Realizations

Howdy, dearest readers of mine,

It's almost April!
But I still managed to fit in eight posts for this month!
Anyway, here is some stuff.
First of all, if you like books, have you ever tried reading comics? Like this one? http://gunnerkrigg.com/ 
And second of all, I think I'm getting older. Darn it. The reason I think I'm getting older is because some ideas that have been floating around in my subconscious have been coming to the forefront of my mind. For instance, I have a new book to write. Like I don't have enough already. And also, I've been thinking of these little phrases that I have been thinking about for a while, but only with half of my mind. Such as:
It is easier to walk into the darkness with the light guarding your back then to come to the light with the darkness watching your back. 
And after that cheerful note, here is my idea for the new book:
Nadir/Zenith is a girl who can change who she is, from a dark shadow on the street to a woman whose powers cannot be hidden. When she is Nadir, the shadow, there is very little of her. So little that no one can really see her or, if they do, just think of her as another person of no consequence. When she is Zenith, the magic-user, it is hard to notice anything other than her. However, magic is rare in her world, and when found, it is persecuted. For that reason, she stays mainly as Nadir, and just tries to exist in her city. This is working until one day, someone sees her. And is able to focus on her and talk to her.
Her powers will be explained better in the book, but for now, that's all I have for you.
Till next time, my wonderful compassionate awesome readers!

I LIED!

If you already have read the post from about ten minutes earlier, THEN I LIED.
I said I didn't have anything to share except news about my book.
Well, guess what? I do have something!
This is a creepy little short animated thingy, and I really did like it. It was a thank you video for something, and a Halloween video, but it really is terribly good.
Enjoy, readers.

Excuses, Excuses....

Dearest readers....
I'm so tired.
I hate to whine but right now, there is no alternative.
My parents left for a few days, leaving me, my brother, and my college sister at home.
My brother and I have a wonderful tutor who comes over every day and helps us with school, but I was left with the chores, which means: waking up on my own, getting my brother (Who is now to be known as Superman) to wake up, watering the plants, cleaning the house, milking the cow twice a day, and getting the mail.
At first I was like, "I'm going to be so awesome, I'll do a surprise spring cleaning for them!" After the first day, I thought, "No. That obviously isn't going to happen."
Visual Aid:

So I'm sorry, dear readers. I have nothing for you today. 

EXCEPT....An update on the book! 

I can't tell you exactly where I am, but I'll tell you this: I don't think I can get the person I want to draw my cover to draw my cover. <(;_;)> She won't answer my emails. 

I'll keep trying, though, and if you want to see her art yourself, here is her website: http://seraph-inn.com/ 

Anyway, I'm looking at sometime in the end of April, beginning of May to publish. 

Thank you for putting up with me, my wonderful handsome/beautiful readers. 

The Grand Masquerade

Welcome to my masquerade. My powder room, always locked, is full of the masks I need to make it through the day, through the night, through the ballroom. Each has its own mood, its own way of speech, and its own trains of thought. Because, really, between you, me, and the other people filling this room: I am over half of the people gathered here. I am the sunshine girl, with the yellow mask, dancing through life with a high-pitched voice, a cheerful outlook, a beautiful smile. I am that quiet woman in the dark mask, dressed in fantastic shades of black and grey you never thought would go well together, the one who looks at you out of the corner of her eyes, just watching. I am the strong, powerful presence with the mask of a simple face, the one who needs nothing because she is strong enough to stand on her own. I am the girl in the romantic red mask and dress, the one who always listens when you talk, and the one who rarely says anything that isn’t worth remembering. I am the one in the dusky blue mask and the ethereal dress, who always dances through green fields, through your dreams. I am the lady in the lace, the graceful, gracious one, who glosses over your awkward gaffes with the elegance of a ballet dancer. I am the girl in the tiger mask, who stalks through the jungle and the forest and the desert, the absolute and undeniable ruler of the wild places, and the queen of the untamable hunters. I am the warrior in the steel mask, who proudly wears her golden armor, knowing there is iron beneath. I am the thoughtful writer in the mask covered in words, never speaking, but always writing, writing, and therefore seeing beyond this world into the places beyond. But mostly, I am the plain girl, standing in the middle of the floor, the one who didn’t wear a mask, who is talking to you know. This is me, stripped of all protective masks. Maybe you have met me before. I am the girl you know well enough to be comfortable around, the one who can show you a different world, a different reality, than the one you know. This is me. Maybe one day, you will look around the ballroom and see all the people here that you are, or realize that you are one of the special people who don’t need masks, who don’t need to be anything other than what they really are. When you find out, you will come to me, and thank me, and show me, because I gave you the gift of realizing who you are. Because another one of my masks is a mirror, that goes with a scintillating dress, also of mirrors. You will meet her one day, and maybe then you will find out who you are, and who I really am. 

Memory

Happy spring, Readers!
Guess what?
Something important is coming up!
(And now you're desperately trying to remember what it is!)
Our anniversary!
Squee!
It's coming in May, and I know that it's two months away, but I'm already planning something incredibly special.
Also, I know that some people, I don't know why, celebrate their anniversary every month, but I don't think that's as special. I prefer one year anniversaries.
Oh! Anyway, here is something I wrote just now!
Enjoy!

Memories are never as sweet as when we remember them on a sunny day in March. Sometimes, I would like to ask, “If I fell in love with you, will you fall, too?” Softly, we can dance, forgetting our metal world, our harsh penalties. I swear then, that I never will forget you, never leave your memory unpacked when I travel. How could I, anyway? You just might be the only thing keeping me alive. The strange words that float in smoke away from us don’t matter, just keep looking at me, and I can take care of you. I have no choice but to love you, and if I had other options, I wouldn’t even see them. Don’t you understand, the time we have now will never happen again, and we must make memories out of the golden sand, the brilliant sunlight, and our peaceful silence. I know it sounds like alchemy, but it’s so simple, and I can teach you the recipe until you know it by heart. Soon, the night will come, and rip us apart like we never really mattered, but you and I know differently. You know that we matter, you know that we cannot survive apart. I know that you are really the only one who can take care of me, and therefore I must protect you, save you from harm. We will scream at the silence, because it will never sound the same if we are alone. We will cry, and try to rip the fabric of our dreams apart, so you can hold me close, and I can feel your strength surrounding me, protecting me. 

Consolation Post

Hello, readers! 
I'm sorry I deleted those music videos :'(
So, to show that I really am terribly sorry, here is a consolation update. 
This is the most personal abstract short I've ever written. 
Please appreciate it as such. 

My mind is a lonely place. I can never actually show someone something I’m thinking about: just tell them in words. Don’t get me wrong, though: words are lovely. There just aren’t enough of them. And sometimes I feel like I have a whole planet in my head, but I always remember: oh yeah, I have several universes holed up in there, not just one planet. Silly me. You can’t type with one hand unless you’re really good at it. In that case, I salute you! …With one hand. Punctuation is so unique and so…so cultured. I wrote something and put it on the internet so I would remember it, but then I can’t find it, and the last time I looked in a mirror I was laughing so hard that the mirror cracked up with me and I got seven years of bad luck. Poor mirror. Having to look at me all the time. Maybe it’s gone to a better place, one where beautiful ladies in shimmering silk gowns dance slowly across the lacquered floor with invisible men. Not just any invisible men, though: invisible gentlemen. Why do I insist upon this small courtesy? Because although there aren’t enough words, the ones we have can be very harmful and impolite if not used properly. I believe that you should have a license to use certain words, just like you have to have a license to drive a car. Why? Because some people don’t know how to use cars or words correctly, and they get hurt or hurt other people. Grammar is not a privilege, it is a right, something that we must use to get about our daily lives. How do I know this? Because I was born with the ability to make great stories, and to make great stories, you must have correct grammar. With me, grammar is instinctive, so I don’t feel the need to read small, colored leather books in a dusty chair all day. Instead, I run wild all summer, looking cool and occasionally frantic. Never mind that, though, because I had a dream when I was five, not a goal or a vision, but a nighttime dream, and I had it again last night, only it made much more sense. I guess that’s because I’m older, but only in my mind and body. My soul, my spirit, my core is still about five or six. I made a decision one morning when I was that old, that I would get up and out of bed cheerfully, immediately, and without complaining. It worked, and I now get up out of bed cheerfully, immediately, and without complaining every day. I did that because I got so tired of wasting energy being grumpy and laying around half in, half out of bed. I just finished my cookie, but society tells me not to go get more because then nobody else can have a cookie. I would like to just say ‘not my problem’ and get more anyway, but I wasn’t raised that way, and I can’t break habits that easily. I think this is the most personal I’ve ever gotten when writing abstractly, and it just felt so natural, like laying in the grass on a hot day or taking a drink. My soul is a beautiful glass pitcher, and the more water I pour out, the more flows into me. That’s just how I work. I’m going to say goodbye now, but remember one thing: Creativity is like a small child. If you don’t want it to grow up into a spoiled brat, discipline it, exercise it, and give it rules. That’s what I did, and I pinky promise it works.  

The Violin

Hello my most dearest readers here is something I wrote a long time ago when I played the violin. I don't play it anymore, because I never really felt like it was something that I wanted to spend time on...I would rather write. However, I know that a lot of people have an almost magical connection to their instruments, and to music. I tried to write about that, and this is the product. It was written a few years ago.

My bow lightly touches the strings, eliciting a musical sigh of content from the polished, varnished wooden sound box. I smile; my violin is eager today, hungry for the music that fills its soul with tremulous vibrations of perfect notes. I rest the bow against the strings, gathering my thoughts, then smoothly pull the white horse-hair into a liquid laugh that fills me, drowning out any other noises or emotions like a waterfall, but not as unchanging. For though this music flows like water, it leaps, laughing and tumbling, then turns low and serious, like the wind moaning and playing through a field of grass. It catches me, tosses me, throws me like a child up high, then returns me safely to where I can continue playing. I bend and sway, my long hair and dress flowing with the music, swept away by the power of the most perfect equations turned into crystalline, silver sound. "Perfect" is too flawed a word to describe this. And then, with the suddenness of an intake of breath, it ends.

Constant Movement

Hey, what's up! 
Here, dearest readers, is something I wrote a couple months ago and then forgot about. 
By the way...the book, "The Last of Five" is going to be finished this month! Keep an eye out, I'll be publishing as soon as possible!

Growing, believing, belonging: gone. I am new now, having purged myself of these sometimes unimportant things. I am fire: I light the night, burn away the impurities of today, growing stronger the more I incorporate. I am earth: mighty and powerful, passive but not neutral, ready to shake you to the ground. I am water: engulfing, pounding, full of energy, always moving. But mostly, I am air: moving, pushing, rushing, whispering, moaning, dancing across the earth. Leaving both of our cares behind, I will take you away, to somewhere that I will be free to roam, not running up against walls or iron bars that sap my strength. Never again shall I subject myself to the will of others. I do not need them, do not need support, borrowed emotions, masks. I only need myself, although others can depend on me if they want. But still, it’s not that important. I’ll take them with me, stretching them out until they are tall enough to stand on their own, then leave them behind. It doesn’t bother me in the least. If it bothers you, don’t look away; just cover your ears. The music is what makes it scary. In complete silence, you will hear many things. Don’t take my word for it, though: just see for yourself. Hear everything, and grow still. Then, I will leave you, because all these things will pass, and I want to move on. Silence is life: movement is life. Never stop moving completely, or your body will turn back into energy, and you will be like me: swept away on the gust, the wave, the earthquake, the inferno that I cannot control, that are my passions, my emotions.