Wrapped in rain life lessons from the storm

There's something so beautiful in the sound of rain, the chorus of melody that seems to sing of washing things clean, making the world fresh and new. Electrifying the too humid air. It's like the sounds washing over my soul, how I wish it could wash away all the things that must be done and leave the things I want to do like sparkling fresh objects before me. 

Its torrential in its shifting might, the clouds an ominous dark yet somehow like a covering a blanketing for the old that is passing away and soon will part to shine on fresh perspective. 

What is it that draws me to the sight, pelting droplets that one by one are trivial but as a whole become a driving force. I'm awed and somehow feel as if I'm lifted up inside those clouds where the energie is raw and terrible. How dashed about we are here below in the world usually looking for that one drink of water thirsting for the cooling waters to help us like plants grow. Sometimes I think we forget that the rain comes only by storms and is aweful when it strikes us growing gusty and turbulent the wind rips at us like circumstances and threatens our very sanity. The thunder and lightening striking the world around we cower or we stand to brave it. The rain if it does not make us bow under the weight of its strength imparts some sort of power in that we learn to resist its force making us stronger, we long for the rain, for drought is sweltering to our lives and means stagnation yet when it comes scrubbing away all the caked sod and soil we are repelled for the pain is great. Then the clouds part, the whirling of things stop and the sun peeps on us revealing a new self a new stronger flower whose no longer ashamed to look in the face of the sun. We can only feel the warmth of life if we are cleansed and tested for that is how we grow, and testing comes like a rain storm sometimes in little showers other times like a monsoon. Yet who we are at the end is what matters, how we face the world in our new state. All this wrapps about me in the sound of the rain reminding me of the importance of the ups and downs of life in how we choose to face them and who we choose to be among them. I'm resolved to (cliché alert ) dance in the storms of life trusting all the while my loving savior, besides after the rain there are puddles and who doesn't love puddle jumping ? 

Snow days and new places

It started falling softly and sweetly, dusting the earth with white, and in increasing fury the white fluf became a mass of wind and and a flood of flakes fell one upon the other is successive order far too quickly to count. 

           A new back yard 

It's a new landscape that meets my eyes, a new ground of possibilities, I stop and gaze in wonder at the beauty still so new. The first snowfall of any significance in a new home, surrounded by new walls and new roads. How odd when only 2short months ago I was surrounded by the familiar haunts, the yard of so many years where I had exhausted every subject to take pictures of. Strange when you can clearly see a place more accurately than where you find yourself now. I can imagine the yard, slopping to the right covered in snow, the paths blanketed equally the one large tree in the backyard covered with a dusting of powder from the direction of the wind, the spot where half the tree fell away from the massive trunk leaving an empty space wherein the sky stretches grey and dark. Not very pretty not very special except for feet that have tread the paths afforded by this place, the paths into the woods and following the railroad tracks only taken in my memory these days. Nostalgia has a way of hitting you when you leave a place you've occupied for so long. 

These days I've found myself saying how odd or very strange to myself when I seem to feel an emotion I'm not accustomed to, an emotion that is directly corolated with a place I so longed to leave. The human heart has stores yet undiscovered. 

It's nice to be cozy in a house, especially on days like today, when the wind whips wild and moans its low breath at anything that moves. What wild beauties yet not found by my eyes I can't wait to search out, the possibilities of a new place are endless, and exciting. Today I may be cooped up beside a heater forced to rove the wild tangles of my imagination, but soon, there won't be a place in this yard I'm not well aquatinted  with. Goodbyes are long but introductions are tedious, one place gone forever a face looking toward to newness undiscovered, for now ill manage to content myself with imagining what those discoveries might be.

What might you be doing on a day of the snows dear reader ? 

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. 

The heart of an Olympian

that special time that comes around every two years is come and gone. And we have been
glued to the telly for hours upon hours watching and rooting for people who we well never meet and people who will never know you existed or cheered for them when they gave there all for a prize. That two weeks I'm talking about of course in the Olympics,
I'm not quite sure if its so in to watch the above mentioned, anymore but its always been a family tradition, and something most enjoyable.
While I have a terrible case of russian fever, I am still able to wonder what it is about this event that keeps us engaged. So why do we love this two week span, when a group of countries get together and do sports battle in snow or in sun ?
Lessons, I believe we can all learn form everything, everything and anything. And we may not even notice we are watching lessons, but the message gets in.
Its inspiring to see determination, isn't it ? somewhere deep down we all feel that if one person could and usually from hard backgrounds make there dreams happen, why who would stop us ?
determination to keep going when the chips are down when the whole world is against you, we watch these moments as if our life depends on it, we laugh and cheer when that one person makes it happen that one who fought a little harder went a little farther, pushed beyond there limitations. It inspires us, the person on the couch, its more than just entertainment. We become connected to these people, in a primal instinctive way.
As humans we love the age old story of a hero, male or female doesn't matter. Who will rise from the burnt out ashes of the past,  or get up again after defeat and reach the center stage of there dreams.  Its the base for all stories really.  Its that spirit we love that heart to win, its why we will tell the stories of these moments twenty years from now to the generations who were not witness to such greatness.
What I love most apart form the excitement and rush of cheering on the home team, is the stories. the inspiring tales of hardships, and overcoming. Its in us all, that strong arm, that will to succeed.
and to watch the culmination of that decision to not give up and to not be a quitter, in every person who didn't get a free ride, and fought to live there dream is awesome.
Sure some have it easier than others, but it all makes up in the end, the story of the day is overcome.
words like against all odds. And we see that play out before is, and we are boosted a little higher, we are reminded that with hard work and a little will power anything is possible, for the athletes its a sport that makes is wonder how and why, what it it for you ?
What is it that says no,  that can be removed with a little pushing through.
We also can learn a lot about the heart condition, some give up, some fight till the end, some are sore losers. And we are either disgusted or disappointed, usually both. But we can apply this to ourselves
which one are we ? When we fight and things don't happen will we smile, be disappointed but still hold our head high ? A true man isn't revealed in ease, its through struggle and often times disappointment.
who are we when our character is tested. We have seen a lot of "failures" these two weeks, but the ones that though tears fell were hopeful, and not crushed to the point of giving up. inspired us more.
We have seen more dashed dreams than realized, only one can win. But those who thought it an accomplishment to just get there show true determination, for as the saying goes, your not a failure until you fail to try.
I could go on and on, the more I type the more I think of lessons, but I shall save those for the next two years.
So when is it your time to shine ? Every day is your battle, mine too, will you win will you lose. Sometimes both can teach us a lot, especially losses. learn to read them. see if you can take them gracefully, see if you have the heart of an olympian.

I press on toward the goal unto the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.

Phill 3: 14 
  
What do you love about the olympic season most ?

The heart of Thanksgiving

It feels as thought winter has indeed stopped to make a home here in my part of the world.
December had come, goodness me how that has happened, but I say that about all months that arrive so quickly, and lately it seems they all do.  Autumn is no more by the arrival of white, even if only a dusting serves as a reminder; every time I look out the window.
The colours of autumn have fallen long ago, another season nearly laid to rest.
At this time of year we celebrate thanksgiving, and indeed we have passed it by more than a week.

I had intended to write something, but....

With thanksgiving not so far behind. I wanted to write something that spoke of the holiday,
but more than that I wanted to write about the heart of thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving is more than just a day to share with those we love, that is indeed wonderful, but thankfulness is a heart condition, not just a holiday.

Thanksgiving
 is one of the most beautiful forms of praise, that I can think of, its not just I love you because you did this for me, or oh thanks for the favour. No gratefulness in much deeper than all that surface stuff, this gratefulness is a one way overcoming (I hardly know how to put it into words its so not a thing) That wells up inside your spirit and spills over into any words that suffice, and sometimes don't suffice, praising a Father who gives everything so fully for our redemption, and enjoyment.
Its that thing that brings tears to your eyes when your heart is so fill, so wondrously jammed with beautiful blessings, that you can hardly stand to keep it in. That's why tears flow when your family's gathered in one room together and the chatter is noisy and jolly and frivolous but that moment is so perfect so joyful that your heart sees a blessing and gratefulness like a tree grows larger and larger.

Its hard to practise Thankfulness when we are restricted in our hearts by the doubts, and crushed down by terrible circumstances. We can easily become hard when we focus of the don't haves rather than the magnificent beauties we do have in our lives.

Thankfulness
is a funny thing if practised consistently, it conditions your heart for growth, and removes the above mentioned states. When your heart is conditioned your in a position to walk in the path designed for you before the foundation of the world. Set by God for your enjoyment.
I believe that Thankfulness stem's more from having something you wanted, granted to you. That is just one tiny facet of gratefulness.
True Thankfulness is an acknowledgement of someone greater than you who has endued you with an ocean of love and mercies and unmitigated grace. To make your life so marvellous, so breathtaking. And Thankfulness is the way to get there to that place;
because your focus is on His HUGE Love that surrounds you and drops pleasures into your life without warning or being asked. (have you ever thought that God just likes to see you smile ?)

Its every moment of every day recognising how magnificent this life is, laden with blessings so colossal so glorious that we haven't even imagined it. Recognising that and expecting so fully to see them in faith, that we give an offering of thanks to our loving Father in the heavenly because he satisfies the longing heart.
   For He satisfies the longing soul,
 and fills the hungry soul with goodness.
    ( Psalm 107:9)
An attitude of Gratitude holds such power, and frees your mind. I feel that it puts you in a place that is cushioned with His love. Because you made yourself aware of his love every day that you live in a place that's unrealistically peaceful.
Gratefulness gets you so caught up in His Love that you fly over the bumps on the journey because you have let Him hide you in the cleft of the Rock, you have taken up your residence in His courts and found refuge under His pavilions.
The Word tells is to forget not all His benefits, I believe this is why.
In a way its a pare of rose coloured glasses from the Creator of the universe, see through a heart full of Gratitude for the undeserving displays of His love for you in your life.
Its a beautiful mindset.
With it you'll enjoy life in so many ways unrestricted.

Perhaps if I may, in the up coming year designate a book, with blank pages for the breathings of gratatude. Make a choice to look for them and recognise the blessings and where they come from. imagine a whole year spent like that. Its a three hundred and sixtyfive day treasure hunt. Indeed I do believe that I shall add this to my new year. How about you ?

Seasons For Literature.

But being on the cusp of a new season, its very chilly today and when I begin to crave sweaters and hot cinnamon flavored coffees, I know that a change has taken place. I thought I would post something about seasons.


If your reading this post and have read this blog for any time you know how much I am Enthralled by the changing seasons. There beautiful in a variety of ways, different and inspire a person freshly.
Its september, Someone please I implore you to tell me how that happened.
At first when I think about summer being over, I get all watery eyed, and sad. But somehow or another time has moved and were on the brink of a new start, again. The weather is suddenly chilly, and I'm getting the strongest urges to ramble about wooded paths just to soak in all the beauty of what is going and what is to come. Were at the twilight of the seasons, not quite done with summer, but not quite crossed over into autumn. A beautiful time.


I was asked this question recently (in a set of tag questions) I just had to re post it along with my answers here. It seemed appropriate for heading into a new season, also I just love the general mix of seasons and literature all aspects of it from the absorbing of it to the creating of it. I really love this question.


                  Which of the seasons, spring, summer, autumn, or winter, appeals to you most in                                                              a literary sense and inspires you to write?

All of them, but in different ways. winter I want piles of delicious words from stories I didn't write, But also gives me a nostalgic air that I must write to get in order to get out. everything floods with cozy thoughts and memories. That creatively helps a lot, flooding the mind with all sorts of ideas stemmed from memories.




Spring is so inspiring nature especially. Misty mornings and budding trees, theres nothing like new life to get the creative juices flowing. I probably have more novel inspiration in spring than any other season. Everything aligns to be perfect in a fleeting way, and I feel an urgency to capture that. summer is one of those months of experience where I watch people, in silent observation. due in part to more stuff happens in summer than any other time. I look around me and notice society. Where I wonder about time and the speed at which everything seems to happen. Early mornings with the sunrise and silent reveries, and a graceful growth of nature that matures before my wondering eyes. Also, nature has a way of inspiring me with writing, when I'm pulling weeds or planting and tending the garden I usually have a head full of plots, knightly sword fights, daring damsels, and strange happenings. the best time to plot is when your knee deep in soil and fresh earth, with gentle summer flower scents excite the senses. Its all a very natural process. And autumn in its colored splendor gives me a mood that I haven't found a word for yet. A daring sort of mood that drives me to daring and majestic things with my characters and plots. Autumn is mysterious, shrouded in misty grey, wet mornings and chilly evenings. Its cider and jacketed walks which if you haven't figured it out yet, is one of my favorite ways to be inspired. I don't know, theres something about musky woods and smokey wind pared with the rush of geese calls that just ignite a warm glow of creativity within me.
Each season my mood changes and each time its different. cozy and sad and thinking about the past, new and fresh with resolve and romantic inclinations, mature and bright and natural, or deep and mysterious. I couldn't choose one season I love them all creatively speaking.

Now I put this question to you dearest reader, I would love to know your answers. even if your not a writer I would still love to know which season inspires you most, maybe all, like me ? 

Feel free to answer in a comment, or do what I have done in a post, and leave me a not to hope over to your respected corners of the internet. 

Enjoying the in-between season.


Photos via pinterest

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

photo via pinterest

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 

         

photo via tumblr

Book Review, King Solomon's Mines

Days seem to go by so fast, how in the world can January nearly be over ?
Even as I look back, I know this month has flown. But in my mind it seems to have been a nice slow passed sort of January. I have no idea if this is due to the fact that I have spent nearly every day with my nose crammed between the Page's of a book, or pouring over my aqua typewriter, Jarvis.
(Yes I named my typewriter) What ever it may be I hope the rest of this year is like the first month out of the gate.
 January is a strange month in Connecticut, it snows hard and fast the ground in blanketed like my bed. Twice it has rained dark stormy nights, with wild wind and then strange calm warm spring days. But winters not over yet not by a long shot. Oh no. Even if the iced over bird bath did melt twice, it has froze solid on more occasion than that, and the snow is not far off from falling today, I can smell it.
So in the nature of settling in for a winter that's sure to be here a wile I thought I would give you, dearest reader a book review. I told you before I have been reading like crazy, with nearly eight books this month, alone.
But I shall start with the adventure novel King Solomon's Mines.

Cited to be one of the first African Adventure novels, this book was surprisingly entertaining.
While I have been filling my brain with random facts about Victorian South Africa, in the name of research for my recent novel. I really was just going to read this book because I heard that Mr. Haggard was known for his descriptive details of the landscape and of peoples. But found by self pulled immediately into the plot and enjoying myself immensely.

The story: Three men trek to the remote African interior, in search for a lost friend, and at the end of a perilous journey reach an unknown land cut off from the rest of the world. Where terrible dangers await anyone who ventures near the spectacular diamond mines of king Solomon.
That's the summery on the back of my copy.

Well let me say that the story isn't nearly as simple as the above summery.
Alan Quatermain, a seasoned adventurer and white elephant hunter, embarks on a journey to help find the lost brother of a English nobleman, accompanied by the latter's friend a former sea captain.
The story told in the first person, a type of writing I'm not very fond of was easy to read.
The language not as flowery and metaphorical as other novels from the same time is written in plain easy to read English.
The journey that awaits them is perilous. from a dessert trek that nearly kills them to nearly starving atop a frozen mountain. All while being guided by a map three centuries old written by a crazed starved old man on the verge of death willing to draw the map for his future ancestors
in his own blood. Knowing that disaster has befallen all who have journeyed across Africa to king Solomon's mines, they embark anyway fueled by the hopes of reuniting two brothers lost to one another by a quarrel. The story has quite a lot in it for its few pages, from a lost African king finding his way home to an all out war, a wild adventure with strange and memorable characters, laced with imaginative historical questions. And I'm not even going to tell you what happens when they do finally reach the fabled mines.
The whole way, they are faced with danger, but the writer saw fit to make these three men impossibly over come these, including an unfriendly tribe of African natives, though noble and even refined. with wit and smarts.
But this tale isn't just an adventure novel, it had a large amount of wit from the writer, more than once I laughed out loud, and it wasn't just due to the fact that it was 2:00 am and I was in lack of sleep.
But the story had an important aspect that I loved,  even though main character Alan Quatermain is  a self professed coward, when he is faced with danger somehow he is able to keep a cool head and though still inwardly terrified is the one who more than once is able to save his friends.
which says a lot about a person, I found my self cheering these men in battle as they fought for the freedom of an African tribe they did not know.
Which brings me to the other thing that's great about this novel, the way Haggard describes the natives as a noble and proud people with charm and social grace to rival the ladies back home in London was refreshing. True he put some aspect that these were wild people accustomed to there own ways, and some of those ways weren't exactly nice like a witch hunt,  but on the whole I liked how he kept a respectful tone for the people that kept watch over the mines with reverence and fear even making some of these characters hero's and heroines. Something unheard of in Victorian England.

On the whole this novel was really well done, and the knowledge that Sir Haggard wrote the best seller in just six to sixteen weeks, and because of a wager with his brother that promised six shillings, that created a new genre known as the lost world genre, is inspiring. Apparently he inspired many other authors as well.
I can't wait to read the sequel.
Please do give this book a go if you find it in your hands, or if you have read it I would love to know your thoughts, just leave me a comment.

photo via pinterest

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 Passing of the Year

Old Year! upon the Stage of Time
     You stand to bow your last adieu;
A moment, and the prompter's chime
     Will ring the curtain down on you.
Your mien is sad, your step is slow;
     You falter as a Sage in pain;
Yet turn, Old Year, before you go,
     And face your audience again.
Excerpt from The passing of the year, by Robert W Service


Here we are again at the end of a year, it seems that it were only yesterday that I wrote a farewell to 2011 and 2012 was new and fresh and exciting.

I feel it needless to say that this year flew by at a rapid and unnecessary speed. But what can one do ?
The end of the year is strange, how it holds so many emotions, in the space of a crammed week or two.
Christmas and new years, and for me, my birthday smack in the middle of that.
Turning twenty doesn't feel any different than turning nineteen, or any age before that. One can be ten and be twenty inside, every one makes a big deal about birthdays, but my family has never been too overly happy when they come around. And I am quite happy about that.  Age is truly nothing, its the character and maturity that counts, and I hope I'm not too adult or too childlike but a happy mixture of both when the occasion calls for it. But enough about me.
What does the year of our Lord two thousand and thirteen hold ?
Is it just me or does anyone else feel that it sounds a bit science fiction ?
What it holds is any ones guess, for every human on the planet.  For me and my family it would be useless to try and guess. Mostly because I wouldn't what to under expect the immense possibilities, that are just waiting ahead, how embarrassing would it be to find myself facing something so great and above my wildest dreams and say,
Oh I'm sorry I just didn't expect you to be so Grand.
I hope that made sense, what I'm trying to say is I'm keeping my expectations open, and great expectations they are.
Why do I have such great expectations ? Well its only because I know Whose holding the story of my life and my families. Who wrote it with His blood, and planned it before the foundations of the world.
Sure I shall jot down a few things I want to accomplish in the up coming year, or if your reading this in Australia, in the new year. :)))
But I know with a confidant as-surety that though these things may not get accomplished in my own human weakness, if I commit these to my Lord He will give me the super to my natural, and I will be able to do all things through Him.
Also my ideas of grander are so tainted and tarnished compared to what he has is store, how can I not be excited ?
I hope this day finds you dear reader, happy with the past year, and excited about the new one ahead.
But if not, as such is the case for many, I pray that God will give you peace, and happiness.
He really does if you place your Hope, confidant expectation of good in Him.
And may the new year be filled with Good surprises all through to the next.
Farewell year, you have been good, and I hope your next of kin will be better and better.
I shall remember you fondly.

Photos via pinterest

The Timepiece That Was Elusive

"There's so many words to be said, so many to write. And scant time to fill the world with the beauty of the hearts thoughts and words that should be spoken but usually get left unsaid. The desire is there but the means get away, adding to the complicated strange and terrible beautiful world we live in"© Rachel Hope 2012




I posted this on a whim on my tumblr page, and I still feel its true.
I have been thinking as of late theres so little time to write everything I want to write, and that's a horrible and maddening thought. The stories that are in my head, sketched into a yellow spine pad, and on tiny papers that are scattered here and there in the room I share with my brother and sister might never get written. Now I'm not one to often think in a negative way, dramatic doesn't mean negative. But the thought, though overly dramatic and pessimistic is still sobering when I think about it. Imagine if at the end of your life, may that be a very long time, you had done all the things you wished, completed all the things you wished to complete.
Now imagine you hadn't. Thats a very different and sort of sad thought isn't it ?
And I think I find this a bit motivational to do everything I can do every day to complete my goals.
There the only way we can get things done, ya know. Because I don't want in about two hundred years to regret all the things I didn't do as apposed to the things I did.

There just, as I said above not enough time to do so much. So I shall make the best of every day. How do you dear reader feel.
Do you have goals and sometimes pressure yourself to complete them ?





All photos via  tumblr

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 

Sudden contemplation's

I thought it would be fun to write random thoughts that seem to puff into my head and then disappear like a ghostly memory. Oftentimes never to be thought again. Perhaps this will give you an idea of my varied thought life. I know its strange.
  Remember I said random.

Its brilliant and maddening and pleasing that people who have lived a wee amount of years can be so brilliant and inspiring and smart.

What a wonderful thing Blogs are, where I have met so many like minded peoples, who love writing and reading and who brighten my day.

The backdrop of the bluest sky mingling with the seemingly sharp wintered trees, is calling to my creativity. Draw me ! there calls keep wafting here and there as they sway in the bitter wind.

My typewriter seems lonesome, not having companionship for at least three days. There's  a story floating around in my mind crowding up the spaces that do not need anymore inhabitant's at the moment. But refusing to be pushed back into the corners where there are vacancies they demand my attention and I cant help but love that about them.

I don't know when I started to refer to my novels as them but as you just read it happens.

Why does waiting have to seem so long, isn't the promise of something wonderful after that wait enough to carry one through ? Perhaps its because there's something whispering in the back of ones head that says after the wait and the desired thing acquired there is a lull in the exciting expectation.
Almost like its better to never get what yo are waiting for because having it be done with is just as sad as it never coming.

Staring into the embers of a fire, its to carry on the custom begun my our most early ancestors, from whom all society stems. To light a fire is to continue a primordial tradition, the ancients needed fire, the kings and knights needed fire, the wayward traveller lost and far from home needed fire.
 and we still do today. How interesting it is that with all our modern advancements we still carry on this ancient institution.

Words of my life

To have an idea about something and fall so short of it due to bad decisions and incompetence,
 is Ruinous.
To feel words in your head and ideas about things one might want to say, and then spend extended periods of time looking at a blank screen and jumbled keyboards,
 is Annoying
To have these thoughts comeback to me at some obscene hour of the night when I dare-not  turn a light on for fear of waking my poor sister who has the unfortunate fate of sharing a room with me,
is Unfortunate.
Solving any of these things Impossible.
Autumn here already,
Inconceivable.
I mean come on summer, I thought we talked about this, you were going to last just a little bit longer for me, Summer being over,
Doleful.
Having a typewriter for my room,
Convenient.
It being so loud its distracting,
 Inconvenient.
Sometimes its just better to stay in bed.

Please forgive the messy appearance of this desk as its under construction.

Thoughtful

Photo via pinterest 

Is it possible to be so full of ideas, dreams, frustrations, that one cant get anything done.
when the heart is so full, of what sometimes I'm not sure, that nothing can escape the dam of emotions and thoughts and all the kinds of things that float through my head at 2:00 in the morning.
its like there is no room for the creativity that I crave, when my mind is a beehive of chaos and things that need to be done. Writing helps, when I write its like I open a vein and bleed the thoughts and desires and dreams and the too many frustrations that come with life. My pen becomes the lifeline I so need, when I write I grow wings, metaphorically speaking, and my heart lightens.
Talking to someone helps, but sometimes there are feelings that are too weighty, too far locked away in the heart that cant be shared easily, and writing them down makes it a little easier.
Now I wont go into a huge chronicle about my personal existence, but after looking deep into my cup of steaming peach tea for a few moments, I realized that I have been running from this blog, even though I promised myself that I would post at least once a week. I have been wondering in my random posts about things no one cares about is boring the readers that stop in and say hello.
Probably more than I would care to think, but that got me thinking about why I started this blogging journey. It wasn't more for he readers and the audience I could reach, yes that was a factor but, in the short of it, this blog was more for me as an inward journey, and to become a better writer. And as I am writing and thinking, the onset of autumn always does it to me, I feel I am becoming more myself than I Have been in weeks. So onward on this journey, free from the thoughts and worries that boggle me about the direction of this blog. I really don't have to write great dissertations that are thought provoking and always teach something. Those might come sometimes, but for the most part I have to be me.
Now to something more lighthearted or what some would call an update.
Hopefully soon a new design will meet your eyes when you visit, this is something I am hopelessly bad at, and it is rare that I find something I cant remotely do. Remotely. Ignore that last point.
This is the queen of random signing off for now.

Pondering's of a dissatisfied writer

I'm daydreaming on the couch about my novels and characters, wondering am I a sufficient enough  writer to complete a story, no I have not done so yet you can stop laughing. Wondering if my voice and style of writing is strong enough to be heard alone, am I the only one who seems to pick up another authors style of writing after reading a particular book ? If I am, then I am thoroughly worried that I can only be a good copy. But perhaps I am over thinking all of this, perhaps my "style" is my own. Let me ask all you writers out there, do you get pen slain by another authors writings and find your self sounding a lot like them when you next sit down to write ?
I shan't be too dramatic with this negative pondering, Though I feel as of late that a lot of things in my life are being neglected, not because of anyone else but because of my own ability to procrastinate.
Lets take writing for example, I seem to be able to start stories with no trouble, and I am in no way lacking for plot inspirations. But I seem to get wary or lets say uninterested when it becomes a struggle with my characters, which usually happens mid story. What would you do if you were me and you had another tempting new plot that is just teeming at my fingertips to be started ? But no I shall not justify my delaying. I seem to get caught in a web of 'woe is me' when I read about another writer who has been fortunate enough to complete a novel and write the words THE END. I get all, I wont say envious, but a bit disappointed in myself, and all these feelings come again.
Hem, what shall I say next ? I have exhausted the point and shall now follow it with another question, What do you my fellow writers do to ward off the bug of procrastination in writing ?
And what have you found to be helpful in completing a story.
I now must thank you for listening to the rantings of a discouraged writer, I know we can be a bit hammy.



Photo via pinterest

Little Notes

Dear Life why can you get so far away from me, I often find myself wondering what you are all about.
Dear Work and home life, you can be so demanding, there seems to be no time to slip in the creative desires that seem to over come me sometimes. Now I am most certainly not complaining, I do not at all dislike working with my family. And God blessed me with a mind that is apt to be inspired by the most random of things. But sometimes, after a long week, I wish there was more time for all of us please ?

Dear sun Thank you for the beautiful sunset that followed us home today, I love the way the your little shoots of light danced across the woods and through the leaves lighting tiny paths of gold like a treasure hunt that calls to my heart. Thank you for showing up at all today, after a long week of rain.

Now Mr rain don't misunderstand me, I love the sun shower you gave us today that washed the earthy green and made everything feel new. Its just I prefer that kind of rain, and not the long stormy trials that last for days. Dear tall grass, please don't let your self get cut, I love watching you sway and dance in the breeze. Oh and breeze please stay sweet and warm, its summer soon you know.

 Dear stories, please please stay in my head long enough for me to write you, and characters I implore you co operate with me. Please ! I wont be too dramatic, here but don't leave me hanging, I promise to try and meet with you again okay ?
Dear fellow blogger I hope you enjoyed your week.

little weeds

With all this warm weather suddenly upon us, I have found myself out in the little patches of "garden" or flower beds, weeding the soft dirt for new growth soon to come. I love weeding there's something about clearing the earth for those tiny shoots, like promises and on faith we believe they will grow.
As I was weeding today and clearing away the dry old growth from last season, I in between singing snippets of songs from the phantom of the opera, began to think of the weeds that can grow and take form in our own human lives. I was astounded to find these old dead weeds still far rooted into the earth, more-so than the new growth. How true this is with the weeds that spring up seemingly over night, and can take deep roots into our sub-conscience and hearts. What do weeds do ? They spread like wildfire and choke out the good growth. What are weeds in our lives ? well selfishness and bitterness are a weed hate and anger more-so, fear is a strong seed that grows deep and tall and often I have found these latter named weeds grow from this main plant. I like to describe these weeds as the opposite of  the fruit of the spirit
the main plant being  Love, that grows from knowing how much God loves you,
                  and from that grows Joy
                  and when you are Joyful you have peace
                  and when you have these you can be Patient
                  Kind and Good, Faithful and Gentile and Self Controlled.
I believe that the weeds come when we don't believe God loves us, and we begin to fear, fear that no matter what we do we we will never be good enough. Fear that God has turned His back on us. It is such a shame that we as human beings often times believe this, deception and find it easier to, than most anything else. But truthfully nothing could be farther from the truth, our Father Loves us with an undefinable Love, one that far reaches human understanding or belief.
What shall we do with the weeds in our life ? Simply throw them away. We must not waist our meager time on this earth with being choked and entangled with these weeds, because when we do pluck these from our lives we have the freedom to breath and see the Son as He is smiling on us through Grace.
When we are free from these weeds we can finally grow to our full potential and blossom into the beautiful  person God has intended us to be.