Innocent Wonder

How do you describe the loss of something that you have always had ?
Something that's not a person or even a thing.
Is it Grief ?
Is the loss of something that can't be held, something that isn't tangible truly a loss, or are there things in the world that can't be explained, things that have more beauty and more value than fine gold.

I have seen the loss of a certain heart condition, a loss of the innocent wonder of the world.
Cynical attitudes are hazardous to wonder, but when you begin on that road there are no poison roadsigns that warn of the destructive way you are on. Its something that only experience may teach.
We all begin clean, I'll use that word because its so pictures of what Innocent means. I don't mean clean of sins or even bad deeds, I mean in our psyche we are clean. There are no doubts to crowd the lovely, no ugly insecurities to chain our winged hearts down.
We are shinny vessels of pure hope, faith and wonder, our eyes see the world with as UN tainted a look as we can imagine.
Children easily believe, while its hard for the adult to be as free with there trust, due to hurts and other things that I haven't time to boggle myself writing now.
I have had my fair share of snarky cynicism, and snide outlooks of a variety of things. And I have noticed a great loss when I travel that path. The world seems less magical, there is less sparkle to the stars, and things become dull, boring and dry. In effect, my heart suffers it becomes as stone.
 A grave danger it is indeed. For when my hearts hard, how may I run to my Father who has promised to guide and protect me ?
Our father created each of us with a certain amount of wonder, my dears, lets be wary of clogging our eyes with the dust of life, with the little hurts sent your way, and the judgements we all are guilty of proclaiming.
 Let our hearts be innocent once more, less prone to be hard, but all mushy and soft as we can be,
Lets throw aside our adulthood, and be children in our hearts once more.

A beauty like no other

Perhaps its a romantic kind of mindset, or perhaps I'm just strange.
How is it that something that I have seen occur 21 times in my life can still cause me to be filled to bursting with soul shaking wonderment.

The sights the sounds, the Vibrant
colors, the way the wind becomes less bitter, and turns to velvet in a second, richly perfumed with the delicate essences of the most lovely earthen delights that were brave enough to peep there heads through there soft beds in hopes that the world had come through the dark days.
  Somehow it all again seems new, each time I watch a tree slowly Blossom, and every time there is a  new sprout or new color, I'm filled with awe. As if for the first time my eyes are beholding, something new and strange, and delightful.
But how can this be, I find myself asking, that there is nothing new in its ways, that have become expected and as counted on as an old friend. And yet still, I see it with fresh eyes.
What ever it is my heart innocently grows fuller at the sight of Green just the brightest and freshest,
and trees in the distance that are spattered with this haze of almost perfect Pink
The rush of bird song fills my soul and I sigh at the perfection of Gods wondrous and simple world.

Even lately when the sun doesn't shine, and hasn't for few days past.
And the soil is moist and richly dark, and the tree bark is a deep black, the little bright Viridescent leaves glow in the foggy moodiness, creating this perfect and beautiful display of new and old, dark and light.
I fall asleep exhausted at all I have seen and heard, and captured to ponder within.
I know there will never be a day when I do not become a fire when I behold Verdant loveliness, and never more that at spring, but I'll forget to expect it therefore making the experience all the more pleasing.  

Gods love doesn't wax old, and neither in the same sense do His creations.
And for this I'm truly grateful.
Now I'm off to enjoy more spring. You should to, take a moment to just capture the beauty please do.

                                                     Photo credit Pinterest: 
                                                                  I'm sorry I have no idea who took it. 

A King and Priest ?

Why is it that as humans when we face an impossibility: When trouble comes and we are hard pressed on all sides. By people and doubt and by very real looking circumstances.
We let slip the one thing that would ensure us complete and total victory ?
 The one thing that is essential to life.
 The one thing that is needful.
Humans are a most pitiable race,
 we have this ability to forget things very easily when something bigger takes predominance in our senses.
For instance say you have some pain somewhere in your body, and thats grating on you its annoying, and you just cant get it off your mind. Now say you hurt yourself somewhere else really bad, if that new hurt is greater than your old pain, whats happened to it ? Its most likely all but forgotten.
I've had this happen to me countless times. Your worried about something, your struggling and striving to find some way or some answer,  and everything else slips. Its as if your minds can only hold one important thing at a time.
We forget things easily when were sidetracked with something much grander. In a good or bad way.
We forget to enjoy each and every day, we forget to look people in the eye and get ourselves off our minds for more than a second. We forget to trust the creator of the universe because the mountain seems too high to climb even by the one who created mountains. And can pluck those mountain up like a pebble and toss them to where He wills. And with His help so can we.

I wont lie life's been tough lately, for a lot of people and around here too. It just is that way living on this planet.
But those of us who know better should not let trouble sway our spirit.
The Bible says we are not mere men, we are spirit born spirit led beings with dual citizenship.
One foot in the heavenly kingdom which was born within us when we were born again, and one foot in "reality"
A place that is less real than the unseen kingdom within us. We look at natural things and believe just because we see, we say we know because we can touch and feel that thing our physical senses say its real.
But what if I told you we are living in a dream, a dream where nightmares exist, where sadness and trouble don't just live under your bed. But dominate a lot of your life trying to back you into a corner by making you believe that they are tangible creatures and not just shadows of something weak and small.

When you have a nightmare, what do you do ? you wake up, heart beating wildly breath coming is gasps, every fiber of your sweat drenched boys feeling like you just fought a battle that only existed in your mind.
Its the same for us in what I will call the dream reality. What we see is real, there are real troubles and real decisions, we face foes and battles that we must take part in.
But don't get hung up on that battle. You have already been ensured a win, because you are being enabled by Him who already won. We must remember not to illuminate the trouble, making it the dominating thought of our mind. We must wake up from the dream we have been living in.
Instead illuminate the WORD Gods, Word and what it says about you the born again new creation, who has been crowned a King and Priest of this realms of dreams.
All is smoke and shadow, and the truth is we are already made crowned a winner in this life, it came as a gift from someone who sacrificed all He had to get you that crown.
So, begin to live like you are a king. Because you are. Begin to set aside time in the WORD.
The one thing that is needful. Learn your rights of heavenly citizenship, by immersing ourselves with the word and with positive things in order for the trouble that seems so huge to shrink.

the BIBLE says in
 Proverbs 4:20-22
My son, pay attention to what I say; turn your ear to my words.

 Do not let them out of your sight,
keep them within your heart;
for they are life to those who find them
and health to one’s whole body.

Whats it saying ? Attend to the words of the father, listen to them give your attention to Him and nothing else concerning that situation. For therein is life, in God there is life. 

Jesus removed the curse from your life, He has made all things new.

 I want to encourage you today to keep your eyes and heart on something far more greater than any problem. keep your eyes on Jesus, on His words and precious promises to you. Let him show you just how tiny and insignificant those troubles are, waves don't seem very big in a bathtub. He's greater than and storm raging. 

Don't compromise the only thing that your life needs to be successful, by forgetting to look at Him, and not around in distress. If you do that long enough, one day you will look and the shadows will be gone because they have been overtaken by the light of Gods Love and you'll not struggle with that problem any more. Something Far greater has become more important to you.

Photos via  Pinterest

The Importance of daydreams

I cant write when there's noise. Clutter of the airways, that barrage the senses and stifles deep thought.
Loud music, people talking, dishes clanging, there's all sorts of noise.
But when I press my hands to my ears, and block the noise with streams of Claude Debussy piping through my ear phones everything stills. I have stepped through the veil from the physical world and am now floating through the imaginary creative world.
This is my ideal place, the place where dreams are tangible and the world that I dream of can be reached.
The place that everything is possible. Nothing is withheld from me, a place where I can flit with fairies and fight alongside king Arthur atop Glastonbury tore our swords matching the blows of our adversaries.
A place that;  every place, every bit of green every stirring of breeze holds magic that I can touch and experience.
But what about when I'm not alone, with just the wind and chirping bird to inspire and stimulate my creative side. What about when I'm barraged with the noises of a family, with the noises of human existence. I have learn'ed to block out the sounds of cars and clatter of people at will. I live each day telling myself to look at beauty, to find that one thing that can get the creativity and inspiration flowing.
The azure sky like a beautiful gem that hardly gets noticed at all by people unawares of the heavenly show placed right above our heads a picture pregnant with creativity and beauty just waiting to be seen and felt in our souls.
I close my eyes and a wave of longing washes over me, to play among the white fluff of clouds, and bounce upon beams of liquid light would be heavenly. But seeing with my eyes is touching it in a way, and that scene is captured within and treasured for some day when the sun does not shine and the clouds are a frightful grey.
When I'm hurtling about on paved roads and the foliage is whipping past me with no definite shape or form, its the idea, there colors   there blurry shapes that impress me with a terrifying beauty. I close my eyes in the same afore mentioned state, and the experience changes, everything is solely the feeling sense; The wind kissing my cheeks the sun hot and bright upon my skin and eyelids. There is a faint aroma of wild flours on the wind that mingles with a yet softer aroma of fire somewhere burning bright. The wind encapsulates me, no longer am I just in a car on an obscure road, no longer can I hear radio noise or car horns. I'm flying among the realms of imagination. Past impossible dreams that only need be touched to spark to life. Every moment a training within to see, taste, touch, beauty and inspiration for any aspect of creativity, not just for writing inspiration alone.

I got caught in a thinking that I needed time alone, time spent quiet and hidden away by my self to cultivate any idea of novels and writing. Yes I do need time alone to write, but to be honest thats just not really realistic in my life. I share a room with two of my siblings and when were not living in eternal sleep over mode there is still just noise. Thats life, and for a long time I made excuses that I couldn't write, it didn't work because I wasn't inspired when I did get that precious rare quiet time alone, And when things were loud and hectic or when I was making dinner something would come to me that drove me nuts because I couldn't just drop everything and write.
But in time I learned.
Every moment must be utilized otherwise nothing would ever get done.
And I hate nothing more than waisted time. I find there is nothing more annoying for my personality than time with nothing to fill it, inactivity frustrates me with a stronger vengeance than I care to admit I posses. So I have learned to fill every moment. It keeps a person out of trouble and one can really come up with some very interesting stuff in that time.
I have discovered for me that every moment there must be a watering of my soul through music through books through beauty to ignite the creative flow.
I'm not sure about you dearest reader but if it weren't for these such things I would have nothing to feed off of. And a state of a starved creative spirit is so tragic. Trust me I know that tragedy well.
But this has gradually become such a usual thing that it can be an inconvenience, I find that I day dream at the most inopportune times. And often times cause problems such as absent minded messes. What my family doesn't know is that my aggrievances are often due to some new found way to torture or make blessed my most recent character. Its a distracting past time but a productive pastime.
I wish very ardently to express how much this has helped me creatively. No moment is lost to the out lands of waisted time or lost opportunities.
I don't feel empty when I find myself alone, but also I have cultivated a sense to block out inconvenient noise that cant be obliterated.
Perhaps if you have some spare time try and dream, it will do wonders for everything.

Your imagination is a garden CULTIVATE it !





















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Hello Old Friend

I haven't had much time to write anything lately, with summer comes many duties. But I'm never far from writing in my mind. I thought I would post about what I do in the times I'm far from paper and pen. When I finely sit down to write, its like the meeting of old friends. I miss my characters more than I would have imagined.
Its as though I finely get to converse with someone, or someones who have a mutual mind. every second spent with these non existent beings our relationship grows stronger and stronger. deeper and deeper. I would have never imagined growing so attached with figments of my imagination.
I never thought that building characters was much like building relationships, with real people. The more you spent time with them, the more you know them at there essence. quarks, style, ticks everything that makes them them. and this is easier now because I can meet them in the doorway of my imagination at any time. morn or eventide. There are some you just click with and others who are a bit more elusive, I have learned this and its added a deeper growth to my writing than I could have imagined. I know lots of people stress the character thing, and I was one of those people who `nods head´ Yes yes I agree, I get it its important, but then never gave it much time or thought to deepen the idea.
I always thought that this meant writing, but I was wrong. Lately being far from anything that writes even a pen I have been dreaming all sorts of things in my mind. what would happen if, or what if that. I have been doing an extensive research of my characters far down to small details like there favourite colours. Its been wonderful.
Thankfully this is the first novel I have really stuck to. And I have spent so much time with, three years writing a novel is a long time, and there are more reasons why its not finished apart from the I'm terrible at just getting to it than can be written here.
That the characters are more and more like old friends than just narrators whispering in my ear.
now instead of a cold face to face factual interview, we chat at our leaser on sofas and have bergamot and french vanilla scented tea. And we stray to many things apart from there past. I do need to spend some more time with the rest of this cast, but hey the the two main protagonist is a good start. I'm just imagining a friendly interview with a sputtery cold old antagonist, and its very hilarious. Well see.
I just thought I would encourage you to spend a little more time with your cast, and give it a try. Close your eyes picture your characters give yourself time to dream all sorts of scenario's. Even ones that stray far from your plot. you'll be pleasantly surprised with what you discover. I know I have.

What about you, What do you do to understand your characters ?





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Extraordinary Beauties

via

Having finely gotten a snippet of time out of busy life to actually type a post here, its almost strange fingering the keys, that same old opening of a vein. looking inward. I suppose that's what I have grown to love about blogging, its more for my own growth than anyone Else's, and for personal clarification.
Its funny now when I look back and remember how terrified I was to post something personal. Now I cant imagine these words not coming from the heart.

Life can be so monotonous,
get up & > prepare for day  > lunches  > coffee  >  breakfast  >
Work in one way or another, at home or out in the big bad world > evening meal often times rushed > try and relax or catch up on trivial details  > bed > Sleep or not. Repeat.
Every part of life is mostly rote. Doing the same thing you did yesterday and the same thing you will do tomorrow, that's just how it is. Sometimes I think how tragic it all is that every person on this planet does in part nearly the same. Were all on separate journeys,  following thorough the lines of destiny, but on that journey we do in part a lot of repeating. I believe that that destiny was created by Loving heavenly father who personally crafted a good life for every human alive. But that doesn't change the
every day living that mostly doesn't change. I was a bit younger when I realized this, we repeat the same 12 months and the same 7 days in a week, we eat mostly the same thing and do normally the same things. I don't know why but realising that life wasn't some amazing quest like in fantasy stories hit me hard. This is life. It looked a little bleak.
 But as I have grown physically and spiritually. I see now that God uses the little things that in the natural can be monotonous to be the most amazing things.

via

Every day I open my eyes and see, it has been that way since as long as I can remember. I'm privileged to gaze at the same sky, that same sun, admire the same trees in that same yard. hear that same bird call.
I see the same family that same face in the mirror staring back at me. And yet every time I hear a bird call it enthrals me like its new to my ears, and when the light catches the trees and bathes them in gold I forget everything but that beauty, no matter how many times I have see it done. Do you see what I mean ? I am greeted by the same faces I so long ago have memorised  and yet every day the are newly imprinted on my mind, there characters and the mutual growing and heart aches that humans share in. there the same family but every day they are new to me. Life around me, like time moves but there are things that remain and the ritual of life is one of them. no matter how we place it no matter where we are or who we are with we will do in part something of the same thing. but theres all these other spattering's of colour that if we are too absorbed in the boring we miss, life's still an adventure, a mystery perhaps theres not dragons at every page and we may not be the most amazing heros. but if you look you will see the exciting life blends in to the usual and if not looked for can be drowned by the screams of normalcy. We live our lives working toward that elusive and none existent someday. In hopes of life being better.  All the time growing a bit tarnished by the world, by dashed hopes and unrealised dreams.  If we ever find the someday, (a bit  like finding the fountain of youth or Shangri -La) We may not recognise who we have become. Its the little things that we do the same every day that can make life well, boring. As humans we more often than not feel disquieted and unhappy with life. I will be honest and say I have been there all too often. its this attitude of disquietude that makes us unable to see the mystery around every corner. the smoke screen over every heart, the questions that need answers in others eyes. The unstudied flower petal, crashing waves in your ears. The piece of art that has not yet been discovered, those words that haven reached your eyes, the voices of people you love. Adventure is everywhere. you just have to be patient and you will find it. Patience is a virtue and the hardest of the virtues to cultivate. we live in a fast world, that advocates speed over the long way around. We want to be where we think the party is not knowing all the steps it took us to get there. I have entrusted my life to my Heavenly Father. I believe he holds my destiny and has a future thats exceedingly abundantly above all I can imagine. It doesn't change the everyday rote, but it makes a restful heart knowing that everything else woven into my human existence is going to be His plan and it will be wonderful. Its little things, I keep saying it and will continue to for ever,
 its small extraordinary beauties disguised as ordinary things that colour our stories. we just have to see them. So from now on I shall endeavour to post here about what I discover. I would love to know your simple beautiful adventuresome lives. Leave a comment and tell me about what extraordinary beauties surround you that are disguised as ordinary.

From my window.

photo credit

It's a bit over cast today, but I can hear a sweet melody from the birdies perched  at my window.
It's a sound that I welcome with reverence. My whole life I have loved nature, but as I have grown I seem to appreciate it all the more. As I watch these two little grey and yellow fellows search out for some obscure object in the gutter right out my window, I try and be still as I can. In hopes that this rare moment will somehow be prolonged if I don't breath. I believe I shall name them, Finy and Oliver. The wind has a slight chill, and smells of rain, I know In a little wile I will be listening to the sound of rain patter. I am fortunate to have a great big window to the right of my desk. Where as an artist or when I'm stuck for some word that my mind knows but can't remember I look out to nature and get refreshed.
I'm a bit of a romantic, so I have a special ability to overlook the house right smack dab across the street. The one that's in desperate need of a paint job. The one that when I'm in a more human mood, sticks out against the trees like a big khaki thumb. But today is not that day.
From my window I see only trees, lush green fields and nature at its best. With spring here the trees are in a bright green bloom, there tiny leaves not yet formed. Yet I love this season for that reason, the soft colors that are mere suggestions. I always find myself wishing I could stop and stay in a perpetual spring. The mountains are flowering, but this year in more of a pink, than green. I thought that odd but have been too caught up in the soft blush to ask why. When a gift is given you just say thanks. And that's what I have been doing. All this month, a whisper of thanks has been constant on my lips to the Father who so lovingly created all this. For us. A masterpiece that is so in need to be enjoyed. I certainly have tried to enjoy it. Many rambled through the woods have blessed me to see the sudden change that happens. In one week new life springs from some hidden  shadow, into the light.
Like the dancers who wait  behind the stage curtain until there number is to be performed, spring was just waiting. And I can only speak for myself, but  it has a very happy audience member. I have marveled at the tiny curled sprouts of ferns. And wild flowers that seem to grow in the strangest places.  Perhaps its because of a book I'm not much interested in, or perhaps it's the strange feeling I get every spring that has propelled me out of doors. Into nature where I feel at home.
Perhaps later I shall get out my paints and try and capture the fleeting season. But for now I'm content to draw these thoughts and feelings in words here, and capture the images of spring in my mind where they will go on for an infinity. I hope your all having a lovely spring.
I know myself and Finy and Oliver  are enjoying it immensely. Now if I only knew what they were searching for in that gutter.
Drop me a note if you have time and let me know what your favorite part of spring is. Please do.

Jane Austen's bicentennial of a most beloved novel

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If it is the general thought that a person who has a disposition that is apt to day dreams, and long periods of musings and spends countless lifetimes over papers and keyboards, opening a vein and letting there life seep into afore mentioned paper. With the sole intention of carving out a name for him/her self into the metaphorical history books where people who do great things are put and remembered for. Then there isn't a person who has done this more than Miss Jane Austen.
Now I'm not saying every writer writes for the sole purpose of getting recognised, and of course I would not say that every time someone jots down a story and gets published they will be remembered for it. But as I said at the start of this long winded sentence that if it is the general thought, than there would be no one more remarkable to anyone achieving these high expectations than Jane Austen.
In the remarkable case of miss Austen I must say that I really have no idea how plausible it is to dream of attaining here level of success. The sad part of it is that most of her success she was never to realise. But if she could read this from her writers heaven than I would really love to show her just how much people love her work. (Picture the Doctor Who episode, Vincent and the Doctor, where the doctor takes Van Gogh to see    just how much he is loved and appreciated after all that time.)
Sniffles that episode always does it to me. There is none such compliment that can be payed to an artist than that of the appreciation compliment. And miss Austen is a top recipient.
Why all this rambling ? Well in case you hadn't heard, today is the two hundredth anniversary of one of the most timeless love stories ever written. Timeless ? Isn't that a bit dramatic, what really is there to the story called Pride and Prejudice that makes it so timeless. There are many assumptions we can make about why, especially when the story isn't very complex, I mean that respectively in every way.
The characters are not unusual, and really unremarkable. So what is it that had gotten deep into the psyche of every person who loves some incarnation of the story or another.
I will place my theory here, to you in as plain as I can place it. Jane Austen always wrote from the heart. And yes that can be done even if one knows nothing of what one is writing.
The love stories evoke the longing of the heart to be truly cherished. Even for miss Austen that much is clear. And I could write nearly twenty pages on this being from out truest human nature longing for only the purest love that only one person can give and only one person gave.
But that's not the subject of this post. What ever it is that made this story to last all this time, and still be enjoyed by audiences after two hundred years is nothing short of Devine providence.
Pride and Prejudice is a tale that pulls at ones hears strings, because its a tale of the heart and nothing else, and that's why it's still so popular. So let me take this time with you all dearest readers to celebrate the long lasting letters that were so fatefully written in a young maidens flowery scrawl.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife" 
            ~ Pride and Prejudice
Happy birthday to the story that still makes people everywhere smile and sigh in a happy way.
I can only hope that you and I endeavouring writers will meet with as much success as that book.
And Miss Austen our hats are off to you on this momentous occasion. If it were the eighteen hundreds we would no doubt hold a ball.
And I must say I would take the time to thank you for teaching me to be a fearless, and witty and heartfelt writer with as much sentament as I bodily posess, to be poured out on the pages. Even of only for my own satisfaction.


  '' I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too      long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun" 

            ~ Pride and prejudice 

         

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Novel Talk

I feel like a terribly lax blogger lately. I have in so many ways thrown aside this little space I have so come to love and dig deep into other things, to name a few tumblr and a plethora of new old books.
But I'm determined after a bout of non inspiration (I know how is one to be uninspired when in complete literary abandon. I truly have no idea) To be faithful to post something of worth.
 This is a post written on an I pad. So that's new, and this thing is infuriating with its auto correct.
Sorry for the side note.
I have been at lately something I never thought I would find my self doing.
Namely writing a summery of my book, I shall title it Victorian dreams, but that's to change when the time comes, it sounds a bit cheesy and I'm not inclined to like that title.
I have written about this story before, but I have had a strange apprehension that made me not want to write about the details. Why I'm not sure. I follow so many writers who do so and I enjoy hearing about what they are writing. So I have been thinking why not.
The question is how to not write too many details but not bore you all to distraction in the process.
I have been on these lazy sort of winter days when there isn't much else to do, confined to my room weaving a web, plotting and trying my best to be worthy to my literary hero's. As I have said at the beginning of this rambling post found my self writing a summery. I have no idea about the proper way to do it, but by the method I have found myself summarising seems to be amiable for the present. What I really am doing is writing a detailed summery of the story as it came to me, and of the small details which seem trifles but have a great baring on the plot. Then I have made a character description in hopes of getting to know my characters, better. And it's helped tremendously.
I now know the main characters Jack and Sophia better than ever, and the side worthy characters that colour the plot with there varied abilities and pasts.
 This full fledged novel, as I hope it will be, started as a short story endeavour. But after trying to take that plunge I fell prey to the story and the complex twists that kept on whispering in my ear. So in the end the characters won, I gave up my endeavour to write a short story and have been waist deep in the thick of it since. My ears have not yet tired to the sound of the characters detailed telling of there story, and my fingers have not grown weary at the typing of the same. I have been in a pool of excitement as I think and sort out the wrinkles of the plot and as I write another page. And then another, of the story that I have come to love. Whether I ever get this story published or not has become a trivial thing that doesn't matter anymore I just love this story that I have had nothing to do with, and If I and my immediate family only ever read it. I shan't be unhappy. Due to the fact that I have been privileged with this story. Jack and Sophia came to me. And not I to them. And they are wonderful hosts. I feel quite privileged. I will say for starters that its set in victorian London. But I think you got that from the "title"
This is the novel I shall be detailing on this blog o mine. And hopefully it wont be boring.
Though I have no idea about how to go about it. Here's a thought, if anyone of you my dear readers are interested. Perhaps you will leave me a comment and say what it is you would like to know first ?
And if anyone of you are prolific writers with a plethora of novels and stories under your metaphorical belt perhaps you might have tips ? well this ends this long and varied post which I am absolutely sure bored you all.
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Ramblings of today

Today was a slightly warm day, the kind that got me thinking about spring. The sun was high and warm, and the sky for a first time in a wile was cloudless and brilliant blue, the shade I have been missing. Though I love winter, and those nasty rainy days that forces one indoors and to rely upon the expanse of ones mindful intellect. I do so love thoughts of spring. Not that winter has been too harsh, rather its been quite mild in truth, but Today I couldn't help but get those tiny spring sensations that creep upon you like fairies wings. It's was most lovely.
Right now as the sun is setting, and at four thirty too, another reminder tis not truly spring, I can't but feel that my glimps of spring is gone with the sun to warmer places, and to other more fortunate folks who have it before I do. Who knows what tomorrow will bring but it surely won't be giving me any spoilers.
Life has been busy and a flury of books as I have finally got to a library, I love reading and won't say anything more about it. Save that my new book list for the year has gotten of to a nice start, hopefully I shall read more than last year.
Speaking of new years, has anyone else still to get used to writing 2013 ? Please tell me I'm not the only one.
It seems that when I read I am more inspried to write, and that's the best feeling of all, when two  passions I love seem to be hand in hand helping me along. Perhaps I shall indulge your wild curiosity dear readers and give you more snippets ? Or perhaps not, it's a strange feeling to write the new words to one of my novels for all to see, I'll get over that feeling and probably post some snippets anyway. If of course there really is a curiosity to what I'm writing, do leave me a Comment and say so if you are, if your not I really won't mind. Those words are my babies anyway. It doesn't matter if anyone else reads them but me. Oh dear I'm rambling again, do excuse. It's been too long since I have posted, here on this little piece of Internet o mine.

Tell me dear reader, what have you been doing with your selfs lately ? Any good reads ? Or visits from spring ?


Photos via pinterest 

The Mark Of Inferiority

If you wish to be a Writer, Write. 

~ Epictetus 

I have always hated the Aspiring writer label.
I have merited it unworthy of every young or old UN published writer out there.
Mainly because I have to ask my self just because I don't get payed for my writing, just because no publishers or readers know my name. Just because I am not flying all over creation signing books for my latest hit novel. Does any of that truly qualify me as a writer ?
I don't think so, what I have just described is the product of being a writer,

Most of the time young penners go about saying they are aspiring, in a way giving them selves a note of ineligibility. But I must ask why ?
Why do we think that just because we have ignoble beginnings, that means we are not writers already.
If you have ever written a poem, a short story, a badly written novel that you are just terrified for anyone to see. Or just dream of penning something great, than you are in your heart a writer.
I myself have used the term aspiring, and every time I do, there is something in my heart that stops me cold. A sort of indescribable feeling, a feeling that I truly don't like.
Its as if I am pronouncing a sentence on my self. I truly cant explain why I feel so strangely, and its probably because in part I am a dramatic person, always have been.
But I believe that I am in some way right about this mark of inferiority we give ourselves, and the question I ask is why ?
Why do we feel that because we don't have a professional stamp on our foreheads and a check with our name on it that makes us in some way less than those who do.
When we say aspiring I cant help but see something thats yet to be attained, but clearly if you take up your pen and write words on a sheet of paper, or if you are typing them in a less old fashioned way, or have ever spent days plotting within yourself the worlds and characters and emotions, creating and shaping a world thats entirely your own.
Why to say you aren't a writer is like saying that the winter roses, are not roses, because they arent yet in full bloom.
Why do you say you aren't a writer, what is yet to be attained ?
I mean minus the check and international fandom's in love with your book, what is there yet you must get in order to feel like a writer ?
To be a writer one must write,
to be an artist one must draw or paint,
to be a photographer one must take a camera and photograph,
to be anything else one must first do that something in order to become professional.
I implore every person trying to attain the goal of professional status, just because you are not there yet. Doesn't denounce you as being the something that ties into that dream.
Lets stop the words of self given inferiority, and rise to who we are. Take our place among the stars and truly not care if we ever have the kind of fame that this industry creates.
And just write create because its in our very core to do so.

© 2012 Rachel hope 

November Snippets First edition.

I have never, and thought I would never, do snippets of story.

But I am in the mood for adventure, and I thought, If I cant jump off a waterfall into the face of white foam below in Australia. I had to put that there. Or walk the roof tops in Belgium. If I can't stand n the edge of the white cliffs of Dover, and feel the wind whisper of far away places to me.
At least I can do snippets of writing.
The story is one I have spoken of before on this here little Blog of mine, ( I just developed a southern accent, don't ask why) If you wish to read more about it you can do so here  and here . I have been scribbling away fervently as of late, and its behaved like a good little child.
But that's only because it just a wee babe, and not a toddler with a mind of its own. Yes I'm thinking of a certain story now, with knights and chivalry, and epic battles, and dragons. Wow that sounds so stereotyped. Moving on.
So its sort of being an open book posting something my own hands wrote.
But I said adventurous didn't I ?  Squelching fear, calling it excitement.

Here Goes.

His features softened from frustration to kindness and she relaxed at seeing so.

As a person who knows a lot about being alone, I thought you might not want to be.

especially not now.

The clock seemed to tick like it had nowhere to be, 

Sophia turned from the desk where she reclined, and gave it a good long look. 

one that held a slight flavor of vehemence. 

She shivered and moved gracefully to the fireplace, where she leaned on the mantle as if she herself had no strength. If any were to see her she would have seemed a statue crafted by some artisans hands. 

Her skin so pail and white, not at all like in her youth. When there was scant a day her shoulders and blooming cheeks were not kissed by the sun. As it seemed were her dreams, blessed with a kiss by the same. 

The rain that feel was unrelenting. The sky had opened and dropped its contents without remorse. 

No here too he saw the symbolism of his life. and that picture did him no great justice he pulled his collar up around his chin and tried to do his very best to keep warm.

What people saw in his eyes, he wondered, it must be something awful. 

True most vagabonds that traverse the streets of london they called home were ruffians that meant no good. but Him ? 

The sweetness being lost, the memory turned sour and Jack couldn't stand it for another second. The face of Sophia white and ghostly evading him in an otherworldly manner more than he could stomach. 

Shaking off such a foreboding shadow she stepped across the threshold. 

I love how stories become something completely different than you would expect. 

They take a life all there own and grow like children, almost unnoticed. Until one steps away and looks. 

That wasn't so hard. 

Have a blessed day with creativity at every turn.

© 2012 Rachel Hope 
photo via pinterest 

Winter photography, and thankful heart

I opened my eyes on the morn to white flakes falling from the sky. My first reaction, as always is to admire the beauty.

Than my second is a desire to either capture that beauty in photographs, or to paint it into immortalized beauty. 

Unfortunately, the painting is out of the question, but I was able to snap a few photos. 

The creation our Heavenly father blessed us with never ceases to amaze me.

I am forever enthralled by he natural wonders that are there each and every season. 

If only we would open our busy eyes, and see them our days would be lighter, because out hearts would be thankful in a simple childlike way. 

I forgot to post a list of things I am thankful for. 

So I suppose theres nothing like the present, to do so. 

I am thankful for sweet family moments, the kind that seem hectic, and loud. 

For journals to scribble my tossed and sometimes turbulent 

Beauty that is unseen, unless one looks deeper than the outside

Snow I'm never going to be someone who dislikes snow

Writing time that seems to be opening more for me lately

The imagination that I am blessed with, it is a blessing even if sometimes it feels a curse

The word's of my Father 

My family of course, they make like un-boring 

Moments where he heart is just too full for words.

Theres so much more, but I will stop there. 

I hope your having a spectacular day dearest reader. 

Did you have snow today ? I would love to know. Also side note, are you a lover of snow or do you lament the white stuff. 

Coffee Dreams

       

 There seems to be no point in coffee, unless drunk hot. The flavors are more full rich and who doesn't like a steaming mug as opposed to a cup sweating with icy condensation. Well maybe unless in summer that's the exception. But in an eastern cold autumn, hot coffee in the only thing that makes sense, to cold hands and noses nipped by jack frost. To the insides its that something that can melt away the layers of ice and make warmth rapidly spread throughout the body. I don't know why I'm daydreaming about coffee but that's what the onset of winter will do to a girl. Now my mind is thinking about those coffee houses the ones with the wide mugs that steaming coffee is poured into and frothy milk placed just right to make some design that will marvel and amaze your frozen mind. The kind that with one sip you will want to personally hug whom ever was responsible for making such a cup of perfection. A place where I can find some corner to recede into oblivion where the only thing that matters is the returning warmth to the tips of my fingers. A place where I can remove that massive scarf that only moments ago I was blessing. And watch the snow flurries fall silently, without feeling a shiver down the back of my mind. Well I could that is if I'm no too lost in that beautiful cup.
© Rachel Hope 2012. 
I just posted this on my Tumblr page, As I said I don't know why I'm day dreaming about coffee but I am. Its a strange thing... I hope your having a lovely week !

 Pictures via The Victorian tea

Words to be read words to be written

I just need to read ! I have lamented to my self at least twice today. Its been sometime since I have cracked a page of anything. And I have started to notice. My mind craves the food for the soul, more than my body craves sustenance. Dramatic yes an overstatement no. Its unfortunate that I don't have a library, I do so want a library. And I think I know of at least two girls who share everything with me and I with them, that would be happy to wile away hours with me within those hallowed walls.
Pictures help, but there's something about stories that just stay with you, there was one such that I read in may that I still haven't forgotten. A certain Ted Dekker book that my sister and I have mutually become an ultimate fan of. Even my younger brother read it, or more I should say devoured in a day, something I have never seen, Respectively.
Books have that power, that's why I love them so much.
There movies without the theatrics there ancient and modern and I would be so bored without them.
Which reminds me of my quest to re read every book I have at my disposal. A certain Charles Dickens novel about two cities siting alone and without a companion comes to mind. I need to find some time to finish that one. And now I find my self rambling.

But with November here, and every young writer getting ready for the national novel writing month, starting today, I feel a bit lonesome. You see I'm not joining, and probably will never join.
 I can hear the appalled sighs from all you young dreamers who shan't have scarce enough time to lift your heads from your writing and shoot me a shocked glare.
For two reasons I will probably never join, I say probably because, well,  never say never. I have no idea why I heard that in a french accent.  
My life is hectic as can be, I know who's isn't.
 I seem to have some issues with "getting to it" the it being  certain story that has been collecting dust this past summer.So you'd think that something that would force me would be beneficial, but that's not how I'm wired, when I'm pressured I give up. But I will say that I have pledged to not be a snobbish smug writer, and join in my own way. I see my need to finish some story, and I hope that will be my yet to be titled, medieval novel. So my future of book reading will have to wait, its a small sacrifice, not reading to finish a goal. I will try and write as much as I can this month, and I cant wait to read who wins this years National Novel Writing Month.
Pens at the ready, See you all in December.
Oh and that doesn't mean that I won't be here typing away on this Blog when I can.
I haven't the foggiest idea if this post made an ounce of sense.

Photos via pinterest 

An Essay On Writing

The plot of a story is huge, on it hangs the entire body of a story, it forms a outline of the idea in our head and keeps it straight, from it comes the story that we wish to convey.  But i have heard that a lot of writers don't concern them selves with the how and the whys and the when. they just write. I would have to say that that is more my idea of writing, yes I have some idea about what the story will consist of but I don't like the idea of getting bogged down with all the facts in my head before I write them. also I don't like the idea of knowing all the facts of my characters, when I don't detail there lives in full I seem to understand them better. I have no idea if that makes a ounce of sense. Now every writers style differentiates, this I know full well. Often I wish my style was a bit different more like the novelist greats of old. But I am who I am and perhaps with more practise I shall learn and grow. I'm not completely sure if this is the conventional way of writing,  but I quite like idea of ones characters growing on there own, I like to get to know them as I type rather than knowing all about them. It maintains an element of surprise for me, that I hope will cross over into the finished work. I have found that I get bogged down with facts and worries about being "correct" rather than being brave enough to just write. I have created a story board, a detailed plot with an outline for each chapter, with the things I wanted to into the beginning middle and end. and oddly enough when this (should) help me remain uncluttered in my mind it just makes things worse.

photos via pinterest. 

I sit at my desk pen in hand (yes I am still without my own writing computer, but if Jane Austen could do it than so can I) and the words just don't come, when I plan all the scenes in my head I have a hard time actually writing them, because I get worried about the rules.what comes first when do I include this or that, what would a reader say of this. All too many questions that cram my brain leaving no room for the story. Now this is different, when I have a clear scene come to me, and there nothing that's gonna get in the way of it coming out. Save that of my fear of breaking the rules, and not continuing the story in one linear line. so I store that scene in the back of my brain,
but often forget it, or it loses its allure. I remember reading somewhere that some writers would write the scenes or seeing pictures as   C S Lewis described it,  as they come and compile these works after the novel is completed.
Now I'm not sure how hard this is going to be, it seems a daunting odyssey to undergo, but if it make the words easier to come than what choice do I have. I suppose my point in writing this long most likely boring essay, it so say that rules are important, as is a plot and idea of the novel which you want to write. But if it gets too full of restriction,  a person is more likely to give up un despair rather than be chained to there plot with the thinking that it must be this way. At least I do. In short my point is leave some wiggle room so to speak, in your plot or story outline. and if you have a scene come to you that you just must write, even if that scene in miles down the road in your plot, don't fret to write it as it comes. I have to add that this is so freeing to me, I have learned that life inspires us in more ways than one, and trudging through a story in a linear line, wouldn't be difficult if you were locked away in a study for the remainder of that stories creation. But if you happen to live in the world, and not like a hermit. Than things, people, movies, songs all could inspire you to write a scene not yet in your plot, or farther on your complete list. Don' be afraid to creatively expand in more ways than just a straight line.
It has surely helped me.  
How do you dearest reader, write ? I would love to know your thoughts of the above.

Copyright 2012 Rachel Hope.  all rights reserved use of this material without written permission by the author is strictly prohibited. 

Wanderlust

I was born with a incurable desire for travel.
Lately with the highlight on the Olympics, seeing country after country and hearing stories from foreign people. It has reminded me just how much I long to travel.
Long has my dream been to see other places, to traverse dusty ancient roads, see places positively dripping with history. To speak with the language of ancients, and learn ways of life much older than the life we are so in the habit of. I want to not only see but become a part of the lives of peoples  strange to me, and understand them. Wouldn't it just be wonderful to learn there stories, and see places of the world touched by history and time.
I want to see where the stories of the Bible happened.
I want to travel the tiny European roads untouched by strangers boots since medieval days.
I want to see the villages and places no one has heard of, see the faces of children who have been untouched by the world.
I want to see the ancient Briton lands where my ancestors came from.
Feel breezes from the seas across the world and taste strange salty air unknown to me. For now I will have to dream of the above mentioned. But that wont stop me.

 Below are some picture I am loving
Of corse the most are of London, I bet you can guess why.















Why wouldn't a person want to find some forgotten beach and get lost in time.                                                                                                                          

London downtown,  that Parliament building is haunting  

The river thames 

Do you dream of traveling dear reader ? If so where do you go in your dreams. 

If Only I had an English garden

If only I had and English garden, I wouldn't mind such dreary British weather.
I have just sighed this sentiment to myself a mere second ago, and that is because the weather as of late has been sketchy. Sometimes warm, sometimes hot and sometimes cool. Today it was overcast, I awoke to a horrid pelting rain storm, that stopped only long enough for a few hours of work.
Now as I tap away on my keyboard it has begun to rain again, the sky is grey and dreary and the air is thick with a bit of fog or mist, I'm not sure which. I have some romantic idea in the back of my mind that this is the kind of weather that my English writer hero's must have lived in perpetually.
Perhaps Jane Austen or, say Emily Bronte met with such weather of cold and rain, sitting at their desks the scratching of there quill pens the only audible sound, save that of the patter rain.
I should very much like an English garden, carpeted with wild flowers, white washed fences and trellises draped with roses. I should love to watch that garden get washed with showers and showers of rain, from a sun room enclosed with just windows. Its a bit reminiscent of Beatrix Potter, or I should say how I imagine Beatrix Potter would pass her time whilst writing one of her children's books.
How could I not be inspired by watching delicious green get showered by the sky ? I would if I had an English garden. I would watch the leaves drip with natures life giving elixir and the sun as it breaks through the clouds to bath the newly washed foliage in liquid gold.
I wont go on to bemoan the lack of foliage in my life,
I wont wail and cry at the sparse plants that I do have.
No I shall be happy to dream of the English garden I am soon to have.

Pictures via Pinterest