tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55469629752698674282024-03-13T21:42:31.186-07:00The Wit and Wisdom of Another SarahA semi chronicle of just another Sarah's life and dreams...and writing.
Oh, and erroneous grammar catches. Maybe.Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-27925393519310140222015-02-19T21:20:00.001-08:002015-02-19T21:23:52.650-08:00Life update!What happens between the days of childhood, when you know what you want to be, and the days of today, when you still are trying to decide, but you're already working 8-5 plus have a second job on the weekends, wondering what else you want in your life?<br />
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Seriously. I don't know.<br />
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To be completely honest with you, I never fully knew what I wanted to do. I didn't know what I wanted to major in, in college. I still don't know what, if I ever do, I'd like to go to grad school for.<br />
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I stumbled across my own blog today, with a sort of, "oh, that's right...I used to write in this" attitude. Sort of like "oh, I used to write fiction." Used to.<br />
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When I was a little girl, I told my mom I wanted to be, among other things, a mermaid and a ballerina. (Can you tell I liked swimming and dancing? And, if you remember I was a child born in the eighties and grew up with Ariel, you might add in singing.) Later, after realizing I liked to draw, I decided I wanted to be an artist. When I realized I was not very good, I decided I wanted to write. I liked reading, after all! Then in college, where I had no real plan, I decided to major in everything that I enjoyed.<br />
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What's the key here? Everything I enjoyed.<br />
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I am no ballerina. I still love to dance...I teach Zumba and social dance. I don't write fiction much anymore...although I still make up stories for myself. I keep hoping to get back to it. And today, with the help of my majors, which I enjoy, I write for a special program on one of our local radio channels--at least, time to time. I teach two kids Latin, one of my favorite subjects. Heck, I work at a museum. Every day.<br />
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I didn't write my novel masterpiece. I forget about done of the little things and side hobbies. But I have to be me. You have to be you. We have to be who we are.<br />
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Am I happy? I think I am. And when that changes, I'll be on to the next thing. You can't live well if you hate your work, ugh ink. I take that to heart.<br />
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But you also can't hate yourself for not living up to your dreams. One must make their dreams their own.<br />
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I'm glad I have this little blog to return to. No matter how far one strays, the blogosphere remains.<br />
<br />Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-33837127581716094262012-08-16T10:42:00.000-07:002012-08-16T10:42:25.288-07:00I took a break.I took a break from writing my blog. It seems like I did so just yesterday. More than a year later, this is my first post back. I have tons of excuses, most of them dealing with me not having time, but I'm just going to keep them to myself. I'm also not going to make promises about being on here more regularly. But I am back.<br />
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And I'm using this post to congratulate my good friend <a href="http://blog.amaliadillin.com/">Amalia</a>, (most of you know her) who is going to be published!<br />
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What most of you don't know is that Amalia and I have known each other for a long time. We went to college together--took a writing class together--studied Latin together. And as we've grown away from our college years, I've watched as her writing has grown more honed, more concise, and more beautiful (don't get me wrong--it was great to begin with!). She's creative, clever, and has worked hard for this. Please, hop on over to her blog and give her the virtual high-five, hug or other acknowledgement you believe in. She totally deserves this.<br />
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Amalia is an inspiration to me, and keeps me thinking and hoping that someday I might have some form of success, too. She makes me want to apply myself more, and keeps me linked to the world of writing and blogging, the latter especially a world which I feel often eludes me. She makes it seem so easy! I always feel like I have nothing to share. Or, when I do have something to share, I write it out in my head--and then forget to pour out the words. She just writes it right away, and her voice comes through all of her work. <br />
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So, cheers, Amalia...I'm so proud of you. Way to go....I can't wait to get a copy of your book!<br />
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Sarah :)<br />
<br />Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-62546482294594297172011-07-12T10:53:00.000-07:002011-07-12T10:53:03.673-07:00Bad, bad, bad. Plus books. And Harry. Yay!Bad me. Posting little teasers, promising more content, and then not fulfilling those promises. I'm a bad blogger...not on purpose! I have the best intentions. Life just gets in the way, sometimes. Especially now, this summer. I've been gardening, working, working at my other job, writing some, but not enough, and definitely not enough fiction...I've been trying to read more, trying to hang out with friends more. Something has to give, and I'm afraid it's usually this dear little blog, with all of you dear readers.<br />
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But. I digress.<br />
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One of my goals, as listed above, is to read more. I miss the act of reading, and I feel like I'll grow stale if I don't do something about it. So I decided to go into my mini library*** and just start at the very beginning. (A very good place to start.) I have my books alphabetical, so I grabbed the first one.<br />
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My thought was to review each book here for you, as I read it. But I didn't do that. I finished the first one, and just started the second one, which is a compilation of six books. And it's going to take me a while to go through it all. But I'll *try* to keep you all posted. :)<br />
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First up was "Things Fall Apart," by Chinua Achebe. We read it in high school, and I found it at our local library book sale (a fantastic, twice-a-year event). I wanted to read it again--it's set in Africa, and like the title suggests, things do not go well. I'd have a better review for you, if this wasn't such a random entry. But alas, I don't, and it is.<br />
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The next book, the compilation of six, is by Douglas Adams! That's right, I am finally reading (and loving) "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"! Awesome, awesome book.<br />
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I think I have Louisa May Alcott next. We'll see.<br />
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In other news, Harry Potter Movie 7 part 2 is coming out!! And I'm going to be there at midnight-oh-one! I started reading Harry when he came out in the US, and I'm doing this for his sake, and for my own. So, enjoy sleeping, you muggles!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">***Warning!</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"> I think I have a somewhat eclectic taste in books, movies, and music. That just may come out in these reviews. Consider yourself warned.</span>Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-73764455821233881952011-05-13T20:32:00.000-07:002011-05-13T20:32:37.373-07:00Oh, Community!Some of my favorite things, I started off severely disliking.<br />
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I don't know why, exactly. But it's true. Sort of like burning your tongue when you take a bite of something just out of the oven. It may be delicious later, but that first bit is more pain than pleasure.<br />
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That was the case for the TV show Community.<br />
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I saw the pilot episode, and I thought--wow, this looks stupid. And predictable. I don't think I'll watch this again.<br />
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I caught part of the epic paintball episode from Season 1, two episodes from the end, and suddenly, that was it--I was hooked. It's one of my favorite tv shows, now. And, this last Thursday, they showed a second part to a follow-up paintball episode for season 2.<br />
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This show has a lot of inside jokes, but a lot of it is funny if you haven't seen it before, either. Plus, it's just awesome, epic-y-ness. Not a jot of it, in my mind, is predictable. Not in the ways you'd expect. Seriously.<br />
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And who could hate something that so beautifully mixes paintball and Star Wars?<br />
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Go. <a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/237574/community-a-fistful-of-paintballs#s-p1-so-i0">Watch it</a>.Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-12624116206889203682011-04-26T20:26:00.000-07:002011-04-26T20:26:43.632-07:00Busy, busy, busy!Sometimes I just can't help but think of the magician on the TV special "Frosty the Snowman." And not because it's been off and on cold amidst the few, true spring days. It's because <a href="http://www.hark.com/clips/ygnrlvqndf-busy-busy-busy">I just love the way he says he's busy.</a> Seriously--we've all been there, right? <br />
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So, anyway...needless to say--I've been busy. Do I always start my blog posts off with that little excuse? I swear it's true. Easter, preparations, work, etc. A little writing--a little reading--a little cooking. (I just got a <a href="http://www.vitamix.com/">VitaMix</a>--super expensive blender-times-five-thousand, but super-worth it!) Singing in church, playing bells (I'm just learning, so it's not the greatest. Trust me)...and a few other writing projects on the side.<br />
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I was so tired on Saturday, I almost couldn't will myself to take my contacts out and go to bed. I felt like I had passed out from exhaustion on my couch. Yech.<br />
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Tomorrow (or the next day, depending on how busy tomorrow is), I want to share one of the projects. But for now, I want to just relax. I'm watching "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meet_the_Robinsons">Meet the Robinsons</a>," which I love (and haven't seen in ages), thinking about some of my short stories, and imagining what sort of smoothie I will attempt to make for breakfast. Maybe there will even be some time for Yoga! Oh, let's not get too wild and crazy, though. After all, it's been a busy day.Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-82792767364559801272011-03-30T10:39:00.000-07:002011-03-30T10:39:39.871-07:00Vote for your favorite magic scene - I'm a finalist!My last post was about <a href="http://lbdiamond.wordpress.com/">Laura </a>and <a href="http://tessasblurb.blogspot.com/">Tessa</a>'s blogfest--as it turns out, I am a finalist in the competition they had going on! I can hardly believe it--amidst so many wonderful and intricate magical scenes, I feel deeply honored by this!<br />
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So, go to either of their pages and vote--for whomever you like! (I think you can also vote for more than one.) And then, check out their blogs--both are pretty cool! I am glad I found them through this blogfest.<br />
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Happy Wednesday, and end of March! Here comes April...Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-64383026107559850972011-03-26T08:30:00.000-07:002011-03-26T08:39:14.842-07:00Nature of MagicTessa at <a href="http://tessasblurb.blogspot.com/">Tessa's Blurb</a> is co-hosting a Nature of Magic blogfest with <a href="http://lbdiamond.wordpress.com/">Laura B Diamond</a>. There was so much I wanted to share with you--we are limited to 250-1000 words (which is good, and keeps me from getting too verbose!), so I can share only a snippet.<br />
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This is from a short WIP I just started a few weeks ago, when I was battling laryngitis. I think it could use a little work, but I find that the nature of the magic here is similar to the nature of the magic I use in many of my stories. I hope you enjoy, and let me know if you have any comments! Oh, and check out the other bloggers. :)<br />
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Can one say Bon Apetit for others who are about to read? Because I'm going to, right now!<br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">If you live in the Cave of Miracles, it really doesn’t matter that you can’t see the sky. The Cave is made up of more rooms and caverns than you can fathom, and in one of the caverns, it’s always bright as day, and the stone shines in blues and grays. An illusion of the sun rotates around the ceiling, and clouds drift along the ground. Another cavern mirrors the darkness of night. Tiny, floating pinpricks of light form the constellations. If you can catch them, you can draw them closer, spin them around, examine them. When you let go, they flick back into place, as if they’d never gone. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">There are other caverns, too. Rooms full of ice and snow, of colored lights, of healing ponds and waters of youth, of golden treasure, silver treasure, heirlooms so valuable and guarded that they have been forgotten even by myths. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">The different rooms sometimes shift around, but even when they don’t, they form a maze that no man or woman could maneuver. Except for her. She was born there, in one of the caverns, somewhere near the center, amidst an array of purple, gold and red pillows. She had woken, conscious, clothed, and alone. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She grew up there, over many years’ time—more time, in fact, than made up the lifetime of some men. And she was on the cusp of leaving this childhood when the first one came. She didn’t see him arrive, but she heard him, every one of his steps echoing across the stone. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She found him standing in the fork of a long tunnel that she had never been in. He was not a part of her world; he smelled of sweat and metal. His body was covered in animal hides and golden plates, and he held a spear, which he thrust point-out toward her as she approached. When she stood fully in front of him, in the stony hall, he lowered his weapon, and chuckled.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“But you are a girl.” He spoke in the common language. “The stories tell of someone older.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She raised her chin, annoyed, but responded in his familiar tongue. “Welcome here, sir, but do not tarry. What do you seek?” The words came smoothly and felt right. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">He seemed all too at ease. “I seek great power, to rule my kingdom.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">When he said power, she understood exactly what he meant—his thoughts could not be contained in his own self, and the taste of gory battle, of utter violence pushed into her mind. She didn’t like the look of him. She thought of the many artifacts that could grant him what he longed for. They were as real in her world as they were in the world beyond the stone walls—much like the stars, and the tiny sun. But even if they were her own to give, she could not, to this man who smelled of war. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She felt a pushing, though, and she realized that she had to leave him with something. He had not happened upon her without reason. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">“Come,” she said, and she pulled him through twists and turns she knew he would not remember. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">She took him into the room that unfolded like a map of the world. It showed her everything and everyone she needed to see. She traced his path. “There is a tree near the high mountains of this land, which blooms in jewels. Half the tree blooms red in garnets and rubies. Half the tree blooms white, with diamonds and pearls. A two-day journey will get you there.” She could see the hunger growing in his eyes. “And guarding the tree is a dragon that never sleeps.” The dragon’s image formed and floated beneath her finger. “The dragon guards the tree as its treasure, and so it is protective. But one talon from its hand will make a fearsome weapon.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">This was not what power meant to her, but she could still feel his thoughts as he stared at the spot she showed him. <i>They will never see me coming.</i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> “The treasure is not for you,” she continued. “You must not touch the treasure.” Growing so close to the natural heat of the dragon, touching any of the gems would surely burn him alive.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> He stared some more, than turned his gaze to her. “You must grant me a boon,” he said. “So I may slay the dragon.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> She did not like this idea. The dragon would certainly give a claw in exchange for something other than its life. Its claws would grow back. “You need not kill the dragon; just cut it from his hand.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> His thoughts were overpowering. “A boon.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> She took him back to where she found him. “Wait here.” There was an herb that would allow him to withstand fire for one minute, if he put it under his tongue; she brought it back to him. “Chew this, if it begins to flame. It will help for but a minute.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> He smiled, and nodded. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> <i>If I slay the dragon, I can take all of the claws. I will be invincible. And the jewels will be mine, too…</i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> He wouldn’t listen. She sighed, and watched as his figure receded. She hadn’t liked him, and she hadn’t liked helping him. But somehow, she felt it was her role. There were reasons for everything, and her reason was her purpose here. To guide.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Still, she worried about the dragon. Though creatures like that had a way of returning themselves, even after death. In any case, she checked the room that mapped the world, every day, for ten days. In the end, the dragon was there, alive. She did not see any sign of the man, though she realized she did not know his name.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> Nor did she care.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"> He was her first.</div>Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-60325431437727771982011-03-16T21:14:00.000-07:002011-03-16T21:14:25.843-07:00Drunk at first (second?) sight - part 2Last year, <a href="http://skymeetsground.blogspot.com/">Jon Paul</a> posted a Drunk-at-first-sight blog challenge. <a href="http://sciensmulier.blogspot.com/2010/03/drunk-at-first-sight-blogfest.html">This</a> is what I wrote. This year, he issues the challenge again. So here I am, once more writing. To me, this is one of the most difficult blogfests! But it is a lot of fun.<br />
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I wrote this just now, but I am feeling half-asleep, so beware of snaggy errors. Otherwise, please enjoy yourself--and the ride! Warning--it is fairly long, but it was hard to pick a selection. It all seemed so necessary. So read what you want and then skip on out to others. And remember that there is always time and opportunity to take part, yourself!<br />
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Happy St. Patrick's Day!<br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">“You want another?” the barkeeper pointed a thick, stubby finger at Shane's glass.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">He wasn’t even done with this one. He shouldn’t.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“It’s on me,” a man said. He had light brown hair, and a slight accent. Sort of German-sounding, Shane thought. He was wearing all black, except for a fake green carnation, which he had pinned to his shirt.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Thanks, but I’m fine.” Shane held up his mug. It was light—he looked at it. It was empty.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“I’d say you’re fine. Fine and dandy.” The man was not old or young. He snorted. “You dandy.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Shane didn’t really know what to say to that, so he accepted the drink. The barkeeper poured green liquid into his glass.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“None of that swill for me,” the man said. “Give me ale, real ale.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“We don’t serve—”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Check again.” The man pulled some large coins out of his pants pocket, and slid them across the table and directly into the man’s hands. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Right, sir,” the barkeep said. He stared at the coins, then looked at them with big eyes. He came back with a pitcher of ale, which he poured out for the man, slowly.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Bombs away,” the man said, and as Shane watched, he downed the entire amount. He put his cup down, coughed, and wiped some amber drops away from his mouth. “Thirsty, weren’t we?” he asked.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“You certainly were,” Shane replied.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Both of us, I’d say.” The man nodded at Shane’s mug. Again. Empty.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Another round,” he called out. “Shane’s treat.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Shane tried to remember if he had told the man his name. Well, of course he must have. Otherwise, he wouldn’t know. It was as simple as that. Then he realized what the man had said.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“No thanks, I’m done. You can treat yourself.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“I saved your life, Shane. You’d best repay me with a drink. It’d be rude, not to.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Shane shook his head. “How did you save my life?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“You needed more beer. And I got you some.” The man chuckled.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Shane stared at him, then beckoned to the barkeeper. The man hurried over, filled his cup again—this time, with ale as well. He refilled the man’s cup, too, and then walked away, staring at them intermittently. “I’m sorry, do I know your name?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“No, of course not. It’s Tom.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Tom.” He nodded. “We haven’t ever met before?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“I’m sure you’d remember, if we did.” Tom took a sip, and then sighed. “Perfect. Just perfect. Have a sip of yours.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Shane did so, automatically. The ale bubbled over his tongue. It really did taste good.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Allie bobbed over. “Are you having fun?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">She was always pretty, but even prettier drunk. And she was. He glanced over his shoulder. Per was standing, guardedly, watching her. And him, probably. He was friends with Shane, but he served as her boyfriend (and bodyguard) first. She wouldn’t get into any trouble tonight, then. “Sure, I am. Good. Good, good.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Great!” she slurred. At least Shane wasn’t that drunk, yet. “I’m going to go.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Girl you want, mate?” Tom asked.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Shane blushed. “Lower your voice.” He paused. “Mate.” Maybe the accent was Australian, instead of German.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">He kept talking in a normal tone. “I think she likes you, too, to leave her boyfriend in order to see if you were having a good time.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Well, she’s like that.” He took another sip of ale. Maybe he was starting to feel the buzz. He drank a little faster, and tried to change the conversation. “How did you come here?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“I walked,” Tom said, and his eyes seemed to twinkle. “How did you come?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Well, that was Allie, again. So insistent. Per couldn’t say no. Shane said no all the time—just not to her. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“You do like her, don’t you?” Tom finished his ale, but a few minutes later, his mug was filled again. The barkeeper stood to the side, looking increasingly suspicious as Shane sucked down more of his own, and held it out.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“No more until payment,” the barkeeper said.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Pay the man, Shane,” Tom said.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Shane pulled out enough money for the three rounds from earlier, a few other drinks that he had enjoyed earlier, and for two more rounds. The barkeeper stood there and counted. “I need payment for one more round, for the two of you.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Tom said he’d get it.” Shane put his wallet back in his pocket.<br />
<br />
“Pay it for me, Shane, and there’s a good man. For saving your life.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Shane pulled his wallet out again, dug out the money, and handed it to the barkeeper, who immediately filled his mug and then scurried into the corner. He looked at Tom.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Wait a minute. You didn’t save my life.” His brain was working slower, and his mouth felt mushy. He was getting drunk.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Give a guy a break.” Tom looked off to the side, almost dreamy-like. “I used to work here, you know.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“You’re getting me drunk,” Shane said. Or slurred. Maybe not yet.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“What do you think of the décor?” Tom asked, suddenly.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“What?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“The décor. Think, man. You can’t be that wasted.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Shane stared around. “It’s nice. Nice. Nicey-nice.” He stared. “Could use a few more crappy lep-er-kans, though.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">For a second, he thought he saw Tom’s eyes flash. Of course, he didn’t. But he imagined he might have.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“You may imagine a lot,” Tom said, but the voice was in his mind. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">It seemed like gold coins rained down upon them, and a huge cry went up throughout the room. Music swelled, and Shane stayed where he was.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Why did you come here?” Shane asked again.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“It was mine, once. I didn’t bog it down with this trash.” He fingered the foil shamrocks. “So I come back, every so often. Because I must.” He looked away. “Here comes your girl, again.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">He felt her hands touch his back before he turned and saw her. She was grinning, her hair falling at times across her face. “Hi, Shane.” She began to rub his shoulders, then his back, and then her hands were going everywhere. And he tried to mind, like a good friend. He tried to dislike it.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Shenanigans going on, Shane?” Tom took a leisurely sip of his ale. “Ah. I don’t know why ale is always so rare to come by.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Shane’s glass was empty, again, and the room felt like it was spinning. Then Allie was gone, and Tom was there, but he was poking him in the back, again and again. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Everything went black at some point, and he and Tom stood in the midst of a green plain. Tom was turning in circles, talking to himself. “There is treasure. I know there is treasure.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“There is treasure,” he mumbled.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Oh. You’re here.” Tom smiled, then walked over. He was shorter than Shane had realized. Tall enough.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“Where is here?” Shane asked.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“The edge, baby.” Tom motioned him to come closer, and he did. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Tom punched him. Hard. So that he fell to his knees. Shane felt the air <i>whuf </i>out of his body. He tried to catch his breath. And then Tom kicked him in the face. “Leprechauns aren’t crap, you son of a dog. Let that be your lesson.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Something wet dripped down his face. He was bleeding. He wiped at it with his fingers, but that didn’t staunch the flow. “What the hell?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Tom smiled, and patted Shane on his face. “I do like you, though. And you like the girl.” He looked around, then smiled even wider. “It will do. You will need to get me some coinage, though. Even from the old country, we desire coinage.” He laughed. “And ale. Not like these new upstarts.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“What are you talking about?” </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“The treasure, my boy!” It echoed, melted, and Tom was gone. The green faded into brown, into black.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">He didn’t remember leaving, but when he woke up the next day, Shane wasn’t at the pub. He wasn’t at his apartment.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">But he was holding Allie. She moved when he did, and pulled away. With some relief—mostly relief—he realized she was still dressed from the night before. So was he.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">His face twinged.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“You got into a fight, didn’t you? With Per.” She was moving around, tucking strands of hair behind her ears. She was prettier when she was drunk, but she was at her most beautiful when she woke up in the morning.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“I don’t know,” he said, and he stretched, and rubbed his face. It was crusted over.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“I’m sure you crushed his face.” She gave him a friendly peck on the cheek. “I’m sure he deserved it.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“How did I get here?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">“I don’t know.” She snuggled into his arms. “My head is killing me.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">His head hurt, too. But all he could think of was something from his dream, something about that Tom character.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">Had he only been a character in his dream? It was hard to say. But now he placed his accent. It was actually quite obvious, and he had no idea how he had missed it. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">It was Irish.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing">He smelled Allie’s hair as she began to snore gently beside him and wondered where he could find some coins.</div> Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-56743038254800692782011-03-09T19:41:00.000-08:002011-03-09T19:41:02.237-08:00Oh where, oh where did my poor voice go?I don't know about you all, but I'm having one heck of a winter. I keep getting sick. I got a stomach virus around Thanksgiving; I had a sinus infection at the beginning of last month; now this month, I have a cold which has left me with a sore throat and no voice.<br />
<br />
Now, on the plus side, I otherwise feel pretty well. And, since I stayed home from work because of it, I did get to work on my writing (when I wasn't dozing or downing fluids). On the negative side, I am supposed to sing on Sunday in church. And I teach two fitness classes between now and then. Plus I am supposed to work Saturday.<br />
<br />
Yes, this is not the best timing. We'll see what will happen.<br />
<br />
In other news, since I did do a bit of writing, I want to mention that <a href="http://diggingwiththeworms.blogspot.com/">Eric Trant</a> has been talking about this particular magazine that you can submit to, though March 15. It's called "<a href="http://anhonestlie.wordpress.com/">An Honest Lie</a>," and the theme for this year is Justifiable Hypocrisy.<br />
<br />
I'm planning on entering, though I am not sure if the story I think I'm going with is the one I ought to. I have two that sort of fit the bill, but I just sort of think I want to use this one. Eric asked us to post a 330 word excerpt (no more!) from what we are considering using, so, what the heck. Here it is:<br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">Annie wouldn’t leave him alone so easily, though. “What are you working on?” She tilted her head to the side and leaned over his shoulder, and he could smell something like cinnamon. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“A new case.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Oh.” She moved slightly, shifting the stack of papers in her arms. The movement pulled her shirt up a bit in the front, and he could see the lower part of her belly button. “What’s it about, anyway?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Normalcy,” he said shortly. He didn’t think it was proper to talk about his cases casually, and she definitely was asking casually. “More depravations of human nature.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">She wrinkled her nose, and even then, Emerson couldn’t help but think that she really didn’t look so young. More like she was twenty-nine than nineteen. “Everything leads back to depravation for you.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Such is the case with law.” He sat back, frowning, but pleased despite himself. “Keep this in mind, if you choose to continue in this line of work, Annie. Only we keep our clients from sinking into an abyss of grievances. It is our duty to remember that all delinquents may re-enter regular society. Whom would you rather have living next door? Whom would you rather work to keep off the streets? There may be comparative degrees of depravity, but there is no differentiation, in the end.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">She made a very attractive noise that emerged from the back of her long, slender throat. “So, that’s your excuse?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">He snapped his gaze up at her. “What?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Depravation—that’s why you think you put all those people away. When you’re actually really a workaholic.” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">He stared at her through his glasses. “I choose to devote my time to justice. Some agendas must be accomplished. Some things are more important than going home when the hour is up, as you know.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I know.” She seemed to lean forward, though she didn’t move. “So, what’s<i> </i>the case about?”</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">“Murder,” he said in a voice that was intended to end the conversation.</span><br />
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Okay. In other news, blogger Jon Paul is actually hosting a second <a href="http://skymeetsground.blogspot.com/2011/02/2nd-annual-drunk-at-first-sight.html">drunk at first sight/St. Patty's Day Blogfest</a>!<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Not only should you sign up--you should read them. I'm taking part. I took part last year, too. This was one of the hardest blogfests I've ever taken part in! And it was tons of fun. So. Check that out, and keep your eyes peeled (not literally!) for my and other entries for this very fun fest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">There you are! My updates, not in a nutshell, but hopefully not painfully drawn out, either.</span>Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-82311824757937851182011-03-04T10:54:00.000-08:002011-03-04T10:54:27.257-08:00Library book saleTwo times a year, our public library holds a book sale. Imagine: you walk into a room. There are tables lining the walls, running up and down the center of the room. Each table is covered by the lids of cardboard boxes. Inside each lid are books of all types and all varieties and all ages. Usually there are so many that they are in lids under the tables, that the books are refreshed at various times throughout the three-day sale. Children's and teen's books generally have their own room; last time, so did the mysteries. There are romance novels, science fiction, historical, language, and fiction and nonfiction labels popping up around the area. Cookbooks, too. And records, cassettes, DVDs and VHS (yes, the old technology is not completely gone), sheet music and magazines, all piling up on the floors, in bags, in people's arms.<br />
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It's warm, too--because of how tightly so many bodies are packed into the rooms. Craning over the spines of books, hunting for just the right ones.<br />
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Did I mention that these books are sold by the pound? $1 per pound for softcover, 50 cents a pound for hardcover (if I'm remembering right).<br />
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Now you know what it's like.<br />
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Each sale, my brother and I take off a few hours from work, and the Thursday morning (always the first day) of the sale, we go there. It starts at 7:00; by 8, I always have tons of books.<br />
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These are books from all over--discarded library copies, books people have donated that never sold at their garage sales, books people donated to the library, anyway. I've found the greatest things there, too; like a fairly complete set of Louisa May Alcott books, a box of Agatha Christie novels, <i>The Castle in the Attic</i> by Elizabeth Winthrop (and a special love of mine from way back), a gazillion copies of <i>The Wind in the Willows</i>, <i>A Wrinkle in Time</i>, and other classics from my childhood. <i>Mary Poppins</i>, for one. Not the movie version--the original book. (Read it, if you haven't.) My favorite spot is the children's room. I'm not above recommending my favorite books to children when I'm in there, either. I hate to see them sitting forlornly on the shelf. They must be read!!!<br />
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The sale was yesterday, and although there were definitely fewer books, and I spent the least amount I ever have, there (only $19! The money supports our library, though, so it's totally worth it), I still came away with a ton of treasures. Including a book of poetry that includes the Lady of Shalot! (I'm an Anne of Green Gables fan. I had to get it.)<br />
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On the way in, though, some of the ladies standing in line around me were chatting about e-readers. Now, I haven't made up my mind about e-readers--in some ways, I so want one! In other ways, I'm just so reticent--I love to hold a book, to see them on the shelf. (But not to move a library full of them. That's just no fun.) I thought it was such an odd contradiction, to discuss the most recent technology for reading while waiting for a sale that would allow you to pick through (often) dusty books from <i></i>Beatrix Potter to copies of <i>The R</i><i>ubáiyát of Oma<i>r</i></i><i> Khayyám</i> to Tony Morrion's <i>Beloved</i> to <i>Eragon</i> to Isaac Asimov to French-, Spanish-, Latin-, German- and even Arabic-English dictionaries...well. You get the idea. (I have bought all of these examples at this sale, by the way.)<br />
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I'm still on the fence about the e-reader, but I think I've made it a goal to get one. In the meantime, though, and even after, I'm sure, I will always love my books. And I will remember the moment I had yesterday, when I grabbed a book from the box lid and thought, "Some day, maybe some of the bloggers and I will have something laying in these boxes. And maybe somebody will even recommend it to someone else."<br />
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It was enough to give me goosebumps. Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-50254022414071817942011-02-13T21:46:00.000-08:002011-02-13T21:46:21.181-08:00Hey, hey, it's Valentine's Day!Oh, my goodness. I love Valentine's Day. Any day that is dedicated to hearts, love, pinks and reds, glitter!, etc., has a soft spot in my heart. (Not to mention chocolate!) Now, is that great, or what?<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGrVKZT6zqQEFgllaONRANT_61DVX9_bwDxMVuFFbHQZDNpnDg9fC8uXCOt8mxIWJXROKYqfIjkU6-PxCa6J2784EP-tR3IVoWadvHSQluqbQu8p09hm6MwkWrt34g_dbybF43vBngJfz/s1600/valentines-day-candy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPGrVKZT6zqQEFgllaONRANT_61DVX9_bwDxMVuFFbHQZDNpnDg9fC8uXCOt8mxIWJXROKYqfIjkU6-PxCa6J2784EP-tR3IVoWadvHSQluqbQu8p09hm6MwkWrt34g_dbybF43vBngJfz/s320/valentines-day-candy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Conversation hearts, rocking out on the blog. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>V-Day (as I call it) is kind of an odd holiday. From what I've seen, it's sort of a combination of a Roman fertility festival (Io Lupercalia!--coming from lupus, wolf. And we all know how important that old wolf is to the Romans--at least I know some of you do. If you don't, read up on the Romulus and Remus legend <a href="http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/e/roman/texts/plutarch/lives/romulus*.html">here</a>. But beware--it's not all roses and glitter. Kind of like the fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm!) And yet, it is also named for several saints by name of Valentine. All of them were martyred.<br />
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And then we go and put Cupid (Eros) in charge of the holiday, when really, he has had very little to do with the date. Poor little love god. It's not like he was a baby in a diaper back in the Roman days. And we only really remember him on this day! How sad is that? He and his Greco-counterpart (Eros--similar to arrows--I'm *sure* this was something the Greeks did intentionally. Er. Anyway.) are actually quite interesting to me. Especially with the whole <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cupid_and_Psyche">Psyche myth</a>. <br />
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So, anywho. I love this day. Really, truly. <br />
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However, my brother absolutely hates Valentine's Day. In fact, I know lots of people who do. Because they have no one to celebrate it with, maybe, or because it's so commercialized. Seriously. (What holiday isn't, these days?) But you know what? I really don't think it should matter. The day is about love, you know? And yes, we focus on the Cupidy (I totally just made that into a proper adjective!)/lovey-dovey aspects of the day...but it's not all that. I like to just be with my family. To deck the house in hearts. To wear pink and red, preferably in dress form. To eat chocolate (though that might just be everyday).<br />
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What am I doing for this special day of days? Not really anything special, to be honest. But that doesn't matter. I am bringing valentines to work to exchange them, I am wearing my reds and pinks, and I am going to just enjoy that V-Day is here once again.<br />
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With much love to all my blogging friends,<br />
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Happy Valentine's Day!!!Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-16286289001993509362011-02-05T16:56:00.000-08:002011-02-05T16:57:56.038-08:00Hello--I'm back.Hello. Excuse me while I dust my monitor and check for cobwebs on my keyboard.<br />
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Nope, everything's clean.<br />
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Apparently, my holiday season extended from December through today. And honestly, the only reason I'm writing now is because I am not feeling well, and am tuckered out from a day of normal activity. I made some soup (perfect for when you're not well, right?), I washed my dishes, and I thought about my current WIP (which is just getting off the ground, but I am very excited about it!). Actually, I spent the wee hours of the morning thinking about it, since I was up. Curses upon congested sinuses.<br />
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I do have a few resolutions. I'm resolving to form a (flexible) schedule, in which I can balance out my life a bit more. A bit of time staved off for reading--I get so busy, sometimes, I don't have time for such a simple act. That is so not good. Since Christmas, I've read the <a href="http://www.percyjackson.co.uk/site/pj_books.php">Percy Jackson</a> series (as per my friend <a href="http://blog.amaliadillin.com/">Amalia</a>'s recommendation). They totally rock. Seriously. I started a few others that I haven't finished. But. progress!<br />
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Another bit of time will be for writing! I need that creativity, and I deny it because of the other things that come up--work, housekeeping, sleep. You know.<br />
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I also want to make sure I'm on a good exercise schedule, and perhaps plan my menu more during the week. That is not really of interest to you, I'm sure, so we'll just glide over that little fact.<br />
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Here is a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R55e-uHQna0">favorite commercial</a> of mine. I hope you enjoy it. Totally awesome, especially for Star Wars fans.<br />
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Anyway. I'll try to schedule a bit more time to update this blog, now and again, too. Sometimes, schedules are helpful.<br />
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As long as I can stick to it!<br />
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So, farewell, for now, my readers!Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-27801600558974450152010-12-01T11:02:00.000-08:002010-12-01T11:02:23.613-08:00Happy December!Happy December! How can it be that we're already near the end of yet another year? How can it be that we're on month 12? How? I really would like to know.<br />
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I have this theory that time speeds up the older we get. I think it's a pretty popular theory outside of this blog, too, but I digress. Anyway. It seems like it takes forever to go somewhere or do something when you're young. That's why kids need toys and books. Something to distract them when all that dreadful time comes between them and, say, Christmas. This month is *not* going to shoot by for an eight-year-old, for instance. And even longer than the month is that wait for opening presents!<br />
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The older you get, of course, as some of you or all of you already realize, the faster time goes. We have about three weeks till Christmas. In weekend-time, that's six days! Oh, my goodness. I don't even have my tree up yet! We need something so we can relax with all that stress. That is why adults need toys and books. And candy.<br />
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Of course, speed of time in adult-land turns inverse when you're sick. I discovered this last week, when I ended up getting a stomach virus. Ick. I don't recommend it.<br />
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So, Happy December! I'll see you around, but if my posts are infrequent, don't fear--it's just the Holidays.Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-89398109062535060772010-11-26T06:00:00.000-08:002010-11-26T06:00:04.005-08:00Black Friday returnsHappy Black Friday!<br />
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As much as I love Thanksgiving, part of the excitement is Black Friday...and what better slot to put it in than my Friday Favorite Things column!<br />
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The mass hordes of people will run rampant through the malls, today. And more retailers online will have a great weekend. Hoping for better than last year!<br />
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And I will be one of them. Probably after gifts for myself again, like I was last year. I've had many of my gifts for my family since...after last Christmas. I start my shopping early!<br />
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If you're one of the hordes, good luck...otherwise, see you online next week. I'm going to rest!<br />
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Peace, good will, and bargain shopping to you all. :)Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-49102875436045973262010-11-24T06:00:00.000-08:002010-11-24T06:00:02.885-08:00Happy Thanksgiving!Hello, one and all.<br />
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So, Christmas has been in the air, of late. At least, here it has been. And as much as it annoys some people (read: my brother) to hear Christmas music before Thanksgiving, my parents and I have been enjoying the musical selections of the holiday season on one station of the radio. Every song, 24/7, is a Christmas song, and has been since Halloween. I heard it may be in protest of some group trying to ban Christmas music from the radio till after Thanksgiving. I don't really care--I love Christmas music. I love Christmas!<br />
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But I also love Thanksgiving, and all of its thousands of calories dishes. And I refuse to skip over it, even if I am in the Christmas spirit. Because really, I'm just in the holiday-let's-celebrate spirit. Besides, it's not the day's fault that there aren't any really catchy Thanksgiving songs out there. What would they even be? I'm Dreaming of a Chocolate Dinner Mint? How about Oh, Turkey-Bird instead of Oh, Tannenbaum? (Oh, Turkey-bird, oh, Turkey-bird--your legs and thighs are tasty. Oh, Turkey-bird, Oh, Turkey-bird--especially with gravy.) Or "Let us eat, let us eat, let us eat": Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the pie is so delightful--so since we've got snow and sleet--let us eat, let us eat, let us eat!<br />
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OK. See? This is why we don't have Thanksgiving songs.<br />
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But rest assured, I'm having a lovely, hearty, veggie-influenced (yum!) Thanksgiving this year--and I hope you are also enjoying the day, and giving thanks--I am, for friends, family, health, happiness, blessings, luck, and all that great food.<br />
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So, to put you into the Thanksgiving spirit, let me leave you with a few parting Thanksgiving thoughts.<br />
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Forever on Thanksgiving Day, The heart will find the pathway home. ~Wilbur D. Nesbit<br />
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You heard what Linus was saying out there. Those early Pilgrims were thankful for what had happened to them, and we should be thankful, too. We should just be thankful for being together. I think that's what they mean by 'Thanksgiving,' Charlie Brown.~Marcie in the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special<br />
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Family and friends<br />
Give thanks and break bread.<br />
Please pass the pumpkin pie.<br />
~ Just Another Sarah :)<br />
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Thanksgiving, after all, is a word of action. ~W.J. Cameron <br />
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Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-28233001164783406352010-11-19T06:00:00.000-08:002010-11-19T06:00:07.941-08:00Favorite Things Fridays!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3GuPLuFidPDinQstpjU93H9v0IuwiRMfPuY0nrhzMx9YLdHqaH8vH0Acdem6dUbB5h8CwouABo5AJ8lGq_6GjB8Klrh9CQbk7UKubhqvRZieMVyb8LuAT9wDKR8D6jMXYx3-00lqfNKo/s1600/greentele5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3GuPLuFidPDinQstpjU93H9v0IuwiRMfPuY0nrhzMx9YLdHqaH8vH0Acdem6dUbB5h8CwouABo5AJ8lGq_6GjB8Klrh9CQbk7UKubhqvRZieMVyb8LuAT9wDKR8D6jMXYx3-00lqfNKo/s320/greentele5.jpg" width="320" /></a>Another favorite color for this week: Sea Foam Green. What a gorgeous color this is!<br />
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I use to search this crayon, and periwinkle, out of my brother's and my big crayon box. Grab a silver, and you have the perfect colors for the ocean--which I was somewhat obsessed with. It's just so different--I think that's part of its charm. Soft and gentle, and yet full of excitement...at least, that's what I feel building, when I see it.<br />
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FYI, I did a search on Google images for the color, and found about a million sea foam green guitars. Apparently, it's a popular color!<br />
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Have a great weekend!Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-64967366095740133382010-11-15T21:35:00.000-08:002010-11-15T21:38:43.127-08:00Happy Blog Year!!!! + blogfestHello, all! Today, three years after I started my blog, abandoned it, then rediscovered it, I have hit post 100! Today! With this post! Woo-hoo! And what better way to celebrate than to host a blogfest?<br />
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If you're new or not, come join the<a href="http://sciensmulier.blogspot.com/2010/10/announcement-blogfest-retold.html"> Blogfest: Retold</a>! Even if it's just reading the entrants. Mr. Linky widget thing can be found below here, as well. Read everyone's...and enjoy!<br />
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Retellings are so interesting--even just a different POV can make things make more sense, or can put a different twist on things. I can think of so many awesome examples... like this poem, <b>Penelope</b>, by Dorothy Parker:<br />
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In the pathways of the sun,<br />
In the footsteps of the breeze,<br />
Where the world and sky are one,<br />
He shall ride the silver seas,<br />
He shall cut the glittering wave.<br />
I shall sit at home, and rock;<br />
Rise, to heed a neighbor's knock;<br />
Brew my tea, and snip my thread;<br />
Bleach the linen for my bed.<br />
They will call him brave.<br />
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My dad used to tell me bedtime stories like this: we'd pick the story, then we'd pick the POV. I loved them. So, I decided to go with a fairy tale because of that reason. I think I want to take it and add more story and more details and more length, but I wanted to give you this much, at least. So here it is. And don't forget to check out the other participants below!<br />
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The courts had warned Rose's family long ago about the dangers of annoying the Magic Ones. But of course, you couldn't really talk to her parents. She didn't know what they had done to deserve it--no one really talked about that. But she knew they did deserve the curse they had earned for her. Because they did so many things to deserve just that sort of mistrust. And they knew it, too.<br />
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The curse had hung over her head from the first step she ever took. Her nanny told her how the maids all gasped when she took her first step, and immediately, the ruling came down from the throne: Remove all spindles. Even remove all spinning wheels. Looms. Anything. Just in case.<br />
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Rose kept looking around the castle for the strange things--they were foreign to her, anyway. Of course, the faerie who chose that as her curse knew what she was doing. In a land that had won its riches from textile exportation, spindles were part of daily life. Necessary. For everyone but Rose. Even before she totally understood the concept of it, she often thought it was justice--that her parents were forced to choose between her and between money.<br />
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The thread still had to be turned out, though. And she should have known her parents would not choose her, a girl, for long. Especially after Sam was born. Rose loved Sam, how rosy he was. Her parents were much more cautious, this time--and all the Magic Ones brought only kind gifts and boons. A sweet disposition, a strong leader, a healthy boy. Rose helped to care for him. Even his skin was silken.<br />
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But soon, it was not enough. She went looking for Nanny, and overheard the discussion from the hallway. "Hide the girl," her father's best adviser cautioned. "Keep her hidden away."<br />
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"You can't hide her forever," Nanny argued.<br />
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"It wouldn't be forever, would it?" Her mother asked. "The curse must end at some time."<br />
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"Curses can go on until they are filled," Nanny said. "You never know what might happen."<br />
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"Sire." The adviser sniffed. "We lose money everyday, sire."<br />
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So at age ten, she was hidden away from her family. Her brother, only four then, cried when she went away, and she wanted to run back and tell him not to cry, but she had to face her expulsion like the princess she was. Like a sacrificial beast sent to the altar. Kept away from the rest of the world.<br />
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She lived with her nanny for the next six years in the woods near the palace. She grew used to Nanny's murmurs and blandishments against her family. She muttered them herself, when Nanny wasn't there--Nanny would still box her ears for her complaints.<br />
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When she turned sixteen, though, she felt like that was should be the end of it. And she told Nanny so.<br />
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"Well, I've been thinking that you ought to return to the castle every day since we came to this loathsome cottage," Nanny said.<br />
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Rose smiled indulgently. Their home was a dear one, to her, and she knew Nanny loved it as much as she did. But she missed Sam, her sweet-faced brother, and she missed her parents--even their coldness.<br />
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She decided to sneak back the first night, so it wouldn't be so much of a shock. A lot could change in six years, after all. And it had--the buildings were much closer to forest than she remembered, and ran up against the walls surrounding the palace. They crept up and down the streets, traveling the same route they had used when they left, years ago.<br />
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They slipped through the gate, some ways away from a sleepy guard, and then they were home. Rose breathed in and let out a slow breath, pleased with their progress forward. <br />
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But not Nanny. "Oh, my stars," she said, and then she cursed a bluer streak than Rose had ever heard.<br />
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Rose blinked at this reaction, but then she looked around, too. And in the yard, in front of the doors, stood two large statues. She could see two more near another door, far off into the night. They looked the same--sort of wavy, and pointed six feet up in the air, gleaming in the moonlight.<br />
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"That, my dear, is your parents' homage to a spindle." Rose could hear Nanny's teeth grinding at her agitation. "Obviously, they are doing well. Blessings upon us."<br />
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Rose nodded in agreement, but she couldn't keep her eyes off the strange gold structures, gleaming blue in the night. And she found herself wanting--hoping--stretching.<br />
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"Come, Princess." Nanny obviously hadn't noticed, and Rose didn't want to bring it to her attention. "Let's go inside."<br />
<script src="http://www.blenza.com/linkies/autolink.php?owner=SciensMulier&postid=02Oct2010" type="text/javascript">
</script>Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-31652922244642548462010-11-14T06:00:00.000-08:002010-11-14T06:00:07.702-08:00ReminderHey, all! Don't forget about the Blogfest I'm hosting on Nov. 16--post a retelling of a scene. Pick a scene, any scene. Read more and sign up <a href="http://sciensmulier.blogspot.com/2010/10/announcement-blogfest-retold.html">here</a>!<br />
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I hope the excitement is bubbling up within you! And the creative juices too, of course!Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-65820564918154812432010-11-12T06:00:00.000-08:002010-11-12T06:00:11.798-08:00Favorite Things Fridays!I've mentioned it before; I have a list of favorite colors. I'm not even joking. And I think there is a shade or tint of nearly every basic color you can think of.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrc5UHjz-9s5loUmOTPEzN8eRbzJNKHy_ThbS37PHPFkV_p_4DY_pBkSTquhzlDDr8MfoGGzcOBGzW_RY1w7zvguhpHlgH2hbsMAAUq35lfTCY21I98wt3n8j00-uxK7mO65V-tNjnhgt4/s1600/gold500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrc5UHjz-9s5loUmOTPEzN8eRbzJNKHy_ThbS37PHPFkV_p_4DY_pBkSTquhzlDDr8MfoGGzcOBGzW_RY1w7zvguhpHlgH2hbsMAAUq35lfTCY21I98wt3n8j00-uxK7mO65V-tNjnhgt4/s320/gold500.jpg" width="320" /></a>I really like almost all colors, even ones not on my list. And I find that I'm hesitant now to add some colors I totally dig. For example, I wear reds and blacks all the time...and yet neither are on the list. Perhaps because it's so long? Perhaps because part of me still doesn't believe that I really love those colors? I'm such a pink girl, after all. I don't know. But in any case, I guess I'll feature each color on its own--that's only fair, right?<br />
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Today's favorite color: gold. The color of fall, the color of fields of wheat. It's rich and yet sort of understated.I think every color sort of indicates a mood, and gold feels sort of comfortable, not quite cold, not quite warm, simple and yet showy. It's gold.Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-63493523033138742922010-11-11T06:00:00.000-08:002010-11-11T06:00:09.150-08:00Veterans DayI don't feel like we really do enough to celebrate Veterans Day. It's not like it's Christmas or Thanksgiving, after all...but it's just as important. Spare a thought for our veterans, in every country. They do what I could not, and I am thankful for them all.<br />
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Here's a bit of history, which we sometimes forget about: this day marks the celebration of the ceasefire during "The Great War," World War I. That was back when there was only one "world" war. That was some time ago.<br />
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For more history, check <a href="http://www1.va.gov/opa/vetsday/vetdayhistory.asp">this link</a> out. Or catch a slice of the culture with this famous poem, written during WWI.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gZD1kJ_PwOt6QuAUxWFtrgbqrwCIOdLlkrgqm1uGGNWBhhyc2jmflAD-v7lSLRjQ8Tp4eUucoNrGPMJl9pkMVmWEMs9nQB5OosXl_plNQPakdEQWSrfjoNdSCcui1gu-DyW-r9oeVLWy/s1600/poppies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gZD1kJ_PwOt6QuAUxWFtrgbqrwCIOdLlkrgqm1uGGNWBhhyc2jmflAD-v7lSLRjQ8Tp4eUucoNrGPMJl9pkMVmWEMs9nQB5OosXl_plNQPakdEQWSrfjoNdSCcui1gu-DyW-r9oeVLWy/s320/poppies.jpg" width="320" /></a><b> In Flanders Field</b><br />
<i>In Flanders fields the poppies blow<br />
Between the crosses, row on row,<br />
That mark our place; and in the sky<br />
The larks, still bravely singing, fly<br />
Scarce heard amid the guns below.<br />
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We are the Dead. Short days ago<br />
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,<br />
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,<br />
In Flanders fields.<br />
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Take up our quarrel with the foe:<br />
To you from failing hands we throw<br />
The torch; be yours to hold it high.<br />
If ye break faith with us who die<br />
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow<br />
In Flanders fields.</i>Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-80241990246709840992010-11-09T06:00:00.000-08:002010-11-09T06:00:07.242-08:00Children's Books<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitfcLEF8T0DvnZpD1Bnwi6GgVwJQq7YJJmDt-pxz9nUMA1utal_TM9tCHLhRn6x_mCuZBaA-AIy-QzyQ9JMpwLSs-nVjSf0M9rLPp55Kjj3U2sfJX8S3GPeU_gEjOUJJ3Q2bV_7fzZzCWX/s1600/mon001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitfcLEF8T0DvnZpD1Bnwi6GgVwJQq7YJJmDt-pxz9nUMA1utal_TM9tCHLhRn6x_mCuZBaA-AIy-QzyQ9JMpwLSs-nVjSf0M9rLPp55Kjj3U2sfJX8S3GPeU_gEjOUJJ3Q2bV_7fzZzCWX/s320/mon001.jpg" width="235" /></a>I was on a crusade supporting children's picture books, but life and blogfests got in the way. So we'll just pick up where we left off for this week.<br />
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One of my favorite picture books of all times is a Sesame Street book. Maybe you've heard of it? It's so, so, so amazing. Grover warns readers that there is a *monster* at the end of the book. He cautions them not to read on, because he is afraid! He tries to tie the pages shut--he tries to put up a brick wall. Yet the reader continues to go forward through it all, pushing and pulling apart what he or she could never do on their own, simply by turning a page.<br />
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I can't sing the praises of this book enough. It's sort of meta, for a children's book. And it's funny. I suspect that it is cleverly enough done that it might help children who are afraid of monsters, get over it. L-O-V-E it!<br />
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This is a great read--if you have kids, go and get it, but if you don't, seriously. Find it. You will love it.Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-4978277802693344812010-11-05T06:00:00.000-07:002010-11-05T06:00:10.116-07:00Favorite Things Fridays!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT04zCaVP6wXkysriVNw6XklveWDM7hwsIhuwOv1siFfeoda47OpLwWpS47wOC21tInx1jb4vgxr3xcPEVO1kinDG0vHAcXNNvDA9rdzwssCTtzUIq4Aqct9lDiPC9LVAFzwn1pkOqo-zY/s1600/TEL_2008_07_05_p77_monarch_butterfly_report.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT04zCaVP6wXkysriVNw6XklveWDM7hwsIhuwOv1siFfeoda47OpLwWpS47wOC21tInx1jb4vgxr3xcPEVO1kinDG0vHAcXNNvDA9rdzwssCTtzUIq4Aqct9lDiPC9LVAFzwn1pkOqo-zY/s320/TEL_2008_07_05_p77_monarch_butterfly_report.jpg" width="320" /></a>I love butterflies. One year, when I was in college, my roommate had to "grow" monarch butterflies in our dorm room. We named them Lucy, Charlie and Pepe. Pepe was a girl, but you know, we named them when they were cocoons, so we did the best we could.<br />
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Having these darlings float around our room was pretty fantastic. One landed on my foot while I was studying, and hung out with me for about an hour--even when I got up to walk around.<br />
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We both missed them when we set them free.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Don't forget to sign up for my Nov. 16 <a href="http://sciensmulier.blogspot.com/2010/10/announcement-blogfest-retold.html">Blogfest: Retold</a>! If you're interested. Sign up today!</span>Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-48991354490575101612010-10-31T22:55:00.000-07:002010-11-01T08:51:54.438-07:00Lazy BlogfestToday, I'm taking part in Summer's <a href="http://andthistimeconcentrate.blogspot.com/2010/10/blogfest-for-lazy.html">Lazy Blogfest</a>. Check out the other entrants!<br />
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Basically, you're supposed to post about your writing space, preferably using a photo. Unfortunately, I was too lazy to actually take a picture of the space that I write in. Of course, I can describe to you where I write: I have this lovely golden couch in my living room, where I take my old black laptop and move around, trying to stay warm and comfortable. I scooch all over until an indent forms in the cushion...then I switch sides and find a new spot to move around.<br />
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However, there's also this: I don't think at the computer. My writing space is bigger than one might imagine...I find myself thinking about the whole process, and that involves plotting, fleshing out details, working out issues with characters and uncovering issues to bare in front of them. And for that, I find, just walking, preferably on a walking path or in a park, is just what I need. That becomes my thinking space, and heck, would probably be my writing space if it weren't for the fact that I can't see the screen of my laptop in the glare of the sunlight. (I'd write it out, but I just can't do that to myself. Besides, I apparently never learned how to correctly hold a pencil, so it's far more stressing on my hand than it might be, otherwise. Yep. I'm that talented. I still confuse the big and small hands on the clock, from time to time, too.<br />
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Back to my thinking space. I find that especially along this one pathway I take to work, my story changes--I walk through some pine trees. The trees are huge, and I am small, and I just realize things about my characters and their lives that I don't know if I would, otherwise. Of course, sometimes you almost get hit by cars if you wander around thinking of your book, your head in the clouds, you might have a few issues, so you want to watch that.<br />
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So, take part in the Lazy Blogfest! And that's about all I have to say right now.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Edit to add: Don't forget to sign up for my <a href="http://sciensmulier.blogspot.com/2010/10/announcement-blogfest-retold.html">Blogfest: Retold</a>, on Nov. 16!</span>Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-61742068122628410262010-10-30T06:00:00.000-07:002010-10-30T06:00:05.791-07:00Happy Halloween!I hope you are all having a wonderful, safe, happy Halloween! For those of you with families, enjoy trick-or-treating and candy. For those who don't, enjoy your other activities. I hope you get to dress up, or that you at least listen to the Monster Mash, watch Ghostbusters, and/or hear the Thriller song.<br />
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Or watch this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sOnqjkJTMaA">video </a>and see the choreography!<br />
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Or read some Edgar Allen Poe. :) Nothing quite like the tell-tale heart to raise goosebumps!<br />
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Enjoy the reason for celebration, and see you all in the coming week. :)Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5546962975269867428.post-79024764409578268142010-10-29T06:00:00.001-07:002010-10-29T06:00:06.862-07:00Favorite Things Friday!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1jMNp_Ir0EsvSJSK-yU377KhuVI7nLZ2p5LwcvrhJCAFCaMCGnFEzubpiY5jtRVJWZGDmOMKp7nK1Zo2czT26_J_VbHPGCtmvQbpiEl2ToSvro0ZicduW_p-4RH8zAYj8oOc6rK75EDT4/s1600/C_32_articolo_1258_paragrafi_paragrafo_0_immagine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1jMNp_Ir0EsvSJSK-yU377KhuVI7nLZ2p5LwcvrhJCAFCaMCGnFEzubpiY5jtRVJWZGDmOMKp7nK1Zo2czT26_J_VbHPGCtmvQbpiEl2ToSvro0ZicduW_p-4RH8zAYj8oOc6rK75EDT4/s320/C_32_articolo_1258_paragrafi_paragrafo_0_immagine.jpg" width="240" /></a>Halloween is coming! So what's a favorite of mine that fits right into the day? Why, Alfred Hitchcock, of course. We'll let him make a cameo on my blog, in a bigger way than the famous cameos he made in most of his films.<br />
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This is not to say that I love or even have seen all of his movies. And I attribute my fear of flocks of black birds to him. (Not that I have seen "The Birds," but trust me when I say I'm not seeing it anytime soon!)<br />
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Even if I don't love all of his films, I find that I admire something in all of them. He was somewhat demanding, I understand, and much like a puppetmaster--a bit different from other directors. But if it's by Alfred Hitchcock, including his television series and the publications of stories under his approval, I glom on. Because hey--it's Alfred Hitchcock. It has to be good in some way, right?<br />
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A few (but not all) of my favorites of <a href="http://www.mysterynet.com/hitchcock/filmography/">his films</a> include:<br />
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Lifeboat, Psycho, Stage Fright, Dial M for Murder, Rope, North by Northwest, Rear Window, Strangers on a Train, The 39 Steps an (earlier film), and The Lady Vanishes (another earlier film).<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Don't forget to sign up for my Nov. 16 <a href="http://sciensmulier.blogspot.com/2010/10/announcement-blogfest-retold.html">Blogfest: Retold</a>! If you're interested. Sign up today!</span>Just Another Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07589166715361819941noreply@blogger.com6