I Stand Here

I stand here against the frozen trunk of a maple, and what you asked me stirs the dust of unwelcome memories from the attic of my mind.
“I wish you would come in to see your sister. She needs you. I’m sure if you came to visit, her health would improve. She’s not doing well, and we fear the worst. ”
“She needs you.”… Even if I came, what good would it do? I am not even her mother, only a distracted sister who was never there when it counted, and you think my presence will make her feel better? After all I have and haven’t done?
And when there is time to stop, to consider, to speak, what will I say? I will have nothing within myself to change the events or soften the blow or take away some of the pain. I will become engulfed with all I did or did not do with what should have been and what could not have been helped. I will be helpless.
She was a beautiful human being. She loved anything that lived, that moved, that breathed. She was light. She laughed and loved to make people laugh. She would run around the house as fast as her legs would carry her, singing on top of her lungs the song she had composed with silly lyrics to go with a foolish dance she dreamt up. She lived to feel—to feel joy, to feel sadness, to feel love.
I needed her. As a teenager going through difficult transitions, I needed all the joy and love I could get. I had only one friend—you—and even you did not understand my pain at that time, though you tried. She would wake me up in the morning, dragging me out of bed with just her shining words and contagious grin.
Why do I put that first? I do not even know if it matters, or if it explains anything.
The biting November breeze sweeps through the knitting of my sweater and I shiver as the wind’s icy fingers run through my tangled hair. You stand near me, supporting me with your presence and rare solemnity. There is no more questioning, only silence and patience, waiting for an answer.
She was perfect. As she grew older this didn’t change. Her features were like our parents: round, soft, blonde and pale. She was most beautiful in the mornings, when she looked like our mother, especially when she wore dad’s old, grey sweater. She seemed as a sleepy forest spirit. Misty and distant. These were some of the only moments she was calm and silent. Every other occasion she was loud, friendly to everyone and oh so exciting. By elementary school she had countless friends. They called at every opportunity, asking for play dates and movie nights and sleep overs. “Mimosa is a model student.” Her teachers used to brag. “She has perfect attendance, straight A’s and she participates exceptionally in class.”
I was a failure. I looked nothing like my parents, with dark hair and sharp features. When I got up in the mornings I was like a bear after a long cold winter of hibernation—angry and unapproachable. I had no friends besides you. We made an odd pair, and though they may never admit it, even my parents worried about me. “If only she was more like her little sister.” I heard people say, when they thought I couldn’t hear. “She just doesn’t try.” That was a lie. I tried. I tried very hard but I could never compare to Mimm.
My sister was everything I wasn’t. Smart and funny and friendly, and I could never compare. I was jealous—I see that now—but at the time too proud to admit it. Outdone by my own little sister.
The tree trunk feels like iron as it digs into my spine. I watch numbly as a leaf flutters helplessly to the ground. Our breath clouds, filling the silence. You wait for me. I'm not ready yet. I don't know if I ever will be. And when I am, will it be too late again?
Then suddenly her closest friends moved away or moved on or they argued and she was alone, just a year ago.
I had just turned sixteen when you introduced me to Marth and Violet and Zagum. We five became close friends and all of a sudden I had something she didn’t. I’ll never understand why she still looked up to me, why she followed me around, why she begged to come along. There wasn’t much to admire. I left her behind. When we began our trip up North she asked to come along, but I saw this only as her way of stealing the few friends I had. I told her to find her own friends.
"I don't have any."
"Then go do what you're good at: make more."
So she did. She found a group. A new group. An exciting group. A reckless group.
When we returned, I knew what she had done, and I knew the danger but I didn't stop her. The alternate option was out of the question. I was too selfish, unwilling to share what little I had.
I didn't tell my mum. I told myself she was too busy, too stressed with her new job, trying to support us when money was low and dad had no work, but really it was because I knew what she would have said. I couldn't stand to hear it. It was the same thing that the little voice inside my head was telling me, over and over and over. By the time our mum realized something was wrong, it was already too late. Mimm had taken the dare. That stupid, horrible dare. I know why she did it. In the way I admire you, she admired them. If we are similar in only one way than it is by this: the humanly desire to please.
Then all of a sudden the shining, bouncing girl was lying on her back in a shadowed room, where instead of music there was the monotonous beating of her heart. I feared it would slow. I feared it would stop.
I feared I would be the one to make it stop.
I will never come in to say: She was my favourite. She was light and love and air. I needed her and she was there. She was perfect. I was not. She had everything she wanted and I was jealous. Then her friends left her. She needed me but I wasn't there. When told to find her own way she did it in the only way she could. She joined daredevils and idiots because the rush of adrenaline made her feel. I stood and watched, unwilling to make sacrifices to save my own sister. We hid the facts from our mother, so she mustn't be blamed. There was a dare. A dreadfully stupid dare and she took it because she felt she had no other choice. There was a choice. There was a simple choice between black and white and I chose the wrong one. It's too late to turn back now.
The maple's branches sway back and forth, send leaves fluttering, tossed and turned by the wind, then resting in the grass to be covered in snow. She and I are like that leaf, waiting in the cold, wondering if spring will come before it's too late.

~*~

This is a narrative writing exercise I had to do for my English class, Modelling Tillie Olsen's "I Stand Here Ironing," as well as my 'Howl of the Silver Moon' characters. I must admit I'm rather proud of this piece, especially since I got a mark of 100%. I want to thank my friends for helping me while writing, with your critiques and suggestions. ;) Lemme know what you think!

Ode to One Fine Dinner (Poem)

Okay so as you know I suck at poetry, but I love it so I try anyway. I also had to do a poetry unit for school and I had no idea what to write so I just took a bit from a poetry inspiration website and a bit from my own experiences and ended up writing probably the best poem I have ever written in my entire life. It's still horribly imperfect, I practically took a butcher knife to grammar, and there are structure holes everywhere, but here it is:

Ode to One Fine Dinner

Eskimos dwell in the frigid north
Said the lasagna, come steaming forth:
“Together we live in ice and storm
Let me keep you sheltered and warm.”

Asked the eskimo: “Are you quite sure?”
Nodding, the pasta did reassure:
“Snug and toasty, my dear eskimo,
Tucked tight between fine oregano.”

The eskimo then donned, like a coat,
The lasagna, which soothed his sore throat
But when he became hungry, he then
Couldn’t help it—he ate up his friend

Now the eskimo, cold and alone,
Stands in alaska: frozen like stone
While high above in meaty sauce cloud
Lasagna dances and sings aloud.

- Inspired by my father, who said the other night as we all burnt our tongues: "Eskimos should wear lasagna."

Oblivion (Here We Are)

For English 11 I had to write an original short story, once again, much like the time not long ago when I wrote Starlighter. However, this story is much, much longer and it took much, much longer than just a few hours to write.
I had a mighty amount of trouble (first of all) deciding what I was going to write. I had zero (Nothing, nada, zilch.) ideas that were either worth writing or held some sort of plot. "I know!" I thought to myself. "I'll just continue one of the stories I've already started writing. That'll be easy!" So I set to it.
First I tried continuing Mint and Zoey, which ended with me simply changing a few words here and there and editing and more editing and really not furthering the story a single sentence.
The I tried Ivy and Thornfinger. How wonderful! I thought. Such a lovely pair will surely be easier to continue. I actually got much further than before, until I met with a plot hole the size of a bottomless chasm and was forced to an abrupt halt.
What now? I had wasted time doing useless work and creating book covers for said work. Hurrah.
Last one. Forgotten. I finally had a short story with a definite ending (though I can't promise you it's a cheerful one.) that I would actually be able to write with some accuracy. I spent many days continuing it, renamed it somewhere along the way, and finished it not long ago.
Here We Are.
Finally.
Now go read it and tell me what you think.

"I want to see everything now."

And today I took one step further down that railroad tack of life. I had to do an art project for school and I've always wanted to do a sort of digital collage so for this assignment I had to do some form of art related to the book study I'm doing on 'Fahrenheit 451.' (It's a great, classic, thought-provoking short read. I highly recommend it.) So I kind of wanted to do a digital mash up for one of the scenes from the book and add a little quote and keep in mind this is the first time I've really done something like this so I just picked out a couple images:

And just sort of mushed them together the best I could using Pixlr Express, touched it up a bit, added tons of layers and filters and adjusted the lighting, etc. etc. I think it took me a little over an hour. And in the end I came up with this:

Now for a suitable quote:

I selected this quote from pages 161-162:

"Montag looked at the river. We'll go on the river. He looked at the old railroad tracks. Or we'll go that way. Or we'll walk on the highways now, and we'll have time to put things into ourselves. And someday, after it sets in us a long time, it'll come out our hands and our mouths. And a lot of it will be wrong, but just enough of it will be right. We'll just start walking today and see the world and the way the world walks around and talks, the way it really looks. I want to see everything now. And while none of it will be me when it goes in, after a while it'll all gather together inside and it'll be me. Look at the world out there, my God, my God, look at it out there, outside me, out there beyond my face and the only way to really touch it is to put it where it's finally me, where it's in the blood, where it pumps around a thousand times ten thousand a day. I get hold of it so it'll never run off. I'll hold onto the world tight someday. I've got one finger on it now; that's a beginning."

Post 265 - In Which I Tell You Of Yet Another Bridie's Domain Update

You get the idea. Part 12 - In Which Bridie Keeps Her Friends Close And Her Enemies Closer is up for the reading.

On a small tangent: If anyone has noticed my incorrect title capitalization, I do it entirely on purpose. I don't know why. I just like the way it looks. And I've started like that so I intend to continue like that.

Anyway. Go read.

I call it 'Floating Sound Garden.'

Don't ask. I don't know. I also feel that this is to impressive a title for a rough little doodle like this:

Perhaps one day I shall recreate it and it will be worthy of its title.
Until then... doodle onward! *brandishes lance and rides off into the sunset on a turtle*

This is where I'd put my clever title if I had one.

Don't you love those little moments of inspiration, little moments of genius, that happen once every rare blue moon? And then they're nearly gone, and you're once again back to your old boring unclever self.

I had a bit of character inspiration while writing Part 12 of Bridie's domain - a perfect phrase, just for her, describing her relationship with Basil. It's a bit of a spoiler I guess, cause she hasn't said it quite yet, but I just had to whip out pixlr and make it something pinnable for my Bridie's Domain board, so I wouldn't forget it.

I don't even know, make what you like, I think it's perfect, and now I couldn't even think of a clever title so it just goes to show...

le Art Dump

Guess I'll just put these here:

Just a little
experiment
with a new
style

I love this sort of Disneyish style but I always forget about it and go back to my default style.

These are some characters for a story me and The Samster
are trying to write together.

Mostly just wanted proper faces. Please excuse Summer's awful proportions. I was too lazy to redraw her.

This is supposed to be the characters from
Diana Wynne Jone's last novel:
The Islands of Chaldea.
Or at least, how I imagined them to be.

The Islands of Chaldea was such a good book. I couldn't even tell where Diana left of and her sister began. The characters were perfect and I loved Plug-Ugly.

Angel. Copied from book 7 of the Maximum Ride manga.

It's been a while since I last picked up my pencil and drew something I'm genuinely proud of. This one felt good to draw.

White Crayola pencil crayon
on black construction paper.

I've always wanted to draw white on black, but I just never properly did until now. It was so much fun. This was based off Aslan off the cover of a Chronicles of Narnia collection. I like it so much I think I might frame it.

Angel from Maximum Ride manga #7.

This was so much fun to draw. It was something new and challenging, yet it turned out amazing and brought back the feeling I get each time I draw MR fanart.

Gasman, from the cover of MR #5.

Once I finished the sketch of this one, I hated it. It was awful, plain, and a waste of good paper. Then i took my finger and started smudging. And smudging. And lo and behold this emerged and now I love it.

So yup same old same old I'm not going to bore you with an update. Go read Bridie's Domain, etc. etc.

School's out! Let's scream and shout!

Sorry. Random High School Musical tangent there.
I'm done.
Moving on.

Um, so yeah school's over, so that means I have more time for writing. More time for writing means 'Part 11 - In Which Bridie Eats Ice Cream' of Bridie's Mansion is up for you to read here. Y'all enjoy. Part 12 should be up next soon.
I tend to find that my titles for each part are often moved ahead a couple posts because I find great things to squeeze in between and by the time I get to what i actually was going to use the title for, my word count is so high I think I should start another post. Ah well. More is less. ...wait.

Now, sadly school won't be over for long, but that doesn't mean less writing in this case no, it might even mean more because I'm taking English 11 online over the summer and I'm gonna see if I can't use One Year Adventure Novel as my course, which means I can finally finish the long awaited Howl of the Silver Moon. Ack yup dying at the thought of it.
This is the moment that I realized that my teacher would be reading my writing. Ack. That's awkward. This story is actually kind of a private thing that I love and wish too keep away from the prying eyes of adults who like to read into non-existent things. In other words I hate to be judged. I'd hate to be judged based on my writing, by adults, especially considering HotSM is supposed to be a very dark and depressing book. At least, in my mind. Perhaps not so on paper but I'm working on it.
No matter. I will hopefully never meet my teach in real life.
This I say, knowing that I'm doing my course with a school with which I will, very likely, one day, briefly, meet my teacher. I try not to think of this.

Ah. So. Yeah. Summer. Yay. Finally. About time. Yes. So. Ah.

I forgot to have breakfast this morning. To busy writing. It is currently 11:45. If I had breakfast now it would be an early lunch. Brunch I guess. And then where would lunch be? Lunner? Dinch? These are trying times indeed.

Starlighter

Just a little school project I had to do for a short story unit. Enjoy. Took me a couple hours. It was inspired by Bryan Davis's book of the same name.

Starlighter

“Stay alert, stay close, stay safe.”

Sorrel and her little brother ran through the crowded streets of Erif Drazil, fighting their way through the throng of people and dragons.

Erif Drazil was the capital of D’nal Nogard, a world where dragons ruled and humans were their slaves. There were very few free humans at this time, as most were kept under dragon houses, serving the family of dragons living there in return for food and shelter.

“Will they catch us, Sorrel?” The little boy asked, gripping his sister’s hand in his and a loaf of bread in the other.

“Not if I can help it.” Sorrel huffed, pulling her brother along as fast as their legs would carry them. “But if they do, Kale, stay alert, but stay quiet and leave the the talking to me.”

“Stop them! Thieves!” Came the cry again from behind them.

Glancing back, she saw that they had nearly lost the fat baker that gave pursuit. She laughed as his fuming face was swallowed up in the throng. Then she bumped into something hard and the two were thrown to the ground.

“Watch where you’re going, slaves.” A dragon’s gravely voice said from high above. His sharp face came down to meet hers. “If you don’t start paying mind to your lords.” He flashed white teeth.

“Sorry, sir!” She gasped, picking her and Kale up and rushing on, under the dragon’s scaly body. 

“Stop!” A humongous tail crashed to the road, blocking their path and sending them both to the ground again. “I don’t think you realize who you’re talking too.” A growl began rising in the dragon’s throat, sending hot air into Sorrel’s face and ruffling her thin dress.

“No sir. Sorry sir.” She tried once again to push past the dragon, but his growl rose and she had to stay rooted in place.

“I am Rimidalv Ironscale, captain of the guard and King Eilrach’s head advisor.” He ground out every word, fixing an angry eye on the two grubby children.

Sorrel opened her mouth to speak: “I--”

“Gotchya!” A heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder and she screamed in surprise. “Got ya, ya dingy beggar!” The baker’s round face leered over her, furiously red and gasping like a landed trout. “You wont be stealing my bread again, ya wont, not when me’s finished with ya.”

“Let me go!” Sorrel screamed, struggling under the man’s iron grip. “We didn’t steal a thing from you!”

“Sure ya did, yer little blighter pinched a loaf while ya accidentally knocked over a shelf a  fresh pasties.”

“We have no bread!” She insisted, trying to separate herself from the man. Kale peaked  big blue eyes from under an over sized hat, splaying out his empty arms.

“Enough.” Bellowed Rimidalv, who had been listening, the whole time breathing hot air down Sorrel’s neck.

The baker seemed to suddenly notice the dragon and dropped the girls arm hurriedly, fumbling to remove his hat and shrinking into his boots. Which, Sorrel noted, where so small that the man’s round ankles hung out of them. The baker bowed his bald head low, wringing his hat.

The dragon frowned. “You are a baker.” It was more of a statement than a question. “What did they take from you?”

“Two loaves of bread.”

Rimidalv swung his head around to the children, locking a deadly stare upon them. “Is this true?”

Dare she lie to a dragon, much less one so high a position as this?

“No sir.” Sorrel shook her head furiously, as did Kale, which sent his hat flying off his head, revealing the bread hidden there.

Sorrel could have screamed, or maybe cried.

The dragon only repeated the question more firmly, more angrily, less patience. “Is this true?”

She swallowed hard and nodded miserably. Her voice was barely audible. “Yes sir.”

Rimidalv turned to Leaf. I will notify their master and have them disposed of.”

Kale’s eyes grew wide and he clutched his sister’s hand. She looked down at him sadly then at the people around them. They avoided her gaze and hurried on, pretending they had heard and seen nothing. Tugging at her thin dress, her brother whispered: “Please, Sorrel, tell a story.”

“Let’s go, slaves.” The dragon ordered, claws sweeping towards them.

“No!” Sorrel pleaded. “Please, let me explain. You can’t take us away, you can’t.”

The dragon’s large head swooped down to her angrily. “And why not, pray?”

She had to look at her feet in order to regain some bravery. “Because… our mother you see. She needs us.”

Rimidalv’s frown only thinned impatiently so she hurried on.

“She needs us, you see.” Dropping Kale’s hand she stepped toward the great dragon hands outspread, empty.

“Kale does not remember, he was too young, but I do. We once had a father.” Sorrel raised he hands above her head. As she spoke, her tale became vivid and the scenes seemed to appear around her. “He was tall and handsome, working hard all day so mother could stay with us. He loved us, you see, and we loved him too.” 

Next to the girl could almost be seen a young man, kind eyes, weathered face, coming to his family with open arms. A wide smile was spread across his face. “But one day a man came home to us. It was not father. He had come to say that father had died in an accident.” Sorrel closed her eyes painfully. A darkness hung in the air, sad and empty. A single tear ran down her’s cheek as she continued. “Mother cried and cried. Father never came home to us. We didn’t know what to do.”

Like a misty vision, a young woman held a little boy, kissing the top of his red head as he cried, litter girl clinging to her skirts. Her blue eyes were filled with anxiety.

“Mother went to work in place of father. She would come home exhausted, and I would hear her crying at night as I lay in bed. She cried for father, for us.” The girl placed folded hands against her wet cheek. “Then one day mother became sick, and unable to work. She lays in bed, even now, so ill she can not sit up.” Sorrel took her place beside her brother, tearstained face smiling weakly down at him. “I took mothers place at work, striving hard so that we may survive. Without us, she will perish.” The trance faded, leaving a lingering feeling of sorrow.

Blubbering, the baker had tears running down his fat face.

The dragon only blinked, but Sorrel knew that he too had been moved. Then he shook his head, as though clearing a fog. “Go home. Take the bread.”

“Oh thank you sir, you have no idea how grateful-”

“Now. Before I change my mind.”

Sorrel closed her lips tightly. Kale picked up the fallen loaf and followed his sister, but they had not gotten far with Rimidalv called after them. “Girl!”

She glanced back warily. “Yes sir?”

His sharp eyes bore into her. “What is your name?”

Gulping down the urge to flee, she said: “Sorrel, sir. Sorrel Leaf.”

“And your master?”

“Salis Redwing.”

Rimidalv nodded, spread his wings and took to the cloudy dark sky.

Sorrel squeezed her brothers hand and they hurried off, back to their home.

Closing the door carefully so it didn’t creak, Sorrel and Kale tiptoed into the servant’s house. Their bare feet pattered quietly on the cold stone floor. Voices echoes off the tall ceilings, coming from the kitchen down the dark hall.

“Salis is in an uproar again… try not to bother… nearly killed him…”

The two children passed the open door way, stepping into the light that streamed into the hall and back into the shadows.

The chatter halted abruptly. “Was that you, Sorrel?”

Freezing in place, Sorrel answered: “Yes, Mrs. Stem?”

“Salis wanted to see you for something. He said to see him right away.”

Salis? Why would Salis want to see her? Had he found out about something she had done?

“Okay Mrs. Stem, I’ll go to him once I see mother.” She said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Mrs. Stem sighed. “Alright dear. And Sorrel?”

“Yes?”

“Good luck.”

Ushering Kale down the hall at a fast pace, Sorrel whispered to him harshly. “Don’t mention this to mother. She must not know what is going on. You stay here with her while I go see Salis. And take that bread out of your hat.”

They made there way to the servant quarters and up to their mother’s bed, close to the fire. Mrs. Leaf lay covered in as many extra sheets as could be found, but she still shivered, even next to the fire. Her tired eyes opened as soon as they entered the room.

Kale slipped a hand under her covers, searching for a hand to hold. Hers met his and gave it a weak squeeze. “Hallo, mum.” He said, giving a weak smile.

“Hallo darling.” Mrs. Leaf’s lips lifted at the corners. Her voice was loving, small, and frail. “How was your day?”

He sat down on the floor, still grasping her hand. “It was… interesting.”

“Was it? How so?”

Sorrel cleared her throat. “Kale, will you go grab a spoon from the kitchen? And whatever else you can find.”

He reluctantly got up, letting his mother’s had slip from his, and went out the door.

Next to the bed lay a cup of water for Mrs. Leaf. It was empty so Sorrel took and began to fill it with water from the kettle over the fire.

“Do you have something to tell me?”

Sorrel jumped. She had not expected Mrs. Leaf to speak. Somehow she always knew when her children had done something they maybe shouldn’t have.

Sorrel unhooked the kettle. “We got some bread for you.” She did not have to meet her mothers eyes to know she was troubled by this.

“Where did you get it?”

Sorrel tried not to pour boiling water all over her shaking hand. “A baker in the market square.”

Mrs. Leaf sighed. “Did you steal it, darling?”

Sorrel forced a laugh. “That’s what the baker said.” She sobered as she filled the cup. Her voice was barely a whisper. “A dragon heard him. He believed him and was going to… take us away.”

There was a small gasp, then a cough. “What did you do?”

Tracing the rim of the chipped cup, Sorrel sat on the floor, facing the bed, not looking up. “I told him a story.” Then she did look up. Her mother was smiling. Sorrel was not sure if it was filled with sadness, disappointment, hope?

“You have a great gift dear. The power of the Starlighter is a mighty one, treasured and coveted. There are legends and songs written about the ones before you. Some day you will be great,  Sorrel, Enna, Leaf. You must promise me you will use your gift wisely and to the good of others.” Mrs. Leafs head lifted slightly off the straw mattress. “Do you promise me this?”

Sorrel reached for her mother’s outstretched hand, entwining the weak fingers in her earth covered ones. “Yes mother. I promise.”

Then they were silent until Kale returned. Sorrel prepared a meager meal for her mother and left Kale with her, making her way to Salis’s main room.

He waited for her, tall and furious. As she entered the massive room his amber eyes locked on her tiny frame, boring into her and daring her to step out of line. She could hardly find the courage to make her eyes meat his. Instead her eyes traveled to another dragon standing by him. Rimidalv. There was no tell-tale on his face to tell why he might be here. Had he changed his mind about letting her go?

She stopped before the dragons, bowing respectively and waiting to be addressed.

“Sorrel Leaf.” The words echoed off the walls, deep and grating. Salis lifted his head and looked down his muzzle, studying her. “Rimidalv has some… interesting demands for you and I. His majesty the king wishes to be of possession of you. What possible use he could have for you I do not know.” Salis shot a look at Rimidalv and his guttural laugh sent shivers down Sorrel’s spine, despite the dragon fire heat of the room.

Rimidalv did not smile. Turning from the other dragon he motioned to Sorrel. “Come. I am a busy stallion and do not have time to trifle with mere humans.”

Sorrel opened her mouth to speak, but seeing Salis watching her with eyes like slits she clamped it shut again and followed Rimidalv out a vaulting archway and into the open air beyond.

She had to run as fast as she could to keep up with him until he finally slowed once Salis was out of sight. Then he turned to her, walking very slowly so that she may keep up with his long strides.

“You must know why I am here.” His voice was less gruff, not exactly kind, but careful.

Sorrel’s heart beat wildly. “I do not think I do, sir.” She stared hard at the dark shadow cast by the creature beside her. “Is it… is it because of what I did earlier.”

“Yes.” But there was no warning of death in his strong voice. “That is why I have come for you. Once I had left you I went to speak with some elders in the kings court.”

Elders? Simply for a criminal sentence? There was no way that -

“We agree that you must be taken to the castle and taken care of.”

She clenched and unclenched sweaty fists. “Oh.”

Rimidalv seemed to smile. “You will be a great Starlighter.”

Sorrel stopped. Her feet refused to move another step. “How did…?” Then her mouth froze too, a perplexed ‘o’. 

The dragon rounded on her, uncharacteristically excited. “Your story was astonishingly vivid. I could see everything as though it were right in front of me. I could feel what you felt. Once you had finished it took me a moment to realize what had happened. Then I realized. You are one of the legendary Starlighters.” This last sentence was whispered reverently. “I did not tell Salis in fear he would wish to keep you to himself. He does not know this, does he?”

Sorrel shook her head. “What will happen to me?”

Rimidalv continued on again, this time at a faster pace. “You will live in King Eilrahc’s fortress, and train.”

Unable to believe it she asked: “What will become of my family?”

“Family? They will come to live with you.”

They came to a large pad built for dragons to land a take flight. “Climb aboard, small one.”

Sorrel’s eyes grew wide. “I could not.” It was a great shame for a dragon and a great honor for a human to ride it’s back. Only the most powerful or esteemed would ride on the back of a mighty dragon.

“Hop on, Starlighter. There are great things in store for you.”

Sorrel smiled. This was how she would be able to use her gift. To help her family. To help others. And this was only the beginning.

Hey You Lot

eeeiiiihhhh!!! Check out the super cool logo thing Samster made for me:

Isn't it so amazingly coolio?

And I also got this done:

I just posted Part 9 - In Which There Is Simply Too Much Family! Go check it out at Bridie's Domain!

Oh and also I got Tumblr:

Da Lovely World of Shenanigans
Da Lovely World of Creativeness

Go follow it. Them. Me. Now.

When your parents are gone and you just

How to make an ULTRA ADDICTING ICED MOCHA

Also known as: Uaim. (Pronounced: yew-ah-ih-em)

*This is where I would insert a picture of uaim, but I have already drunk said drink.*

You will need:

• A cup, bottle or glass. (very important.)
• Strong coffee of your choice (can have been sitting on the counter for days.**)
• Chocolate syrup or hot chocolate powder
• Milk
• Ice cubes

Instructions:

1. Pour 1/4 to 1/3 (depending on your taste) strong coffee into cup/bottle/mug/glass/whatever.
2. Add chocolate and stir well.
3. Fill up most of the way with milk.
4. Add ice cubes and stir once more. You may have to let it sit a minute to reach its full iciness.
5. Add optional, hypothetical, non existent whipped cream and enjoy your Uaim.

It's simple. It's fast. It's uaim.

I should become a sales personel. I could make millions.

Naw, I'm to lazy for that. Chao!


**I would say here that I do not use old coffee that's just gross, but my parents taught me not to lie.

When You're Like Me...

You find joy in the little things.

Like reaching 10,000 views on a blog that has been going on and on about random topics for almost four years.

Yeah.
It's pretty big.

Lemme give you some statistics here:

• I started this blog when I was about twelve and a half.
• This blog has been alive on and off for approximately 41 months.
• (That's 3.41666666666667 years. Do the math.)
• I'm going to make an assumption here that the only people reading my blog here are people either who:
• Are good friends of mine.
• I begged to read this blog.
• Online friends of mine (whom I begged to read this blog).
• Random internet people who happened to stumbled upon it.**
• I have only 20 followers. TWENTY. And I think one of them's me.
• Also, most of them have either died or gone away.
• I have, embarrassingly enough, changed my name almost five times in these past years. Discontent child I was.
• I have run out of statistics.

This blog has been through much, with, to put bluntly, little support.

I am stubborn. I keep going. Long live the shenanigans.

I would, however, like to thank those that did stick by me.

Thank you. 

A billion times over. 

Whether one time visitor or long time friend, thank you, for helping me reach a whopping

10,000 VIEWS

Let the party begin.

** If this is you: I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

A Rather Pointless Update

Just checking in to remind you of my existence.

So, obviously, I'm back from Mexico. We spent five days there, building two houses for two families. It was an amazing experience and God was ever present in our church schoolbus. I've sort have been on a withdrawal from being in an enclosed space with 34 other people for two weeks. But it was great, I had so much fun. I could sit for hours and tell you about it, but I don't have the time or drive to do so, so I'll spare you the details.

When I got home our internet wasn't working, so I couldn't do anything for about a week, but here I am now, with working internet. Fun stuff.

I have recently been working on plotting Howl of the Silver Moon once again. I've made some headway. Gotten a little farther, planned a little more, dreamt up more plot bunnies. For instance:

This is my main character from Howl of the Silver Moon's mom's theme. So Lily's mum Ann's theme. Ann's theme. It gives me feels. Think what you like. I might actually finish this book one day and you'll find out what I mean. Maybe I'll publish it. But I laugh at myself.
My only problem now is how to resolve all the amazing plot bunnies I have dreamt up. I have planned out a beginning and middle, but I have almost no idea how I am to arrive at the end. This boggles me. And I am so swamped in schoolwork that I feel as though I don't have time to sit and think of one. Think is I manage to find time to procrastinate, but never use my moment of procrastination to plot my closing. Goodness.

I also really want to keep going with Bridie's Domain. But, like I said, I can never find time to sit and write. But I some how manage to write other things. Good greif woman. Get a grip on yourself.

May I also recommend a classic novel: Lord of the Flies by William Golding. Some people may find it old (it is), hard to get in to (to some degree), and difficult to understand (takes effort), but it's definitely worth the read. imho.

soyup toodles.

I'm still here...

Not for long, though. On my way to Mexico in a couple days, for my youth's mission's trip. Be jealous. And omw we're gonna do gleaners, and Six Flags, and In-and-Out Burger, and it's gonna be so awesome. I'm so stoked. \m/

I'll leave you guys with this:

Be obsessed. He's Danish.

Bonus video:

Feeling crafty...

So my friend Sammy's been super resourceful on her blog: Samster Style (<--Check it out!) with all her sewing projects, etc. (I'm so proud of her! You're crazy girl! Can you make me something? :P )

So, I thought I'd show off a little bit of my skills:

Voila! My wonderful purple pj boxers! (Or shorts, whatever, I call them boxers.) They're super comfy and I made them myself. Yup. I better get tons of Grade 10 Textiles credit for these.

How to Drink Yerba Mate Like a Pro

Okay, so I got this super cool mug and tea ball from my super cool youth leaders. I'm not a huge tea person, but I'm honestly trying to find some way to down a social beverage. Also, I like the idea of sitting around and drinking flavored hot water.
So, as you may have picked up, I'm of mennonite heritage, from way down south (America) in Paraguay, where we drink mate. (pronounced MA-ta) It's also called terere (pronounced the way it's spelt) when it's cold.

So my dad was about to have his daily guampa (Google it.) and I was like: "Well hey, I haven't used my mug yet, and yerba's like tea. So why not?" One of my friends said she'd done it plenty of times.
So I filled up my tea ball with yerba, poured in some hot water, added some agave syrup and milk, and voila! Paraguayan Perfection with a North American twist. It has a strange greenish tinge. Looks nice with my mug.

My Yerba tea and mug with cosy. :)

How to make your own Yerba tea:

1 teaspoon Yerba Mate
2 cups boiled water
milk and honey to taste

1. Put yerba in tea ball. Place in mug. 
2. Add hot water.
3. Once water is green, (Almost immediately.) remove tea ball.
4. Add milk and honey to taste
5. Enjoy.

(I used almost half milk and a huge dollop of agave nectar.) I dare say it taste a little bit like chai tea, maybe? Depends what kind of yerba you use.