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!

The Publishing a Short Story Adventure

"Short" is the last word I would use in describing any of my stories. From the very first novel I wrote when I was six, all the way up to now, practically all of my stories could stretch across all of America.

 I like to blame my extensive story telling on that I am Irish, because it is a well-known fact that the Irish are natural born storytellers. However, that is probably just an excuse. I guess what it boils down to is I just love to talk ( Sorry to everyone who knows me and can't get me to shut up).

So never did it really occur to me that I should write a short story. In all honesty, I didn't think I would be able to write something that didn't result in 400 pages.  This all changed when one of my English  Lit professors sent me an e-mail and told me about a literary magazine. They were asking for short stories and she really thought I should submit something. 

I remember literally gulping. Me? Actually submit a piece of my writing instead of dreaming about it? Whoa, whoa, whoa Professor! I don't think I am quite ready for this! I have only been writing for 14 years! Maybe I should wait another decade or so!

However, thankfully I am blessed with a beautiful mother who believes in my dream even more than I do. She gave me a lot of encouragement and wouldn't let me pass up this opportunity. So I went to my little laptop and sat in my brown fluffy reading and writing chair next to my overflowing bookshelf and began to write.

For some reason the line "I fell in love when I was seven years old" had been playing in my head for weeks. I felt a little nudge from God that I should write it down and boom! 8 pages later I had a short story. Who would have thought I would have been able to do it? It was nothing short of a miracle. 

I submitted it to the magazine and of course didn't hear back from them for some time but lo and behold! One beautiful day I received an e-mail congratulating me on having my short story titled "What is a Kiss" accepted to the magazine! My first story ever to get published! 

If you would like, you can read my short story down below. If you remember what your first kiss was like or if you ever had a childhood romance then you might rather enjoy yourself!

Enough rambling for now!

                                                    

                                              What Is A Kiss?

I fell in love when I was seven years old. Or better yet, that’s when I was first kissed. And I’ve been told that kissin’ and being in love are one and the same. Most people would figure that seven years old was just a tad too young to be knowing about lips and smoochin’. Most folks would say that my older siblings who had been in high school at that time had probably corrupted my innocence. More than likely the Christian folk would have declared that our deteriorating society and the trash being shown on TV gave youngsters the idea to try kissin', and heaven bless them if they let it happen right under their noses.

Well those good Christians would have fainted and floated right up to heaven if they knew that I first became interested in the idea of kissin’ right in my own Sunday school classroom. It was in the month of June, the summer before I would be starting the third grade. After a dreary winter and a showery spring, June came bouncing along bringing with it a feeling of liveliness. For us kids that liveliness came in the form of sweet freedom from school, but for others that liveliness morphed into something along the lines of summer flings and wild adventures. Bottom line, there was something floating around in that warm summer breeze that left every single person affected.

The story of my first kiss began one warm, dry Sunday morning in Mr. Gloss’s Sunday school classroom. All of us boys and girls were surrounding a large round wooden table. All the boys were smashed together on one side of the table while us girls sat cramped together across from them. It was a known fact that for a girl to sit by a boy or vice versa just wasn’t done. At this point in life us kids were split into two groups. One of these groups was full of kids that thought the opposite sex was crawling with the much-hated cooties. The other consisted of boys and girls who found each other ever so slightly intriguing and would therefore chase each other around the blacktop at recess.

At that moment I had yet to figure out which group I belonged to.

It was amazing I had lasted that long in the in between stage for a majority of my good friends were members of the group that found boys to be cute and interesting creatures. And no boy was more fascinating than Johnny Stevenson. Apparently the way his blue eyes mischievously twinkled had the power to turn any girl into a giggling machine. I wasn’t really sure what the big hoopla was. Thanks to Johnny’s mom being best friends with mine, we were continually being roped together and he had never turned my stomach into butterflies. But out of all the boys I knew I would have bet that he didn’t have cooties.

Now on the previous Sundays we had been learning about our forefather Jacob. I had grown to really like that Jacob and I felt as if he was almost a friend. On that particular Sunday we just so happened to be talking about how Jacob met Rachel. I was listening intently, hanging on every word that Mr. Gloss was saying. Come to think of it, I was probably the only one who had been paying attention. All the girls were probably passing each other secret notes or drawing little hearts with Johnny Stevenson’s name in the corners of their bibles. And the boys…well only the Good Lord knows what the boys were doing. Mr. Gloss began speaking of how our forefather Jacob traveled far and wide and came across the beautiful Rachel watering her Daddy’s sheep. Being the gentleman that he was, Jacob helped Rachel give her sheep water. I was sitting there smiling to myself thinking what a nice man he was. He sounded almost as sweet as my own Daddy.

And then Jacob did something I didn’t see coming. Why, that Jacob grabbed Rachel and planted one on her. And what’s more he went and asked her Daddy if he could marry her. My jaw dropped. What would make Jacob do such a weird thing? Mr. Gloss went on and said that Jacob was in love with Rachel and that he worked for Rachel’s Daddy for seven years in order to marry her.

And then came the big whopper.

Mr. Gloss said that those seven years only seemed like a few days to Jacob because he was so head over heels for Rachel. Of course the girls who didn’t think boys were cootie bags all decided to listen at this part and began to giggle over this romantic sentiment. And the boys just sort of cleared their throats. As for me, my eyes grew wide and my brain started going at 100 miles per hour like it had never done before. And I could have sworn a light bulb turned on over my head, but that could have just been the sun’s ray’s streaming in through the corner window. Jacob kissed Rachel. It must have been one heck of a kiss for him to want to marry her. Could a kiss really make a person want to go and do a bizarre thing like that? I wasn’t so sure. I wasn’t even really certain what a kiss between a boy and a girl was… or meant. Up until then I thought kissing was only something crazy teenagers did because they were bored or it was something parents did because that’s what happens when you are married. Now I started thinking that maybe that wasn’t what it was. Maybe kissin’ meant a whole lot more.

What was a kiss?

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I had to know what a kiss was and I had to know right then. As soon as Sunday school was over and the boys climbed all over each other racing for the door to go play a rowdy version of ball, us girls stayed behind to talk, much like the way our Mother’s always lingered to gossip after a dinner party. I rounded up every last girl and we all formed a tight knit huddle and when I had their attention I whispered, “What is a kiss?”

My best friend Tiffany, the leader of the gigglers, laughed outright at me, “You don’t know what a kiss is? Haven’t you ever seen a movie?”

I pinched her arm, “I’m not stupid!”

She rubbed her arm with a scowl on her face, “Then what do you wanna know?”

I ignored her and turned to the other girls, “What do you think a kiss is?”

We all fell silent and racked our brains. We all somehow knew that this was the first conversation we had that resembled what grown ups were always talking about. We didn’t wanna say anything dumb. This is what we came up with…

“I think a kiss is something Moms and Dads do. If you wanna be a Mom that’s when you kiss a boy.”

“Kissing is a dang sure way to catch a cold.”

“If you kiss a boy he is gonna tell all the boys and then you’ll die from being embarrassed so bad.”

I gawked at them as if they all had two heads. It was easy to see they didn’t know what a kiss was either. I popped my head out of the huddle and cautiously looked around me to make sure no one else was around to hear what I was about to say because it was of the utmost importance and secrecy. I hunched back down and whispered so quietly everyone had to lean in closer to hear what I said, “Has a boy ever kissed ya?”

Then everything exploded all at one.

“Ewwww.”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t wanna die!”

“If a boy ever kissed me I would run away from home.”

“I heard that if you kiss a boy you aren’t married to, your lips fall off.”

And then the one sly reply that got everyone to shut up was Tiffany who proudly exclaimed, “Not yet!”

The rest of us began buzzing with excitement and worry. We talked amongst ourselves as if she wasn’t there. Was she crazy? Would she catch a disease and die?  Would her lips fall off? Who would she kiss? Then we all stopped and stared at her with saucer size eyes. Her nose was so high up in the air we could all see that she needed to blow her nose. She sighed dreamily and clasped her hands together, “I’m gonna kiss Johnny.”

Even the girls who swore boys were rats were enthralled at this statement. All the girls nodded to each other in agreement. If you’re gonna kiss a boy and risk dying it might as well be Johnny Twinkle Eyes. I crossed my arms and glared at her as I declared for the whole posse to hear, “You’re stupid.”

She pinched my arm.

A peacemaker piped up, “Girls be nice now.”

I shook my head, “I’m not being mean. You’re just stupid. Why would you kiss Johnny if you don’t know what a kiss is?”

She stomped her foot, “I know what kissing is. You put your lips together and make that gross smacking noise.” She then went on to demonstrate how it worked on the back of her hand.

I grabbed my bible and began to storm out of the room, not wanting to associate myself with dumb people. I paused at the door and turned to face the girls who were all staring at me with surprised expressions. I hesitated before I dove in and bravely stated like I was wiser than Solomon “That’s not what a kiss is.”

After that I turned on my heel and sped away. I’m sure after I left that that was the first time that group of girls began to gossip just like all of their mothers, and all about me too. I began to feel sorry for Johnny. I could only hope that he would stomp on Two Lips Tiffany’s foot if she tried to catch him. On the ride home from church I stared out the window and guessed that kissing wasn’t all that bad if Jacob and Rachel did it. But then I got to thinking about Adam and Eve. I figured they had probably kissed, and look what happened to them. After that I began to worry that kissin’ really could make you die.

            My mom snapped me out of my own world when she asked me what I learned about in Sunday school. Without thinking I replied, “Smoochin’”. My parents hesitated before both started laughing. My mother wanted to know what exactly about kissing. “Oh ya know…Jacob kissed that Rachel and then he worked for three days or something for her…Mom…what’s a kiss?” I held my breath hoping for a good and honest answer but my parents only shared a look and smiled at me through the rear view mirror and told me “You’ll know when you are older”.

I wanna slap whoever came up with that saying.

That night as I lay in my double bed I decided to pray and ask God what a kiss was. I figured he knew best since he created smackin’. But before I could get my answer I fell fast asleep. The eye-opening day had wore me out. I woke to my mother hurriedly dragging me out of bed and shoving a pink dress over my head telling me to do something with my hair that resembled a rat’s nest, because Johnny Stevenson and his mom were coming over any minute. I pouted. How was I expected to have a play date when I had more important things on my mind?

            There was something different in the air that morning. That liveliness I had mentioned earlier seemed to be in every breath I took. At the time I didn’t know exactly what it was I was breathing in I just knew I felt like it was Christmas morning. The sun even seemed to light up the world differently. It had a softer glow as if the sun’s rays were reaching down to hug whoever happened to be outside.

            Johnny and his Mom soon arrived and our mothers shooed us out of the house telling us to go and play like good little children. Johnny and I didn’t even say hi to each other but started off lazily walking down the hill to the small pond out behind my house. That didn’t last very long, however, we soon took off in a race to see who would be the last person or the “rotten egg” to reach the water’s edge. Johnny found us small gray rocks to skip across the green pond. Johnny’s rock only skipped twice when mine bounced a good three times. I don’t think he liked that because he was the one who taught me to skip rocks after all.

            I watched as the rocks would kiss the waters edge and that got me to thinking once more. I chucked all my rocks into the pond before I plopped down under our old oak tree to cool off in its shade. I needed to figure out this whole kissin’ business. I began to watch Johnny who was still focused on beating my three skips.

 He glanced over at me and furrowed his eyebrows, “What ya starin’ at?”

            I didn’t hold back, “Johnny, do ya know what a kiss is?”

            His rock clumsily slipped from his hand and all the twinkle snapped out of his eyes, “What?”

            I got up and handed his rock back into his suddenly sweaty hand before I asked him again. This time around I was a bit more careful because I didn’t want him to laugh at me like Tiffany did. I didn’t wanna pinch him. “Do you know what a kiss is?”

            He flung the rock into the pond without even bothering to skip it, “What you wanna know that for?”

            “I wanna make sure you know what a kiss is because Tiffany is gonna kiss ya.” I placed my hands on my hips.

            Disgust crawled across his face and he shook his head madly, “I don’t wanna kiss her.”

            I smiled a bit too big, “That’s good cause she don’t know what a kiss is. I bet if you kissed her your lips would fall off.” I went back to my spot under the tree and left Johnny awkwardly standing there. He kicked at a patch of grass and shoved his hands into pockets. He began turning as pink as my dress. I was about to laugh at him when he sat himself down right across from me.

            That mischievous twinkle flashed across his eyes, “Lucy…do you know what a kiss is?”

            The shoe was on the other foot and I was the one being asked that embarrassing question. I squirmed uncomfortably not knowing what to say. I shrugged, “I dunno. I don’t think anybody does.”

            “I know. I think God invented kissin’. He knew it was the nicest way of showing someone you’re in love with them.”

            I almost went into shock, “So…you mean that kissin’ and being in love…it’s the same thing?”

            Suddenly those blue eyes were sparkling so much it looked like fireworks. The next thing I knew, Johnny pinned me up against the oak tree and planted one on me just like my friend Jacob planted one on Rachel. Johnny’s kiss was just like that summer morning. Warm and dry and it almost felt like the sun’s rays were hugging us but I can’t be sure about that.

            When the kiss was over we looked at each other for a second or two. “I guess we’re in love now.” I told him.

          He nodded, “I guess so.” After that we did the only logical thing for two seven year olds to do. We went back to skipping rocks.

            

Adventure in Staying Focused

It's a scary world out there, folks!
Especially if you ever want to see a book of yours nestled in a neat and tidy bookshelf in bookstores across the country, or crammed into those bookshelves that never seem to be quite big enough in the homes of readers. (Side Note: I am one of those individuals who can never find a bookshelf big enough. I am an intense bookaholic and in being so I am continually buying new books. So not only is the bookshelf in my room over flowing, but I have taken over four other bookshelves in my house. Sorry family!)
However, in order to see my book in any kind of bookshelf I have to find a literary agent, get published, and oh yeah, FINSIH MY BOOK!
I find myself becoming insanely inspired over the slightest things and so I rush to my computer in search of my story, but then I find myself on blogs and websites of my favorite authors. I'm starting to think I have a problem because sometimes I don't even know how I get onto these websites.
But it isn't all for naught, not only do I enjoy myself carousing around these websites but I find out interesting things that will help me on the road to getting published. Thankfully these favorite authors of mine give good writing and publishing tips. But they also give guidelines and reality checks for how hard it is to get published.
But this is where I begin to feel about the size of Stuart Little (For those of you wondering, that's about two inches). The phrase "It's a dog eat dog world" doesn't even come close to describing the world of getting published. Writing is hard work, wracking your brain for the practically perfect opening line to hook the reader, trying to make the characters seem real so the reader feels they could ask them to grab a quick cup of coffee, and making the plot seem effortless and unique.
And once you are done with the whole nose to the grindstone... or in my case, nose to the keyboard, here comes the part where your self confidence will plummet. From what I have read, most authors get turned down around FIFTY times before they ever get published. Now let's think about that for a minute. Fifty can seem like a very non-threatening number... for example, "I'll have fifty scoops of ice cream" doesn't seem so bad, but "My little book I poured my heart and soul into was told fifty times that it wasn't good enough"is a downright tragedy.
However, I am determined NOT to let that bring me down. If I never get published, that still won't keep me from writing. If someone told me to stop writing that would be like them saying "Stop being Robyn".
It's a scary world out there but sometimes it is good to be scared because you can see how strong you really are. And so I need to stop looking at other people's websites (or at least cut way back... let's face it, I will not be able to do it cold turkey) and stop thinking about getting published and just focus on finishing my book.

Enough rambling for now!

The Adventure of Old Stories

I have been writing pretty much ever since I learned the alphabet. So you can imagine just how many stories have piled up over the years. I have two large plastic bags filled to the max with random and scattered papers, stuffed hidden away in my closet.

This is sad to admit, but if there ever was a fire, I would probably grab those bags first, then think about hightailing it out of there. There's too many memories and pieces of me that I wouldn't be able to replace.

Late last night I got the urge to read some of my old stories. After sitting in my closet, rummaging through what was sure to be about a billion papers, I finally found a novel I had written when I was just thirteen years old.

Excitement raced over me when I held that story I hadn't seen in seven years. I scrambled out of my messy, paper covered closet and feverishly began to read. What I thought would be an entertaining stroll down Memory Lane, turned out to be a cringing hike up Bad Writing Mountain.

After reading the first paragraph I found myself shaking my head at my own writing. I was very thirteen. And to make matters worse, I was a thirteen year old who apparently thought she knew the ways of the world like the back of her hand.

The story line jumped around from here to there, the characters didn't have much depth to them, and my facts were all way off. I found myself looking over my shoulder, making sure no one was around to get a peek at this little story. If anyone had gotten a glimpse of this rushed novel I would have been so embarrassed that my face would have permanently remained red.

But the thing is...even with all the rushed story lines, boring characters and bad grammar, I still found that I was enjoying myself. Even though my writing wasn't the best it could be, it undeniably had a lot of heart in it. It had a charming simplicity to it, reminding me of the young girl who looked at the world through rose colored glasses, never allowing the negativity of life to settle into my little world.

Suddenly I felt like I was thirteen again, and was back in my cozy little computer room, typing happily away with the summer sun streaming in through my window. The sounds of 1940's Big Bands serenading me in the background, filling my heart with inspiration and a love for writing.

It doesn't matter that this story didn't turn out to be a classic like The Great Gatsby. It made my heart soar when I was writing it, and that's what is the most important thing.

I realized that I have almost lost that simple charm that used to paint itself across the pages of my stories, giving it a depth I wasn't even aware of. Sometimes I get too caught up in writing a well written story that I forget about that young girl who had the key to writing a beautiful story. Put every last inch of your heart into it.

Funny how the title of that old novel of mine is All My Heart. It's like I knew :)

Enough rambling for now!