I was challenged to do this over a month ago. I only just found out. I think this means that I need to get on more often. If any bloggers that read this want to, I strongly encouraged them to fill this out on their blogs as well.
1. How much writing do you do on average?
Not enough. No only have I not blogged recently, I am also somewhere over a month behind in my journaling. Hopefully, I'll get back into rhythm this summer.
2. What's the last thing you wrote?
A journal entry about rain, wet robins, and colors.
3. Is it any good?
It was all right. It wasn't something that I edited or put much effort into, but it certainly wasn't bad.
4. What's the first thing you ever wrote that you still have?
My second grade journal. It has six entries, the formatting and spelling are terrible, and it takes a bit of effort to decipher the handwriting.
5. Favorite genre of writing?
Personal anecdote, oddly enough. Until I really started blogging seriously, I was strictly a fantasy writer, but there's something about my own stories that makes the flow more real. Second to that are fairy tales.
6. How often do you get writer's block?
If I'm trying to write a book, about seventy percent of the time. Blogging is maybe forty or thirty. Journaling is almost never.
7. How do you fix it?
I leave it alone and draw. I have periods where I can draw, but I can't write, and I have periods where I can write, but I can't draw, so I bounce back and forth. I almost always have a creative outlet somewhere.
8. Do you save everything you write?
Only when it comes to my journals. Other than that, I still have some papers from high school and one from junior high, but I try not to keep everything.
9. How do you feel about revision?
"It is perfectly okay to write garbage as long as you edit brilliantly." C. J. Cherryh
10. What's your favorite thing that you've written?
Probably "Hooded," but I think that if I put my mind to it I could write something better.
11. What's everyone else's favorite thing that you've written?
I don't exactly know. Possibly "Attack of the Killer Migraine," but no one has ever told me a favorite.
12. What writing projects are you working on right now?
Catching up on blogging and journaling.
13. What's one genre you have never written, and probably never will?
Most of nonfiction. I'll write anecdotes and maybe an essay or two, but I detest writing research papers, biographies, and histories. I likely will have to write some in the future, but I seriously doubt that doing so will be my own idea.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Big Sister, Poetry, and Related Things
My apologies for not blogging last month. I had a lot going on, but that's really not an excuse.
I was able to spend last week with my sister, which was one of the best things that has happened recently. The first day that I came home from work when she was home, we were wearing matching shirts. She didn't wake up that morning until I had already left, so there is no way in happened on purpose. We spent a lot of time together, usually laughing. I took some very beautiful pictures of her. Some of my favorites were accidental takes when she was laughing. She's amazingly beautiful when she laughs.
It's National Poetry Month! Huzzah! I'll try to post some more poems while I have the excuse to. I'm still going to stick to free verse. I can't rhyme. Not well anyway. I tried to make a version of "Way up in the sky, the little birds fly" for worms. After hearing my attempt, my mother made her own: "Way down in the dirt, the little worms flirt." See? That's cute. Mine? "Way down in the dirt, the little worms squirt."
That is why I don't rhyme.
Have a lovely day!
I was able to spend last week with my sister, which was one of the best things that has happened recently. The first day that I came home from work when she was home, we were wearing matching shirts. She didn't wake up that morning until I had already left, so there is no way in happened on purpose. We spent a lot of time together, usually laughing. I took some very beautiful pictures of her. Some of my favorites were accidental takes when she was laughing. She's amazingly beautiful when she laughs.
It's National Poetry Month! Huzzah! I'll try to post some more poems while I have the excuse to. I'm still going to stick to free verse. I can't rhyme. Not well anyway. I tried to make a version of "Way up in the sky, the little birds fly" for worms. After hearing my attempt, my mother made her own: "Way down in the dirt, the little worms flirt." See? That's cute. Mine? "Way down in the dirt, the little worms squirt."
That is why I don't rhyme.
Have a lovely day!
Masquerade's End
The room stands gracefully full.
Bright colors swish
against slender ankles.
Ideals dance with dreams,
stepping in perfect time
around the ring, casting a spell.
Take care to not be caught.
Laughter finds an echo
in the gentle cacophony
and ricochets off a single heart.
There is no comfort here.
The food does not fill.
The spell is only an illusion.
A hand reaches up,
unties the chains.
The mask falls,
shatters.
Strewn glass and gems.
Far gone feathers.
The metal frame contorted,
bent grossly out of shape.
Stand.
Perfect.
Whole.
Cast aside
the glamor.
Bright colors swish
against slender ankles.
Ideals dance with dreams,
stepping in perfect time
around the ring, casting a spell.
Take care to not be caught.
Laughter finds an echo
in the gentle cacophony
and ricochets off a single heart.
There is no comfort here.
The food does not fill.
The spell is only an illusion.
A hand reaches up,
unties the chains.
The mask falls,
shatters.
Strewn glass and gems.
Far gone feathers.
The metal frame contorted,
bent grossly out of shape.
Stand.
Perfect.
Whole.
Cast aside
the glamor.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Valentine's Day 2014
Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you are the recipient of many hugs and much chocolate. In my life are many prominent couples: my grandparents, my mom and dad, my brother Ace and his fiancee, and my youngest brother and his girlfriend. These couples are horribly sweet, and I love them very much.
That being said, there are some pretty awesome singles in my life too: my three oldest brothers (as far as I know), my wonderful older sister, and some of my close friends. Some of those said friends are rather proud of being single and celebrate the fourteenth of February as Singles Awareness Day. I don't quite think that the word used should be awareness though. Celebration, that works better. Awareness is most often used for diseases. It makes it sound like we're going to die unless we get boyfriends (or girlfriends as the case may be). Please, enough with the melodrama. Being single is actually pretty awesome when it's all said and done.
I thoroughly enjoy being single, but I won't bash couples. They have the gift of one another. Please don't complain about them being happy together. That doesn't speak well of you, even if you're otherwise awesome.
So, happy Valentine's Day, dear couples. Enjoy each other. In your loved one you have a constant comfort and (hopefully) entertainment.
Happy Singles Celebration, dear singles. Don't worry about being a third wheel. Be a unicycle! Those are really cool and take a lot of talent.
Much love,
Kara
That being said, there are some pretty awesome singles in my life too: my three oldest brothers (as far as I know), my wonderful older sister, and some of my close friends. Some of those said friends are rather proud of being single and celebrate the fourteenth of February as Singles Awareness Day. I don't quite think that the word used should be awareness though. Celebration, that works better. Awareness is most often used for diseases. It makes it sound like we're going to die unless we get boyfriends (or girlfriends as the case may be). Please, enough with the melodrama. Being single is actually pretty awesome when it's all said and done.
- All the chocolate you buy can go to you (and deserving friends, but they don't have to know that you have chocolate, and what they don't know won't hurt them).
- So much time is freed up when you don't have to be in contact over text or social media all the time, let alone actually being with someone.
- You don't have to shave (to be quite frank that does apply to both genders).
- Money spent on gifts and dates can be spent another way, say books, video games, car or truck, or even chocolate. (There's no going wrong with chocolate.)
- You don't have to check with the boyfriend before you schedule something. It's really all about spontaneity.
- You can drop off of the grid of communication for a full week and no one would make a fuss.
- Bacon.
- You can be as geeky or crazy as you want. No one will restrain you.
- There are no friends of the boyfriend that you really dislike that you have to put up with, when there is no boyfriend.
I thoroughly enjoy being single, but I won't bash couples. They have the gift of one another. Please don't complain about them being happy together. That doesn't speak well of you, even if you're otherwise awesome.
So, happy Valentine's Day, dear couples. Enjoy each other. In your loved one you have a constant comfort and (hopefully) entertainment.
Happy Singles Celebration, dear singles. Don't worry about being a third wheel. Be a unicycle! Those are really cool and take a lot of talent.
Much love,
Kara
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Olympics, Singing, and Life
I generally curl up with a book if someone decides to watch sports. They bore me for the most part. However, I do have a love for the Olympics, winter and summer. I'll cheer for pretty much any country, especially the Europeans and Canada. It's not the competition that draws me to it. If that were the case, I'd like the usual sports more. It's the athletic heights that the athletes reach, their amazing ability and grace. I love it.
My favorite winter Olympic sport is figure skating. I've loved watching it since I was little. The skaters are so graceful. There's something in a skater's posture and face when a routine is done well, something that beams a mixture of excitement and relief. I've always thought it was one of the most beautiful parts.
As a high school student, I would go to choir competitions. I liked listening to the sound of a choir wash over me. I especially enjoyed listening to solos and small ensembles. There, like in the Olympics, I could focus on an individual. At the end of a song well sang, the singer's shoulders relax and a small smile emerges. It reminds me of the skaters, their excitement and relief rushing out and blending together.
Occasionally, I'll even listen to the reporters during the Olympics. Sometimes you hear them say that an upcoming part is difficult for the particular athlete. When I heard them say that about one of the skaters this year, I realized that in a way singers are more like traditional athletes than we tend to think. There's always that one part of a good song for a singer, that one part that is tricky, a jump in notes or change in rhythm. Sometimes we mess up obviously, even enough for those who don't know the music to tell. Just like the figure skaters who fall, we have to jump back in and finish like nothing happened. It's a lot like life too, now that I think about it. Figure skating, singing, and living are all art forms. We push the boundaries that we think are there. We break the mold and shine, just like Christ intended us to.
My favorite winter Olympic sport is figure skating. I've loved watching it since I was little. The skaters are so graceful. There's something in a skater's posture and face when a routine is done well, something that beams a mixture of excitement and relief. I've always thought it was one of the most beautiful parts.
As a high school student, I would go to choir competitions. I liked listening to the sound of a choir wash over me. I especially enjoyed listening to solos and small ensembles. There, like in the Olympics, I could focus on an individual. At the end of a song well sang, the singer's shoulders relax and a small smile emerges. It reminds me of the skaters, their excitement and relief rushing out and blending together.
Occasionally, I'll even listen to the reporters during the Olympics. Sometimes you hear them say that an upcoming part is difficult for the particular athlete. When I heard them say that about one of the skaters this year, I realized that in a way singers are more like traditional athletes than we tend to think. There's always that one part of a good song for a singer, that one part that is tricky, a jump in notes or change in rhythm. Sometimes we mess up obviously, even enough for those who don't know the music to tell. Just like the figure skaters who fall, we have to jump back in and finish like nothing happened. It's a lot like life too, now that I think about it. Figure skating, singing, and living are all art forms. We push the boundaries that we think are there. We break the mold and shine, just like Christ intended us to.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
A Visit to the Bookstore
Early Monday evening I entered Barnes and Noble. The chill from outside loosened its grasp and drifted away from me like smoke. There were more people than I would have liked, but I'm an introvert, and, as such, would prefer as few people as possible. Doing my best to remain invisible, I wove around the bookstore patrons. Despite any discomfort I might feel around them, they were there for the same reasons I was, reasons that were made of paper and ink.
I stopped by the journals first, a habit I had picked up from my mother. Many of the blank books were familiar faces: a leather lion, a yellow ribbon bookmark peering from between pages, and a variety of green leaves. A few that I recognized were the same as some of my mother's. Several new faces murmured their mute hellos as well. I picked up one that I'd inspected before. Its black cover was rough as I traced the clockwork design on the front. Gently opening it, I flipped through the pages, blank save for the black lines, and inhaled the sent of unused paper, the sent of potential.
I moved on to the graphic novels and mangas, taking a few detours to avoid people perusing the fiction and poetry shelves. Peeking into the desired aisle, I smiled slightly and moved on to the next one. The graphic novels and manga had a slightly different atmosphere. In other sections, readers stood back from the shelves or sat in chairs, but here, those who felt quite at home sat on the floor in the middle of the aisle. On days when other customers were few and far between, I would do the same until my legs fell asleep beneath me. Monday, however, I moved on to the other books for the time being. I flipped almost every book over to read the back, occasionally opening them to read the inside of the dust jacket. Cover art and titles are far from reliable in defining a book's worth. Still, only a shelf away from the graphic novels, I could hear the college age boys that occupied the floor. There were a few mentions of characters they all seemed to be familiar with, and then they began to head out.
"What's that one?"
One of them picked up a book and flipped a few pages. "It's about a hipster."
"I don't want to read about hipsters."
I waited a moment and put down the steampunk book I had been holding, moving to investigate Barnes and Noble's stock of graphic novels and manga. My attention shifted from book to book, art style to art style, before I wandered back to the fantasy, where a book of dragon history caught my eye. I smiled. I have a love for dragons. Taking it into my hands, I opened it to the middle and found a copy of Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky. Eventually, I drifted back to the front to do some people watching. Many in line were adults, more than likely parents. They seemed worn, but perhaps it was simply the effect of the holidays. A pair of girls near the line stole my attention for a moment. They both were shorter than me, likely in high school or early college. The taller of the two had short red hair and wore a black pea coat. She embraced her friend.
"I didn't expect to see you here!"
"I read!" The shorter one replied indignantly. Her hair was dark and fell a little past her shoulders. She wore a dark shirt with a wide, but not low, neck line.
I smiled a little. They reminded me of myself with my friends. It was the clothing styles as well as the fact that I wouldn't expect to find my friends in Barnes and Noble, even though I know full well that they read.
I came home with one book. It was enough. Two days before, I had downloaded ten new books to my kindle, many of which were for free. I have reading material. I go back to work tomorrow. The books not yet read will be a comfort to have ready as well as a torment to ignore, as it is with all books.
I stopped by the journals first, a habit I had picked up from my mother. Many of the blank books were familiar faces: a leather lion, a yellow ribbon bookmark peering from between pages, and a variety of green leaves. A few that I recognized were the same as some of my mother's. Several new faces murmured their mute hellos as well. I picked up one that I'd inspected before. Its black cover was rough as I traced the clockwork design on the front. Gently opening it, I flipped through the pages, blank save for the black lines, and inhaled the sent of unused paper, the sent of potential.
I moved on to the graphic novels and mangas, taking a few detours to avoid people perusing the fiction and poetry shelves. Peeking into the desired aisle, I smiled slightly and moved on to the next one. The graphic novels and manga had a slightly different atmosphere. In other sections, readers stood back from the shelves or sat in chairs, but here, those who felt quite at home sat on the floor in the middle of the aisle. On days when other customers were few and far between, I would do the same until my legs fell asleep beneath me. Monday, however, I moved on to the other books for the time being. I flipped almost every book over to read the back, occasionally opening them to read the inside of the dust jacket. Cover art and titles are far from reliable in defining a book's worth. Still, only a shelf away from the graphic novels, I could hear the college age boys that occupied the floor. There were a few mentions of characters they all seemed to be familiar with, and then they began to head out.
"What's that one?"
One of them picked up a book and flipped a few pages. "It's about a hipster."
"I don't want to read about hipsters."
I waited a moment and put down the steampunk book I had been holding, moving to investigate Barnes and Noble's stock of graphic novels and manga. My attention shifted from book to book, art style to art style, before I wandered back to the fantasy, where a book of dragon history caught my eye. I smiled. I have a love for dragons. Taking it into my hands, I opened it to the middle and found a copy of Lewis Carroll's Jabberwocky. Eventually, I drifted back to the front to do some people watching. Many in line were adults, more than likely parents. They seemed worn, but perhaps it was simply the effect of the holidays. A pair of girls near the line stole my attention for a moment. They both were shorter than me, likely in high school or early college. The taller of the two had short red hair and wore a black pea coat. She embraced her friend.
"I didn't expect to see you here!"
"I read!" The shorter one replied indignantly. Her hair was dark and fell a little past her shoulders. She wore a dark shirt with a wide, but not low, neck line.
I smiled a little. They reminded me of myself with my friends. It was the clothing styles as well as the fact that I wouldn't expect to find my friends in Barnes and Noble, even though I know full well that they read.
I came home with one book. It was enough. Two days before, I had downloaded ten new books to my kindle, many of which were for free. I have reading material. I go back to work tomorrow. The books not yet read will be a comfort to have ready as well as a torment to ignore, as it is with all books.
Friday, December 27, 2013
Christmas Lights
There's something about Christmas lights that acts as a cup of hot chocolate to my heart. Their dancing brightness in the night is laughter released to be seen rather than heard.
The rides home from relatives' homes were, to my young imagination, strolls through art galleries. Here and there were houses that seemed to be of gingerbread: lights bordering windows, doors, and the edges and corners of the roofs like carefully placed gumdrops. Occasionally the choice and placement of lights created the illusion of glowing icicles. My favorite displays were when I could see the tree lit up inside. These were the houses that seemed the most real, as if the absence of a tree whispered that it was a dream and not a thing of substance.
As is our tradition, my sister and I set up our tree the day after Thanksgiving. Life moved on and we returned to work for a few weeks more. Every morning I woke up and dressed before the sun lifted her sleepy head and dared to open her shining eyes. I curled up in the armchair with a warm cup of tea in my hands and absorbed the sight of the tree illuminating the darkened room. It made a bubble around me, a little world all my own. It was small, but still an early morning sanctuary.
I know it's a few days late, but Merry Christmas.
The rides home from relatives' homes were, to my young imagination, strolls through art galleries. Here and there were houses that seemed to be of gingerbread: lights bordering windows, doors, and the edges and corners of the roofs like carefully placed gumdrops. Occasionally the choice and placement of lights created the illusion of glowing icicles. My favorite displays were when I could see the tree lit up inside. These were the houses that seemed the most real, as if the absence of a tree whispered that it was a dream and not a thing of substance.
As is our tradition, my sister and I set up our tree the day after Thanksgiving. Life moved on and we returned to work for a few weeks more. Every morning I woke up and dressed before the sun lifted her sleepy head and dared to open her shining eyes. I curled up in the armchair with a warm cup of tea in my hands and absorbed the sight of the tree illuminating the darkened room. It made a bubble around me, a little world all my own. It was small, but still an early morning sanctuary.
I know it's a few days late, but Merry Christmas.
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