Picture of the Day: 

My cat, Buddy--a critic of literary works. 

Quote of the Day: 

"Your life is what your thoughts make it." 

-Marcus Aurelius 

Hello, dearest readers! (I am not sure how many of you there are, but I appreciate your loyalty nonetheless.) I am quite eager to kick-start this blog into life one more time, and plan on updating quite a bit more often than I have been recently. (One post is more than what I have been doing recently, but I do plan on trying harder than that.) 

I am not sure what to put in here today. I have not made any literary strides, I have not dreamt up some great new novel that I am going to be pursuing. I have done nothing but be in a certain shade of frenzy--you see, I have decided to step way out of my comfort zone and try a mission trip.

Not just any mission trip.

A month long stay in El Salvador and Honduras. 

Am I crazy? Maybe. But you all should be aware of this already. 

I do not know, quite honestly, what I am thinking. I have panicked more than once to a friend who has been way more patient than she needs to be. In fact, I count her as one of the most stable and gentle people in my life right now, and I doubt she even realizes how much she is changing me already. 

In this past year (or so) I have met some amazing people. One of whom is a fellow writer. He spends a lot of his time on missions out of country, and one of the ones he does is in Nigeria. I admire this young man, and despite the fact I took a very long break from writing (nearly three or four months, I'd say), when he asked me to write something about his trip in Nigeria, I felt obligated to try. 

So, today, I am going to share this story--I won't explain anything. I want to see if you can tell me what it is about. I cannot say I am happy with it, but I can say I did my best. 

Here it is--I call it "Three Hundred Candles". It is a short-short-story. 

A single crater was left behind to stand in testament of hate and misunderstanding, but there were three hundred candles shining out against the darkness.

The air stood still, as if the city itself held its breath. After such a deafening explosion of sound and debris, the crowded street seemed silent. Horror painted the faces of those who still stood, in the same way red now streaked across the colorless stone of the earth. Tears fell to mix with the blood upon the ground; faces turned upward to a sky that was so clear, so blue, it could have mocked what it had witnessed.

The attack had been meant to level their spirits with the same force it had leveled their walls, but not a single person stood alone. Hands were locked together in a living, breathing chain, a tangible link from one body to the next. Not only did it share the burden of fear and surprise, but joined together hope and love, spirit and heart, and shared the strength of a promise.

That promise kept trembling legs from caving in defeat. That promise caught the tears of weeping women, men and children. That promise offered the only sustaining comfort that the afflicted could handle—it promised life. Life beyond physical pain, a life beyond the challenges of this world. A life where Love truly reigns.

It offered peace, a promise so sweet, that some had tried to find peace of their own in twisted, gnarled lies that ensnared them like thorny vines. The crater was testament to the trap’s danger; but what they found was nothing like that sweet promise at all. It was not peace, but it was dark. What the misguided sought came at the price of brown stains on the street, on the rock of a broken wall, in the dirt of the earth. It came at the price of life and wholeness.

Bent in silence, bowed in prayer, hopeful hands began to clear away the rubble. Terror met its match. Work was as steady as the tears, and slowly, brick by leveled brick, the street began to heal. No one spoke, but there was light in their silence.

It was something no bomb could extinguish; it was something so beautiful, so stark in contrast to the tumult, that even those who had not come, those who did not believe, stood and watched in marvel—and they found their eyes strained against the brightness.

A single crater was left behind to stand in testament of hate and misunderstanding, but there were three hundred candles shining out against the darkness.

There you have it, folks. A short-short-story about my friend's trip to Nigeria. Please let me know what you think. I am eager to know.

Also, if you are interested in donating to help my friends and I make it to El Salvador and Honduras for a month, check out this blog. It has a page for donations using paypal. Quick, easy, and so helpful you won't even know how much we are thankful.

I thank you for your time, reader.
Happy writing.
God bless.

Picture of the Day: 

RIP Sophie Madeline -- we all love you and miss you oodles already.

Quote of the Day:

"Hope is necessary in every condition." 
-Samuel Johnson

Hello, dear readers! I hope this entry finds you well. I am sorry to say that I have not really thought much of this tired old blog, but tonight, as it approaches three in the morning, I found myself thinking that perhaps this is the company I needed. Perhaps it is time to give this old blog one last chance--so here it goes: a long awaited update.

I have not been able to do much work on my pirate novel since finishing it sometime in the past six months. I am finally handing it to someone to proofread this week, and I cannot thank that friend enough for offering to be my poor guinea pig. Hopefully, an update can follow soon in which I tell you that I am sending it out to try my hand at being published. Until then, though, that one has been on hold.

I have pretty much left many things on hold--my writing has become something of a passing fancy that sits on a back burner. Nonetheless, I have dabbled in perhaps two things since finishing my novel, and one is a simple scene that I am going to post for you today. 

This one was partially inspired by a song. I don't know much about the characters in this scene (just enough to make this all the more tragic), and I don't know if I will ever pick them up and turn them into a novel. However, I felt the urge to write this, and partially I believe it is because of a song that I listened to. I will post the link at the end of this and let you take a listen for yourself. 

So without much other talk, I give you the scene: 

            “Are you scared?” He asked.

            “Aren’t you?” Her voice was unsteady, trembling the same as her hands and spirit.

            He could see her eyes were wet, streaking lines down her cheeks. He could see fear in them as plain as a candle in darkness. Somehow, he managed a smile for her, and pulled her close against his chest. “No.” There was a resounding slam; the sound of wood on wood, the shuffle of heavy boots. She caught her breath. “It’s going to be a beautiful place,” he murmured. “A place where we’ll be together, and I’ll marry you. A place where things will be perfect.”

            She pressed her cheek against him, and he could feel the wet heat of her tears as they soaked through his clothes to his skin. The footsteps were getting closer. He felt her hands clench tighter to the cotton of his shirt.

            “We’ll start a family,” he told her. “We’ll grow old together. We’ll be safe.”

            “Safe,” she repeated quietly.

            “Doesn’t that sound nice?” He asked. The boots were outside their door. The bark of voices sounding like hunting dogs right outside their dark little room. She said nothing, but he felt her nod. “We just have to be brave first,” he promised. “Then we will be together again.”

            The door rattled, and she huddled closer. Another kick shook the door in its frame, and he wrapped his arms tighter around her and kissed the top of her head.

            “I love you,” he managed to whisper. Then, the door splintered open and the air was filled with pink mist and lead.

Maybe someday I will flesh this out into a full fledged story. But right now, I am going to let it lie. I have no clue what to do with it!

So now for the song, and this will complete a rather short entry. Still, reader, I cannot be to disappointed--I have an update and entry. Something I haven't had since January! 

I am not normally a Taylor Swift fan--I just cannot seem to get past her sound being so childish. But this song caught my attention when my sister played it from her room. The lyrics are fantastic, and I love the sound the Civil Wars added (they have a wonderful harmony and you should check them out when you get the chance, reader. You won't be disappointed!). 
There you have it! A quick update. 
I am not dead, and neither is this blog! Not yet anyway. 
Happy writing!And perhaps today more than ever we celebrate the reader, too.It takes all kinds.