Forever alone?

I know, I know. Another "faith" blog post, on a blog that is also supposed to be a place to share my creative writing! But I have been meaning for a long time to post an update on my blog about my commitment to being single. I blogged about it last March because I believed that my reasons for committing to being single could be helpful to other young women. Once again, I would like to share about this more personal thing with my readers, because I think that sharing the things we learn can benefit others too. 

My six months ended on August 31, but by then I had already decided I was going to extend it until Christmas, and maybe even for the full year (until March.) I extended it because I saw how good it was to be focused on loving God alone and not looking to change anything, and I thought that there was a lot more good that "focusing on being single" could still do for me if I continued it further. To be honest, I was not living up to my idea of "single-heartedness" half the time and I wanted to keep working on it.

But then I read an article that made me rethink a couple of things. 

In this world you will have troubles

Every time I get upset or overwhelmed at the problems in the world around me, God says the same thing to me - and, every time, I have forgotten it again. Sometimes it's easy to look at the world's problems and get discouraged at the fact that the world is so big, and I am so small. And only after an hour of ranting does the Holy Spirit swoop in with the same words of comfort that I hear every time.

Last night, one such hour of ranting happened, where one complaint leads to another and another and before I know it, I'm feeling helpless in a world that's heading in the wrong direction. It is the specific intention of the devil to discourage me from feeling like I can do anything to help anything - but it is the specific intention of the Lord to encourage me with the fact that, indeed, I cannot do anything on my own, but with Him, I can do anything.

Happy Monday and a little more of Espanola

Happy Monday! And isn't it a beautiful one!

This is a must-see skit that the Revive Espanola team and youth retreat volunteers put on during their awesome youth retreat. If you've seen the original skit on Youtube you'll see that their version is just as good - if not better! Good job Revive!!

And for your enjoyment I will share with you a short story I was requested to write of a funny incident that happened while I was in Espanola. You can read it on the Revive Espanola blog here. :)

Have a great week!!

Saints with jeans and tennis shoes

If there's one thing that can inspire us, it is teens who want to live for Christ.

To finish what I started before about my visit to Revive Espanola, it was in every way amazing. It was filled with perfect little moments of joy, and it was so much fun to feel like I was both visiting a friend's cottage and on mission again. The highlights after the faith study night (which I already blogged about) are the youth group, when we had an incredibly fun paint war in the school yard, the Summit (a night of Eucharistic Adoration with praise and worship), the Masses in the parish on Sunday, hiking with Angele, swimming/rope jumping with Mary and Angele in Agnew Lake, and just being with my dear friends on the Revive team.

There is something just so incredible about seeing God's kingdom being built on earth through young people. I am so blessed, inspired, and always blown away by these close friends of mine who God has blessed with powerful gifts for evangelization. As I was writing them a thank-you letter after I returned home, the words coming to mind that I felt God wanted me to affirm in them were such things as "leaders of an army" and "phalanx," which was a term Archbishop Prendergast used to describe uOttawa and Carleton's CCO student bodies, and I find it a very appropriate word. It was a huge joy to witness, as an outsider, the powerful movement towards Christ sweeping through the lovely little town of Espanola.

Impact Throwback

This is my third day in Espanola Ontario visiting the Revive Espanola mission, which is my friend Angele's initiative to bring a parish renewal mission like CCO's Impact mission to her hometown. So far everything has been awesome! Last night was the best so far - it was a complete throwback into Tuesday nights from Impact Halifax last summer.

Choice Chain

Last night I participated in a peaceful pro-life protest called "Choice Chain." Choice Chain involves two methods of expressing our views to the public: one through conversation, as we explain to people why we think that abortion is a massive injustice, and one through graphic images. The graphic images are highly controversial, but the reason we use them is because they effectively show people the tragedy of abortion. Just like showing graphic images of other terrible injustices and tragedies is effective, such as war, slavery, bullying, and the holocaust, and just like cigarette boxes use graphic images to show you the negative effects of smoking.

Happy Monday

Happy Monday

Happy Victoria Day!

Found this scripture verse and love it. The background is from the Ottawa Tulip Festival. Isaiah 43:19:

New things every day. Have a great week! :)

Wishing you a Joyous Monday!

Happy Monday! There's a theme of joy in the air these days, which is God-incidentally stalking me everywhere (God-incidentally - like, coincidentally, but by God's sneaky hand).

On Friday night I attended a prayer night called the Summit, which is a night of encounter with Christ through Eucharistic Adoration and praise and worship, and through the sacrament of Reconciliation. Eucharistic Adoration is when we as Catholics adore the exposed Blessed Sacrament (the host), which we believe to be the true presence of Jesus Christ.  At the Summit, I think every song had the word joy in it! Including Hillsong United's "Up in Arms" which has this incredible line in it:

"My joy is boundless, my soul knows its worth"

which I have been singing every day since. (Pretty much just that one verse.) Sunday Mass also was just bursting with joy, all throughout the readings and Gospel and the music. It was the first time I'd been to my parish, St. Clement, in a while, and we recently had our bells fixed. They were ringing at the beginning and end of Mass, AND at the Consecration!

"Declare the word of joy, and let it be heard, alleluia: declare it even to the ends of the earth"! (from the Introit)

The things that have brought me the most joy today - my week's off to an amazing start! - are that on campus with the CCO mission for summer school, we got 72 new contacts from our surveys, who we will be inviting to participate in our Discovery faith studies, and... wait for it... our first piece of news from the Revive Espanola mission!! Revive Espanola is a kind of mini-version of CCO's Impact mission, which one of my own very dear friends has initiated in her hometown this summer. Check out their blog (had to link it twice, it's too awesome)!!

Have a joyful week!

Happy Monday - He is making all things new

Happy Monday!!

On this new day of a brand new week, here is a song just for you.

A message of hope from my favourite moment in the Passion movie, which is not so much a happy message as a bittersweet one, for me. On mission last summer, our theme was "Behold, he makes all things new," which is from Revelations 21:5, and this beautiful song brings me right back to mission.  Yesterday at Mass this was in the second reading, and it's one of my all-time favourite passages from the Bible. It's been almost a year since the Impact mission started, and I miss it a lot, but the Lord never stops making things new, and new again - and with so much excitement for what He wants to show me, He is leading me ever onward.

Portfolio!

I've always liked the word “portfolio"; it has a cool, official-y sound to it.  These are the two new-and-improved revised drafts I handed in to my Creative Writing class for my final portfolio.  Enjoy!! :)

(If you are interested in seeing revision in process, the original draft of Bullied is Principal's Office, and the original of The Perfect Shade of Blue is here.)

Bullied

“So what happened this time?”

Jesse watched his running shoes kick the bottom edge of Mr. Burke’s desk and shrugged.  He didn’t know what happened.  He didn’t understand it at all.

“Do you want me to tell you what Mrs. Pelletier said?”

Jesse shook his head.  He needed new shoes – he could see his sock. He wiggled his toes.

“You tell me what happened then.”

Happy Monday!

Today is the beautiful start to a beautiful week. Good luck to all students writing exams this week! :)

A picture worth a thousand words

I missed my Happy Monday yesterday! So instead I'll post this beautiful picture of a little boy who ran to help the actor playing Jesus in a passion play. So precious <3

Our Royal Identity

As promised, here is the talk I gave at the CCO Women's Night - a reflection on our identity as children of God and heirs to His kingdom, leading up to Good Friday.

There’s a cute saying that I really like, that goes: “I am a princess, not because I have a prince, but because my father is a King.”

What does that mean?  Romans 8: 16-17 says, “we are children of God, and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if only we suffer with Him so that we may also be glorified with him.” So we are heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, so we are heirs to the kingdom of heaven, because we are God’s children.  Galatians 3:26 says, “for through faith you are all children of God in Christ Jesus.”

What St. Paul told the Romans and Galatians applies to you too, and to every single person in the world.  How did we get to be heirs?  Is it because we’ve worked our butts off all our life to be a good person so that we could go to heaven? No, it's because this is what we were created for and what Christ has freely given us. We didn’t earn our position as heirs by our own merit, it’s a gift. This is how we get to be heirs, and this is why I get to say I’m a princess.  I have a royal daddy, who created me and who loves me with a love I cannot ever hope to fathom because it’s so huge, and because Jesus built the bridge for me so I could claim my royal place as princess if I so choose.

Speaking of princesses, we’re about to watch Tangled, which I’m sure you’ve all seen.  As you probably know, Tangled is about a princess named Rapunzel who gets stolen from her parents and hidden in a tower by Mother Gothel, who wants her for her magic hair.  Living in the tower, Rapunzel has no idea what the outside world is like, or that she is in fact the princess.  But something compels her to leave the tower to find out the truth about the stars, or lanterns, she sees in the sky on her birthday.

In her heart, Rapunzel knows that the lanterns have something to do with her.  But it’s a scary thing, to venture out into the world when all she knows is her tower.

Tidefall

A short story.

I'm not one hundred percent positive I'm using the word tidefall correctly, but hopefully it's fine.

Please give feedback if you have any! Enjoy!

Tidefall

            When the tide went out, Caleb always ran out to collect the seashells that remained in its wake.  What he really wanted was to find a pearl in an oyster, so he was delighted when one day he picked up a seashell and a diamond ring tumbled out into his hand.

“Where did you get this?” his great-aunt gasped when he showed it to her.

“In a seashell, from the tide,” he replied.  She took it from him and held it in her hand.  Caleb was surprised to see tears in her eyes.

“Take it back,” she whispered, thrusting it back into his hands. “It belongs to the sea.”

~

Alena held on to Ethan’s arm.

“Don’t go,” she begged. “Please don’t go.  Everyone knows the Lake is cursed.”

“Those are just stories to keep trespassers away,” Ethan reassured her, kissing the top of her long dark hair.  “My grandfather was an apprentice at Lac-Ater House, as was his father before him.”  And if it is cursed, he added to himself, I won’t ever let it stand in the way of healing you.

“That was before,” Alena whispered.  “Please, Ethan.  I can get well, we can find another way!”

Ethan pulled his hand through his brown locks and frowned.

“How would you get well? I have already tried everything I could.”

“No. You haven’t.  But your heart is set on learning healing magic, I realize that.  But Ethan.”  Big blue eyes stared up at Ethan’s brown ones. “I’m asking you not to go.”

But Ethan was determined to take this opportunity to go to Lac-Ater House like his grandfather, in order to save Alena’s life.  He knew there was no real curse. Ethan’s father had avoided following the family tradition because of the rumours of the curse, and his aunt had tried to go instead but had been rejected because the Master of Lac-Ater preferred to teach men.  His father had begged him not to go, but from a young age Ethan would visit his aunt and listen to the longing in her voice as she said,

“There is nothing I would rather do than learn magic.”

She would tell him all the stories of Lac-Ater; how The Lake was actually a bay leading out to the sea, though everyone knew it as a lake for its name – Lac-Ater, the Dark Lake; how the Master never seemed to grow old no matter how time passed; how many apprentices, both men and women, used to come to learn magic at Lac-Ater; how the Master had a lover once, who had drowned in the lake, and how after that, suddenly no more people ever came to Lac-Ater to learn. 

“It’s not actually cursed, though,” she told him.  “That’s just stories to filter out the applicants. The Master has become stern since the death of his lover, and wants only the best of the best.  And he only allows men to come now.  Ethan, you come from a line of mages. You are the best of the best.”

So he, too, began to say, like his aunt, “there is nothing I would rather do than learn magic.” 

It became his dream to go to Lac-Ater, and later, when Alena started dying and they could not figure out the cause, it became a necessity. So despite her pleas, he set off for Lac-Ater, leaving her with the promise of his return in the form of a diamond engagement ring.

The Master of Lac-Ater house was expecting his new apprentice and welcomed him into large empty rooms and long corridors that whispered with the echoes of past apprentices.  Ethan was the Master’s first apprentice in years.  Magic was a lost art now, and the Master started Ethan’s lessons with a tiredness that betrayed his age. 

“The most important thing of all,” he told him, pointing out towards the lake, which was down the hill from the house, “is never to venture out to the Lake.  Especially not at tidefall.”

Ethan agreed to avoid the lake, and concentrated on his lessons with fervour.  His first success happened when the edge of a paper sliced his finger open and he closed the wound with a single touch.

“Healing magic!” he whispered in awe.

“Ha!” laughed his Master.  “That, healing magic? That’s like saying a puff of air is a hurricane.  Healing magic! That’s a good one!”

But Ethan was not discouraged.  His heart filled with the hope of seeing Alena well again.

The nights, though, were dark and dreary.  He kept dreaming that Alena would die before he could reach her, and then he would wake in a panic and hear the sound of faraway singing.  At first, Ethan ignored the singing, but as the nights progressed he felt a growing urge to see where it came from, so one night after another dream of Alena’s death he found himself wandering outside in search of the source of the singing.

It led him down right to the edge of the Lake.  He stood there and stared at the swirling mist coming in from the sea, mesmerized as it drew closer and closer.  The singing grew louder and carried across the water to him with complete clarity.

“Ethan,” the breeze whispered, sweeping his dark locks off his forehead.

“I am here,” he whispered back.  In the mist he could see the form of a lady, and she was beckoning to him.

“Come, my love,” she sang.  She had Alena’s shape, Alena’s hair, Alena’s voice.

“Alena!” he choked.  He realized now what this meant. He was too late to save her; she was dead!  And her spirit was here, at Lac-Ater, to be with him.

“Ethan,” she sighed, “come home to me!”

The legs that led him out into the water moved of their own accord.  It wasn’t until his head went under that the shock of cold brought him back to his senses.

I won’t let it stand in the way of healing you! he cried inwardly.  The water clutched at him with long icy fingers, dragging him down, but he focused on the shore the way his master had taught him to focus, and fought his way back.  He fled to the house without looking back.

“I will not let you down,” he shivered into his blankets after he had changed and dried.  But the cold wouldn’t leave him, or the image of the lady, or the rushing sound of water in his ears – or was that the singing, far away on the sea, still pounding in his ears?

The image of the lady in the mist was so distracting that Ethan could no longer focus on his lessons.  Finally, he got leave from his Master to return home for a few days so he could see Alena and prove to himself that she was still alive.

Silence was the first thing to greet Ethan as he entered his hometown.  Absolute, awful silence.  Not a soul did he see as he walked down the road to Alena’s house, not even a bird or a butterfly.  He started running.

“Alena!” he yelled as he burst in.  “Alena!”

There she was, lying on her bed, her eyes closed and her chest still.

“Alena,” he cried, shaking her.  “Wake up.”

Her eyes opened and looked right at him, but they were not the eyes Ethan knew.  They were cold, empty, lifeless.

He was too late. She was gone.

Ethan started to weep, and he gently removed the ring from her finger.  Then he remembered the lady on the lake.  Alena’s spirit was at Lac-Ater! He had to go back.  He had to be with her.

Ethan stood up to leave, and felt something latch itself onto his arm.  To his horror, Alena had sat up and her hand was gripping onto his arm.  Her lifeless eyes stared straight at him.  His throat thickened in panic as he tried to pry himself free. 

“Don’t go,” he recalled her saying before he went to Lac-Ater. “Please don’t go.  The Lake is cursed.”

Ethan tore her stone-cold fingers from his arm, but she reached for his face and grabbed onto a chunk of his hair.  She pulled his face to hers and Ethan felt cold, such cold, cold like the water of Lac-Ater Lake, shoot through his heart.  He pushed her from him and fled.

Lac-Ater was also silent, when he got back.  Ethan could not find the Master in the house or anywhere on the grounds, and the whispers in the corners were gone.  Ethan found a letter addressed to him on the table, which he opened in a frantic hurry:

Dearest, please come home.  I am getting stronger but I cannot live without you.  Come home to me.

A cry ripped from Ethan’s throat and he ran down to the Lake, screaming Alena’s name.  It was tidefall.  When no one answered, he rushed into the water and let its dark depths envelop him.

~

After Ethan left, I wept bitterly, for I knew in my heart that he was not coming back.  My heart grew weaker without him, though my health started to improve after a travelling gypsy sold me a potion and warned me about the dangers of Lac-Ater.  I immediately sent Ethan a letter begging him to come home, and a few days later he did… but this was not the Ethan I knew.  The man who came through my door that day was utterly, horribly changed.  It was like his soul was missing; his face was closed, his expression emotionless, and worst of all, his eyes were completely void of life.  I started screaming at him, as though by screaming I could wake him and he would stay with me forever.  But I knew he was gone; the lake had already claimed him.  I was powerless as his fingers, cold as ice, removed the ring he had given me.  I held onto his arm in a last desperate attempt to rouse him, and for a second something sparked in his eyes – something terrified, pleading, and helpless – but then it was gone.  I wept and wailed, but there was a wall between us.  He did not hear my cries.  I tried to kiss him, my own tears running down his face of stone, but I knew there would be nothing I could do to bring him back to life.  I collapsed in grief when he left, and remained that way for I don’t know how long.  It was years before I bid him goodbye and went on with my life, letting myself be happy again – but never forgetting.

I left my home in my later years and moved to the seaside with my sister’s daughter and her little boy Caleb.  My heart knew we were close to Lac-Ater, but my mind forgot, so I was shocked to see a familiar ring in Caleb’s hand one day when he brought it back from the sea after the tide went out.

“Take it back,” I told him.  “It belongs to the sea.”

I didn’t need to keep the ring to remember him.  He remained in my heart, and in the memories that came in and out with the tide.

Happy Monday!

Start your week with a smile.

I have always loved Mondays. The average person apparently doesn't, though, so Monday seems like a good day to post a weekly inspirational message or just something that will make you smile as you start your week. Here is the first of a weekly tradition on this blog. Happy Monday!

Long time no short story!

Hello! I have a new short story, finally! It isn't much more than a monologue, but I'm pretty happy with it.  I like the mood of it, and I'm particularly fond of my Canadian artist references.  I wanted: a well-known love ballad song appropriate for piano bars, and a singer with a folk-music style appropriate to Abby's personality.  I found ones that were Canadian, and bonus - the second is a visual artist too.  Also, Gordon Harrison is cool, you should look him up. Also, Friday's Roast Beef House was a real piano bar in Ottawa until not too long ago.

I hope you enjoy this moody monologue as much as I did writing it!

(Oh and disclaimer: characters and situations depicted in this story are entirely fictional.) Except for the artists of course - and the pope, he's real! That's another thing! I joked about writing Pope Francis into my next story but then I took myself up on it.  Also, Mr. Seymour is a joke in our class; we are (most of us) writing a character named Seymour M. into our story, named after our professor.  I dropped the M because I liked Mr. Seymour better.

(P.S. No joke, I now have our National Anthem stuck in my head.  My subconscious is laughing at my desire to be explicitly Canadian in my writing.)

The Perfect Shade of Blue

“The Home of a Broken Artist.”

Habemus Papam!!

Today is a very exciting day for the 2.1 billion Catholics all over the world (and my 400 or so practising Catholic friends in my Facebook newsfeed lol) - we have a pope!! Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio was elected pope today and the world is already so in love with this humble, holy, evangelistic Jesuit who is now called Pope Francis. Praise God!!

You can watch his first appearance here, and his first words. So awesome! God bless our new Papa.

Maybe I can try to work him into my next short story ;). I've been on writer's block for a while now and I would really like to write a new one. Popes are inspirational though!

Happy International Women's Day!

I woke up this morning feeling horrified that society thinks abortion is okay and that pro-lifers aren't fighting harder to end this injustice.  I dreamt about abortion, though I don't remember what my dream was exactly. Today, International Women's Day, I would like to thank all the women in the world who stand up for their rights, and everyone who defends women from injustice, and remind the world that there are 200 million girls who never had a chance to live the life they deserved to live because of sex-selective abortions.  Abortion is violence against women on many levels. Women in crisis pregnancies deserve better options, love, and care than they get with the escape route option that involves the violent death of their unborn child.

This picture is one reason I am anti-abortion. It is a misconception that pro-life people are against women's rights though. I am pro-woman and I support women's rights wholeheartedly! But my rights end where your rights begin. I will not harm other human beings in the name of my rights.

Happy International Women's Day! ;)

Marching Forth

Today I turn 22. (Well, yesterday, since it's past midnight.) I love 2 2's beside each other, they look like 2 swans - and if the first 2 was backwards it would look like a heart. (On a pedestal.)

Today, the only day of the year that is also a command, is not only a great day for celebrating birthdays, but also apparently there's a whole bunch of other awesome things you can do. So says this website: how to celebrate March Fourth - made me smile!

I just want to thank everyone who has made my birthday and my life so special; this past few weeks have been a time where I've really been experiencing a lot of love, and today, of course, is one of those days where people especially pour their love upon you. I'm so grateful to all my friends and shout out a huge THANK YOU! And especially thank you Jesus <3

My Commitment to Singlehood Testimony

Today, the first day of March, First Friday of the month and three days before my twenty-second birthday, I am beginning a six-month commitment to singlehood.  After mission last summer, a number of my friends made this commitment and I always thought it was a beautiful idea, but I never expected to undertake one myself.  I thought six months was an awful long time to discipline my heart to remain fixed on being single, not just physically but emotionally too.  Likely I would be single for the next six months anyway, but an intentional commitment ensures that I fully live and love my life standing on my own two feet, focused on the Lord and not waiting or looking for something that is only going to come in God’s perfect time.  I am more than happy being single, but if I don’t commit to it, I know I will always be trying to get out of it.  But why not enjoy the single life, rather than always wish you weren’t single? And all of a sudden, now, six months doesn’t seem so daunting.

It was not very long ago, though, that I would have rejected this idea.  A recent emotional attachment to a guy friend kept me from wanting to commit to singlehood, but now I have been “friend zoned” and am free to fully embrace the state of being single.  And I want to share with you a bit of what happened to me with this guy friend, because I think my experience can serve to help other girls who may be struggling with crushes and “unrequited love.”  I was blessed enough to experience what I think was the best-case scenario as far as rejections go, and I am very happy to be in the “friend zone.”  I want to share my experience in case I can be an example of hope in a world where so many women allow themselves to get so hurt just from getting “friend zoned.”  Anyone who is afraid of getting heartbroken, don’t be afraid – I promise that what happens to me can happen to you too.

The desires of your heart

Just a little thought for reflection:  "Take delight in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart." (Psalm 37:14).  Today I was at a CCO Women's Night, where this line came up.  I recently came across this line in a blog in which the writer was pointing how it does not say that He will give us SOME of the desires of our heart, or only the desires of our heart that He wants; it just says - the desires of your heart.

What are the desires of your heart? Did you know God wants to give them to you?

The Bible also says, "Seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides."  Just, think about it.

Also at the Women's Session, the prayer I mentioned and linked in my last post came up again, and I felt inspired to post it here in its entirety, and in the way it was written for me when I first read it in a letter from my friend and house mom on Impact this summer. It is truly one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my life, a genuine love-letter right from the Lord to you:

Bringing You a Smile

:)

These are two things that made me smile over the past couple days that I wanted to share on my blog.  One is Disney's new animated short film, Paperman - which is extremely adorable! The other is a blog post from my friends' blog that I would like to share.  I was on mission this past summer in Halifax with this girl and while I was on mission the prayer she mentions was also very meaningful for me, as well as our mission theme, "Behold I make all things new!" I had wanted to share the prayer on my blog but I think my friend does a lovely job and her story, as well as everything else on this awesome blog, is totally worth sharing! :)

Principal's Office

Hello! Here is a kind of random quick story I drafted today. I feel like it's still in its early stages, but on the other hand I don't think I want to put a whole lot of editing into it, because for me I would say it was more just writing practice. But it was a fun one to write!

Principal's Office

“So what happened this time?”

Jesse watched the toes of his running shoes kick the bottom edge of Mr. Burke’s desk and shrugged.  He didn’t know what happened.  He didn’t understand any of it at all.

“Do you want me to tell you what Mrs. Pelletier said?”

Jesse shook his head.  He needed new shoes – he could see his sock. He wiggled his toes.

“You tell me what happened then.”

Long Story Short

The title for this blog post is thanks to my friend Mike, who thought it might be a fitting name for my blog (before knowing its actual title), after I explained to him the trouble I had keeping my prose fiction short.  My Creative Writing professor, Seymour Mayne, said that a short story, according to the acceptable length for magazine submissions, is 3000 words.  For our first submission he had wanted 5 pages or less - oops! Remembering Sophie spilled over onto the sixth page, just a little bit.  On a normal basis, my (incomplete) stories are heading into something more like the novella.  So, for my class, I have challenged myself to write shorter short stories.  So far so good, I think, and so here I would like to post a whole bunch of stories all in one shot.  Two are ones I wrote within the past couple of days, and are, for me, pretty short - and, better yet, complete!  Unless I write something else in the next two days, one of them will be my second submission for class.  Another story I'm posting here is a kind of random one I wrote a few weeks ago when I was brainstorming to get myself started on my first submission, before I landed into Remembering Sophie. The fourth one is an old one I wrote years ago, which is particularly noteworthy for its extreme shortness.  All four of them are fitting for this post, "Long Story Short."  One thing I've noticed, by the way, is that the best way to make a story short is to make it kind of horrible (of course, there are exceptions).  Novellas are happy stories, but the short snappy pieces are dark.  (I guess if the story is leaking onto the sixth page all you have to do is kill off your protagonist and voila, problem solved!) The stories are, in order: Birdsong (2000 approx words/5 pages), In The Waiting Room (926 words, yes!! 3 pages and a bit.), The Grapes of Fate (1000 words, a little spin-off of the Grapes of Wrath), and Aedan the Spy (369 words for real! 1 page!!)

Birdsong

I woke to the sound of birds singing.

“How odd,” I said out loud. My voice was thick and raspy, not so much from sleep as from  lack of use.  I sat up and leaned over so I could see out the window.  As soon as I moved the curtain, I was blinded with a ray of sunlight. I leaned my forehead against the pane and whispered,

“The sun is shining. Birds are singing. Is this still real life?”

I drew a smiley face on the pane where my breath had fogged it up.  I had almost forgotten how to draw a smiley face.  If the sun could shine and the birds could sing, then little Darika Umar, the girl who survived the Silverwood Valley explosion, could walk again.

An old short story of mine

Hello! For those of you receiving emails from me already, I promise I won't clog up your inbox with overly-frequent posts.  I am just trying to give my baby blog a strong kick-off.  This story is one I wrote a number of years ago, sadly I do not have the date but it was when I was around seventeen. I do not have many complete short stories as what I mostly did was novels, but for the few I do have I would like to post some of my preferred ones from back in the day.  I did a lot of writing in high school but went through a lot of ups and downs - mostly downs - with writer's block since I started university.  Now that I'm getting back into the swing of things, most of my stuff will be new creations, but I would like to get some of my old stuff up too.  The story is titleless, and since it's from a time gone by I don't think I want to add one on now, so much later. If you think you can suggest a good title though, by all means feel free! Enjoy :)

            I opened my eyes.  What was the point of keeping them closed, if I couldn’t sleep?  Mom always said that if I pretended to sleep, soon I’d really fall asleep, but it never worked.  I looked across the room at the wall to see what time it was.  The wall grinned back at me like a sheet of ice, clean and blank.  No clock. 

That’s right, I reminded myself, we haven’t unpacked it yet.

We’d just moved in to the new house the other day, and nothing was unpacked yet.  Just the bed I was lying in and the dresser, empty and bare, along the equally-empty-and-bare wall.

The dresser had been my grandfather’s, and his initials were carved into it: B.W., for Bradley Walters.  Those were my initials too, but they didn’t stand for Brad Walters, they stood for Brandon Wolf.  The B.W. took a little away from the loneliness of the dresser, and the dresser took a little away from the loneliness of the room.  I knew I should have unpacked something to put on that dresser.  It looked like it needed something to cover its nakedness.

After a while, I felt my eyelids beginning to droop.  I was being pulled into the deep abyss of sweet sleep.  I vaguely wondered what time it was.  I could feel my heartbeat, softly thumping, sounding like the ticking of a clock.  Tick, tick, tick…

Ding-dong, ding-dong...

I opened my eyes again.  The grandfather clock downstairs was chiming…it could tell me what time it was.  I closed my eyes and strained my ears, listening…

One.  two.  three.  four.  five.  six.  seven.  eight.  nine.  ten.  eleven.   twelve.  thirteen. 

My eyes snapped alert.  Thirteen!  Thirteen?  Had I counted right?  Maybe I was just tired…I swung my legs around and stood up.  The air was chill, despite the furnace which I could hear banging in the radiator, and I shivered in my striped pyjamas.  I tiptoed out of my room, my bare feet like ice on the floor.

Remembering Sophie

This is the first short story I'm going to post.  It's my most recent complete one and I brought it in as my first submission in my Creative Writing class at school, which means there will likely be further drafts to come. Which would be the case on a normal basis anyway, that I will post primary drafts and then repost later ones. But I have a confession - I don't actually particularly like this story. But that's going to happen a lot too, I'm sure.  I will probably often post stuff that I absolutely hate.

Remembering Sophie

Looking through old photographs in a shoebox from a closet, which I was doing one night instead of studying for the biggest exam of my university degree, I came across a picture of me and my sister Sophie at the cottage when I was 17 and she 15, and it struck me as strange and vaguely horrible that I could barely remember her.  It was when I picked up a second picture, this time of Sophie with our old dog Lula, who I could remember easily, that I decided it was time to stop running.  I had been running for over a year.  Not physically running (though I had been doing that too, as a regular hobby), but running away from, and hiding from, awful things I didn’t want to see in my memory.  Now, I needed to stop.  I had to promise myself that I was going to stop running.  I stared at the two pictures – Sophie’s long blonde hair, her pretty smile, her eyes.  I could almost remember how close we had been, how much I had loved her, and how good of friends we had been.  But it was a just a shadow of a memory, and no matter how hard I reached for her in my mind, she just wasn’t there.  Now, she would be almost twenty.  She should be here with me, in university, getting good grades, playing on the women’s soccer team, being the President of the Catholic club on campus, making lots of friends.

Well, if I knew that much about her, I must remember her, somehow.  I knew, in my heart, that she was smart, athletic, popular, and religious; but I just couldn’t remember her, in the flesh, being a part of my life, as she was for almost 19 years.  But things were going to be different from now on.  I wasn’t going to run anymore, and maybe Sophie… maybe I could get her back.

Salutations!

It is my great honour to welcome you to my blog. This is my first post and as you can see by the time on it (currently it is 12:20 am), I am acting like the typical writer - but killing myself in the process! (I recently discovered by experience that, as a general rule, writers don't sleep. Students typically don't either, but typically THIS student and writer does... so don't ask me what I'm doing still up.) What should I be doing instead? Homework? Sleeping?? Praying. Yes, indeed.

As you have figured out by now, unless you are as dense as a London fog, I am a creative writer! Woohoo. This blog therefore is supposed to be a form of self-publishing, so to speak.  I hope you enjoy reading and exploring my blog! It will progressively become more and more exciting as life goes on. This I guarantee. Thank you very much in advance to all my future fans and followers! (Great expectations, guys.)