Feathered friends, an autumn scene.

 I wish I had a picture to show you,
 The oddest and most peculiar thing,
 have you ever witnessed a bird migration convergence ?
 Well, one just took place in my back yard.
 What kind of bird is it that has descended upon my grassy hills and lofty boughs, there name I know  not. How shall I convey the feeling I shall have to try and paint you a paragraph.

The chirping of hundreds of little voices is what made me notice, a sort of full and crowded call that was amplified on the frothy air that is still warm like summer but has a note of something nippy about it. The sound was of a sort lurid, and caught my attention almost immediately. 
In wonder did I stand staring upon the scene of at least a hundred ebony birds dotting the earth. 
Amongst patches of sheer luminescence filtering through the great pine boughs abutting the property,
splattering sun baked and dying grasses, there color changes from black of night to brilliance of hues purple and deep cyan, pigments that conjure images of exotic places and strange things, there tones of peacock perfection made me look and want to look again. 
they fluttered about from ground to tree, almost as if my some slight of hand did there plumes glitter from brilliance to black, there chatter incessant, there interaction jittery and simply fluttery. 
I longed to capture the scene, but alas all I have are words, and a strange memory. 
among the autumn hues they flew in one great body to where I shall never know.  But for one small moment they sat upon my earth pecking the greens resting there flighted wings. 


Ah,  I do so love autumn, if for the furry and feathered friends it bears on its colorful folds to my door. I wonder dear reader, have you met with any sort of fauna our co inhabiters of this earth, that has made you sigh in dreamy praise at all the Lord hads created. I'd love to look with wide eyes along with you, drop me a comment and let me know. Until then I'll most certainly be lost in art and words.
Rachel Hope

photo from pinterest

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. 

Christmas memories

Christmas has always been a special time for my family and I.
Looking back on the memories I smile at the little things that made each one special, somehow through adversity and poverty, every Christmas we scraped up enough to be together and to be jolly.

The picture of bob Cratchit coming home to that crammed and impoverished home that was rich in joy and thankfulness has a ghostly similitude to our own little home's crammed and lowly enough to resemble any memorable Dickens character's.
Ours was a home not rich in material wealth, what we had was something more wonderful that that. You see we were able to experience Christmas the way it should be. Simple and full of love. presents didn't matter, even though there was always something special under our "tree"We knew it wasn't about those tiny hard earned trinkets. But the blessings of being healthy and together. We were able to wholly focus on the greatest gift given to mankind. A Savior which is Christ the Lord.
I look back on the earliest ones I can remember, and there is a hazy sort of charm over those earliest of Christmas memories for me. And it wasn't Because of lights on the tree, it wasn't the shiny wrapped boxes, it wasn't the feast that took ages to prepare. (which back then we were hardly able to afford)
It was a smiling mother who rallied her troop's of little hands to the call of cheer and delight. Who out of necessity used every imaginable part of her brain to create some grand decor, even if it meant pinning sheets up on the blanketed windows, (we didn't have heat)  to look like curtains. and pulling every imaginable gift that the 60 acres we lived on provided, to create an atmosphere of Christmas.
And my sisters her two right hand sergeants, who were at the ready to charge and tackle any task. The eldest usually money, working jobs here and there and the younger with her; usually the younger would dream up some feast out of the simplest of ingredient's, and all three of them would be in the tiny kitchen cooking and singing carols. And my brothers who would always be cooking up some sort of mischief of happy playful hours to fill up the time we waited for the big day when everything would come together.
We never knew we had so little we were a band of jolly children with a mother who stood by and watched her chickens with joy and many a prayer for us all. Who kept us closely tied with her love and childlike faith.
Even though we are far better off now, the lessons are still the same.
Its the simplest of gifts that make a christmas great. Its not getting some grand present that you will remember, but the ones who you shared days and nights with in laughter and coziness.
Remember this in the next two days, cherish every moment spent with someone you love, for those are the ones worth storing up for someday.
Be thankful for the ones you hold dear, but be most grateful that they are near.

 Wishing you all my lovely followers a happy and lovely amazingly blessed Christmas.
Amid all the busy wonderfulness and the seasonal shenanigans lets try and remember why we celebrate.

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 ?





Pictures from 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.

three's company four is unknown

photo credit pinterest

I seem to have missed a chunk of this year, from the end of January which still has a slow glazey fond sort of memory. To, well now. I missed February's passing without notice, how the days get so lost to me I haven't the foggiest, and march was gone in a flash. Honestly I don't think February would have stopped to wave goodbye had I seen it go. And march was a hair pulling hectic child that made even a sane mind feel a bit mad. Oh who am I kidding aren't we all a bit mad ?
January was a sweet month, the kind I could sit and have tea and a chat with. Someone please explain to me why thirty days filled with books seemed to touch eternity where there is no time.
It only goes to show how close literacy comes to time travel, now there's just that tricky space travel to figure. (There's that inner nerd I try so hard to keep hidden from you all) my apologies.
But those who live in the past never move forward so it's an early welcoming but hello April.
Lets hope you will be kinder than February, which brought troublesome soul searching, why does it seem that some months are destined to be a bother on a light heart ?  I am pondering this as I stroke the nose of my black and white fur ball of a cat. Whose as I am writing this trying his hardest to enforce an attack upon my poor papers piled high upon my desk. He's succeeded in knocking them off excuse me while I go retrieve my livelihood.
  Perhaps April dear you shall take your steps slower than march, full of hurry and bustle, planning and stress. Perhaps, we shall soon see.
I feel as I owe you dearest readers and followers some sort of explanation as to my ridiculous absence here. Am I weaning myself from the Internet ? Heavens no !
And heaven only does know how much I think about posting here when I have no time, and of all the amazingness I miss from those brilliant bloggers who never fail to feed my creative juices.
But what explanation can I give ? Life happens and gets the better of us, I could explain that a long awaited family celebration was planned and executed in the past month, that spending time with siblings that have been long away is more to my heart than even writing. That working with those  same said siblings on there home improvement business is exhausting and hard. But brilliant because I  get to be with them all day. Perhaps I might say that repainting the bedroom you share with your bosom buddies. Don't worry also siblings of mine. Went rather smoothly but got complicated at the end. I am happy to say the end result is lovely and fresh, and I have a fond memory to store of my sister and I setting our minds to something and getting the job done.
But that would fill pages and I really don't think that you all would be interested in every minute detail of why my absence has been so long.
So I shall just say hello I'm back.
My name is Rachel Hope Bishop, I'm 20 years old I share a crammed but cosy home with my eight siblings, two of whom are away for now, and my lovely mother.
I enjoy tea, coffee and Saturday mornings filled with the sound of my mother cooking bacon eggs and her speciality, pancakes,  My favourite smell is burgamot, I love cosy blankets and rainy afternoons. Books are the superior sustenance over food. And I will be a published writer someday soon. Hopefully. It is so very nice to meet you followers and readers.
Now that this long introduction is over, let me say welcome to my newest followers.
I really do love you all, your so great. And thanks for the patience, truthfully I thought I would log in here and find I had lost followers, what a pleasant surprise to see you are all still here, with some new additions. And thank you to miss Emily Ruth for the inspiration to write a new introduction, after a long absence.
So tell me about you, I would really love to know, who you are, what you like and who you share your existence with. If your are comfortable with sharing that is.
Also how about what your past three months have been for you, was the hazy January a global phenom or was it mine alone, did February make you want to forget it ever happened, or have you been crazy busy with March.
Sometimes it's good to step back and take some time away from something, it makes you appreciate that something all the more. And when family are around I hope you will choose them over something less precious than the priceless lives and relationships they bring.
I'm looking forward to more books and spring ! Oh how I have longed for green.
I hope your having a wonderful month and, here's to the weekend.

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 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 

Nostalgia memories, Embroidery preview.

The sky today is a soft grey, I hope I'm not just imagining the hint of pink as the sun recedes to the other side of the earth. There are tiny white snowflakes flying in no prefect way here and there. Not enough to accumulate but more that enough to admire. Winter has a sort of nostalgic quality, And I'm not sure why. The tree tops are lightly tickled by the suns last rays. I long to feel those rays wash over me.      

Its so cold here today. A cold day is perfect for embroidery. And tea, and a blanket and a telly. But instead of plant myself in front of said telly I thought I would share with all of you the recent projects that will soon be in the shop. If you remember I promised ? Well so not to have all of you think I'm some fabulist, That would be horrible. I decided to post some pictures of the unfinished product. 

Since childhood embroidery has been a favorite way to pass the time.The grandmas attic series didn't help in taming two little girls fancy that we were the best  seamstresses in the world. I'm remembering a certain chapter about a contest and an embroidery disaster. I loved those books.  Any way, our wise mother, instead of discourage our energetic and messy fingers gave us little simple projects to complete. We didn't know it but she was, in reality teaching us all that we now know. But to our unaware minds we were the fancy ladies in the Jane Austen movies. At the settee, large hoop sitting in front of them silken fabrics stretched therein. dainty fingers busy creating beautiful creations. Our silken fabrics were really a simple paper that our mother drew a picture on. We would then select a color thread and sew away. Now we don't use paper, but what we didn't know back then was we were refining a skill that, even if we don't use for ages it comes back so easily.  

The embroidery you see in the pictures will be available for purchase soon so if you like what you see let me know and I will message you when there in the shop. I hope your having a lovely weekend.   

In which I try and be intellectual.

Today I'm going to indulge my literary fancies. And pretend that I am some great writer dictating to my self, in a indulgent intellectual sort of way. I my mind I'm pedagogical, I sit in my high backed time worn leather chair, the kind that has eventually memorized my favourite way of reclining, and cub my chin whilst I think and twiddle my thumbs. Here I will attempt to set my erudite intellect in motion. Do be so good as to remember I said attempt.
Lately I've been thinking about characters.
Most of the time characters are so coped, yes a lot of things have been done, almost all plots have been done in some way or another. But how to keep the person that drives the story intriguing enough to peak the interest of the reader and keep them from first to last page without boring them. What makes a memorable story ? What will you remember after the last word is read.
Why the characters of course ! Don't tell me you haven't ever read a really wonderful tale that transported you to another time another world, that captivated your heart by some special character, one you cried with one you marvelled with. One you felt the crushing pain of emotions and the glory of victory. One you fought inner dragons with, one you watched fall in love, one you gave your heart to in order to understand that said character. yes I know a bit dramatic and a bit too epic for all stories.
but all stories do have some element of something that makes you fall in love with the story, and I will guarantee that even if the plot is something told a thousand times before, if you add a beautifully complex character, you've got something. If you think about it that's whats so special about the tales told from the dawn of time, from the dark ages with there myth and lore to the romantic Victorian era with there stories of mystery and intrigue. the ones that are remembered are the ones with a really relatable character, someone that you feel you could be best friends with.
But how to go about it.
 When I write a character, I don't worry about the norm for such people.

I think, who would this person be if I met then on the street, would I like him/her ? would they annoy, fascinate, intrigue me ? Characters are people too, though merely in ones head. But imagine if that person were real. Imagine they had a life a family and all the wonderfully hard and lovely things about life followed them. I suppose I  might say that when I write my characters, I try and think who I would want to be, if I were in the situation that face the said protagonist. I do this because I am excessively afraid of writing flat characters, who wants to read rubbish with no one to relate to ?

Every person in the world has a story of who they are , and why they are the way they are.
Evil in not born its made, and so when discovering the antagonist I try and think completely opposite of who I would be, completely the night to the day something so far from who I should like to be that it creates a good villain. In short I suppose I try and decide to write about who I would like to be, or who I would not like to be. And all the baggage that goes with that. The best characters are real, or seem to be.

 As if they could take form and climb from the pages, and live in the visible world. They must    
have heart, and all the deep emotions that the heart holds, even sometimes the two polars that some have. Then you find a plot, most of the time my characters come to me with there own idea of there lives, its just my job to write them down. Sure I can improvise when they become especially difficult and they do depending on the weather. There so temperamental. There lives seem to just play out, most of the time anyway. I'm a person that is obsessed with the psychological side of people, there whys, what drives them, there stories and how that effects them for good or bad. every one has there reasons, there insecurities there hurts all differentiating of course but there their just the same.
So I feel that if one is to write a really good character, and that's something that all good stories need, they must include this.
I do hope this wasn't too pedantic. And it did a end a bit abruptly, but what can I say. my scholarly mind ran away from me much too expeditious than I would have liked.

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.

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

Autumn's Pleasures

  How can it be that autumn is so fully here, and I forgot to post about it ? 

Its strange to think that this time last year we had a thick layer of snow covering the earth. 

And this year it is so different, oh true the leaves have changed, and how wonderfully indeed to see the autumn colour's, but autumn seems to be a bit tardy. Autumn, not the cold. 

Though we have had some deliciously blustery days, it seems the rain is more adamant than the sun. And so we have more rain than those cold but sunny autumn days, the kind that give you all sorts of feelings, like running through the woods for no reason at all. And wearing those long shut away boots and pullover cardigans. The crisp air stinging ones cheeks, and the crunch of dry leaves underfoot. Ah, I do love autumn. 

                                                                      Though I'm not complaining about rain, I do love rainy days. 

perfect for that forgotten cup of tea, and that book you haven't cracked a page to read in ages. 

I have been spending my autumn, trying to be as creative as possible, Drawing, something I haven't done in ages, sewing, knitting something I want to be better at, and making goodies to put on my families Etsy site. I promise a post about that soon. 

So where does writing get placed amid all that creativity ? unfortunately on the back burner, and screaming THERE'S NOT ENOUGH HOURS IN THE DAY would be cliche´. Honestly I don't know how people are so creative with all the normal living to be done. But that's not what I started this post about, so I'll refrain from any further thoughts on this subject 

It seems August was in some kind of hurry, he wasn't very nice, and he wasn't very friendly. 

and October is shaping up to be quite the same as its predecessor. Oh well, I shall have to enjoy autumn in fast forward because soon enough it will be winter and that can seem to last forever. 

Cinnamon, apple cider, warm soups, lazy days spent under a large coverlet, pies, apples, apple pie, 

those distant waifs of some ember burning far away in the air, a harvest moon. 

These just skim the surface of why autumn is so enticing. 

I hope you are having a stupendous autumn,

 I would love to know what you love about autumn. 

Photo via pinterest 

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.

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. 

The Prodigal Girl Returns

I haven't posted something here for a while. Its almost strange to be typing here, with the intent to click publish. My life as it were is busy, who's isn't may I ask ? Writing is my life's blood. And the inspiration I draw form all of the lovely Blogs I follow are a constant stream of help. So why does it seem strange to be posting ? I couldn't say.
 Here's some photos that I am loving today.

      If only my life were like this, all though I would feel bad for the person who had to row me about
      all day. I am drawing inspiration from this photo for a certain story, I'm no supposed to be writing.
      Isn't the photograph just stunning ?

 Hopefully I will be reading more and more, as the summer ends. That's a sad sentiment.  Yes I'm sad that summers almost over, and I am now missing the sum as it has poured rain for some time, which is making me feel even more that summers on its last leg. I am currently editing the first draft of my children's story, and sketching for the illustrations with my artist Mother. That's a very happy statement. If I do say so myself. That's what I have been "up to", not that I believe anyone really is waiting with bated breath to hear about my life. She writes smiling to herself.  I know the random nature of this post is hard to follow, forgive me. And thank you for reading at all. 

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