tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68888025115619399972024-03-14T03:56:15.144-07:00Zarabethe CreatesMelly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-30674188073195640352016-06-04T11:36:00.001-07:002016-06-04T12:10:44.288-07:00SpoilersNo names, no faces, no colors. Just this picture I drew 6 months ago which tells a very big spoiler for the next several years of the Scepter Continuum.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl1t1PPtf4X8CVR4SNY29T5bqS0HAJ3C_RBu9yf6Q98sTUMO5k2V-97UgDs2oI5pVjf4ZZWLdRVx4kfV7HazsvjPTW7XqUiMbf__t769ueCCXP26hUEt_zE7rEjinWTECI3D_FBYuXicMg/s1600/DSC03202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl1t1PPtf4X8CVR4SNY29T5bqS0HAJ3C_RBu9yf6Q98sTUMO5k2V-97UgDs2oI5pVjf4ZZWLdRVx4kfV7HazsvjPTW7XqUiMbf__t769ueCCXP26hUEt_zE7rEjinWTECI3D_FBYuXicMg/s400/DSC03202.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is actually a pretty decent drawing for 6 months ago.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-75129684963044460062016-04-08T14:29:00.001-07:002016-04-08T14:29:54.645-07:00Ivy's Fabulous Rainbow Shoes<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipVUGPRo3if-Ypl5yi5fOf8Bzfxq3Q5r-4Hx3F11MflyBy9XV3G93r0PFoJo32g8wCc7JO_IK4PJYMQc09K7HQSsm0D6DCMzJToBxjeT4b-9FCprzb8ljqYstJantprUXA0JPflJNxHk6m/s1600/DSC01240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipVUGPRo3if-Ypl5yi5fOf8Bzfxq3Q5r-4Hx3F11MflyBy9XV3G93r0PFoJo32g8wCc7JO_IK4PJYMQc09K7HQSsm0D6DCMzJToBxjeT4b-9FCprzb8ljqYstJantprUXA0JPflJNxHk6m/s320/DSC01240.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-67677372459425621822014-09-09T06:01:00.001-07:002014-09-09T06:01:41.155-07:00I love the Raven Cycle Series Because....I came in expecting a typical YA pile of mush and was left with really unique, intriguing characters, intelligent discourse, a twisty, unexpected plot, and one of the most original books I've ever read. <br />
<br />
This is for an ARC contest of her third book :)Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-48379321522507538912014-08-14T18:08:00.001-07:002014-08-14T18:08:47.637-07:00The Story Tucked into a Game of SolitaireI follow this <a href="http://maxkirin.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> that is basically a wellspring of writing advice and prompts and really cool stuff to just get people out and WRITING. Today I happened upon this little gem and I let it carry me into the afternoon.<br />
<br />
"When I'm looking for an idea, I'll do anything--clean the closet, mow the lawn, work in the garden."<br />
<br />
--Kevin Henkes<br />
<br />
And underneath that one of the tags read: "That's where stories tend to hide."<br />
<br />
This afternoon we had a preemptive Not-Back-To-School party where we took off the afternoon of homeschool and ate doughnuts and played games. I was goofing off, losing games of Solitaire in succession, when this little scene began to manifest itself in my head. Solitaire is really good for things like that: it doesn't require even a third of your concentration to play it well, and I find myself drifting off into writing land frequently. There was one lyric out of a song that stuck in my head, and I couldn't tell you what it originally was, but it transformed into a man saying, "You know we don't do this, (name)." What "this" was slowly transformed into this scene. Don't know if I'll do anything with it, and I left in the original note where I could expand into more background story, but it's actually rather self-contained as it is, and I'm proud of that. <br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Roark's surprise was revealed by the
slight straightening of his spine, by the pause before he resumed
pulling his shirt back over his head. The scars that cross hatched
his back gleamed slightly before being covered by his shirt. All
past weaknesses concealed by a plain grey covering. His face was
turned to a profile, but she didn't bother trying to study it for a
response. Roark was too good to show his emotions. His voice was as
stiff as his shoulders.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You know we don't do that, Leesa.”
He turned toward her then, a carefree look on his face that didn't
quite reach his eyes.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She hugged her knees closer to her
chest. It was these moment she felt the most vulnerable, when she
let her walls slip down far enough that these conversations were
possible. <optional expansion></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Why don't we do this, Roark?” She
heard her own voice in her ears, and to her disgust it sounded like
she was pouting. She sat up straighter, dropping her knees and
instead holding the edge of the blanket.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We're both consenting adults. We
are free to make these kind of decisions ourselves--”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Exactly,” he interrupted her by
foregoing getting dressed and crawled into her space. He knelt in
front of her, nearly in her lap, and she felt his hand on her cheek.
Her face had cooled from the flush it held earlier, and the warmth of
his hand was welcome. She leaned into it, and tried not to look at
his eyes.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We are making the decision to not
complicate this. You know this line of work doesn't have a long life
expectancy. Let's just have fun when we can and not worry about
anything else, okay?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She heard the earnestness in his voice,
but she couldn't bring herself to look at it in his face. She never
knew whether he was trying to convince himself or her of that
anymore, and she was tired of trying to guess which it was. She
sighed, and relented.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sure, Roark.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He ruffled her hair like he would a kid
sister. “Good girl.” He leaned away from her and she didn't
bother to hide her glare as she watched him shrug into his shoulder
harness. He checked both guns with a sliding click before
re-holstering them and locating his boots under the bed. He glanced
over at her as he laced them up, and didn't flinch at her scowl. He
saw her tank top tangled in the sheet and tossed it her way.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Now get dressed Lee, we've got work
to do.” He finished his boots, and slid a black overshirt on to
conceal his gun holster. He gave her a playful wink as he shouldered
his duffel bag.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That prince isn't going to
assassinate himself.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Her gaze followed him as he left the
room, and she was irritated when it was blurry with tears. She
scrubbed her eyes clean, and quickly found the rest of her clothes.
She muttered angrily to herself as she shoved her legs into her
pants.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“A simple “Love you, too” would
have sufficed, asshole.”</div>
Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-37995106377160330482014-06-05T13:47:00.001-07:002014-06-05T13:47:02.951-07:00Love Letter to a Wayward Friend<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13pt;">Once
upon a time in a world full of stories,</span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">two
hearts of different backgrounds</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">wandered
into sight of each other. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">One
heart was full and round and red, and was </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">filled
with so much goodness that it spilled out of it</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">in
ribbons of light that trailed behind it on the floor.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">One
heart was shrouded, but if you lifted the hood, </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">you'd
see that it was covered with old closed up holes</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">and
scars of past threads.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>Here,
</i>you said, as you held out a
shining thread of your hair.<i> </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>Take
it, it is free, and I am giving it to you. </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>I
wish to know you better.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>No,
</i>I replied<i>, I am
afraid.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>I
am full of too many scars, and I don't know if I could handle it</i></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>when
you left me behind.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">The
heart plucked a thread out of its head, </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">broke
free one shining piece of goodness,</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">and
pressed it into the other heart's hand.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>It
is only one small piece, </i>I
whisper to myself,<i> </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>and
it glows so bright.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>And
it binds together the holes that are in me. </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>You
may keep it. I have enough to go around. </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>Only
when you are ready, spread your own</i></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>goodness
to others in the same way. </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">In
the beginning the thread only shone when</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">the
hearts were together, and retreated into darkness</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">when
they were apart.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">The
thread that was freely given took root</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">and
from it grew more threads that healed over the old scars</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">and
slowly made them beautiful.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">The
shrouded heart found it no longer wanted to hide.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">There
were other hearts, both brilliant and faded, </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">and
they were all good in their own way. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">All
the heart had to do was offer up one shining thread</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">one
gesture of acceptance, </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">and
those hearts began to shine in return.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>I
have to leave, </i>you whispered.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>There
are others that need my goodness and light, </i></span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>and
I have to help them.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>I
am not afraid, </i>I whispered back.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>I
can shine with my own light now.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><i>It
is time to give out my own threads.</i></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">I
am not afraid, because where you were </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">is
not a hole or a scar, it is simply on hold</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">and
waits for you to fly home.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Because
the spot where you reside in me</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">is
the shape of colorful rainbows, </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">desert
landscapes, and flowing rivers.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">It
is everything good and beautiful </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">that
reminds me of you, and </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">I
do not fear pain of loss.</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Because
love does not injure</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">and
only makes us grow into </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">more
than we ever thought possible. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">I
throw off my shroud as you wind your path away from me. </span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">I
do not need it anymore, because the only marks you left on me</span></span></div>
<br />
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">are
proof of love. </span></span>
</div>
Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-63620309301374442402014-03-28T09:40:00.000-07:002014-03-28T09:40:12.500-07:00Let it Go: Subtly Undermining a Powerful Message<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Like every other family that has
children, my entire household has been taken over by Frozen lately.
Middlest girl minion meets me at breakfast in a blue lace cape and
doesn't take it off until school time. We have the soundtrack on
repeat in the background. We took the dvd in to the library for
movie time to share with any unfortunate souls that have not been
bombarded yet. We did not see the movie in the theatre, so when I
decided to finally listen to all the “Let it Go” craziness after
the Academy Awards, and let the kids listen too, they were ravenous
to watch it. Two week of counting down until we bought it, and many
tears shed when they had to wait until after showers and breakfast
that morning.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I had heard a lot of crazy things about
this movie: that it was actually about these two sisters, that “true
love” wasn't the focus, and that they imparted common sense advice
like not to get engaged to someone you just met. I had a lot of
interest in a movie that wasn't all about the girl trying to get the
guy, or that true love is immediate and supersedes everything else,
or that you fall in love with someone as soon as they kiss you. You
know, a movie marketed to children that wasn't over the top, and yet
threw out a lot of the anti-feminist mantras that most princess
movies shove in your face. I was excited to watch and excited to
share it with my girls (and boys!).
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now before I continue I would like to
point out that I usually don't consider myself a feminist in the
traditional sense. I prefer equality and respect, but I prefer it in
both directions, and I feel it is incredibly unhelpful to look down
on women who choose to take traditional roles or have traditional
families. There is nothing wrong with that. I have a uterus. I
make babies. I take care of them. I am a woman, and it is okay that
I do that instead of trying to play both the role of a man or a
woman. For that matter it is okay if someone chooses to do the
opposite that I do as well. When I use the word feminist in this
article, I am talking about the practice of treating women like valid
human beings instead of property or sex objects. You know, basic
human rights.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That being said, “Let it Go” is
really a feminist song, in all the best ways. There is a young woman
who has spent her entire life trying to conform to very restrictive
life by society's norms, and it has continuously grown harder and
harder for her to keep her true self hidden. In a moment of
weakness, she reveals that self to the rest of the world, and amidst
a sea of backlash, runs away. This song is where she finally throws
away her attempts to blend in, and is just herself. I recently saw a
funny gif where someone had photoshopped the words “fuck off”
into the snow magic that Elsa is creating. Crude yes, but also
pretty accurate: she is past the point of trying to please everyone,
and they can just deal with it and leave her alone.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Although I believe the song translates
across all genders and walks of life, it very clearly points at
feminine issues. All her life a woman is held to a ridiculous amount
of standards: she must be demure or she is called a bitch. She must
dress in a certain way or she is called a slut. She must hold
certain kinds of jobs or she faces at the least a lower pay rate, and
usually harassment or not being taken seriously. In action movies
she is relegated to the sex icon or love interest: weak, without
personality, and just there to look at. In this song, Elsa throws
off the prejudice that society pins on her for her gender, and
refuses to play by their rules anymore. She can dress however she
wants. She can behave the way she chooses. She can play the hero of
her own story.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In a way, every single person that
hears this song feels a little bit of this power. Everyone wants to
rise above the part of the victim and be heard. Everyone wants the
freedom to make their own choices without persecution. More than a
song about finding true love, or any other dribble that princesses
usually sing about, this song speaks to the heart and soul of
everyone and gives them control over their own destiny.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Which in a round-about way finally
brings me to the point of this essay: the pop version of “Let it
Go” is a sad mockery of the original and shows just how far we
still have to go as a society.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now, the remake itself was not that
bad. I am fond of the driving beat they added to it, and they
reworked the song to have a true chorus and have more of the
traditional structure of a pop song. There were a few lyric changes
but they fit in well, I believe. The person that they chose to sing
it has the tone quality and obviously has the ability to hit all the
notes well and hit it out of the park. The problem with the entire
thing though? She chooses not too.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At the end of every phrase, she takes
an exaggerated breath. She does not have to do this: there are
other parts of the song where she holds notes for longer and strings
longer phrases together with no issue. Why would someone have such
pronounced breathing in the middle of a hit song then? There's only
one explanation for it: she is trying to make it sound more sexy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That is not the only issue: there are
several times in the song that Demi Lovato goes in to hit a note and
instead of “letting go” and belting it out, she pulls it back,
and sings in this breathy, soft voice. Again, she does not have to
do this! There are several times in the song where she hits a note
hard, on pitch, with no hesitation. This is all a ploy to make her
sound weaker, sexier, and inviting to men.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So here you have a song that is all
about throwing off sexist labels and being yourself, and in order to
make it palatable to the rest of the world, you take all the power
out of it. You rework it so that it sounds like an immature girl
trying to engender sympathy to her sad situation (which sounds
suspiciously like a breakup that she is trying to get over) by
getting the attention of the men around her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One step forward, twenty steps back.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-3982502270329838182014-02-24T00:41:00.002-08:002014-02-24T00:41:40.358-08:00Scepter: A Look Back<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Around this time three years ago, I
wrote the first chapter of Scepter.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now when I say the first, I mean the
first WRITTEN chapter. This chapter would later be dubbed number
fourteen, and now, as it sits here open on my desktop, waiting in the
queue to be edited and then updated to my fanfiction account, it
bears its final number, twenty-three. There are twenty-two chapters
before it, and possibly that many again after it. My chapters
average around 3000 words each, so thus far I have amassed over 75k
words in chronological order in those three years. That in itself
is the size of a respectable novel, and we're a little over half-way
through the story now. I really do expect this thing to hit over
125k words in its entirety.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The story has been through many changes
in that amount of time. When I wrote that first chapter, I was a
different person than I am now. My family, and myself individually,
were going through a very difficult and dark time, and when I first
jotted those notes down in a folder and thought I might do something
with it, the plot line was depressing and vague. There was a hunter,
and her name was Zarabethe. She was a loner by choice. She embarked
on this quest, and became obsessed with finishing it. Even though
she found love, and possible meaning for her life, she threw it all
away in search of this quest. This quest was so old and defunct
that it was obsolete, and would mean nothing to anyone except her if
she finished it. So really it was meaningless to everyone except her. The personality of Zarabethe was patterned off what
I felt I would be if left to my own devices and never felt love or
acceptance. She was cold. She was violent but precise. She ignored
her own needs until it became an emergency situation. The rest of
the world and even her own kind were alien to her. She did not seek
out companionship and did not desire it. She obsessed to the point
of neglecting herself and the people around her. She was never happy
but always sought after the next quest, never realizing what she
needed or wanted. She was like a robot with one dial that turned in
the direction of what she was seeking, and it never wavered. She was
emotionless. I feel like even though I've wasted nine sentences
describing her in the exact same way, I can't stress enough how
extremely unlikeable I made this character. She did nothing but
destroy her entire life over this quest, and then she died alone.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For a long time this was the end of it.
She achieved what she wanted: to be by herself. To find what she
was questing for. And it consumed and destroyed her. The end.
After all, that's a realistic ending, right? We hear stories about
that all time: addicts who go on unchecked and are found overdosed
in the alleyway, penniless and emaciated. Sure, a lot of addicts
reform, and some even ride that line between power and ruin, but a
lot just pass into the next world without even an ounce of regret.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wanted her to be a mother in the
story, possibly to heighten the similarities between the two of us.
But I didn't want her to be a good mother. In the very darkest
corners of my mind, just a shadow really, not even a fully formed
idea, the child did not survive. She would never out-right kill a
child, not even I could write that atrocity. But maybe she just
didn't care about her own personal safety, and fell too many times,
and caused a miscarriage. Maybe she took such poor care of herself
that when the baby was born it was too frail and died. The most
likely scenario though, was that she was so obsessed with the quest
that even after carrying a baby to fruition, then giving birth, she
would simply strap the child on and keep going. Maybe she would
successfully care for the child and they would both make it. Maybe
she wouldn't, and it would die alone in the wilds somewhere. Maybe
she would become self-aware enough to realize how poor of a job she
was doing, and give the child up to someone who could care for it.
There were a range of possibilities, and none of them happy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wrote the first chapter of Scepter in
early spring of 2011. Then I set it aside, and did nothing for at least twelve months. My home life was busy. During that time, I got
pregnant with my seventh child, and things in my marriage were
getting wrung out and then fixed. I looked deep into myself and came
to a lot of realizations about the kind of person I was. Some of it
was downright scary, but they were not the only parts, and definitely
not the ones I intended to let lead my decisions. I gave birth to
our seventh and last child at home in our bathroom. My husband went
back to school to pursue something he loved. We joined and then left
a church. The rest of the kids grew and lived. Sometime in 2012,
around June I think, I sat down and wrote another chapter. By this
time I'd decided that no matter what, the child would live.
Zarabethe would realize at the last moment that she was responsible
for this life, and she would step up to it. I started to think
seriously about actually plotting this story out and completing it.
I wrote three or four chapters during this time, and I really began
to get into the joy of writing. Around this time, I started to talk
to my husband about the story, as I wanted to incorporate his
character into it. It was stop and start, and I was a little
reluctant to involve him creatively. This was my BABY, after all.
It was sometime during that period that I decided that the story
needed to change again.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
With the way I had written Zarabethe,
no one would like her. Most importantly, the romantic lead, a man of
normal emotional depth, would have no interest in her at all, and
even if he did initially, she would very quickly put him off and he
would not pursue her. And I realized I did not want that kind of
ending. Inadvertently, my life had changed for the better so much
that I believed in a happy ending again. I didn't want her to
destroy her life for this quest anymore. Which meant I had to make a
decision: happiness and family, or finish the quest. With it boiled
down to that, I added one small but crucial personality detail to
Zarabethe. She was still all of the above, but she knew that she was
not normal, and she desired to change.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The details of the story are still
going through alterations, but since I made Zarabethe want to grow
and change, everything finally clicked into place. I set all my
chapters aside, opened up a new document, and started chapter one.
By the time I got to chapter four, I made a fanfiction account and
admitted to myself that I was dedicated to seeing this through.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There have been a few deviations. With
the success I was finally having at writing out the story of
Zarabethe and Elforen (who now had equal billing, and wasn't just a
side character), I began talking with the husband about how our other
Warcraft characters interacted. They didn't all have to pair off
into romantic couples, but maybe they were siblings, or just worked
together. My husband can be quite creative himself, and he spun me a
tale of his death knight, and what kind of person she had been before
she had been turned, the details of her capture, and what kind of
person she was now. We tended to pair his death knight with my
priest, and I had always thought of my priest as this innocent,
compassionate person who just wanted to help people, and with the
knowledge of his death knight's past, the story just seemed to fall
into place. I wrote the first chapter of Mercy in two days, and I
was really proud of it. I had started out writing one thing, ended
up with something else, but it did exactly what I wanted it to
without really trying. My husband loved it. He had been a little
interested in Scepter, especially since his character was involved,
but Mercy he would not stop talking about. Other people who read it
kept talking about it. I felt the first strings of the idea that
maybe I could write something good enough that other people would
want to purchase it and read it.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I wrote the four long chapters of Mercy
in between writing parts of Scepter. I still tended to write things
out of order in Scepter: the story was so long and winding and had
so many good potential emotional turns, that I wanted to write the
good stuff first. I stopped publishing out of order around chapter
nine, and took down all the chapters I had written a long time ago
until I could publish them chronologically. I was getting serious now.
During this time I also started writing other things: I realized
that if I really did want to publish something that I wrote,
obviously fanfiction was not where I needed to spend all my time. It
was surprisingly hard to create my own world though. Fantasy is my
favorite genre to read and write, but making a working and believable
environment for your story to exist in is exhausting. There are so
many details that you have to either research or completely make up,
and even then you have to research enough to know if what you made up
makes sense. I decided I wanted to create a nomadic race that was
similar to the gypsies, or the Romany. I very quickly realized that
I knew NOTHING about eastern European history, and all the little
ideas I had like putting in bits and pieces of other languages, and
making different customs, down to even naming commonalities and
religious quirks, required hours and hours of research and reading
and by the end I was more confused than enlightened.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
At this point in the timeline of
Scepter, we are kind of at a difficult place. Our romantic leads are
separated. Zarabethe is continuing to ignore her growing symptoms,
and Elforen is in a state of denial about what's going on in his
heart. It's gotten a little stagnant, and although there will be
some resolution soon, it's all very angst-ridden. Although I've been
really good at staying in order for awhile, I find I've been
wandering in my mind to happier times, to a point where things are
coming together, where the plot really picks up and MOVES. If I were
reading this story, I'd be getting bored, but plugging along, knowing
that better times are coming. The anticipation of writing those
parts and then giving them to YOU, giving them to my teeny tiny army
of readers, and then sitting back and watching as you gasp and awe
and get excited for what's happening next right along with me, is
incredible. I am SO EXCITED you guys. I've been sailing this ship
for three years, and we're no longer in uncharted territory, we are
smooth sailing now, as fast as I can get my fingers to type it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There will still be delays. Life
continues on apace, so to say. I have house to keep, kids to raise
and teach, amazing costumes to create, and unlike three years ago, I
have friends and community now that I look forward to interacting
with. Things may slow down and pick up in waves, but I will not
leave you hanging one moment longer than I have to. We will pilot
this course together and land safely on the other shore.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Onward and upward!</div>
Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-19722830232820877212014-02-05T11:21:00.000-08:002014-02-05T14:47:49.086-08:00In Which I Read Fangirl and Find MyselfI ended up just copying this into my review on Goodreads, so I'm going to just leave it here without prelude.<br />
<br />
Well that is two five-stars that Rainbow Rowell has earned from me in the new year. It's like she digs down deep into my brain, finds a lot of random bits, and then spits them out beautifully onto paper. There are so many things I loved about this book that I don't even know how to articulate them all. First off, can we just for a minute give mad props to the author who wrote two different stories in this book? The world of Simon Snow, which was really quite interesting by itself for a way to advance the plot, and the very real world of Cath Avery and her cast of friends. Second, I have to say I read Eleanor & Park and then the very next book I read was this one, and the only things that they had in common was that her characters are all both very real and flawed, but in a simple, down to earth way. They EXIST. The two books are as different as can be: the main characters have different personalities, they have different interests, the format the book was written in was different. I guess I'm trying to say that as much as I could tell that Rainbow Rowell had a gift for word-weaving from E&P, Fangirl gave me that much more respect for her. There are some authors that every character they write are the same person, or at least their main protagonists are very similar. Not so here, and it comes off masterfully. <br />
<br />
Now as a fanfiction writer myself, I was incredibly impressed to find a book ABOUT it, and not in an off-hand, "these weird people obsess over it" sort of way. Because let's admit it: fanfiction is a naughty word in the world of writing. It's the freaky obsessive step-child of writing. It's the elephant in the room in the internet. Here, it's out there: it's a valid expenditure of time, it's what Cath DOES. I really expected it to be turned into a lesson: Cath only writes about another world when her world sucks, and when it doesn't, she stops. But she doesn't. It's still a pastime for her, not something she does to replace her life, and there is an astonishing amount of validation there for the world of fanfiction.<br />
<br />
Another thing I love about this book is the way she deals with mental illness. It's subtle, and it's fascinating. Cath and Wren's father is bi-polar, and he tends to play chicken with his medication, staying off of it as long as possible until it gets overwhelming, then he either gets back on it, or steps one foot further and someone intervenes. And the entire time, no one faults him for it. No one lectures about how he really should be faking it and normal, they just accept that is how he is and that is how he is dealing with it. There is no overtone of how he is betraying his family by not playing nice and taking his medication like a good adult, and that is really different than how you mostly find it. Let's look at Cath. Cath very obviously has some mental deviation: either bi-polar, like her father, or OCD, etc... and although her roommate belittles her at the beginning a bit for not getting drugs, the matter is quickly dropped and she is just allowed to BE HER and not be forced into the box of normalcy. She takes those flaws and she works around them and it all creates her personality. I love that, in order to be happy in life she doesn't have to change and be more like anyone else, she just has to open her eyes and live it the way she wants to. I could talk and talk until it makes even less sense about what I love about this concept, but it really boils down to respect. Rainbow Rowell respects her characters for just being who they are.<br />
<br />
There are a few things I could nitpick about this book. I didn't really like the absolute redemption of Wren. I was left wanting for more about their mother and there were some things that didn't get wrapped up well in the book. It was more like it just ended, rather than having a solid finale to it. But on the other hand, it works. This book isn't about Wren, or their mother, or anyone else. It's about Cath, and one thing I've noticed about Rainbow Rowell is that she doesn't stress about the side stories. She tells THIS story, the one that's happening RIGHT NOW, and she tells it like she lived through it. And when you live something sometimes it doesn't always wrap up neatly in a bow, sitting on your doorstep waiting to be opened. It just happens, and it moves on, and more stuff happens, and you are the sum of your experiences. Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-29064752984914009882014-01-05T20:27:00.000-08:002014-01-05T20:27:00.788-08:002014: A To-Do ListI have a large list of items to create in 2014, some of which are pretty ambitious. For accountability, and maybe an effort to actually post on this blog again, I will list them all here. <br />
<br />
1. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00FS2MAHG/?tag=059-20">Knight Hoodie</a> . I have the hoodies, I'm drafting the pattern (which is taking longer than planned) and next week I will purchase fleece to make the armor. Here is the point that I am at right now:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZgqp17IGUrCZn1WjfJ9Tc-2SGYstsWb-GhYCF2yuAeXGZA4EMDIIzwntkqCV4WyoA_xjvcE0gP_f7ClPrwp3SqYiPRL_V4UqKmDFHmtas1yc5yi0_J_eXphl4X5ua8YJQ3nPJhfP-s54_/s1600/GEDC0166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZgqp17IGUrCZn1WjfJ9Tc-2SGYstsWb-GhYCF2yuAeXGZA4EMDIIzwntkqCV4WyoA_xjvcE0gP_f7ClPrwp3SqYiPRL_V4UqKmDFHmtas1yc5yi0_J_eXphl4X5ua8YJQ3nPJhfP-s54_/s1600/GEDC0166.JPG" height="400" width="316" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bonus: brand new rotary cutter and board from my mother for xmas!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
2. Quilt for Lilith from her last birthday. Hope to be done in time for THIS birthday. <br />
3. Rainbow Dash Gala dress for Lilith for her birthday, and fully functional to be used as a Halloween costume. That's right, this year the Kerfeet will be decking themselves out in MLP.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTyL1beB-_utox3ZmiR3F5Q-x7DJujLkbDueFAVNd5WR4oxt95DlDLGsNc24rj7pmRE3hnl7K-Ie2HBeDrPflEx3osCAysEDhhMry2X1Ch9rAKrSBKLoEixjDOzPBoQuZp5Guutznb1Ml/s1600/mlp_at_the_gala_by_serebii42-d4x9tf2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilTyL1beB-_utox3ZmiR3F5Q-x7DJujLkbDueFAVNd5WR4oxt95DlDLGsNc24rj7pmRE3hnl7K-Ie2HBeDrPflEx3osCAysEDhhMry2X1Ch9rAKrSBKLoEixjDOzPBoQuZp5Guutznb1Ml/s1600/mlp_at_the_gala_by_serebii42-d4x9tf2.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best version I've found of it online. I will be taking inspiration from this design pretty heavily. I will have to make it appropriate for a preteen girl: less skin showing. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uyYtN-oCh5d890CWZwbriCN_qpDjnm9n8Nzs9ZtmuG5wK1EZQvdWFmhD4D5uy6RVcEL9HFmHo6i5W9sDVmnaYbx_iAQsBYNWtvprSrmAgQGavRL3VTZvB5uoYVzOAQMbaLpxsRKdGkic/s1600/rainbow_dash_is_as_surprised_as_you_are_by_kirotalon-d4h4soq.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uyYtN-oCh5d890CWZwbriCN_qpDjnm9n8Nzs9ZtmuG5wK1EZQvdWFmhD4D5uy6RVcEL9HFmHo6i5W9sDVmnaYbx_iAQsBYNWtvprSrmAgQGavRL3VTZvB5uoYVzOAQMbaLpxsRKdGkic/s1600/rainbow_dash_is_as_surprised_as_you_are_by_kirotalon-d4h4soq.png" height="376" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Original Design</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
4. A Rarity Gala dress for Ivy. Again to double as birthday and Halloween costume. I haven't found many good designs of this online, so I think I'm going to have to improvise.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCID0i9IWfUhTn7atxR19nC2K1vTLqLsTNbYNRe0Fg_6PjcbpzVCkY_eFuGc1HGMv2ZB2-9xwxXrhHKOeIHZEMk8d7nBJ8iaIe15RKx7_h1tM9Qxa7f4P3T2hv2A-nTVJcm2PFhL38hct9/s1600/mlp_at_the_gala_by_serebii42-d4x9tp3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCID0i9IWfUhTn7atxR19nC2K1vTLqLsTNbYNRe0Fg_6PjcbpzVCkY_eFuGc1HGMv2ZB2-9xwxXrhHKOeIHZEMk8d7nBJ8iaIe15RKx7_h1tM9Qxa7f4P3T2hv2A-nTVJcm2PFhL38hct9/s1600/mlp_at_the_gala_by_serebii42-d4x9tp3.jpg" height="257" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one is okay, just kind of weird. I think the pink and yellow layers need to be in tulle. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFjkwjtfbXMm7Ac7KfNcF6eMAy_j3sbeioH7ZvrbtBvJsIU93YL6YTG2x_rAijwwLOwfCSTAmE437VaKmqjBHSBR94Bk25pysplZVvcATTuNk74_cy0TvbCxBAihwBdfrpUN09i1Pn2A-/s1600/rarity__s_gala_dress_by_catnipfairy-d512b10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaFjkwjtfbXMm7Ac7KfNcF6eMAy_j3sbeioH7ZvrbtBvJsIU93YL6YTG2x_rAijwwLOwfCSTAmE437VaKmqjBHSBR94Bk25pysplZVvcATTuNk74_cy0TvbCxBAihwBdfrpUN09i1Pn2A-/s1600/rarity__s_gala_dress_by_catnipfairy-d512b10.png" height="400" width="371" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Original design. Time to buy stock in sew-on gems.....</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
5. Rainbow Dash sporty version for Mark. Originally I was just going to buy a tracksuit and add a cutie mark and wings, but it is RIDICULOUSLY difficult to find an unadorned tracksuit, let alone one in the right colour. I have a feeling I'll be sewing it from scratch. Rainbow armwarmers and socks, wings, and rainbow wig.<br />
<br />
6. Queen Chrysalis for myself. Okay I'm really kind of excited about this one this year, and it's not just because I have to order myself a new corset for it :). Black corset, black tights and armwarmers with holes cut in them, a bright green/blue wig and belt, and cellophane wings. The husband is going to help me make a crown and horn as well. and heaven help me, I might try to wear heels with it. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ZAmRfRr7_pnkIo9w-kh6Qg252R_IK0uzzQ5pgbHFVzYqR3uG2S372O2XyZXDq3zADtblShkyXMzUazeZzeMP2bemZZjfuRDioNfSgXcIHDZlWZou4Etidt5TXq1hQW-6xLbwiVE6pqnP/s1600/queen_of_exposition_by_reginault-d5o1fbe.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ZAmRfRr7_pnkIo9w-kh6Qg252R_IK0uzzQ5pgbHFVzYqR3uG2S372O2XyZXDq3zADtblShkyXMzUazeZzeMP2bemZZjfuRDioNfSgXcIHDZlWZou4Etidt5TXq1hQW-6xLbwiVE6pqnP/s1600/queen_of_exposition_by_reginault-d5o1fbe.png" height="400" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">HOW MUCH FUN IS THIS??</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
7. Med Faire garb for the minions. It's time for some new pieces, and I'm sure the boys are tired of wearing just shirts with regular clothes. I think Logan was wanting some pirate gear. I also could do with a new dress.<br />
<br />
8. It's Gryphon's year for a birthday quilt, so I have to get working on the design for his too. Somehow it will have to be something with weapons or LOTR. <br />
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9. All the rest of the Halloween costumes. I hope to make Seraphyna Apple Jack and Lachlan Spike, and Logan, Gryphon, and Rowan will probably be something else. Ninja turtles is the current idea. <br />
<br />
10. I'd really like to do Winter Solstice pajamas this year. I know a lot of people do xmas eve pjs, but our xmas eve is taken due to the really long drive to Woodward, so that would be the appropriate time to do that.<br />
<br />
11. Easter dresses/outfits, and I'd really like to do some spectacular xmas dresses/outfits and pictures this year. I kind of threw this year's together and I know I can do better, and I SHOULD do better. Something Victorian maybe, with fancy dresses and matching vests. Like out of an old Hallmark card.<br />
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12. Various skirts, dresses, pajamas, and shorts outfits. I want to step it up this year and make more things for the kids instead of buying them. Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-29373480980047261342013-11-12T12:01:00.004-08:002013-11-12T12:01:51.824-08:00IntermissionWhy it takes so long to get anything cut out:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">Lachlan throws himself in my lap.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">Seraphyna tries to put a puppy to sleep in the fabric. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">Lachlan tickling any spot of bare skin nonstop.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17px;">Wrinkled fabric.</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17px;"><br />Lachlan climbs on my back.<br />Seraphyna needs a diaper.<br />"Hey Momma I memorized my lines! Wanna hear? Oh wait I forgot, just a minute" x5<br />"TICKLE TICKLE TICKLE"<br />Seraphyna wails from the other room.<br />Lachlan throws a Thomas book in my lap.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17px;">Organize the older kids on making lunch: bark directions while pinning and folding.<br />Text from Mark.<br />"TICKLE TICKLE TICKLE TICKLE TICKLE TICKLE"<br />Drop a pin from my mouth into my cleavage while telling Lachlan to STOP PLEASE<br />Unusual cutting diagram<br />"FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY I HAVE ONE PIECE LEFT TO CUT WILL YOU JUST STOP"<br />Seraphyna wails from the other room.<br />"TICKLE TICKLE TICKLE"</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; line-height: 17px;">This is why when everyone finally goes to bed for the night, I stay up just a little bit longer, to revel in the QUIET.</span></span>Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-19549868869637021932013-11-07T03:51:00.000-08:002013-11-07T03:54:40.385-08:00Day Six: Sung to the Tune of "Carry On My Wayward Son"First a Disclaimer: These Days of Thankfulness are in no particular order, simply how they occur to me as I'm writing them at the time. I don't want anyone to think I am more grateful to anything as inane as a television show than my husband, who I have not featured yet (but will!). <br />
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That being said, I have recently been granted access to a Netflix account (THANK YOU MY SISTER) and out of all the choices laid out before me like a buffet, I broke my netflix cherry on Supernatural. I'm not sure why: I have several things on my list that I'm interested in, like Doctor Who, or Sherlock Holmes, or even Firefly (here's my geek card, I'll have to hand it in now). I don't even LIKE scary things anymore. It triggers my anxiety like crazy and I stay up all night staring at my open doorway, expecting a silhouette to darken it and for me to lose my mind in terror. But I have always been interested in science fiction, fantasy, and the supernatural. Things that can't quite be explained, or makes you think about the world as a different, more fascinating place. I remember having a ritual in high school of watching certain shows with my mom and sister, and the two I remember most are Star Trek: Voyager, and The X-Files. So maybe it was a bit of nostalgia breaking through when I started watching Supernatural. And surprise surprise, I really liked it.<br />
<br />
When I sit down and think about, I think the thing I like the most about the show is the incredible acting and the realism brought to the show by Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles. You really, truly, believe these two are brothers. There's nothing forced in there at all: they annoy each other, they pick on each other, but they would hand over their lives for the other without thought. You see although the show is named Supernatural and there is a laundry list of various strange creatures and urban legends, and later religious mythology and epic battles, the show is, plain and simple, about the relationship between these two brothers. There's the younger, sometimes naive, brooding brother of Sam, who tries to get away from the Hunter lifestyle and maintain a "normal" life, and there's the never-serious, childhood-stolen-from-him, older brother Dean, who drags him back to help find their father. The way these two interact is hilarious, poignant, and more than that, believable. These two characters were made for these actors. <br />
<br />
There are many other things I love about this show. I am never disappointed by the music choices. I like how they manage to mostly tie off loose threads at the end of a season (mostly, there's only so much you can do). It is absolutely hysterical in some place and rips your heart out in others. There are times when you're crying from laughing so hard and in the next moment, you're crying again because it's so emotional. There are some kick-ass female leads and they are not only the victims to monsters. There are romantic relationships, but they are always brief, and everyone knows they are doomed from the start. It never takes the focus away from the two brothers, the hunters, road-tripping through Hell and back, to save lives and find their own redemption.<br />
<br />
I am right now nearing the end of Season 4, so I have quite a bit of catching up to do. But I know it's going to be a fun ride, no matter how long it takes. Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-39598002851200075362013-11-07T03:09:00.004-08:002013-11-07T03:09:59.554-08:00Days Four and Five: CommunityThankful Day Four: Online Community<div>
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<div>
There are those among us, particularly of the older variety (I may or may not be in this category) that do not believe that a community that only exists online can provide a fulfilling relationship. I tend to disagree.</div>
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It's true that the Internet is fraught with peril. You are more likely to encounter a troll (someone who insults others purely to get a rise out of them) than a sympathetic ear. Between trolls, hackers, and people with their filters removed by anonymity, there hardly seems a point. But the one advantage the Internet has is that it brings people together from all over the world. Interested in a certain anime? There's a forum for that. Passionate about birth? There's a facebook group for that. And every now and then, you find a group made of exceptional men and women that you connect with and lifts you up better than anyone IRL, because you only have to travel as far as your computer or iPhone to find them. I in particular am grateful for the community of my two online mothers groups, one that has been together for almost 12 years, and one that has been together for almost 11 years; and my splinter freebirthing group that broke off from a larger, dysfunctional one. It is rare that you find such a safe haven of like-minded individuals that will willingly reach out across the ether and extend a hand to sister that is in need of advice, of comfort, or to share a joy. To someone who has social anxiety and sometimes can't stand to be physically around other people, this is a unique blessing: friendship without pressures.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thankful Day Five: IRL Community</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
It's been a long time since I had close friends that I could visit regularly in a physical form. I don't reach out to people often, but I have had really good luck lately opening up to people and finding kinship with them. For day five, I am grateful for my community that exists here around me, and my good friends. </div>
Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-75720495859798530112013-11-03T18:02:00.002-08:002013-11-03T18:02:53.082-08:00November Writing Madness AKA Do I Still Have This Blog???Hello and welcome to the month of November Dear Readers! (all two of you. don't get rowdy). Although I'm already two days behind, I am still determined to get to my 30K word count goal that I usually set for this month. I have lots and lots of Scepter chapters to go, and I'm starting a new saga of Maerciless and Shirelle. It's going rather well, although it's no where near to the point of posting yet. I have managed to keep the different tones of the pieces up instead of blending them together into a homogenized style, so I'm happy about that. Maybe this time next year I will be able to focus on something that's not WoW related?? Time will tell.<br />
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I will be keeping a word count update on my blog, and going for my November Thankfulness as often as I remember (once a week? once a day? who knows!). I took the entire month of October off from writing, and although it was needed to be able to get my Halloween Crafting on, I'm a little out of practice from churning out as much writing as I would like to each week. I will still have Holiday Crafting to work on this month as well, as I'd like to get my sewn and crocheted gifts done before the first of December, I have found I am most happiest when I constantly have a lot of projects going on. It keeps me busy and useful, and creating makes me happy. Which makes me create more. <br />
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Now for my days of November Thankfulness. Although I will be doing the usual and listing off family and basic ordinary blessings, I am going to try and dig deep to find subjects that really make you think, things that you might not always find happy. It's a challenge really: to find happy in the least likely of places. <br />
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Day One: I am grateful for the love of reading. My eldest daughter is sitting on the couch right now re-reading a book that I bought with my own money as a teenager, that somehow made it back to this house. My kids have different reading speeds and levels, but all of them will happily sit down with a book and escape reality for a brief time. I have always learned my most important lessons from books, and I am glad to have passed that down to the minions.<br />
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Day Two: I am grateful for Cosplay. I have always been really into costuming, ever since I was little. I liked to pick obscure characters and re-create them to the best of my ability constantly. I dressed up every year for Halloween and was the spearhead for my group of friends to follow me around and trick or treat, up until we turned 18. I never really understood my fanaticism for costuming, until a couple years ago I fell into the world of Cosplay on the internet. I no longer feel ashamed of my intense love of creating costumes and characters, and instead go for it with all the enthusiasm that I've always wanted to. Everyone has their little obsessions: some are about sports teams, some about movies, or videogames: one of mine is costuming and there is nothing wrong with that. I have found community in costuming and feel that I am an encouragement to others who want to costume and craft as well. The husband has entered into this world as well, through the making of props and his constant support. It's a world I am happy to be a part of. <br />
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Day Three: I am grateful for insomnia and the madness it creates to craft, write, and exercise my brain. I am grateful for the extra time it makes for me to be myself and not solely exist as a wife, mother, and homeschooler. Now if I could just not crash every few days, it would be a lot more convenient.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthkO2L3an92fwe7VscZdd0bCF49HS9A-X1szVGo9fHfUfmg4xz0sZbdcsvAyUxLVlF53tDKaWtuuQB2QKUFe_8ZJ8zYDPq8D__VViviCYSpB8HIHdTe8Gt9O0zLKjMyb0UCW_EcuZFqdE/s1600/DSC08294.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthkO2L3an92fwe7VscZdd0bCF49HS9A-X1szVGo9fHfUfmg4xz0sZbdcsvAyUxLVlF53tDKaWtuuQB2QKUFe_8ZJ8zYDPq8D__VViviCYSpB8HIHdTe8Gt9O0zLKjMyb0UCW_EcuZFqdE/s400/DSC08294.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bonus Picture: A Lachlan in a Box</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-36873611511808493992013-08-27T22:53:00.000-07:002013-08-27T22:53:13.268-07:00InspirationI started listening to this lovely song by Pink, that someone did a music video to (I am not sure of the original person). I was admiring how their relationship was so innocent and unassuming and quickly blossomed into something more. I was considering using this as an inspiration video to write about Elf and Zara when the end of the video BROKE MY HEART IN HALF. I mean really. If you stop it at 2:00 and forget the rest, okay, but otherwise, NOPE. <br />
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glVVfddl9Uo">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=glVVfddl9Uo</a>Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-10754510745400631732013-08-13T23:34:00.001-07:002013-08-13T23:34:36.932-07:00When Art Imitates Life<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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***</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He pulled a corner of the blanket off his face and peered into the faintly lit room. The shadows indicated the
light was from within. He rolled over and saw a candle burning on
the small nightstand by Zarabethe's bed. The night elf was hunched
over a pile of scrolls and two open books, scribbling furiously on a
separate parchment. He sat up and glanced outside: it was still
full dark, although the dawn would be upon them soon.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Zara, have you been up all night?”
he mumbled, his mouth still full of sleep. She didn't even glance
his way.</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No.” She stopped writing long
enough to run one finger along a line of words in one of the books,
her lips moving silently as she read them to herself. “There's
still night left.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He groaned and flopped back down on the
bed, pulling the blanket over him again.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Go to bed, Zarabethe, you can do
that in the morning,” he grumbled.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I will shortly,” came her
distracted answer. Giving up, Elforen stuck his head under the
pillow and sought sleep. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
***</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This scene has happened so often in our house I can't even count it anymore. </div>
Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-3218759766374974072013-06-21T10:22:00.000-07:002013-06-21T10:22:37.790-07:00Dream SequenceI really don't have anything inspiring to put on here right now, so I'm going to share a dream sequence I'm messing with for an original story I'm working on. Maybe it will motivate me to pick one of these many projects swimming around in my documents folder and actually complete it o.O .<br />
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***</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Solid grey walls assault my eyes. They
are meant to be neutral, impartial, completely forgettable in a time
of dire distress. They are my clearest memory of that day. Plain
grey cement walls, grey with grey paint, no trim, nothing to break up
their monopolization of the hallway except plain grey doors with
silver handles. Light grey tiles on the floor slightly longer than
my foot, arranged into squares like my grandmother's quilt. It is
amazing the thoughts that flit into my mind in this impossible task.
I am awash in the lack of colour, I am adrift in the surreality of
the moment. The soft click of my boots against the floor is the
loudest sound in existence. It almost drowns out the sound of
weeping in one of the closed rooms. Is it to my left or right? Does
it matter?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The detective in front of me is
Hispanic, with a kind, intelligent face, today set only to grim. He
walks at a normal pace, that I match easily, but the hallway seems to
go on into infinity. In the ignorance that exists in living through
a memory, I start to feel uneasy. The hallway is too long. The doors
are too wide apart, in too large of number. I try to take bigger
steps, but I feel resistance against my legs, and I don't gain any
distance. I try to look down to see if my skirt is perhaps caught on
my legs, but I can't move my head. I can only look forward, walk the
same pace, follow these footsteps again. Again.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The uneasiness blooms into a flower of
panic in my head. I've done this before. My breath seems to be the
only thing I can directly influence, and I start to breathe too fast.
I look ahead, and finally I see an end to the hallway, a door that I
am intended to pass through. A door that I cannot pass through. The
sound of my footsteps echoes so loud in my ears that I want to slap
my hands over my ears. The muffled crying increases, seeps under the
cracks of every room. The grey of the walls presses into me
oppressively. I am sweating. The detective is oblivious to my
discontent: he seems to be trapped in this repeating scenario
without self-awareness. The door slowly grows closer, and inside my
head, I start to scream. I yank, pull, wrench with all my might to
force my body to stop walking, to end this torturous slow-motion
parade. I might as well throw feathers at a steam roller. I
continue to shriek in my head: nonsensical, mental manifestations of
terror, a last resort after all efforts to free oneself have failed.
I am hyperventilating, and tears start to gather in my eyes from the
rebellion I am waging against my body. We have almost reached the
door, and the detective turns towards me with concern on his face.
He can see my wet cheeks, my too-fast breath. He gently pats my arm,
but cannot do anything. We are both locked in this nightmare.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Stopwalkingstopwalkingstopwalkingstopwalkingstopwalkingstopwalkingstopwalking</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It all runs together as one word, a holy chant to ward off evil.
Evil is indifferent.</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Don'topenthedoordon'topenthedoordon'topenthedoordon'topenthedoor
DON'T. OPEN. THE. DOOR.
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
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</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The detective swings open the door
silently to a room filled with more grey. The wails of suffering,
having reached a crescendo, are abruptly cut off as the door shuts
behind us with a dull thud. There are different kinds of grey in
this room: the dull metallic grey of steel. Dark grey plastic bags.
Grey cotton scrubs, even grey sprinkling the heads of the
technicians as they mill around a table set up in the center of the
room. There appears to be some kind of arguing going on, but my
attention has zeroed in on the zipper in the middle of the bag on the
table. There is something wrong with the bag: it seems too loose
and empty for the devastation it contains. Now that I am through the
door, I am ignored, and I am as trapped in the sequence as the
detective was before. I watch in gaping horror as I step behind the
personnel having a terse discussion and put my hand on the zipper. I
draw it back, and this time my scream rips apart the veil between all
worlds and shatters the night.</div>
Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-35419341880155572232013-05-20T01:28:00.000-07:002013-05-20T12:04:09.245-07:00Les Miserables<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sometime in high school, (right around
the time I started performing with American Kids) I became obsessed
with musicals. I had many favorites (one of the top ones being
Phantom of the Opera) but by far the winner in my book was Les
Miserables. I was so enamored with this musical that I checked out
the dilapidated 1000 page text from our tiny school library and
bullied my way through it. Let me tell you: that is a hard book to
push through, even as obsessed as I was with the story. There were
beautiful parts, yes, but there was also a lot of French Revolution
politics that I had no clue about, and French is not really my
language anyway, and a lot of the context was hard to understand.
But still, I made myself finish it, and as a reward for being the
first one to check out the book in decades, the librarian let me keep
it. (I still have it. Used it as a prop in a musical I was in)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As everyone is likely to do, I picked a
character I identified with. Not the love interest, of course, that
was too easy. Too pure of heart and unrealistic for me to model
after. No, no one but the tragic Queen of Unrequited Love would do,
Eponine. I lived and breathed the words of every bit and major part
she sung, but especially On My Own. It was an anthem of sorts: I
never expected to be anything but lonely anyway, and at least she had
someone to dream after, and later give her life for. What can I say,
I was a teenager, and Eponine was a self-centered teenager's tragic
heroine. All she wanted was love, and she gave everything up for
love, only to briefly glimpse it at the end. Beautiful and poetic.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There were other songs that I dearly
loved as well. The rallying notes of Enjolras and the other
revolutionaries stirred by blood, and Thernardier and Mme.
Thernardier were delightfully sinful. And of course, I Dreamed a
Dream was heart-wrenching as well, but I realize now I just never
really understood it. Intellectually, I could imagine having loved,
and lost, and regretting having your innocence stolen, but it was a
concept that was as distant to me as playing the Leading Lady. I had
never before experienced first love, childbirth, or even sex before,
and how devastatingly powerful each of these is on the heart.
Fantine's story was sad, yes, but I was convinced Eponine was the
true tragic heroine.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tonight I watched the movie of Les
Miserable for the first time. I hadn't really listened to or thought
of this musical in 11 or 12 years. After all, I was living my own,
very real love story and there was no need to bury myself in borrowed
emotions. I went in with high hopes: I knew the downfalls of the
original musical (really, does anyone just talk in this world?
Without bursting into song?) and was prepared to just immerse myself
in the story and fall in love with it once again. Maybe even relive
a bit of my adolescence.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What happened took me by surprise. The
character of Eponine had lost almost all of her glamour. I still
indulged in singing along with On My Own, and the actress herself did
a decent job, but the part of Fantine just absolutely blew me away.
Part of it I'm sure was the talent of Anne Hathaway. I have yet to
see her fudge any role that she has taken. More than anything
though, I viewed her character through the lens of age and
experience. Now that I have children, I could feel the pain and
desperation as she gave everything she could to ensure the life of
her child. A child, that most likely drove away her first love, that
she gave up her entire life to give everything to. A child that she
loved unconditionally because she was innocent. I knew without a
doubt that I would give everything that Fantine gave and more if it
meant that my children would live one more day. No matter how much
pain she was in or how she was humiliated she was steadfast and true
and her heart was directed solely at Cosette. The sacrifice of
Fantine brought me to my knees, as it should everyone that sees it,
and it took years for me to realize this.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
This tale is another medium that shows
how deeply strong and profoundly humbled one is by giving birth. You
tear off a piece of your heart and you nurture it to grow, and you
are changed forever by it. As pretty and poetic romantic love may
be, a mother's love is steadfast and unbreaking, it never gives, it
never hesitates, it never regrets. It is a mature love that is
equipped to weather the storm of life and come out on the other side.
It was a reminder that I needed to see tonight.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-50923245604266938002013-03-11T17:58:00.004-07:002013-03-11T17:58:34.627-07:00Kindling a Fire of Music<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today, I picked up a recorder and blew
a few notes.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
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<br />
</div>
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<br />
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</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A recorder is a very basic, beginning
instrument, requiring little skill and talent to produce a simple
tune. They are usually used in classrooms around 4<sup>th</sup>
grade to introduce children to the fundamentals of creating music.
For some it is nothing more than a past-time, and simple thing to
learn and reproduce the sound asked of them. They put it down and
carry on, continuing to appreciate music at a distance . For others,
it is a trigger. A small glance into a world of possibilities. A
fire maybe, and a desire to learn more.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have not played music in over 10
years. I was able to participate in a choir in church for a short
time a few years ago, and that was a small slice of heaven in
adversity. Singing was once my passion, and I was reminded of it as
I lifted my voice, in however small a way.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I have wanted nothing more than to have
children that had talent to sing. I have wanted it so badly that
hearing other children sing instantly brought tears to my eyes and I
couldn't listen anymore. I have been trying very hard not to project
my own desires on the children and just let them grow and be
themselves. I would never want them to think that they had
disappointed me by not having musical talent. I know it's something
that is inborn more than learned, and I don't want them to think that
they would ever be not perfect in my eyes. So I have waited. I know
that I taught myself to sing, and taught myself the beginnings of
music and theory. I have always played music, and we have sung silly
songs together, and I try to not be nervous to sing in front of them.
Always listened, always paid attention, trying to catch snatches of
them singing to themselves, hoping that I will one day hear one of
them lift their voice in song and feel that fire as well.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I think however, that I am approaching
this wrong. I have been able to ignore music for years without it
bothering me, but as soon as I was able to reproduce a simple tune on
a simple instrument, my heart ached for 11 years of silence. It
took a great amount of effort to return the recorder to its box and
continue with the nightly banality of supper. I think I need to take
that fire, and start it. It will be up to them to kindle it within
themselves, but I think we need to jump in and try it out and see if
it catches.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For all my love of homeschooling and
curriculum and gathering materials for the kids to learn both from
me, and themselves, I have not even once tried to plan out music
lessons. In fact it was my husband that insisted we get the
recorder for the kids to try. I have almost no resources at my
disposal besides that recorder, a box of percussion instruments, a
dilapidated piano, and a guitar that I can barely play. And my
voice. But I have decided not to ignore that need to create music.
I will take out my guitar, and however long it takes, get it tuned.
I will print out music and practice and teach them and show them, and
we will sing together and feel the exquisite conjunction of notes
sounded at the right time, in the right order, and the right pitch. </div>
Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-64814928778664694762013-01-08T23:38:00.000-08:002013-01-08T23:45:54.738-08:00Invincibility, or How We Grow Braver As We AgeLast night I was reading the latest flavour in Young Adult
Dystopian Romance literature on my library list. (Yes, that is a
genre now.) It was Matched and Crossed by Ally Condie, by the way. It
was pretty decent, not the best I've read, but enough to pass the
time. As my littles fell asleep one by one and it was time to put the
book down for the night, my mind buzzed with several questions. They
were not, I'm sure, the ones that the author wished to stir in my
brain: I was not pre-occupied with nanny-states, how much control is
too much, or what freedoms would you give up to be guaranteed comfort
and moderate happiness.
<br />
<br />
My thoughts, as I was turning the lights off and tucking blankets
around little snoring bodies, were dancing around the idea that once
you hit your teenage years, (approximately the ages of 15-18), you
feel invincible. You are finally starting to understand the world,
and the little knowledge you have, plus an amazing confidence that
you can do anything you set your mind to, explodes in your body and
nothing can get you down. You can be faced with a life or death
situation, and you can confidently make a choice, knowing that
somehow everything will work out. This is the only time in your life
that you can be this bold. You are convinced that the world is made
for you to experience it. Naivete can be a very dangerous thing, but
in this time it is an advantage. You have not truly met failure yet:
in fact sometimes you wonder if it even exists.
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You don't start off this confident. As
a baby you are completely dependent on your parental figures with no
abilities of your own. Slowly you become more independent, but only
in your own little protected world. Yes, at the age of 11, you can
probably fix your own (if meager) meals, amuse yourself with various
media (books, tv, games, etc...), dress yourself, put yourself to
bed, clean up your own mess, even briefly watch over a younger
sibling or a pet. In your small world, this is utter independence.
But it is when you grow into a teenager that you start to gain your
confidence in the outside world. It's your first trial run as an
adult, and you can't lose.
</div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The invincibility is imagined, of
course. Teenagers die every day: some from accidents, some from bad
choices, some intentional. But in some ways, believing is doing:
there are stories every day about teenagers who do amazing things
that no one could have survived. I personally follow the idea that
if you believe something enough, it is real. Either because your
faith made it exist, or because it existed all along. But I digress.
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Sometime as you stumble along in this
bubble of awesome, a person usually experiences their first love.
Not just a crush, but an actual love requiring interaction between
two individuals, no matter how brief. And this is where the first
crack appears. <br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Imagine your heart in an idealistic
fashion for a moment. A red, 3-dimensional puffy heart, completely
encased with a golden, glowing shield. This is a teenager's heart.
Your heart is strong, whole, proud, but it is also slightly immature.
The first time you love, you have to open yourself up to
vulnerability. You can't experience love if it is locked away inside
a golden orb. You have to cut open your shield. As the shield is so
closely connected to your heart, you end up cutting your heart a
little, too. This wound, although painful to the touch, also allows
you to love, and to bond. Your partner's heart, which has also been
cut open, presses up against yours, and between the two they staunch
the flow, and eventually tissue grows over both hearts and together
you are invincible. <br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It is a different kind though: you are
dependent on the other. Being alone reopens the wound. Together it
grows back together, and you are strong, but you now have a weakness.
Now let's say this love is not meant to be, and both hearts
permanently rip apart. Your heart does eventually heal. Your shield
is mostly intact, but there is a scar running directly down the
middle. You feel a little weaker, a little more vulnerable, but a
lot more wiser than you have ever been. You know pain now, internal
pain that no medicine but time can touch, and you can deal with it.
You can be brave about your weakness, and act in spite of it. <br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Time marches on, and your heart beats
strong. Maybe it meets up with a few more hearts, connecting and
then ripping apart. It hurts, it always does, but it heals into a
scar, and you keep going. One day you meet the heart that matches
perfectly with yours, and they connect in a new and solid way. But
for the first time, you feel your invincibility is truly compromised:
there will never be a time again when you only have yourself to
worry about. You will always keep an open wound held tightly closed
with someone else's heart. You need their love like you never needed
anything before. So you take your weakness, and you accept it, and
you grow a little braver about it. You know you can be hurt, but you
step forward into life anyway, knowing that it is a little more
precious now that you have someone else to live for. <br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For some, that is the pinnacle of the
story. It is enough to love someone and to be loved in return, and
walk hand in hand to eternity. But for many, it doesn't end there.
Your heart changes again.<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You take your heart, and out of the
strongest, purest part, you cut a piece off of it. You bind it with
a piece of your partner's heart, and it grows into a child. Their
heart blossoms, new, innocent, beaming with love and beauty. Your
heart is permanently missing a piece, but it is not gone, just moved.
To compensate, your heart swells bigger and more brilliant than
before, but it always strains towards the missing parts. With each
new child, you cut one more piece out, and create more love. But
never again will you play with the idea of invincibility. Your
shield has vanished: your heart outgrew it when it pushed past its
borders to protect and love the piece that had flown away. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As a
result, you are more brave than you have ever been. You willingly
put yourself in front of objects, ideas, or people that would harm
the little pieces of your heart that have broken free to live on
their own. Even when you are the most vulnerable you have ever been,
and you stand to lose more than ever before, you are a soldier, a
warrior, a surrogate shield and protector. You do not take so much
as a minute to consider your bravery: your actions are instinctual,
and as old as the oldest soul born into the world. But even as you
step more cautiously through life, careful to keep watch on all your
scattered pieces, guarding their own vulnerability until their own
shields grow, you live with more love, compassion, and emotion than
you ever thought your little heart could handle. That's because it
has grown, through its experiences, into more than you ever could
possibly be alone. Your strength lies not in your defenses, but in the sheer power of your love. It is this love that carries us up and over the scars and wounds torn in our heart and sustains us, and by default our family, through the ups and downs of life, until it is time to lay your heart to rest. It rests depleted and sated, and having given its all, now lays down and slumbers with no regrets. The pieces, now grown into mature hearts of their own, are possibly bonded with others, or even creating their own pieces to carry the love on. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
They are the legacy of your first injury, the first time you questioned your invincibility and cut your heart open to allow another in. They are the progeny of your first act of true bravery. </div>
<br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-61802253837519105702012-12-31T22:13:00.002-08:002012-12-31T22:13:37.567-08:00Snapshots of Our New Year's EveMark made cinnamon rolls for everyone for a New Year's treat. Four cans, not one left. <br />
<br />
Lilith spent the entire time curled up with her Nook (a Christmas present from my mother) reading the 4th and then the 5th Percy Jackson book.<br />
<br />
Logan was playing bunnies and itty bitty tea party with Ivy on the table, while Gryphon moped in the corner because he didn't have any masculine-type games to play with someone. Rowan and Ivy also spent a lot of the evening building houses for said bunnies with the duplos. <br />
<br />
Lachlan had found his Frodo and a dragon, and Frodo was riding a dragon around the house. Now, I really didn't expect Lachlan to ever play with Frodo: but everyone else got a LOTR figure based on their Halloween costume, and I didn't want him to be left out. So I am pleased that he knows it's his and plays with it sometimes. Frodo was later dropped for Seraphyna's My Little Ponies.<br />
<br />
Seraphyna got jazzed off the sugar from the cinnamon rolls and ran around shrieking and chewing on random things. She also threw all of Ivy's baby dolls out of the toy bed and climbed in herself, chattering to the remaining inhabitants. <br />
<br />
At one point I glanced in the boys' room and saw Logan holding Batman, who was now wielding Aragorn's sword. I'm sure he would be unstoppable. <br />
<br />
Right before bedtime Logan and Gryphon reconciled, and re-enacted the choosing of the wands from Harry Potter, after first dumping two rooms' worth of costumes on the floor to find robes. <br />
<br />
Right now it is 12:11am, and I am cuddling a Seraphyna who is having trouble staying asleep due to snot. Mark lasted until 11:21, then headed to bed. He is also sick, and had been trying to fall asleep for at least an hour. Rowan had a nightmare and is now curled up in his Avenger's blanket in here and passed back out. Lachlan fell asleep before Mark went to bed. Now if i can just get Seraphyna laid down, we'll all snooze into the New Year. Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-57114159727823821152012-12-07T09:13:00.001-08:002012-12-07T09:15:41.803-08:00Meanwhile in AzerothSo there's this guy. He goes by Frostheim and he's basically the Patron Saint of Hunters Everywhere on WoW. He writes for WoW Insider <a href="http://wow.joystiq.com/">http://wow.joystiq.com/</a> and runs a massive hunter community site <a href="http://www.warcrafthuntersunion.com/">http://www.warcrafthuntersunion.com/</a>. He does amazing theorycrafting work and his posts are the ones I go to when I need help with aspects of the game. He enjoys writing songs to glorify the hunter class, and recently ran a kickstarter so he could hire someone to help do an entire album of hunter songs. They more than met their goal, and one of the songs promised was a hunter love song. Okay, I admit: I was a little disappointed when he chose the platonic love between a hunter and their pet. But the song is really well done and best of all: at the last minute, for the video, he decided to feature the vast hunter community and their favorite pets. I am fortunate to follow Frostheim on twitter, and saw him put up the ad for hunter screenshots. Although I would have loved to have taken the time to make a really artistic screenshot with a neat coordinating outfit, I found a good picture of Zarabethe in a decent transmog outfit and her blue dragonhawk, Cerulean (along with the matching companion pet). Cerulean is special to me, because I really wanted a blue dragonhawk to match the blue dragonhawk mount I just got for getting 100 mounts. It was a lot of work, and I knew I would show off my mount more if I had a coordinating pet. The only place to tame a blue dragonhawk is in the Sunwell, a Burning Crusade era raid. Just because it is a BC raid however, did not mean it was easy: we literally had to go in, Elforen (husband) would pull everything and keep them off of me and pray we both lived long enough for me to tame one. It took a couple tries. But we got it, and I proudly flaunted my dragonhawk trio all over (until some other shiny pet caught my eye....ahem). Anyway, I was excited to see Zara and Cerulean in the video for the song! I couldn't remember if the names had been turned off or not, and I knew he wouldn't use it if the names were on, so it was a little iffy, but I squealed out loud when I saw them on it :). Without further ado, the Hunter Love Song by Frostheim and Balthazar.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/TeIGCHmS500">http://youtu.be/TeIGCHmS500</a><br />
<br />
(Zara and Cerulean are at about :56)<br />
<br />
(original post on WHU <a href="http://www.warcrafthuntersunion.com/2012/12/til-the-servers-shut-down-hunter-love-song/">http://www.warcrafthuntersunion.com/2012/12/til-the-servers-shut-down-hunter-love-song/</a> )Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-40811328517582029382012-11-15T08:50:00.001-08:002012-11-15T08:50:05.948-08:00Day Fifteen: CoffeeI am thankful for the coffee, because without the coffee things wouldn't get done around here at all :). And by extension, Starbucks Peppermint Mochas. NOM.Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-38002527264551648322012-11-14T07:38:00.003-08:002012-11-14T07:41:42.195-08:00Days Twelve, Thirteen, FourteenDay 12: I am grateful for my sister, Jenny, with whom I have a 100 inside jokes and we actually enjoy the sight of each other, unlike a lot of siblings. We are alike enough to hang out and not kill each other, and different enough that we are not monotonous. <br />
<br />
Day 13: I am grateful for kind cashiers at Walmart who rush out and give you the item you scraped change together to buy and then in the bustle of getting children out, forgot to pick up. I'm grateful for my Walmart in general, actually. Unlike most Walmarts that I've heard of, mine is personable, and the people who work there are kind and know us all if not by name, at least by sight. Our local grocery store is not nice at all, and we get more glares and nasty under-breath comments there than we have anywhere else. Even though they have better produce and meat, I try to only go there a few times a month for groceries due to the hostile environment. <br />
<br />
Day 14: I am grateful for the landlady calling the plumber in a timely fashion and that there will be one here this afternoon, because HOLY LORD do I smell and I need a shower :D. <br />
<br />
EDIT: WOO I hit 10,000 words! A little slower than I would have liked, but still, an accomplishment!Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-86385751885612568052012-11-12T01:08:00.000-08:002012-11-12T01:08:05.747-08:00The Last Few DaysSo, I've missed a few days. On the upside though, several of them have been missed to writing. I'm getting so much done, and I'm thrilled with it. Now if I can just balance the housework in again, everything would be peachy. So I'll try to catch up briefly while Lachlan sings along with Dory on Finding Nemo.<br />
<br />
Day Eight: I am grateful for such a beautifully mild fall so far. Even after the chill of this morning, I can still appreciate barely having to run my heater at all. And on that note:<br />
<br />
Day Nine: I am grateful for a house full of warm bodies. Even today, with a high of 54 degrees and a very chill wind, the warmth of the children playing plus a little help from the oven cooking supper was all we needed to warm our house. I didn't have to turn the heater on until after everyone went to bed and the temperature had dropped below freezing outside. <br />
<br />
Day Ten: I am grateful for a new church full of new friends. We have been welcomed warmly and it already feels like home. <br />
<br />
Day Eleven: I am grateful for 4 lb, 4 oz tiny skinny newborns stretching up into great, hulking, ten year olds, that go off to a friend's house by themselves to play video games with barely a goodbye wave and no apprehensions. And no, that was not a tear in my eye. *sniff*Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6888802511561939997.post-57221457342352912922012-11-07T19:51:00.001-08:002012-11-07T23:08:09.908-08:00Day Seven: PatienceI am thankful my husband has the patience of a saint. (At least as far as his wife goes). Because I am a crazy, crazy, woman who needs lots of patience :).Melly Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15983112550791826559noreply@blogger.com1