going to go with Cardboard Poet. I like it. It's kinda...Me.
A poet who doesn't write mushy crap or depressing drivel. Cardboard is everywhere, high or low, from moving boxes of movie stars to homes for those without them. Cardboard sees, it observes. That's me.
A Cardboard Poet.
1:54
Names??? Hmm... options:
Cardboard Poet
Reluctant Poet
The Poet Speaks
2:05
Ugg. THis is harder than I thought. I don't want something faux-deep. Hmm...something straight-forward and kinda snarky. Something easy to spell...
2:06
Ah! Thesaurus Time!
2:07
Hmm, but what do I look up?
2:10
Scratch that idea. I can't reach the shelf where my teacher keeps the thesauruses.
2:12
I'm going to go with Cardboard Poet. I like it. It's kinda...Me.
A poet who doesn't write mushy crap or depressing drivel. Cardboard is everywhere, high or low, from moving boxes of movie stars to homes for those without them. Cardboard sees, it observes. That's me.
A Cardboard Poet.
So let's get one thing straight.
I do not fancy myself a poet. Or a writer, for that matter. But my leaders at church were making me feel bad for not keeping a journal. I don't like to write! Well, technically, that's not true. I love to write. Just not in a journal. Or stories. I leave that to my sister.
But I do write poetry.
No, not the Dr. Seuss, whang-zoobler keeb-keepler cat-hat kind. My poetry (if you can call it that) is not always bright sunshine and lollipops. It's what I see around me. I'm not emo, or depressed, or think that I'm sooo deep with an outlook blacker than a punk-rocker's eyeliner. I don't see the world as a bleak place; on the contrary, to my way of thinking, the world is 90% good. But that other 10% is more obvious. And that's what sucks.
So here it is. The contents of my brain, vomited into a semi-coherent (and semi-congealed) mass of words.
The words of a cardboard poet.
It's not much.
And it's not deep.
But I like it.
But I do write poetry.
No, not the Dr. Seuss, whang-zoobler keeb-keepler cat-hat kind. My poetry (if you can call it that) is not always bright sunshine and lollipops. It's what I see around me. I'm not emo, or depressed, or think that I'm sooo deep with an outlook blacker than a punk-rocker's eyeliner. I don't see the world as a bleak place; on the contrary, to my way of thinking, the world is 90% good. But that other 10% is more obvious. And that's what sucks.
So here it is. The contents of my brain, vomited into a semi-coherent (and semi-congealed) mass of words.
The words of a cardboard poet.
It's not much.
And it's not deep.
But I like it.
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