1.30.14.

Tons of editing. Whoo hoo.

Essay writing.

So I'm writing an essay. But unless you really want to hear why I'm qualified for the Honor's program, I don't think you'd be interested.

Tell Me Please

All my thoughts are on the heights above
My heart is fixed on lofty dreams
My mind grows weak and weary with the very coming of the sun
And my soul cries out for peace
When there is none

Oh, tell me please
What can I do?
What song to sing?
Won't You show me where
 I'm meant to be?
There's a place inside
And it's growing deeper and deeper within
I can't let anyone in
Only You

All my fears call out
And I push them down
But only dread and doubt
Remain when the day is done

And I know You're there
I still remember the days
I believed with perfect faith
And gone are they, but You won't go
No You'll never leave me alone

I long to hear
The words You say
But Your voice is masked
With the light of day
Don't let me be, no I can't be free
I'm a slave for You
Tell me what to do

Let me see the will
Of the Highest One
Only You can save
Only You can save

Won't you tell me please
Won't you help me see
When the day comes up
Will I see the Son?

I can't hide my face
But You won't let me turn away
Let your plans fall out
Oh show me God
Where am I meant to be?

You're inside me now
I know you're there
Even when I doubt
How can I despair
Every song within
Declaring You
Let your Grace fall out
Let me speak the truth

Oh won't you tell me please
Show me who to be
Let my feet follow You
Let my feet follow
There's a path You lead
Help me find it please
Then there's hope for me
Always Hope in You

Excerpt from NaNoWriMo

“This has been wonderful,” Gracie sighed as she leaned back against the slick leather of the booth. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin and stared across the table. Graham nodded in agreement, his eyes shining with purpose.

“It has been. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you better these past few months.”

“So have I,” She reciprocated cheerfully.

“Then, will you go out with me again? Any time you’re free, I’d love to have dinner, or see a movie.” The words tumbled out in a rush, but not an undignified rush. He was eager, not nervous. Gracie nodded, feeling eagerness bubble up inside of her as well.

“I’d love to.” She said warmly, adding, “After all, you’re my publisher, not my boss.”

Graham laughed. “One would be more likely to guess that you were my boss.” Gracie nodded, combing her fingers through her hair. Graham extracted his phone from his pocket and started flipping through his calendar.

“Well then, Gracie Allen, what about next Saturday? I’ve got a business dinner that night, but I’m free for lunch.”

Gracie opened her mouth to reply, but felt a sudden tap on her shoulder. Turning, she glanced back to see the man sitting on the other side of the booth staring at her intently.

“I’m sorry, did you say Gracie Allen?” He asked. Gracie flushed and lowered her eyes, grinning foolishly. Her success had become more widely recognized every week, but she was unused to being approached. There was an undeniable sense of satisfaction in it though, and she secretly enjoyed the furtive stares and whispering.

“That’s right.” Graham replied proudly. “You’ve probably heard of her book, over one million copies sold. In fact, we’re having a celebration.” He beamed at her and Gracie blushed even more pinkly.

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” The man replied dryly. Standing, he straightened his collar and came around to join them. He was tall, dark-haired, and well dressed. The subtle lines about his eyes and mouth made her guess that he had a pleasant smile, but he was very stern looking now with his lips set in a grim frown. Looking up at him with sudden interest, a spark of recognition filled Gracie. His face was unfamiliar, but his eyes somehow spoke to her, even in silence. Their intensity and sharp blue color hinted at the familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“You’re the author of this book, yes?” The stranger held out a somewhat dog-eared copy of Road to Rosshill, an unusual sight what with the book being so freshly in print. Gracie nodded, her smile fading slightly, for something in his tone was ominous. But she thought she understood the reason for his seeming so familiar. He spoke with a thick Irish accent, and in spite of his tone Gracie couldn’t help but feel a warm, comfortable pleasure in hearing that lovely twang again. Aside from the accent, his voice was deep and gravely and again, she felt herself become queerly curious.

“Yes I am,” She answered. “You’re from Galway I think. Have we met?” She smiled pleasantly again, glowing over the memories of her stay across the sea. She was anxious to make friends with any native from the place she had come to love so much.

“No, not that I’m aware of. I do seem familiar to you though?” He replied, raising a dark brow.

“Yes, but I’m not sure why. Unless, I guess it’s possible I saw you while I was there.” She replied brightly.

“Unlikely.” He answered with stiff gruffness.

“Sorry, who are you?” Graham questioned, smiling with an overly patient air, irritated at having his date disrupted by this strange man whom Gracie was looking up at with such unveiled interest.

The only reply was, “I wonder if I might have a word alone with your companion?”

Gracie was taken aback.

“What? Why?” Graham asked, disliking the newcomer even more.

“Because, according to Miss Allen, she and I are old friends.” Those blue eyes drilled into Gracie like piercing knives.  She couldn’t resist staring back, the intrigue of this shocking contradiction was too alluring for her to pass up. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind waiting in the lobby.” He added, glancing at Graham.

“But she just said she didn’t know you.” Graham said sharply, blinking in confusion.

“I don’t,” Gracie said, at the same moment that the stranger answered, “She does.”
Irate, Graham replied hastily, "Well I don't care what you want, I'm not going anywhere." 
"Then maybe Miss Allen would like some air?" The man asked her. The hostility in his voice slipped out more and more each time he said her name. Still unable to identify him, Gracie couldn't guess the reason for it. 

Her curiosity grew too great and she stood.

“Wait here Graham, I’ll just be a minute.” She pulled up her coat and purse and slipped out of the booth.

“But Gracie,” Graham protested.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.” She assured him, turning to follow the stranger out into the lobby. 

Editing.

Yep. Editing. And lot's of writing.

11.25.2014.

Well I wrote, but sadly it isn't ready for other eyes. So yep.

Poem

Well, may I just say... uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuughhhhhgghhghghgblehmehuulllllllggggg!

That was truly painful on so many levels. On a happier note, there is nothing quite so wonderful as the scream of relief let out by your toes after they are freed from the clutching bond of high-heels.

Black shores fall away

Deep in the shadow, I watch the straining sun fade

Ahead shines a glistening sky

Within golden clouds blossom, the petals of the past fall neatly into place

The shimmer of alluring words

Dancing lightning 

Dancing fire

Fireflies glowing 

The stars are all slipping into slumber 

As the night melts into dawn

And I rest in the peace 

Of a new day

Poem

Darling, don’t you be afraid

The moon is in the sky

And I’m forever by your side

The Heavens are not far away

And all you know is safe

And sound

Tonight 

Esssay

The ocean roared, a far blue canvas hurrying out to meet the sky. I closed my eyes and heard its murmuring voice, loud, soft, sweet and sad, heavy and grim, laughing and whispering. Fingering a strand of dark hair, I sighed at its hopeless saltiness. Everywhere around me was the essence of the sea.

The far off cries of laughter and shouts tickled my ears, but I pushed them quickly away. I had no room in my soul for humanity on this sunny seaside afternoon. They, with their pressing problems, and speeches, invaded my autumn rains and my winter tea-times, my spring smiles and my bridal Junes. Even my sprinkler and Popsicle Julys were consumed with the sounds of human voices. But August is a month which belongs to its own endeavors.

While here, in this magic place, I set myself free from the responsibilities I normally owe to other people, and I devote myself to the full time occupation of refilling my empty soul.

The beach is truly the best spot for soul-filling. There is something truly miraculous about that roaring mass of gray-blue ocean. Its allure is stronger than the tugging of the moon on the tides. And everywhere the eyes can look, there is some new treasure to discover. 

Me

I'm a writer. I do not speak. What wisdom, if any, I have to impart, is lost to the ears as they fill with the crackle of nothingness. To hear me aloud is to stare at a blank map, but if you wish to hear my voice, you must listen with your eyes and with your heart.

Solitary Soul

"Sometimes it is a beautiful thing to be alone. Loneliness, however, is a fate I would not wish on any man."

.............................................................

"I look at you sweetheart, all I see is a child gazing up into the sky, wishing she could leap up past the clouds. When the others walk by, I can feel you start to cry. Don't ever lose the way your hair falls in your eyes. And your heart, sweetheart, is a treasure even broken, for only gentle things are prone to cracks and snares."

1/22/2014

Oh how I adore the safe, sweet assurance of knowing exactly who I'm meant to be. Everywhere I look, I see the subtle glances, furtive smiles and blank stares. Sometimes I'm tempted to envy, but on nights like this, it is still a blessing to sit in a room alone, and know that I'm me.




   "Why bother staring at the stars? Only fools believe they grant wishes." She murmured softly, shaking her head with a furrowed brow. 

   "What you say may be true. Perhaps only fools believe; but those who never watch the stars will often find themselves lost. Sometimes wishing is enough in its own right, with no thought of the 'coming true.'"  

I'll be in Scotland a'fore ye!

Moving to Scotland. I love it there. No amount of logic will dissuade me.

Seriously.