Adventure of Summertime

Hello!

The season for days blanketed by the intense sun, and sapphire nights dancing with stars is here! And of course my favorite thing about this season is the abundant time I have to read and write!

I have created quite the summer reading list. One I kept dreaming about during the last few weeks of school.

First up on my Summer Reading List is none other than '"Juliet" by Anne Fortier. I have read this book a couple times before, but it's enchanting world of Romeo and Juliet still has an affect on me. There's nothing quite like warm, golden Tuscany to kickstart Summer. Of course it also helps that the most romantic of all couples are the center of this novel.

Here's a book trailer for this romantic tale.

And if you also want to get reading for the summer you can start with my short story that was recently published in an art journal if you would like.


                                 The Hushed Tone of a Symphony

She had fingers designed to romance piano keys, the woman whom my father had loved. Occasionally, when dusk would drift in through the windows of our home, father would sit at the family piano and trace the instruments black and white teeth. No one in our family had the talent that is needed to entice a piano to sing, and yet in every childhood memory there the piano was, guarded in the background. Father was the only member who was allowed to sit at the piano bench. At times when I was supposed to have been tucked away in my bed, I would sneak down to watch father’s hands fall over the forgotten keys, his fingers like kisses upon the worn ivory.

When dusk made way for the moon father would get up from his spot and join my mother on the porch, their hands blended into one flesh. My mother never questioned the reason for a piano that no one played and took up such valuable space in her parlor. She dutifully dusted it, and made sure us children only grabbed it with our eyes.

Once when I was seven and had entered into the phase of life where curiosity filled my mind more than playground games, I opened the lid on top of the piano bench and met the matured photograph of the woman whom my father had loved. She was posed by the very piano I was standing next to, her classic hands draped over the keys, sharing secrets. My seven year old brain didn’t understand the heart’s melancholy memory. That evening when father came home he was at a loss for why I handed him a picture of my mother and told him I liked this one better.

Father didn’t realize I had found the picture of the woman from his youth, who had married his soul until I was sixteen and had tried to sneak out to meet a boy. We sat across from one another at the kitchen table etched with devoted dinner conversations. He slid a cup of coffee to me, “You want to tell me why you were out whispering on the front porch when you should be sleeping?” I gulped down the coffee in reply, my cheeks still burnt with the fever that afflicts young hearts when the moon was entirely too silver. Father looked down into his own cup, his smile reflecting off the dark liquid. “Love is always the strongest at the most inconvenient times isn’t it?”

“Maybe we are the inconvenient ones.” I prodded the coffee mug back to him.

Father nodded. “We can be.”

“Were you ever?”

He clinked our mugs together. “Fathers are never inconvenient.”

I thought of the woman in the photograph, her eyes the shade of promise. “You weren’t always a father.”

He looked over the mugs, the photograph mirrored in his aging face. His eyes dropped with remembrance as he stood. “That was a long time ago, sweetheart.” He moved past me to the stairs angled near the piano. “Go to bed now.”

My eyes followed his leather shoes up to the room he shared with my slumbering mother. When the door clicked close I tip toed to the piano. I hovered my hand over the reserved keys, my fingers too unholy to graze something so sacred. It was a long time ago, father had said, and yet it could have been yesterday. A moment gone but still treasured in memory.

I didn’t learn to sympathize with the piano until I walked around with a tarnished engagement ring hung around a chain on my neck. It was my constant companion along with the empty echo of vows never declared. My siblings had all spread their roots from the house of our childhood, but I had returned much like the way a horse finds home when abandoned in the forest. I learned to spend my days in a delicate manner, not leaving my room until dusk wrapped its arms around the world in a quiet goodbye. When the orange light strolled in through the windows I would sit by my father on the piano bench, which had now made room for two.

“You never learned to play.” I told him.

“Never.”

I watched his hand comfort the sad smile of the piano. “She—She didn’t teach you?”

Father played a note. My ears buzzed at the piano’s peaceful voice. “No. She didn’t need to. Watching her play was the point.” He hit another note that mingled in with the dusky air, rising until it wasn’t a part of us anymore.

“Why do you remember?” The engagement ring fell across my chest.

“Why would I forget?” He picked up my hand and laid it on the keys, the recollections of a protected antique love that dreamed inside the piano rippled through my fingers.

“But she only lives in your memory.” The engagement ring sighed against my skin.

Father pressed my hand down, sending up a melody, “Then she still lives.”

That night I laid to rest my engagement ring next to the photograph of the woman my father had loved, not in a grave but in an eternal treasure. The lid closed not with a sound of finality that I had expected but with the hushed tone of a symphony.

The Adventure of the Romantic Hero

Nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime.

But, this feeling of floating on clouds isn't just around in the spring for those who read.

Love at first sight? More like, love at first paragraph.

There is a fever known to many readers as "Fictionalitis". It is a sickness that has no cure. Yes, this is the condition in where people are in love with fictional characters. Every reader is guilty of this. These characters float right out of the black and white pages of our favorite books and right into our hearts where they refuse to leave. Not that we mind.

You never forget your first love.

Mine was none other than Gilbert Blythe, the hero from one of the best books known to literature, Anne of Green Gables. Anne might not have liked when he called her "carrots", but I certainly found it charming.

But even as bad as it may be to carry torch for a fictional character, the fall is even harder when you go head over heels for a character you wrote for your own story.

Of this I am quite guilty.

In fact, in the novel I'm writing right now (on page 82) I just introduced the romantic hero. I know, I'm already on page 82 and am just now introducing the romantic hero? Trust me, he's worth the wait.  There's nothing like a handsome fictional character to get your inspiration tank to full.

Now, it might be those blossoms that are hugging tree branches in the spring sunshine that is making my sentimental heart want to write about a romantic hero. For a hopeless romantic such as myself, writing about the leading man and how he settles in the heart of the main character is always my favorite part. It's also the part I work the hardest at. The romance is the heart of the story and therefore the beat needs to be strong and true.

I had my writing partner read the first part where I introduce the romantic hero and judging by her giggles, I'm guessing he had the same effect on her as he does on me.

Hopefully one day you will read my novel and fall in love with the romantic hero as well!

Enough rambling for now!

The Adventure of Peter Pan

I'm back! 

And it's only been a week!

Be proud!

As before mentioned I have been writing every day and I said I would put some different short stories on here. So here we go!

I might be a fairy tale believer, and some of you already know this. 

So it probably won't be a shock about the subject of this next story!

                                           Never Grow Up

            “ ‘All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again’.” I breathed, mustering up every ounce of enchantment in my voice.

            “I’m pretty sure this has never happened before.” My friend, Julie scoffed, her sarcasm covering my darkened backyard.

            “Now, missy, is that any kind of attitude to have?” I demanded as I closed my well-worn copy of Peter Pan and put away my story-telling voice.

            Her sigh winged its way over to me through the darkness. “And what exactly is the attitude I’m supposed to have? Why did you even bring that old book out here? It’s too dark to read.”

            I snuggled deeper inside the blanket covering my shoulders, “Yeah, because that’s what I was doing…reading it…not reciting it from memory.”           

            “You have Peter Pan memorized?” Her disbelief covered me more than my blanket.

            I reached for my binoculars. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

            “It’s not…if you’re ten! It’s the eve of your eighteenth birthday!”

            I looked through the binoculars, searching behind every star. “Your point? And, where are your binoculars? You’re supposed to be watching the roof!”

            With a groan, I heard Julie fidget with her own binoculars before she continued. “We should be doing something adventurous. But no, we are out here sitting in the cold, catching pneumonia like two old ninnies.”

            I dropped my binoculars in my lap. “Hey! Don’t make me any older than I already am.”

            Julie looked over at me, her binoculars reflecting off the moonlight, her eyes taking on the glow of fairy dust. “Speaking of ‘older’, don’t you think you are just a bit too old for this?”

            I leaned back and took in the show of the night sky, complete with shooting stars. “ ‘This’ being?”

            “Jane! You are turning eighteen tomorrow, and we are looking for Peter Pan!”

            I smiled at the sparkling night, “I fail to see the problem here.”

            “And that’s what scares me.”

            I tucked my arm behind me, turning it into a pillow. “The only thing scaring me is the possibility of missing Peter, because you keep forgetting to watch the roof!”

            “Jane!”

            “And as for you, the only thing you should be scared about are pirates, especially Captain Hook.”

            Julie threw herself down on the ground by me and peered over me, her face blocking my view. “Jane, listen to me. Peter Pan and Captain Hook aren’t real.”

            I shoved her away. “Excuse me please. You are blocking my view. Sounds to me that you need a little more faith, trust and…”

            “No! Don’t even say it!” She completely collapsed onto the ground and rolled over onto her back.

            “Pixie dust!” I finished, my storyteller voice in full effect.

            “I can just see us now. We are going to be old ninnies with pneumonia in wheelchairs still looking for Peter Pan.”

            I blinked the stars from my vision and sat up. “No…no that won’t be us.”

            Julie sat up, her binoculars still glued to her face. “Why not?”

            My sigh shot across my backyard like the shooting stars in the sky. “Because, by then we will be grown up.”

            Julie put her binoculars down. “Oh.”

            “Yep. Once you’re grown up, you can’t ever go to Never land.”

            “Is that what this is all about?”

            I hid behind my binoculars. “I turn eighteen tomorrow. It’s my last chance to go to Never land and not grow up.”

            “What’s so bad about growing up?”

            “I forgot. You’re already eighteen.” I threw my head back searching for the second star to the right.

            “What does that have to do with anything?” Julie joined me in looking, following my gaze.

            “Because you’ve already forgotten!”

            “Forgotten what?”

            I threw my binoculars down. “What its like to be young! To have dreams. Not get caught up in the way the rest of the world is.”

            Julie picked up my binoculars. “What are you talking about Jane?”

            “Every one always has dreams. But they all end up settling and then the next thing they know, life has passed them by and everything they wanted is out of their reach. People forget what it’s like to have a young and hopeful heart.”

            “You think that’s going to happen to you?”

            “It’s what happens to everyone.” I played with the unraveling fabric on my blanket.

            Julie handed me back my binoculars. “I don’t think that’s going to happen to you.”

            “How?”

            “Because you won’t ever be like those people.”

            I looked back at the sky. “How do you know that?”

            “Because I don’t think any of those other people have the faith like you do.”

            I smiled at the moon. “Really?”

            “Would anyone else be sitting outside waiting for Peter Pan?”

            I replied with picking my binoculars back up and searching the skies.

            Julie laughed as she followed pursuit. “You know, if Peter Pan does indeed show up tonight, I have a bone to pick with him?”

            “And what would that be?”

            “He didn’t come to take me away to Never land.”

            I almost dropped my binoculars again. “Is that right?”

            Julie tightened her grip on her binoculars. “You’re not the only one who has Peter Pan memorized.”

            I shrugged. “Well just keep thinking happy thoughts. He will show up.”

            “How can you be so sure?”

            I cleared my throat. “ ‘All of this has happened before and it will happen again.’”

The Adventure of Getting the Ball Rolling

My name is Robyn, and I am a horrible blogger.

If it helps, I do think about you all the time my dear little blog. But, I do believe that is no excuse for not writing a blog in four months. Four months!

Again, if it helps, I have hardly written anything in these last four months.

In my defense, school is a bully and doesn't like to share me with my writing world. Does writing essays count as 'writing'?

Have no fear! That is all about to change.

You see, one of the main reasons I have taken a "vacation" from writing, is not only has Inspiration refused to come visit me, but his evil twin Discouragement has decided to move in. For about a month I have shied away from anything that was story related, feeling every drop of doubt.

Battling such feelings of doubt and fear of being a horrible writer is probably all a part of the job. But, I won't let it conquer me.

I have heard multiple times that an author should write every day. And I am now taking this to heart. I decided to go back to my roots of writing with a smooth pen on a fresh piece of paper, rather than typing the days away. Seeing blue ink smudged on my hand, might be one of the homiest feelings I could muster. I am reminded of the days when I was a little girl and would lug around a Hello Kitty binder jammed with random papers with my unreadable writing scrawled over every inch of every page. This new method is already healing my wounds of doubt and bringing me back to the reason I write anyway. I am hopelessly, head over heels in love with the way words flow from my heart and onto the page.

So, every day I find a new writing prompt and jot down a small story in my little writing journal. And I will upload some of those stories onto here.

I know what you're thinking. Uh-huh, sure, we've heard that before. We won't hear from you again in another 7 months!

I don't blame you for the lack of faith.

But, I feel like I have learned a lesson in my aspiring author career. Nothing will keep me from writing again, especially something as silly as doubt. When something is your heart's desire, it was probably put there for a reason and you should hold onto it and cherish it.

See you soon!

Enough rambling for now!

A Short Story Adventure

I do believe it's time for another short story... and a new blog!

Usually I have the hardest time shortening any of my stories to be less than 250 pages. However, after all of these creative writing classes I am learning to master the art of the short story. 

This is a little tale about two ladies who share a name. And as Juliet once put it, "What's in a name?" Without further ado, here is a short story I wrote for one of my creative writing classes. 

                                           Eleanor

            She had kissed Cupid.

            That was one for the books… literally. I had gotten into the habit of lugging around a large spiral notebook with me whenever I was cruelly forced to sit and listen to my great aunt Eleanor’s jibber jabber. We stared at each other from across the cold gray table. My eyes masked my intense pain of boredom, while hers overflowed with enchantment. The sparkles in her chestnut eyes danced as she rattled on about her teenage date with the God of Love. So lost was she in her reverie of passion tipped arrows and pure fluffy wings, she didn’t take notice that I had pulled out my notebook and was scribbling away. I added, “Fling with Cupid” to my ever-growing list of aunt Eleanor’s lavish delusions. Over the months I had stored up quite the collection of her insane rambles, planning to show my mother just how crazy she actually was.

            “He kissed me with magic.” Aunt Eleanor’s airy voice floated over the table.

            I glanced up at her, taking in how she had her delicate blue veined hands clasped together under her chin, “Yep.”

            “That’s why it felt like we were walking on air.” She breathed out a dream filled sigh, her eyes searching the ceiling, as if she expected to see Cupid hovering near by.

            “Are you sure you weren’t flying? The kid does have some wings, you know.” I rolled my eyes, before plastering on my practiced fake smile, as she looked my way.

            She covered her mouth as she giggled like an eight year old, rather than an eighty eight year old. “Well, our love did take us to new heights!”

            I slammed the notebook shut, “I bet.”

            She wheeled herself to my side giving me a good look at the vibrant fuchsia tutu she had fashioned around her tiny waist. She thrust her shaky soft hand into my curled up fists. “Ellie, have you ever been kissed with magic?”

            I blinked. “Nope. Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure to kiss Harry Potter yet.” I knotted my hands together, pushing away her small paw.

            Her shimmering eyes dulled, “Oh, how I pity you!”

            I blasted to my feet, my chair screeching along the drab charcoal floor, causing random salt and pepper heads from around the visitor’s room to all glare at me. “I have to go aunt Eleanor.”

            She wheeled by me, escorting me to the door. At the pace we were going I began to wonder if my great aunt was part snail. I figured I could have pushed her to rush things along, but what was the use of going out of my way. She let out another breathy giggle. “Mercy me! Look at me go. I should enter a wheelchair derby.” As we neared the door she puffed out, “Did I ever tell you about the time I won the Indy 500?”

            I looked through the glass doors to the beautiful sight of my mother’s navy mini van waiting at the curb for me. “Nope. Bye aunt Eleanor.” I turned on my heel and raced through the door, pretending I didn’t hear her call after me, “Goodbye my little darling! Say hello to your boyfriend Harry Potter for me!”

            I threw myself into the front seat, my lip falling into a pout. I yanked the seatbelt down all the while grumbling under my breath. My mother chuckled, “I take it you had a good time?”

            I pierced her with the dirtiest look I could muster, “I don’t understand why you hate me.”

            Her sigh lasted until we pulled out of the parking lot. “Honey, I’m not in the mood for your teenage angst. It really won’t hurt you to visit her once a week. She’s your namesake!”

            “And I thank you from the bottom of my heart for naming me after a lady who thinks she planted one on Cupid.” I tossed my feet up on the dashboard.

            My mother’s smile glistened, “Oh! Did she tell you that story? That was always one of my favorites.”

             “Mom! You shouldn’t give in to her delusions!” I reached for my notebook.

            “Oh, Ellie stop it.” Her tone tightened around my name. “You’re making her sound like she’s crazy.”

            “That’s exactly what she is.” I ripped open the notebook. “I know she’s your favorite aunt but I think you need to come to grips that she belongs in a loony bin rather than a nursing home.” I flipped to my list. “According to Eleanor, she dined with royalty every night for ten years. She has a jar of stardust under her bed. Oh, and we mustn’t forget that she claims she has a treasure so beautiful, the world wouldn’t know what to do with it. Now, here’s my personal favorite, once she held the sunrise in her hands.”

            I threw the notebook down showing my mother just how angsty I could be. She pulled into our driveway, silence pouring out of her. After she came to a stop she sat there running her hands over the steering wheel, as if it was going to whisper to her the words she wanted to say. “Eleanor.” She exhaled my name.

            “Don’t call me that.”

            Her hands slid down into her lap. Her eyes sought out mine. I tried to avoid eye contact but the quiet somber flickering in her face kept seeking my attention. She blinked, “Eleanor, you just don’t understand her. You don’t.”

            I glanced down at my own knotted up hands lying in my lap. I licked my lips, preparing to fire back with a usual cheeky response when my mother spoke, “I wish you deserved your name.”

                                                ****************************

           

“Miss Ellie, I don’t think it’s a good time for a visit.” My aunt’s nurse folded her hands calmly.

            I crossed my arms, “Well, my mom already dropped me off.”

            “Perhaps you should give her a call.”

            “Why?”

            The nurse eased into her own practiced smile, “So she can come back and pick you up.”

            “No. I mean why isn’t it a goody day for a visit.”

            The rehearsed smile deepened, “Your aunt isn’t having an easy time of it today.”

            Before I could ask her any more questions I heard my aunt’s breezy voice thundering out from the visitor’s room. I charged past the nurse heading straight for the room. The nurse followed me, “Miss Ellie, I really don’t think she is up for any visitors today.”

            “Oh? Is that why she’s in the  “Leave Me Alone” room?” My fake smile slid across my face as I glanced over my shoulder at the nurse. I opened the door to the visitor’s room to the scene of my great aunt surrounded by the crabby salt and pepper heads who she calls neighbors. Her neon orange outfit stood out in contrast to the jaded blues and grays of the crowd that circled her.

            Tears streamed down her face as she clutched in her petite arms, an oversized mason jar. She hiccupped, “It is! I’m telling you the truth! Why can’t you see it?”

            My hand gripped the door handle, my knuckles turning white as a salt and pepper man hit the side of my aunt’s wheelchair with his cherry wood cane, “Yeah. That’s a jar of stardust. And I’m John F. Kennedy.”

            Aunt Eleanor bawled, “You’re not nearly handsome enough to be him!”

            “At least I’ve still got my sanity, unlike you!”

            Aunt Eleanor crumpled back into her chair. She caught sight of me, still standing with the door open, and the dam of her tears completely broke free. “Ellie! Ellie, tell them! They don’t believe me, Ellie!”

            Every head turned to look at me, sending me into full retreat mode. That is, until I got a glimpse of the nurse standing behind me. She crossed her arms and a smirk snaked over her face. With a weighty grumble I stepped into the room and forced my way through the small cluster of canes, wobbly knees, and knobby elbows. I pushed past the man who had hit aunt Eleanor’s wheelchair, “Excuse me, Mr. President.”

            Aunt Eleanor reached out for me, dropping her precious jar in the process. Mr. President moved faster than I thought his joints could allow, bending down to snatch up the jar. “Oh, yes. Mighty fine stardust we have here.”

            My hand moved faster than my brain could process what I was doing. My hand snapped out fast to grab at the jar I startled Mr. President so that his bony fingers loosened up on the jar. “Your reflexes aren’t what they used to be, now are they, JFK?” His lips formed into a snarl. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but I do believe you are all way past kindergarten, and should not be acting like kids on a playground.” I raked my eyes over the huddle of grays and blues. “Now I think all of you should think back to when your mothers taught you some manners. If you can remember back that far.” I grabbed the jar and plopped it down in a stunned aunt Eleanor’s lap. I wheeled her away to the corner window, hidden from the peering eyes of her peers.

            I scooted a plastic chair close to her and sat beside her as she caressed her stardust jar, muttering, “They didn’t see it Ellie. They just couldn’t see it.” I reached out an awkward hand and patted her arm the way I imagined one would pat the head of a grizzly bear.

She rubbed at her swollen eyes. “Don’t you see it Ellie?” She lifted the jar to my face. I looked from the jar, to her, back to the jar again. Instead of tiny little stars, there were dozens upon dozens of pictures. She popped open the lid and sprinkled the pictures down onto her lap, black and white photographs falling like shooting stars. “Aren’t they all beautiful?” She looked at me, her brown eyes now brimming with her normal enchanted expression.

            The feeblest of smiles stepped onto my face, “Yes.” I breathed.

            She picked up a faded photograph. She handed it over into my hands. I gingerly touched the edges, taking in the sight of a light haired man sitting on the hood of an old Ford. The way the sun fell though his hair, it almost gave him an angelic halo. He was looking down at the photographer with the same look in his eyes that haunted aunt Eleanor’s. “That’s your uncle George.”

            I handed the picture back to her. I watched as it floated down into her hand. “I don’t remember him.”

            “No. No, you wouldn’t. He died long before you came along.” She returned the picture to the jar. “We were only married for ten years. We were as poor as poor could be. But every night as we sat across each other at the dinner table, we felt like royalty. Being together was more important than all the money in the world.”

            She picked up a faded envelope. She popped it over into my hold. “Do you fancy reading?” She giggled.

            I bit back a smile as I opened up the envelope and pulled out an old letter. The poetry of my great uncle’s marriage proposal was spelled out in delicate calligraphy. Aunt Eleanor tugged the letter from my tight grasp. “It’s a treasure isn’t it? That man knew how to kiss with magic.”

            I scooted in even closer, to gaze down at all the different photographs. “Why do you have so many photos aunt Eleanor?”

            She ran her fingers over them. “People say that stars are the jewels of the sky. These are my jewels.”

            I straightened up. I began to scoot away as if the photographs were blinding me. Aunt Eleanor’s hand stopped me. I allowed her tiny hand to slip into my clenched fist. I unraveled my fingers, as I felt the warmth of aunt Eleanor’s palm against mine. She gave my hand a squeeze before pulling away, leaving a small colored photograph in my hand. “This is one of my favorite stars.”

            I unfolded my palm. I recognized aunt Eleanor right away. She was sitting by a hospital bed, with light streaming in through the window. In her arms she cradled a newborn. My hand began to shake as I saw that the baby was me. Aunt Eleanor spoke up, “You were born right before sunup. I was in the room with your mother. She handed you over to me as the sun broke out. I looked down at you and I knew I was holding the sunrise in my hands.”

            Later as I climbed into my mother’s van I had disappeared into a deep haze. When she put a cool hand on my shoulder, I jumped. She laughed, “What’s going on with you, Ellie?”

            I found my voice. “Don’t call me that.”

            She drew back her hand. “Why not?”

            “My name’s Eleanor.”

Enough rambling for now!

The Snow White Adventure

Apples.

Apples have the ability to make our mouths water just by taking a glance at the glossy vibrant ruby peel. Our hands will itch to run our fingers over the smooth fruit.  They beckon to us to come take a crisp bite and have the juice drip lazily down our chins. 

Apples also have the reputation of being called "The Forbidden Fruit". Now, Eve might not exactly agree with that, but there is another lady who will more than approve of this moniker.

Rumor has it, that Snow White and apples didn't exactly see eye to eye. To her, apples are the epitome of forbidden fruit. Judging by her traumatic experience with the fruit, it is more than likely she never went near anything apple related again. How can we blame her?

I, on the other hand, have apples on the brain. This is what tends to happen if you are writing a novel based around the Snow White fairy

tale. 

If you have read any of my previous blogs, you will know that I am an avid fairy tale believer, and that I've been working on a fairy tale piece.

Although, I must admit, that it's not exactly surprising that I have ended up writing a novel about fairy tales (it just comes with the territory if you are a hopeless romantic) but it is a strange turn of events that I am writing one about Snow White.

You see, from the ages of seven to eleven I would have sworn upon my stuffed animal collection that I was a Princess. I had my dream palace all designed out, complete with a Beauty and the Beast type library. If one wanted to throw a Princess tea party but didn't know how to go about it, I would be your girl. I even had all of my little friends dreamily gazing out their windows with stars in their eyes, waiting for Prince Charming to show up and sweep them off their seven year old feet.

And of course, I was an expert when it came to Disney Princesses. I knew them inside and out, as if I had met them in person. And I was 100% sure I was going to grow up with beautiful flowing locks like them (Seems to be a common Disney trait to have astounding hair). But even though I was a die hard Disney nerd, I hated Snow White. It practically seems like a sin not to like the first ever Walt Disney movie. But, alas, I just couldn't connect with the first Princess.

I thought the story was boring, with not a lot of depth. I thought Snow White was annoying. And the Evil Queen scared me out of my knee caps. I grew up with a repulsion to the princess and couldn't understand why other people adored her so. I mean, come on, Ariel and Belle was where it was at. 

Then as I grew older and wiser I began to see Snow White for who she really was. She was a tender hearted Princess who graciously loved everyone and every thing that crossed her path. She didn't even harbor any mean feelings for the Queen who despised her. She was also an undying optimistic, who had no doubt she would get her happily ever after when the time was right. Her heart was full of faith in people (She completely tore down Grumpy's walls) in life and love.

If any Princess deserves a novel written about her, it's this one.

Snow White's story is one of the best well known tales out there. Or is it? I guess when I finally finish my novel, we will know for sure!

Cheers to a new tale of the Snow White fairy tale!

Enough rambling for now!

The Learning Adventure

Summer has come and gone. 

The days of falling golden leaves, chai tea, and snuggling up in a warm blanket with a good book are just around the corner. However, also around the corner is school, which usually means more homework time and less writing time.

I had high hopes of being able to write this summer. I envisioned my summer days would be filled with writing each and every single hour away with the bright sun streaming in through my window. I even set a deadline for myself. I was supposed to have finished the rough draft of my novel. However, it was not to be so. 

I only wrote a whopping 9 pages.

After beating myself up for not making time to write this summer as I fully intended to do, I realized that even though I had barely written a word, (and my characters were probably wondering if their story was ever going to get an ending) that God must have had other plans for my summer.

Even if I didn't do what I set out to do I still had one splendid and blessed summer. I have spent countless happy days bent over some wonderful and charming books (At least I read 9 books this summer...does that make up for the 9 pages I wrote?). I have laid under the gleaming and twinkling stars almost every night. I have had deep soul baring conversations. I have fallen more in love with God. I have built up friendships that are very dear to me. I have had special people move into my life, and I have had special people move out. I have learned more about life and love and how deeply I believe in what I do. I have learned more about my heart and how much God wants to give me.

But what I have learned most of all, is that things don't always go as planned. I wasn't planning on spending almost every single day in the company of wonderful friends. But I am more than glad I did. I wasn't planning on only writing 9 pages in my novel. But I'm almost glad I did, because absence truly does make the heart grow fonder and I have missed my little novel and I am feeling very inspired to go back to it again. I think it has missed me too.

But what I have also learned is that these memories and lessons I have learned will maybe help my writing one day. I feel certainly inspired by these sweet summer memories and even though there were some bad mixed in with the good, as there usually is in life, it will be a summer I will carry with me and will retreat back to when I need some inspiration.

Hoping your summer was beautiful as well!

And I will try not to go another two months without posting anything.

Enough rambling for now

The Adventure to Inspiration Part 2

Ah, summer! The season of vacation and the time I am supposed to be feverishly writing away in my little novel.

Of course, as fate would have it, when I realize that I only have two months to finish my new novel (thanks to the deadline I have assigned myself) is when inspiration decides to also take a vacation and leave my side and go visit some other blessed author.

And so, yet again, I frantically search for inspiration. Another way I do this, other than watching some of my favorite movies as mentioned in The Adventure to Inspiration Part 1, is I listen to some of my favorite songs.

First up is 'Moonlight Serenade' by none other than the wonderful Glenn Miller. The Glenn Miller Orchestra was all the rage in the late 1930's and early 1940's. During World War II soldiers and their sweethearts would dance the night away to the serenade of Glenn Miller's big band. I am a very old fashioned girl, and my heart belongs in the 1940's, and no other music quite gets me like swing music does. So of course when I hear swing music, especially my friend Glenn Miller I am instantly swept away into a sentimental and poetic state of mind which makes me want to write the night away, my heart singing along with every sentimental note.

Doo-wop! Oh, the music of the 50's and early 60's. Told ya I was old fashioned. Doo-wop is insanely charming and more than fun to sing along to. And it is some of my favorite music to write along to. For some reason, more than any other genre, doo-wop makes me want to rush to my laptop and type until my fingers go numb. 

And of course, I wouldn't be me if I didn't have songs from some musicals thrown into the mix. Musicals are my bread and butter. And as much as I get teased for loving these movies, it will never stop me from watching and singing along with them with a huge smile splashed across my face. Watching these movies with their sweet songs put me in such a lighthearted and blissful mood that I could stay up until the wee hours in the morning writing. Especially this song from 'Oklahoma!'. This song will make me grin like a fool even when I am 90 years old. 

                          

Enough rambling for now!

Adventurous New Goal

Cheers to another adventure!

After school pounding me into the ground this past month and a half, I am very much so in need of another adventure...and a new blog post!

No other season quite holds the promise of new adventures like summer does. Something floating about on the warm summer breeze seeps into my heart causing me to smile upon the world, and as you can tell, it almost makes me rather sentimental. I have always loved summer, because not only do I get to escape the terrors of school but I also have time to write. Practically every summer I sit in my reading chair with light pouring in through my windows and just write the days and nights away in perfect bliss!

And so, this summers adventure will result in me finishing my novel that I am working on. I have given myself a deadline and I MUST finish my novel (at least the first revision) by my birthday in early August.

Oh, dear.

Prayers needed.

I only have a little over two months to finish this new task I have assigned myself. But I couldn't think of a better way to spend my summer then with some quality time with my new novel. And since this new novel is all about fairy tales, I am hoping that the summer will bring along a happy ending for me too. A happy ending complete with finished novel!

Enough rambling for now!

Fairy Tale Adventure

Once upon a time.

Four of the most beautiful words ever uttered. Usually after these enchanting words, a fairy tale is sure to follow.

There are many people out in the world who downright refuse to believe that fairy tales are real. I have never been known to be one of those individuals. Not that I can completely blame those who are cynical about it. This world isn't full of pixie dust, nor do we have Fairy Godmothers here to do our every bidding, and unfortunately, many people are still searching for true love's first kiss. These things, and many more combined could lead people to think that fairy tales only exist in books. Fairy tales are too "perfect" and are not true to real life.

I beg to disagree.

I have a philosophy that life is very much like a fairy tale. Why, if people only took a closer look at fairy tales they would see that the stories are far from perfect. In life, we all go through hardships, and it is the same in fairy tales. Before Prince Philip could get to his true love, Aurora, he had to battle a dangerous dragon. Snow White had to eat an apple and fall into a perpetual sleep before her prince found her. And Cinderella was lonely and overworked before she went to the ball. 

This is proof that even in fairy tales there were trials and tribulations. And such is the case in real life. We all have our fair share of problems but that doesn't mean we won't have a happy ending. God is the creator of happy endings and most definitely likes us to have one. In a lot of fairy tales there is always someone to aid the heroes and heroines. In our case we have God over a Fairy Godmother. And God will give us an even greater happy ending than has ever been written down, more beautiful and enchanting than fairy tales. 

I have always had an idea that these fairy tales couldn't have just come from nowhere, and that they couldn't just be stories. They had to be inspired and based off of real people. Which is why I have decided to write a story based entirely around fairy tales. Since I am such a believer in fairy tales being true to real life, what could be more reasonable than to write a book about fairy tales. 

Enough rambling for now!