recent sountrack to me

Recently some songs have struck a chord with me.

Billy Joel- "She's Always a Woman"
Dashboard Confessional - "The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most"
Ben Fold and Regina Spektor - "You Don't Know Me"
Vivaldi - "Winter from the Four Seasons"
Simon and Garfunkel - "I am a Rock"



These are songs from earlier eras of my life. They are not necessarily favorites, or even ones around which there are many memories. These are simply songs that explained at some time or another exactly how I felt. The list is not exhaustive.

Billy Joel - "For the Longest Time"
Dashboard Confessional - "Hands Down"
Jewel - "You Were Meant for Me"
Celine Dion - "It's All Coming Back to Me"
Lucky Boys Confusion - "Fred Astaire"
Wicked soundtrack - "For Good"
Death Cab for Cutie - "The Sound of Settling"
Avril Lavigne - "I'm with You"
Cranberries - "Dreams"

my nephew

This is my first ever nephew, Owen Hunter Clement, and he is beautiful.

recent nightmares

I finally mentioned to my counselor that I have nightmares. I overlooked telling him before, because to me they are rather commonplace. I have had them consistently for four and a half years now, so I forgot there is something unusual in waking frightened and sad from lengthy and vivid dreams at least three times a week. So my counselor asked me to start writing my dreams down; he wants to find a pattern and thus fix my broken subconscious. I told him there is no pattern to my dreams anymore, though there used to be. This is not entirely true. The last week I have noticed that in all of my nightmares I am lost. I cannot find my way to where I want to be. Familiar buildings have suddenly unfamiliar layouts, rooms I cannot navigate. I haven't reached my destination yet--too many fearsome things prevent me from doing so--but I spend a lot of the night running. I am unsurprised by my discovery; these are the same feelings that overwhelm my waking hours too.

five years ago today

Five years ago today, I became friends with April over a parade. I had an ankle the size of a small melon, and she and I walked (or limped) to ninth east to watch the homecoming floats idle past. Our status as roommates became something more. That day alone I learned that she loves anything innocent and childlike. She hops when she is giddy. And she makes friends easily. I do not. I'm glad I went to that parade.

Five years ago tonight, I had my first date with Kevin. It was his birthday, and he and I doubled with another couple for game night on campus. I remember I wore boots to support my ankle, and I had a terribly difficult time talking with strangers. I always do. He didn't ask me out again until February.

For five years I have loved these two people. For five years I have had the same conversations with April about Kevin, first while she and I sat on the vanity in our apartment and then via phone from across a continent.I have been grateful everyday that I know them both. They have shaped my life in the years since I met them. They always will.

When I had to register for the GRE, I picked October 11th because, call me superstitious, but the date had a nice auspicious feeling to it. I am glad of things that happen on this day.

consumerism

At Target on Monday, I did not buy a beautiful teal coat. I also didn't buy the teal shoes that felt comfortable enough that I could have run in them without receiving blisters. I passed up the hat and the scarf, both of which matched the coat. The dress was just cute, and I've wanted those exact boots for years. I left without buying.

my rendering of aslan

In art class today, we went to the Bean Museum and drew animals. We had to do sketches and then one final picture. I felt no passion for antelopes or beavers, and I wanted to enjoy the project; so, I sat myself in front of a lion--not an eating or pouncing lion, but a stately lion, looking proudly and serenely down over his nose at me. I couldn't use charcoal or graphite for him, heaven forbid, so I used a clay-colored crayon. I fell in love with him as I drew. I felt worshipful of the subject and careful with my copy. I thought of CS Lewis. Families came through and many stopped and watched me work. One little boy told me that I "drew that nice." A little girl informed her mother that she "wants to draw one of those." Mothers told their children to practice so they could draw like that one day. One woman told me that my work was beautiful; another said it was stunning. I felt gratified by these compliments, of course. But I was most pleased that in the end it came out exactly as I pictured it. He looks like a King.

fiction: an exercise in creation

I have cried my way through the last five episodes of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and then the movie The Family Stone. But it was especially during the former that I felt truly attached to the individuals and invested in the unfolding events. When the characters were praying, I felt like I ought to pray too, for their benefit. It was then that I had an epiphany.

I want to write fiction. I know, big surprise, right? But I want it more than I want almost any of my goals in my life. I want to be able to mold universes and characters, to draw people in and convince my readers that this world really exists. I want to use fiction to persuade and teach and inspire. In pursuing this thought, I wondered whether I have a theme or pattern to my writing--you know, the purpose that is driving me. For Ayn Rand it was the proselytizing of capitalism; for Tolkien and Lewis, Christianity; for Pullman, atheism; for Austen, gender-equality; and for Danielle Steele, sex. So I thought about my projects, and asked about each one, what is the theme?

I have six novels simmering in my brain, each ready to be written, were I to take the time to put pen to paper. (Like I have that time!) In each and every book, my theme is redemption--redemption of self, of relationships and of society. The characters in my book all purposefully shape the world they are in, constructing it consciously, in an effort to make it better. They build society, their relationships and themselves as they want them to be, with the underlying value of redeeming the past by creating a better future. There is also a personal redemption for the main character, as there must be, wherein grace enters and blesses his or her undertakings.

The personal ability to shape the world, to manufacture of it what one wants it to be, this is the common thread in all of my stories, and it is also the reason that I want to write. When I write, I control the character's growth, the relationships' progression and the shape of their world. I make life into whatever I want it to be. I can ensure that everything works out as it should: there is justice where none was before, hope, happy endings. My writing is my way of using this creative power, to make things better, and the way I make things better is by empowering individuals in my story, and perhaps someday out of it.

So this is my ambition, my long-cherished wish. I want to write.

There are, of course, obstacles in my way. The first being that I am not published. This makes it difficult to finance sitting at home and writing. It is not profitable to spend one's time that way until it is lucrative...which of course it cannot be until one has written. So, there it is: I will grow old stealing minutes at an ancient lap top, until I can finish a single project, whereby I may be judged and deemed worthy of writing openly.