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Sometime you have to rebuild it to make them come.

Middle of the week. I feel sort of like I haven’t done much this past week. The major reason for that is two crippling migraines since last Friday. The first I had for over twenty-four hours and then I had one on Tuesday that had me pulling my blankets over my head and sleeping most of the day. I’m actually beginning to wonder if Ricardo Montalban didn’t put a worm in my ear while I slept.

Amidst watching Vampire Diaries, Kitchen Nightmares and SourceFed I have managed to get a little writing done and a scarce amount of reading. I did make another 30 in 30 list for this month. That is where I make a list of thirty books of varying genres and assortment of authors to see if I can’t read a little out of the box in the coming month. A few books choices are Escape From Camp 14 by Blaine Harden, Unremembered by Jessica Brody, January First by Michael Schofield, Obsession by Jennifer L. Armentrout, and Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card. I always start out really strong and then newer books start to come out and I lose focus. Last time I read nineteen of them. That, unfortunately is the best I have done with it.

A small update about writing I have been working on… I scrapped the majority of the first six chapters that I had written for the first book of the Soul Wars. I have a working title for it and that title is Murmur of Souls. I was pretty happy with what I had before. As I wrote further into the story I began to see major issues between personalities, plot development and character support. I really burned my bacon trying to figure out how to make it work in a way that it would set up the second book and give this one some sort of intriguing end. I wrote out what I wanted as the goal of this book, how it would come about and actually worked backward from that. I also made a good sized list of names that weren’t so exotic and would feel more natural. It didn’t hurt that the newer names felt more intimate then the overly complicated I was discarding.

From that foundation I rewrote the prologue and first chapter so far. I more or less tossed the initial passiveness of Min and showed a lot more of her interactions with her friends and family. I felt this was missing in the first attempt and it left you with a watery character which bled into Min having a lack of personality. I have also changed the dynamic of her relationship with Jet to make it more combative. No relationship is more intriguing than two people who are stuck with one another and can’t stand each other. I feel like this will play out much better than what was there before.

Min and her brother chapter 1.
Excerpt:

[Min]“Okay thanks, Mr. Adderly, for that Doomsday report. I am going to refrain from drinking the Kool-Aid.”
My brother’s lips tilted up before growing into a shit eating grin. He leaned over to my ear and stage whispered, “You are lucky to have me even if I have taken on a little Jim Jones overtones. You my little Padawan learner have been groomed for this sort of youthful Apocalypse. Which horse are you going to ride?”
“Cults, Star Wars and The Book of Revelations. My, my, Michael, are we preparing for a chance on Jeopardy?”

I spent a little time looking at the first chapter of le Cirque this morning. I wrote le Cirque in third person and when I did it I felt pretty secure in it. When I took some time away from it and then saw it anew, second eyes and all, I began to be nervous about that choice. I feel pretty strongly now that since this is Meridan’s story it would be better if it were in first person. Giving depth to the narrative that presently feels incomplete. The very thought of going through this story and re-hauling it feels pretty overwhelming. Most of the time I think this sort of thing and then I am blown away at the ease that I find myself making changes once I actually start writing. I hope this will be the case rewriting this.

Meridan and Verity while they are still in the Central. Third Person:
“I am imagining that the small girl to the left in brown ringlets will be training hard before her next performance”, Meridan spoke quietly. Verity looked and made a sympathetic face. “It is so hard at that age. You are all arms and legs. Well I assume that is how it was for most everyone else. I was always was pretty close to perfect.” Meridan nodded watching still. Verity was a good friend, although she believed herself to be better than most everyone else.
They stood silently until the end of the performance. The young girls left the platform and Legion Leader Martelle who choreographed the dances stepped forward to announce the next performance. As he walked back to his place to observe, Meridan saw him receive a note and watched his face as he read it and his look as he raised his eyes to the young girl Verity and she had spoken about. Meridan felt more unrest in her heart because she knew that that missive held an audit from one of the Legion males regarding her performance. That note could be telling Leader Martelle to discard her and that made Meridan feel sick.
“She is being evaluated”, Verity said sadly, seeing the same thing as Meridan.
“It’s not good”, Meridan agreed with the weight of Verity’s tone.
“Have you seen her perform before?” Verity asked.
“I’m sure I have but to me she has been unremarkable before tonight.”
“It would be unfortunate if this is her first unsteady night and it still came down to discard her. Maybe I should have helped her train. I have always been so very good.” Verity stated. She continued, “No one gets a second chance with the Legion audits.”

Same Part with First Person Perspective:
“I’m thinking that the small girl to the left with brown ringlets will be training hard before her next performance”. My voice was low and quiet as not to draw attention. Verity looked at the performers with as much sympathy as she could muster. “It is so hard at that age. You’re all arms and legs. Well I assume that is how it was for all the rest of you.” Her lips pursed and she squinted and flinched at another mistake. “I was always pretty close to perfect compared to you and the others.” I nodded at her since any other response would be lost on her. Verity was a good friend, but she was so full of herself I wasn’t sure if it was comical or irritating.
We stood silently side-by-side until the end of the performance. The young girls left the platform and Legion Leader Martelle, who choreographed the dances, stepped forward to announce the next performance. When he walked back to his place to observe, I watched him receive a note. He nodded his head as he read it. His dark eyes sought the girl who had trouble. I felt my heart squeeze painfully because I knew that that piece of paper held an audit from one of the Legion males regarding the young girl’s performance. That memo could be telling Leader Martelle to discard her and that made sickness cramp my stomach.
“She is being evaluated”, Verity said sadly. She was seeing the same thing I was. “It’s not good”, I replied, matching Verity’s tone.
“Have you seen her perform before?” she asked.
I shook my head and said, “I’m sure I have she’s been unremarkable before tonight.”
“It would be unfortunate if this is her first off night and it still came down to discard her. Maybe I could have helped her train. I have always been the most talented.” Verity stated. She shrugged. “No one gets a second chance with the Legion audits.”

Well that is where I am. This weekend is Memorial Day and I have plans to spend it with D. That means no writing for me. I think I may spend my free time reading some books. Maybe my next post will be a book critique.

Thanks for reading. <3

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He’s a Bad, Bad Man

What could be more beautiful than a beautiful day? A beautiful bad boy. Admit it… girls can’t resist a guy who is bad news. It’s not a new thing, romanticizing the kind of fellow mother’s warn against has a long history. Whether it is the power to manipulate a situation or a take no prisoners type showing weakness. Something about it just makes the blood pump to all those places a good girl shouldn’t even know about.

There is a fine line between the hope for good that could be found in a boy gone wrong and evil that knows no bounds. Something is sexy about a sassy comeback, arrogance and flair for danger. Every snarky word and hot and cold behavior is like honey. The craving exists to taste it. Guys like that should be illegal and knowing that creates the desire to break the rules. No matter how many times it gets under the skin, makes teeth grind or redefines the word asshole in the dictionary, the need builds for more and more. Go away, far away, but not too far before you comeback.

There is the other side of that… the heartless and cold bastard that is just evil. Pre-meditatively committing the worst depravity, twisting situations until they are out of control. Pure malevolence is not hot. The worst of the worst is incapable of redemption. No matter how alluring that is supposed to be it just produces the creeps. The sadistic desire to enslave others and make them complicit to the same brand of morals defies humanity that most stories actually need to leave the reader feeling satisfied at the end. This kind of villain might be capable of having a change of heart, but waiting for it probably isn’t worth it.

Movies, TV and books have witnessed many levels of bad-assery. James Dean in Rebel Without A Cause, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Shakespeare’s Romeo, Tony Stark from Ironman, Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Han Solo, Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl, The Princess Bride’s Westley, Robin Hood, Dexter, Holden Caulfield from the Catcher in the Rye, Edmund from Mansfield Park, and I would be ashamed if I didn’t add my book boyfriend Jace Wayland, they are all provocative so they slip under the radar while irritation or suspicion stirs the blood. The unknown and mysterious leaves readers susceptible. Those are few good examples but fiction is heavy with sexy guys who inflame curiosity just being their impossible selves. Rhett Butler’s careless nonchalance, Heathcliff’s too human flaws, Pacey’s dry wit, Will Hunting’s blue collar mad intelligence, Mr. Darcy’s derision, there isn’t just one formula that goes into the birth of making a bad boy bad. The truth though is that the result is the same, they are mouth wateringly irresistible.

My mom likes to tell me that I wasn’t like other kids and I never really cared what other people thought. This grew into a quiet disregard for the boys that towed the line. I liked them to have longer than acceptable hair, to talk back to the teacher and it was always a plus if they were some sort of artist. A guy with a vocabulary has always made my heart flutter. Just remembering back to my wee younger years makes me think of Angelo, the new kid in seventh grade who had an Italian accent, one of those long strips in the back of his hair that we called a “tail”, and he knew all the current events which made him a great partner in Social Studies. I started early… yet to come was Brendan, the eighth grader who asked me to let him feel me up during recess, I didn’t. Pat who was in the S.E.D education program who came to my house to get drunk and make out in my closet. Darren the awesome new wave music fan who stumped my mom when he asked, “to wet his palate” the one time he came for dinner. And then there was Mark, Beckett, Will, Ian, John, Luther, Jeremy and Matt… all musicians.

All of them helped fuel my imagination. But before any of them got to influence me I tried my hand at writing a few fictions in middle school. One of them was about a group of homeless kids who didn’t fit in. (I know, never been done before, huh?) I only vaguely remember the names of the characters but there was a girl named Ariane and a bad boy named Remi. Although I had read a lot, writing was incredibly different. I might have only got to page fifteen and those were handwritten pages, so I guess it would be like three or four typed. I tried, but he wasn’t a success in anyway. I think my mom has boxes of poems, journals, short stories and rants I wrote between elementary school and high school, somewhere in her basement. I remember having a real flair for the dramatic.

After that I had a few creative writing assignments with boys who were pretty watery on the naughty side. Mastering a male character that has a good balance of both positive and negative qualities isn’t simple. It’s too easy to make a good guy look like he should be wearing girly panties or out of character if you make him have one angry outburst. Even more difficult is making a regular guy have that “it” factor. Personalities who are too humorous or even too serious often come off as flat. While really good characterization works best with a little bit of “I joke so you don’t know the real me”, you can also make him feel deflective and shallow. Balancing it is important. Sooner or later you have to give that guy a moment of weakness or he just won’t feel real. In my writing this only developed with time.

Some of the best YA/NA books that I have read in the last year are successful with wayward males because their rebels make you want to take a walk on the wildside. Danger and trouble is written all over many of these guys from the introduction and you just can’t help but wan’t to know how they work. The compulsion to see them meet their match spurs you on.

One of my favorite douchebag boyfriends is Daemon Black from Jennifer L. Armentrout’s Lux series. You get bits and pieces of why he is like he is throughout the series, you see that he has the ability to be tender and sensitive, but you don’t want him to be. A great deal of enjoyment comes from listening to his smart-ass mouth and you want more and more. The series is on the third book and the evolution of his character makes me love him a little more with every dipshit remark. But the best thing about him is he becomes so much more dimensional through time. Seeing him be a vulnerable jack-ass is a beautiful thing.

Wendy Higgin’s Kaidan Rowe is another naughty boy that makes you fan yourself reading his parts and need a shower after finishing the book. The Sweet books are a paranormal series and Kaiden Rowe is pure sin. He is a creature of temptation; he likes to tempt others and allow temptation to guide him. In everything he says, how he moves, the way he lives, he is the embodiment of seduction. If that isn’t enough that he is volatile, dangerous and his very existence threatens the virtue of every woman he meets. Watching him develop morality is intriguing. When his confessions finally come they don’t create a sense of deficiency, it shows that he has redirected his seduction and it makes him more desirable.

That is the real key to any character, the capacity for depth… giving a bad boy dimensions allows him to control his reader. And if a book doesn’t inspire you to finish it, then reading becomes a chore. Heroes, anti-heroes, villains, tragic figures and vengeful beings who have the ability to touch something inside you so that you can see their motivations, feelings, desires, hopes and dreams, move anyone that reads of them to wish for their redemption.

Below is a little piece I wrote from le Cirque with Xiah, Meridan, and my bad boy–Misha.

Meridan chuckled. “I would have to be desperate to crawl into bed with you and Verity.”
“Oh? Is there a chance you would crawl into my bed without her?” Misha asked one eyebrow raised.
Xiah threw another cloth at him and said, “You have no chance at all with her. She doesn’t accept used and throw away items.”
Meridan smiled to herself listening to them. She found another one of her skirts. Did Verity not have any clothes of her own? And why was it that Meridan never noticed any of her things gone?
“I’m not a throw away item!” Misha scoffed.
Meridan laughed, “Are you admitting you have been used?” Xiah’s head was shaking while his chuckle joined Meridan’s.
Misha quipped, “Used but always cleaned before being used again. So in actuality it is almost like I am brand new.”
Meridan shook her head. “No Misha, that means you are well used.”

Thanks for reading. <3

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It’s not a play on words

WOW... Fantastic Baby! — WOW… Fantastic Baby!

I have been pretty sick for the last few months. Some sort of super virus that I literally had for 3 months. I guess I pulled the short straw in the health lottery this Spring. So I got to read a lot but with surgery in December, The New Year and hosting some intergalactic illness my commitment to my blog became a low priority. Stop the press! Or maybe it’s, Start the press! Either way I am restructuring and reformatting my little corner of the world so that it suits my true loves… Reading, reading, reading and writing. With a little more writing mixed in.

I have one book completed. I have flip flopped on it’s name a butt-load of times but I am still referring to it as le Cirque when I talk about so that must be it’s name. I have nine chapters of a contemporary YA book called It Feels Like Home. I really love the hero in that book, he’s very charming. (Is it bad to have a crush on your own fictional creation?) Another story I am really excited about is one that I began a few months ago and then got side tracked and stopped working on. It’s marked in my Google Drive in a folder that just says, Valley, the name of the heroine. Her world is a little crazy, but she doesn’t fight it, she jumps right in and makes it her own. I only have three chapters written on it, but they are averaging about 9000 words per chapter so it’s not really a slouch effort. The last book I am working on is part of a planned trilogy that I will call The Soul Wars.

My current focus actually is the first book of The Soul Wars. In the last week I have written 45,850 words for it. The original idea was a faerie book and I had the prologue and two chapters written for it. I get most of my ideas for books from dreams I have. I am blessed by a nice mix of mood stabilizers to have very vivid dreams and most of my ideas are impressively elaborate. Generally the inspiration I get from dreams is enough to write a very detailed summary which follows a firm story arc. Often I do that thing that you hear is impossible… when I wake up while dreaming, I have no problem getting up and doing things, then laying back down, thinking about where my dream just left off and going right back into it. A lot of nights I will have one dream that focuses on a complete story. I sort of look at as God made me Bipolar, which sucks a lot of time, but in doing so he gave me the tools I need to develop some very imaginative ideas.

When I began writing, what was then known as The Faerie Wars, I had this weak idea that felt so similar to other Fae books that it was hard to work on. Since it failed to inspire it was near impossible to go further. So I appreciated it when my subconscious sent my heroine to me with a shopping list of all the things that were wrong, I wanted to write her a thank you note.

Two weeks ago, I sat down and read it and it became clear to me what story I had to tell really was and those dang faeries died a painless death at the hand of my delete button. I kept only the prologue that introduced the main character, Min. From there I wrote the story based on the same main figures but gave them a new world, purpose and make-over and they blossomed, literally, overnight.

I am loving what I have been writing, but I shamefully admit that I have allowed the bad habit of tweaking previous chapters rule me. I know I should just keep writing but it is like when I crave chocolate, I can’t seem to just let it go. Unlike le Cirque or It Feels Like Home, Min and Jet are fickle and demand that I fix the small things that keep me allow me to go to the next chapter. Just the other day I wrote all day and the next morning I realized that the new character, Trist, was a little boring. I knew my story need an arrogant bastard with a sharp tongue and I spent an hour and half giving him a personality upgrade. Trist thanked me and proceeded to blister the ears of everyone who encountered him and look hot as hell when he did it.

Le Cirque was a very structured process, I had a chapter outline and although there was a little deviation in places, it is basically what I had in mind when I first thought of it. I had a personality chart when I was writing It Feels Like Home and I knew both Teagan and Jacelyn really well. I didn’t make the outline like I had for le Cirque I made a list of bullet points with one word references to events in each chapter. Valley’s story was born simply of a little extra energy from a couple days of hypo-mania. The Soul Wars is like prepared chaos. I write whatever comes to mind and the spontaneity is guided with a loose plan that I have only for that particular chapter. I think each night of what should happen next and when I sit down I let the characters misbehave. Viola. Min and Jet are writing their story more than I am.

I hope to use my new and re-branded blog space to post little bits and pieces of my work. I plan to share my thoughtson books I’ve read often too. It would be great if I use this place to look a little more critically at the way other books I read are written; talk about what I think works and what I feel I would have done differently. Without insulting some of the authors I like most, I am even thinking about taking small parts of their works and rewriting them in my style as writing exercises. Many of the books I love are written in first person POV and authors post extras of alternative perspectives occasionally on their own blogs. I like it a lot since it tells you so much about a character who you are only seeing from the narrator’s eyes. I want to try doing that for not just my characters but those in other stories as well to show what my impression of them is. I guess that could be defined by the word “fanfic” although I pray all the time that my writing quality is better than most of the horror I encounter looking at fan fiction. I feel dirty when I read slash fic and I don’t think there will ever be a time when I give up all self-respect and ship Ironman/Hawkeye or something equally twisted. I actually found someone who had written Bible slash a few months ago, Cain/Abel.

Below is a little bit of a conversation between Jet and Trist when they first meet. It’s a good introduction to them.

“If you continue to make illusions of that sort I will carve your heart before you can make it to the door.”
“Ah, I see you are a romantic. I wonder if my cousin likes that sort of virile manly man thing.”
“You have three minutes to finish your story and convince me to do anything other than what I have already promised.”
“No sense of humor. How dull.” He rolled his eyes and continued, “When she turned eighteen her mother blessed her with the position of protector of the D’iphemeri and then took her own life. You know the people of the D’phemeri believe her soul was taken by some piece of shit who will have her burn for all eternity for her heartbreak.”
“You now have two minutes.”

Thank you for reading my contribution to the internet.

Ali <3

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On a Wing and a Prayer

Blame it on severe depression. I spent three weeks in bed and a week after that getting out of bed but not wanting to do anything at all. This is my up and down world. While I was trying to sleep away the world, I was still reading some great stuff. I picked up some books that I didn’t think I would read and I’m liking them a lot.

Unintentionally, I read a good deal of books that were about angels and demons. Some were great, others good and some started out great and then later in the series they made me bug-eyed, grunting by how convoluted the story had become and how much I wanted to kill the protagonist. Sometimes it is painful reading about their weaksauce bullshit any further. A few recommendations I want to make are the Mad World Series by Christine Zolendz, The Premonition Series by Amy A. Bartol, The first book and then alternate POVs for the Sweet Trilogy and The Providence Series by Jamie McGuire.

I have to say the Mad World books, Fall From Grace and Saving Grace are pretty great. The premise is about an angel and a human woman who fell in love when the Grigori Angels (watchers) were sent to Earth from Heaven way back when them angels were just kids. If you know your Bible stories, in specific the Book of Enoch, you know that when these watcher angels mated with the human women, Nephilim were created. These children who were giant sized and compelled to destroy the world as we know it, they are redressed up with some writer’s license quite often. The hero and heroine never sinned but had shared a kiss, when the other sons of god were sent to sheol to repent, Shamsiel is sent with them. Then he and the woman he loves are cursed through time to travel from one soul to the next looking for one another again.

The things I truly love about this book is the complete humanization of these immortal souls. There is no feeling of divinity because they have lived thousands of lifetimes without any hope for relief. Not only were there fruitless searches for one other but the constant and draining effects of losing those they care for over and over again. You can literally feel the anguish, fear and attempts to recapture a fading faith.

I ask myself why it is that authors so often make heroines overburdened with pride. A great deal of both of Zolendz’s books weigh heavily on this struggle with assumptions. Even when one of them is telling the truth no trust is there to help them through. It’s disappointing when writers can’t do anything more than make their characters reckless and stubborn to further along a story.

Despite all reservations and grumblings I had with the books I would have to say that it is one of the better angel books that I have read in a long time.

Speaking of Angel/Demon books that are better than others I would have to say that Sweet Evil by Wendy Higgins was phenomenal! She turned the entire genre of angel books on it’s head and made truly amazing characters that you can’t help but be intrigued and fascinated by. The book is about a sixteen year old girl named Anna who has always known that she was very different than everyone else. One night she goes out with her best friend and meets Kaiden, someone who is a lot like her. Along the way she finds that she is trapped in a world where she is pulled back and forth by her inner nature. Kaidan is incredible. My favorite kind of bad boy.

I must confess Kaidan Rowe would have to be right up there with Jace Wayland/Lightwood or Will Herondale on my the hotness scale of bad boy book boyfriends. One of the sexiest guys to be drawn up in a YA novel to date. His confusion and compulsions are just wonderful to read and how his philosophy and job meet with those things make him pop of the paper.

I can’t wait to read the next book, Sweet Peril, which is due out 30 April 2013. I would say that these books are some of the best novels since the Shadowhunter books. I could see me grabbing paperback versions of these books for my bookshelves.

Jamie McGuire is the author of the ridiculously good and indecently delicious book, Beautiful Disaster. She created the ultimate alpha male character in that book, Travis Maddox. I’m awaiting the alternate POV book of that story called Walking Disaster which is due out 2 April 2013. However before those books became so popular she had penned The Providence Trilogy, a tale about a girl who finds out about what her life actually is after the death of her father.

Nina meets Jared at a bus stop the night of her father’s death and soon he always seems to be around. She becomes more obsessed with him, right around the time I might have started thinking that I needed a restraining order, and then they are baring their souls in a I-can’t-live-without-you-moment. No longer able to deny his feelings he tells her all the things she is forbidden to know. The knowledge alone cracks open her world.

I liked seeing that Jamie McGuire could be so diverse. By far, I love Beautiful Disaster it is just one of those books that blew me away. However I kept the Providence books on my Kindle afterward in case I wanted to give them another read. Jared Ryel would lose in a battle with Travis Maddox.

Finally there is The Premonition Series by Amy A. Bartol. When I started this series I could not put it down. Every new character that was introduced I really loved. I was big on Freddy. Reed was best during the first half of the book when he was the enigmatic asshole. I loved it. All of it. The summary is that there is this newly scrubbed, fresh-faced, college Freshman, Evie. When she arrives on campus she finds she is embarrassingly effected by this guy who seems to hate her. He goes so far as to demand that she leave the campus completely. When he sees she won’t leave he tries to get to know her as well as he can. There is a few angels, a soul-mate and strong forces who want her dead.

The first book, Inescapable, is really great and the first few chapters of book two, Intuition, are good and then Bartol removes Evie from the little crowd of friends and that is where I start to dislike the book. Evie has left Reed and her friends, stranding her with her soulmate, Russell, at which time she pines almost to the point of needing a good fifth of tequila and a blow up Reed doll. This is when Bartol takes the fateful step that launches her to introduce a character I plain ol’ hate. About midway through Intuition Brennus and Finn and there Fellas are introduced. They are basically undead faeries and they drink blood and want to make Evie their undead queen. Chapter after chapter it is all about breaking her spirit and then driving her insane so that she will bend to Brennus’s will and take her place with the Gancanagh.

If it had only ended when she is saved in book two that would have been great but all too soon in book three Brennus is reintroduced and my tolerance for him and an Evie, now so ridiculously ruined, I could actually spoon my innards out with a melon spoon. In this those angels/people, better at strategic thinking and more capable of handling situations of general warfare are thwarted time and time again by Evie. Impulsive and irrational she is incapable of listening and the throttling she deserves never comes.Just when I was getting my Reed fix at the start of the book, in comes Brennus and the story is hi-jacked for at least 80% of the book by the Gancanagh.

The thing I think that really rips my panties is that with the direction the first book was going and what happens in the second and third. I really feel like Bartol was headed one way and then vered off in another because she found she loved the bad guy more so much than the hero. Going so far as to make him a main character rather than a secondary in the third book. All the people you loved in the beginning–Buns, Brownie, Zypher and Russell are sort of meh to her and it is a Brennus fest. I truly loathe this character.

There are also a few more books I would like to talk about sometime before I leave next week. I hope someone may be interested in some of these books. Reading does the body good.

And the one thing I won’t review but will always push is the Shadowhunter books by Cassandra Clare. The Mortal Instruments, which is being made into a film starring Lily Collins and Jamie Campbell Bower and The Infernal Devices. I have loved these books for years. In all actuality when I got rid of my paper books to get digital versions these my Cassandra Clare books, my Gemma Doyle books by Libba Bray, His Dark Materials Trilogy by Philip Pullman and Melissa Marr’s Wicked Lovely Series were the only books that I kept. So when I say I want to grab the Sweet Trilogy of Wendy Higgins to add it is a big deal.

Thanks for reading this and I hope that maybe you will all trying to read a little of the above.

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Shibui

This has been a thought running through my head for a while… Because my friend Annie gave me the push to go ahead with it, and gave me some reassurance that she would read it, I figured what the hell. This is a little bit of the beginning of my book. Originally the working title of it was Le Cirque Grand Magnifique, I was heading one way when I had started writing it then where I ended up at the end. I have been struggling for sometime to come up with a better title and while I was sitting in D’s parents car at the Manassas Regal Cinema I was struck with the obvious. During one part of the story a man describes Meridan as having the qualities of the Japanese word Shibui. I had not thrown it in there as haphazardly as one would believe, I actually had the word in mind as I was creating the aspects of her character. When I realized that it was the most appropriate name it kind of came to me that I had been over thinking it.

What I offer you below is the few pages in the first chapter explaining Meridan’s world. I hope that when you read it that it comes across to you the way that I had intended it to. Being as it was also written one way in the beginning and then later reworked it has me a little at loose ends as to whether the world is properly drawn out or if it only makes sense to me. I would really appreciate some feedback if you can spare a few minutes to leave your comments below.

Shibui (excerpt Chapter 1)

Meridan sat on the stage of le Cirque performing area. She had been here hundreds of times before. The gas lamps which lit the room left their signature scent and the hum and din of those males who were waiting for her group to begin lent to the atmosphere of excitement that filled the room.

Glancing around at the two girls who would be playing with her, Whitley and Jaiden, she saw them also awaiting the beginning of their performance. Whitley was only fourteen, she was a very well trained bouzouki player. Her voice was soft and soulful it blended well with Meridan’s contralto. Jaiden played the mandolin and she lent only to the chorus of the ballad that the girls would be playing. Meridan’s part was to sing the main parts and for this particular song she played no instrument, all though she was trained to play many string and woodwind instruments. She had learned her first instrument, a child’s size rebab, at the age of six.

A group of younger girls would be dancing. Meridan knew most of the girl’s who performed for le Cirque in her Central, even if it were in only a casual sort of way. The ones dancing today were quite talented and knew how best to move with one another to create a very fluid and complimentary assembly. Not one of them showed anything less than confidence for the arts that they had been training for all their lives.

Jaiden began the song with the strum of her mandolin and a few moments later Whitley joined. Meridan took a breath and began to sing. These next two days would contain her last few performances and then she would graduate to her life of service. While she sung she tried to hold on to each moment so they wouldn’t rush by so fast. Looking forward to the time of her ripening filled her with fear and some anger.

Le Cirque was a world made for the men that did nothing for the benefit of the girls in it neither did it lend to a rewarding future. As a small girl the men harvested them. Neither mother nor daughter ever knew what happened to one other. They were raised in preparation of their position in society; girls were entertainment, women were amusement.

By the age of two years Meridan was being trained for the world which all females of her society faced. She learned the arts of dancing, singing and performing. There were no days off and the girls only had breaks for food and lessons on comportment. Meridan knew from an early age that you either survived in this world or you became a discard. Even a child knew what it meant to be discarded. Meridan worked hard so as to not bring unwanted attention. That life was more bleak than what the Legion offered the performers of le Cirque.

No males performed. At their birth they were given to a protector and would be raised in a rank in la Légion du Pouvoir Extrême that would lead them to the most beneficial end. The lowest rank being Servant. Anyone raised in this rank had the ability to aspire to a higher rank beginning at their fourteenth birthday. For males there was a hierarchy in which the lowest was Servant and the highest was Grand Legion Hero. The levels between that were Legion, Legion Leader, Local Legion Leader, Protectorate, Local Legion Protectorate Leader, Legion Hero and Grand Legion Hero. Legion Hero was the highest rank that one could reach in a Central. Grand Legion Hero was the ruler of all Centrals. Ranks were often inherited although that wasn’t always the case. Demotion among ranks was possible as well. But to be born a man was an honor and those that lived within Centrals were taught that from a very young age.

As a female who was born and not harvested for le Cirque meant a life of a Discard. The unwanted were those who were rejected for whatever reason that the males who were in power would determine. Girls and women who failed to be performers or those who were no longer desired for service were relegated to the rank of Discard. To be born female was a dishonor and misfortune, but to be a Discard it was seen as far worse. The life of the unwanted was hard. It meant having to find a position that would provide housing and food. Menial labor, factory work and positions that were below that of Servant were filled by females. They lived in the wards which made up the stews. A life like this, without a male to guide and provide for basic needs meant that in the eyes of society you were less than human. You were less than female.

Le Demimonde was the society where performers graduated to at their ripening. At seventeen a girl would be taken from performing and given to member of the Legion to be of service. The positions were Mistress, Courtesan and Blue Lady. All these ranks were considered a great honor in Legion Society.

As a Mistress you belonged to a single male and were provided for and the role was that of mate, providing companionship and heirs. This rank was not assured once one was called to it. At any time in service a girl could be replaced. To be replaced it meant demotion to Discard class. There was no where to go from there. Service, provide heirs and lend beauty to a home or that life would be given to someone who would.

Courtesans were taken by no man in particular. They were meant to learn the art of service at an Temple Acadèmie du Plaisir and were at the whim of any man who would support them for any length of time determined by their supporter. This position meant that as long as a man, any man, was willing to be serviced by the woman she would not be discarded. However once beauty or skill waned than and they were no longer sought after, they would find themselves in the stews. Courtesan’s were never offered any homes or given anything that they would individually own. As they came to a service as a Courtesan, they left it to go on to their next male caretaker. The only thing that was their’s was their beauty, skill and name. Women only had first names; there were no family names to claim them.

The most common position for girls at their seventeenth birthday was that of a Blue Lady. That was a woman whose service took place in Maison Bleue. A home where men would come for their enjoyment. Many girls would be there for his choice and they would spend the night with any man who requested them.

It was the way of the Legion world and girls accepted this early on. Knowing what a girl would one day become was their motivation for performing well and looking their best. A well received and talented performer might acquire a man who would take her as a Mistress. It was what all girls aspired to. To be in the service of one man for the as long as they could please him.

Men, who wrote the laws and tenants of the Legion, could treat females however they cared to as they were little more than amusement. No laws existed to prevent a man from harming a woman in anyway. Many discarded girls were misused and they had no place to find protection. Whatever happened was unfortunate but as Society saw it… they should have aspired to be in service to have saved them from such a fate.

At the end of her performance Meridan stood and bowed low to the males who watched. It was the girl’s way of thanking the men for watching as they entertained them. When Legion Leader Martelle gave them a nod they were allowed to leave the stage to slip back behind the curtains which divided the performers from the girls who were waiting to go on next.

A group of small girls, no older than ten took the floor to perform exercises where they tumbled and danced for the men. Meridan watched the young girls as they moved with the knowledge that in a few years they would also await their ripening. She was painfully aware of the fact that in three days she would likely be a Blue Lady and this thought plagued her. The idea of being anything to a man who she didn’t choose left her heartbroken. And trying to guess why she felt this when this was the only way it could be was leaving her further distressed.

She watched one girl miss a tumble and she flinched knowing that would train long grueling hours so she never missed the movement again. Meridan was the consummate performer. She trained long enough to know that it was not acceptable to fail in any way. The attention you wanted was not the negative sort. That way only led to sadness. If it became a repeated offense and the young girl did not correct it she would find herself in the slums with the other unwanted.

Meridan shook her head as it truly didn’t take much to find one’s self there. Not that she knew from experience but her cousin, Tienda, lived as a Discard. She had been a performer until she was eight and then she was discarded because her face was too common. No amount of marks or make up could make up for her looks at that age. What was really heartbreaking was once she grew out of her awkward stage she became very pretty. Meridan went to visit her often. The male family that they shared never thought of her again after she was discarded. Meridan felt blessed by the relative who sponsored her as it meant she could be better decorated with tattooed marks and jewelry for her many piercings as well as being able to use higher quality garments and face and body paints.

Thoughts of the ripening skittered across her mind. Tienda would listen to her fears. It would be good to get it off her chest. Her palms were becoming moist at the thoughts she had about accepting that all that there was to look forward to were men she did not know. She didn’t know where she had the idea but she often dreamt about finding a man that she could love. It was only a dream though and she knew that. The Legion did not leave room for the concept of love between sexes. A woman’s feelings were never considered. What was sought after was obedience. Meridan didn’t even know if she could provide that. More and more these days she felt rebellious and contrary. Her future was unacceptable, yet she could do nothing but accept it.

“Do you remember when we were that young?” Meridan was brought back from her thoughts by the voice in her ear. She smiled her welcome and whispered, “I remember thinking that le Cirque was a scary dream. There was only that and nothing more. I had no idea if I would even make it to my ripening. It was making it from morning to night and then doing it again the next day.”

Verity nodded as she watched them. Verity was a pretty girl. She had a pixie face and the darkness of her marks on her pale skin were more striking than Meridan’s own olive tones. The girl’s bright blue eyes were rimmed with the longest eyelashes. Her heart shaped lips were a red that needed no help from paint pots. The blonde hair that haloed her head hung long down her back and shined in the gas lamps. Compared to Verity, Meridan looked dusky and dark. She had deep green eyes and they were exotic looking as they were wide and almond shaped. Her lips were wide, full and a soft pink. Lush dark hair laid in soft waves that made her hair appear shorter than it’s actual length. Hair was let to grow the last two years before ripening so that it could be artfully styled, cut or arranged as the man who procured wished.

Meridan glanced to the girl next to her looking down at her shorter stature. Meridan was a good five inches taller than Verity. Verity looked petite whereas Meridan appeared tall and willowy next to her.

“I am imagining that the small girl to the left in brown ringlets will be training hard before her next performance”, Meridan spoke quietly. Verity looked and made a sympathetic face. “It is so hard at that age. You are all arms and legs. Well I assume that is how it was for most everyone else. I was always was pretty close to perfect.” Meridan nodded watching still. Verity was a good friend, although she believed herself to be better than most everyone else.

They stood silently until the end of the performance. The young girls left the platform and Legion Leader Martelle who choreographed the dances stepped forward to announce the next performance. As he walked back to his place to observe, Meridan saw him receive a note and watched his face as he read it and his look as he raised his eyes to the young girl Verity and she had spoken about. Meridan felt more unrest in her heart because she knew that that missive held an audit from one of the Legion males regarding her performance. That note could be telling Leader Martelle to discard her and that made Meridan feel sick.

“She is being evaluated”, Verity said sadly, seeing the same thing as Meridan.

“It’s not good”, Meridan agreed with the weight of Verity’s tone.

“Have you seen her perform before?” Verity asked.

“I’m sure I have but to me she has been unremarkable before tonight.”

“It would be unfortunate if this is her first unsteady night and it still came down to discard her. Maybe I should have helped her train. I have always been so very good.” Verity stated. She continued, “No one gets a second chance with the Legion audits.”

Meridan shook her head… she needed to go see Tienda. No one gets a second chance anywhere within le Cirque. But maybe she could make Meridan feel better.

——–

That is the first part of my novel. I hope the world that I have created is sufficiently explained. I apologize if some parts come across as awkward or the flow isn’t just right. I still am working on the second draft and still have to have it properly edited and proofread before I write the final draft. Thank you, truly, for having read this and I really appreciate everyones support and words of encouragement while I have been writing it.

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Book it!

Good Morning! Today is a glorious Thursday and tomorrow D and I leave to fly out to Manassas, VA for a week with his parents. I’m really excited to be going back to the DC area because there is just so much history there. I love seeing the old houses, battlefields and cemeteries. I look forward to seeing the family too since we rarely get to spend time with them. But I won’t be able to get past my book addiction even while I’m there.

I have a Goodreads account and I am so fastidious about it. I would say that I visit the website at least two or three times a day. I’m always marking the last book I read or adding to my ‘To Read List’. But Goodreads is something that I only discovered in April of this year. I immediately found the 2012 Reading Challenge and put in the number of books I would read before the end of this year. Because I have an OCD about numbers with the ending of 3,6 or 9, I set my goal as 199 books. I know it sounds like a lot but this, reading, is what I do (okay, I write too!) and it makes me pretty happy. So today is the 27 December 2012 and I have read 201 books for this year so far. I’m pretty happy with myself. I plan to set my goal for 2013 at 333. But before I get there I’d like to give myself another challenge, a 30 in 30 goal. For the next 30 days I will read the books from the list I will be building today.

So to show my extreme attentiveness to detail I will admit that my notebook, which I use as a day-to-day bible, contains lists of things to do, noting ideas for writing stories and a list of movies to be seen and books to read which are already on my kindle. From the 787 books to read I am picking this 30. Oh this is so exciting because until I start the list I won’t even know what they are…

Ali’s 30 in 30 list:

There it is, my list. I plan to do some book reviews of some of these books. A lot of them are Young Adult, which is what I really read a lot of. I know I’ve been badly educated not having read The Hobbit yet. I’ll be fixing that within the next month. I’m going to ride this all out and see how it goes. Maybe you can make your own list, a shorter list, and see how many you can read.

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Are we all a little crazy?

Mental health care… This is a topic close to my heart. Being a somewhat stable bipolar person, I just have to have it, but many people just don’t. With tragedies happening everyday it’s something that really needs to be addressed. Those who suffer any kind of mental illness need affordable and competent health care but insurance companies and the payment policies work against the very people who fight desperately to overcome their disabilities. Why? It’s a good question and I don’t know if there is a truly GOOD answer to be found. There were more deaths by suicide in the Military this year than there were deaths by combat. And the suicide of 15 year old Amanda Todd remains fresh in the minds of many.

But suicide isn’t the only issue at stake with those who suffer mental illness, there are those who, for whatever reason, just spiral and become a harm to not only themselves but others as well. There is the story from Missouri where the mother of three killed her daughters before killing herself. Or the mentally ill man found not guilty by reasons of insanity after killing two men with a hatchet in Seattle. And then the tragedies in both Sandy Hook, CT and Aurora, CO, men who suffered and commited the unthinkable. And then the beating death of Kelly Thomas in Fullerton, CA. A schizophrenic man who was killed by six police man.

I have been at the bottom of my own illness, Axis 1 Bipolar Disorder. I was diagnosed in 2005, after years of being misdiagnosised and mismedicated. I’ve been in the mental health system since 1985 when I was only 12. In school I had trouble concentrating because of crippling anxiety, I had a hard time maintaining relationships because I would be extroverted at times and behave erratically and then at other points I would miss weeks of school because I was too afraid of going to school or just couldn’t get out of bed. My senior year of school I missed 91 days of a 180 day school year. Doctor’s notes were my best friend. I have harmed myself by means of drug abuse, cutting and hitting myself until I bruised myself far worse than anyone else could have beat me. As I got older I would swing from working 2 jobs and going to college for 21 units to being so ill that I would miss classes, just as I did as a child, weeks on end. I have always suffered from terrible insomnia and as I got older it only got worse. It wasn’t unusual for me to go days without sleep, causing my body to crash and making me delusional. Even today I rely on Ambien a few times a week to get some sleep at night.

In 2005 I had my first true crisis. I woke up one day after having a semester of emotional trouble to mind crippling anxiety. I believed that I was dying and that my birth control was sending messages to the government. I went to a mental health clinic where they diagnosed me as being depressed and gave me Zoloft. Two days later I woke in the night convinced I either had to kill myself or my boyfriend. I was out of control and despite all my boyfriend’s attempts to settle me I couldn’t come back down to earth. The clinic wouldn’t see me again because I had failed to see the County Mental Health Services as I had been directed to. Weeks later I had quit school, refused to leave the house and my doctor and social worker would just ask me over and over if I wanted to end up on disability. They couldn’t understand that it wasn’t that I wouldn’t do the things they wanted me to do. I mentally wasn’t capable.

I went in and out of health care until I was diagnosed. From there I got a psychiatrist who didn’t agree with the previous diagnosis because I couldn’t come out of my depression and she medicated me with Risperdal, 20 mg a day, Zoloft and Adderall. Adderall is a great medication for someone suffering Bipolar (this is sarcasm). I was cutting so badly I was visiting the Emergency room and I developed an obsession so severe that I began to stalk a member of the group counseling session I was forced to attend. My mood was fluctuating so badly that I would suffer from debilitating crying fits to moments of such euphoria that I couldn’t sit still. I found myself in the Psych Ward twice in August 2007.

Things were horrible for the next three years, I couldn’t leave the house to go anywhere but doctor’s appointments and my husband had to attend those appointments with me. I couldn’t speak to strangers and my fear of people in general meant that I could barely handle being in the same space as another person. It all crescendoed in August of 2010 when I decided that for my birthday, October 9th, I would kill myself. The cutting got worse, I was cutting more than 20 times a day. The beginning of September I entered the hospital and my first day there I attempted to slit my wrist with a plastic knife. I was desperate to just not be sick anymore.

I spent three weeks in Thalians Hospital in Los Angeles. I spent time in isolation and had a “baby sitter” because I was a risk to myself. It was rough and when I got out of the hospital I was terrified of myself. I went to work with my husband because I believed I would kill myself if I were left alone. Things were so bad that I was taking 18 pills of all differnt medications a day just to manage. It took months to even out and start to function, but when I did it was finally better for the first time in years.

The last two years have been relatively good. I have my good times and my bad times. I know that I HAVE to take my meds because if I don’t I can’t survive without them, and I WANT to live. It was the middle of last year that I had the epiphany that quite possibly for the first time in my life, I liked myself. I have a psychiatrist I see every 2-3 weeks and a psychologist that I see every week and because being ill is so hard on my marriage my husband and I attend marriage counseling. I know what to look for in my own behaviors and symptoms and what to do before it gets bad. It’s been a real battle for me. Everyday I fight just to get myself to deal and everytime I have to leave the house I actually have to make myself do it because I still feel anxious and frightened by people. The whole saying of “faking ’til you make it” is a motto that I live by now.

So when I see these stories on the news of these people who lose the fight. Who don’t stay medicated. Who fail to get the care they need, whether it is their own choice or for lack of opportunity, my heart feels a kinship. I read the stories and I know what it is like to lose it. I almost lost it all. When I see the heartbreak, I can’t help but think, that could be me. I could be that person who gives up or let’s go. I could wreak that damage.

Health care in America is at a catastrophic state. It is almost normal for those who are ill to be at not just the mental disadvantage, but to also be at the disadvantage of politics and beauracracy. Insurance companies instead of doctors are determining what is necessary care and what is the responsibilty of the patient. Doctor’s visits and medication is so expensive and many patients take 4-5 different medications to get by. If you want to know how bad just look at the headlines. Help those who can’t help themselves and help those who try to get what they need. Write your congressmen and senators and tell them that something MUST be done. People can’t rely on the goodness of companies to do what is right, we unfortunately need legislature to help those in need. How many more tragedies do we have to face? And isn’t losing one more person to something that can be managed a misfortune?

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Are you a Scrooge?

These two hearts beat like a death metal song

It’s Christmas and all the creatures, meek and mild have gotten kitty treats. The three turtles laying got shrimp and D made me eggnog pancakes. I know, it’s just like a Christmas story! We have opened our first Christmas presents. (We open one an hour all day long. Stretch it all out, so we have a very Merry Christmas.)

So in the spirit of Christmas D and I read the classic, A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. I think I have seen three or four different film and animated versions in movies and tv shows… but the book struck me as something very different. I really didn’t expect it to be a story of Christianity’s goodness with visits from the Father, Son and Holy Ghost and the redemption of man-kind on the day of birth of Jesus Christ. Now I am not a really religious person, I have my faith but I don’t feel the need to rail against things that are irreverent, nor do I read into things a heavy handed preaching that is not there. So this is a work of literary criticism and nothing more.

Through out many of the ancient societies and in history, the Usury has held the place of the worst avarice and greed. Cato in de re Rustica was quoted as saying, “What do you think of the Usury?–What do you think of murder?” That belief was held also by Dante who placed the money lenders in the lowest ring of the seventh circle of the Inferno… below that of murders. The Usury had never had the endorsement by those of in common society, they were merely a tool to keep desperate people desperate and those who earned their wealth through it’s money changing hands and not by the works of labor were seen as particular devils. So it is no surprise that Dickens places Mr Scrooge as a man of the Usury. He believes only in the value of the coin he trades and the wealth that he has earned through it’s means.

On Christmas Eve he is acting in his typical heartless ways prior to leaving the office, he belittles those looking for help for charity, snubs his nephew and then begrudges his employees need for Christmas day off. All with a hollow clink of the change in his hollow heart and overfull pocket.

Upon arriving home, whispers of his conscience prickle him, he sees his former partner’s face in the knocker of his front

door. At first he thinks he’s seeing things. It’s as if arriving home to an empty home drives home an unspoken regret. Not long after becoming comfortable for the night, Jacob Marley’s ghost arrives in full form. Like those in the seventh level of hell, Marley has known no peace in death, admitting that he travels far and without ceasing, while often unseeingly being by Scrooge’s side. He has died a mortal life and there is nothing for him but an eternity of paying for his sins. He warns Scrooge that he will be visited by three spirits and that they will arrive over the next coming three days. Surprising to Scrooge, time passes backward and forward in a supernatural way, leaving Scrooge at a loss for the time that has come or gone. He knows only of the time that he is witnessing with the spirits.

When the first spirit comes, “It was a strange figure–like a child: yet not so like a child as like an old man… It’s hair, which hung about it’s neck and down it’s back, was white as if with age; and yet the face had not a wrinkle on it, and the tenderest bloom was on it’s skin.” His description goes on to say that he had the bearing of strength and purity while his countenance was beautiful and by the means of his dress was emblematic of the different seasons of the year. Lastly, “the strangest thing about it was, that from the crown of it’s head there sprang a bright clear jest of light, by which [all else was seen].

The unguessable age and beauty, the incapability to pin point the true nature of this many qualities which shifted and passed the countenance of this spirit, and his halo, say to me that this first spirit is that of the immense grace. A supernatural force who can show, as he does with Scrooge, the colors of our hearts throughout the years. Reminding us of the importance of the family we have known, the things which have shaped us and those that turn our hearts bright and dark. During his visit he bades Scrooge, “Rise! And walk with me.” And so Scrooge does.

The last sad chapter of Scrooge’s visit with the Spirit of Christmas Past is the parting of ways with the woman who had loved him in their poverty but questions his faith in his wealth. She says to him, “It matters little… To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me.” Scrooge questions her asking, “What Idol has displaced you?” her answer is, “A golden one.” Scrooge is now worshipping false idols and has lost the companion who loves him to it. A more empty existence he embraces.

The second spirit is a man who arrives with an feast of goods to surround him. And with his will, the horn which he carries, he goes and he spreads the spirit of the holidays. The goodness of Christianity, to be thoughtful, kind and gracious. He takes Scrooge through the streets where in the hearths of those they path the passion of the spirit burns bright and warm. He asks Scrooge, “You have never seen the like of me before? — Have never walked forth with the younger members of my family; meaning my elder brothers born in later years?” But Scrooge can not admit that he knows of the spirit or his family.

The second spirit, that of the word and grace of the Shepard takes Scrooge from the city to the mines and then to the seas. Each visit show Scrooge how those who know this spirit celebrate him with open hearts and share their beliefs with those around them. It’s not a singular phenomenon, the teachings of this spirit is pandemic and those who Scrooge sees are not beaten down by their lack of wealth, matter or circumstance they are joyful for the intangibles and the ability to share their joy with others. The spirit says to Scrooge, “Man, if you be in heart, not adamant, forbear that wicked can’t until you have discovered what the surplus is, and where it is. Will you decide what man shall live and what shall die? It may be in the sight of Heaven, you are more worthless and less fit to live than millions like this poor man’s child.” The child is the sickly Tiny Tim, an innocent and inspiration to his family. Sick in body but sound of mind.

When the spirit later shows the evil’s of man, Ignorance and Want, Scrooge is warned about them. The boy, Ignorance, the spirit vehemently tells Scrooge, “to beware this boy, for on his brow [the spirit] can see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased. Deny it!” The spirit also tells Scrooge that there are those who commit the seven sins, “…who lay claim to know us, and who do their deeds of passions, pride, ill-will, hatred, envy, bigotry and selfishness in our name.” But reassures him that they do these things on their own and our not the charge of the spirits.

Upon the visit of the last spirit Scrooge is plagued by the silence of the ghost. He leaves him on edge and his visage remains unseen, a mystery in robes. Scrooge follows him as he has made the claim that he wants to change now but that he understands that it is important that he have all three visitations. In this final view of things Scrooge sees that he will die a mortal death that will touch the lives of few. He won’t be able to take his wealth with him and others will come to steal it before his body has even cooled. Few will speak well of him and he becomes aware that those who do know of him only by means of senseless business. No one mourns him. Life ends but his cold existence will continue into a past life just as Marley’s.

This final spirit is the promise of hope through faith. That to find the spirits of the three ghosts inside of you promises you not only happiness in earthly life, but it leaves a more worthwhile legacy to those who survive you. That by touching hearts it is a more personal wealth than that of gathering coin. Scrooge awakes a new man and finds that the visits have given him the gift of renewal on the day that Christ was born. He buys the Cratchit’s a huge turkey and has it delivered anonymously, the good deed needn’t be announced. When he passes the man who sought funds for charity the day before and received a careless reply then, Scrooge stops him and promises him a great boon. And lastly he goes to his nephew and they enjoy the bond of family and good spirit. The following morning the meek Cratchit’s inherit the fortune which they have been denied and a new life is begun.

These visits inspire Scrooge to a better life. The movies don’t truly portray this and I feel two ways about it. I can appreciate the message that Dickens but I think that people are more moved often by the spectral threat of the paranormal. The thought that bad will be brought forth by what you have done and you will be haunted by it, not necessarily that through the haunting you will find redemption. And in our own modern times I think that it often takes a tragedy to produce a miracle and that changes of heart are more of a commercial model than the ways of man. How would Dickens write his story if it were set in our times? Would Scrooge be a Wall Street man and would Tiny Tim have something like autism? And I guess the real heart of the matter would be could Americans free themselves from Ignorance and Want to see how much we let it rule the world today. But at least we can share the words of Tiny Tim, “And God bless us, everyone,” while we compare Christmas presents on Facebook and battle others for after Christmas sales.

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New things are just so… new.

This is the first entry in my BRAND NEW BLOG! Isn’t this so exciting? It’s like a grown-up blog. This is a Christmas present from D. I have been paying Typepad.com money every month for my page and since we are trying to save money for a house, this is a lot cheaper and a lot more versatile. I guess I’m breaking up with Typepad. (Sorry baby… I think we should start seeing other people.)

So what will this be? It’s going to be more of the same, but better. I was looking at an old blog I had (Anyone remember Vox… I loved Vox) and I looked through my entries and it really was a great blog… well if you could get past my major hard-on for Twilight. (I was younger and really misguided. Don’t let me get away with it though… can you say OBSESSED?) But back to my point. The blog had a lot of me invested in it. It wasn’t so much of me trying as I may have been doing and a great deal more of recently, just what I was passionate about on any given day. Let’s be fair, people who are passionate have more to talk about and don’t have to work so hard at thinking up new things to talk about. Let me be passionate again! Please?

Tonight is a Sunday night and D and I just watched the 1938 version of A Christmas Carol. I have a thing for old movies. A lot of time I find myself laughing at the innocence and acting abilities of those who are in them, but they are so good. There is something about classics. Watching this made D want to see the 1971 version and left me with a desire to read the Dickens’s book. (It’s free on Amazon and only 112 pages. Do it! You can read that in a few hours and you will feel better for it.) But to think about it for a moment Christmas movies in general are pretty awesome. Just yesterday we watched Scrooged. I have to say… whatever happened to Bobcat Goldthwait? I loved that guy! And to be really honest at the end of the movie when the little boy who doesn’t talk says “And god bless us, everyone!” I cried. Yep, I’m a big crier, of course it’s a little sad when you cry watching a Bill Murray movie.

And remember when you were a kid and you would watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and you wanted to be a dentist when you grew up? Well maybe not. I just loved watching it with my Grandma and Grandpa. And The Year Without Santa? Didn’t you just love that one? It was different to be a kid back then. We had Ataris and Rubik’s Cubes. There was no X-box or LeapFrog Learning Games. I was excited to get Strawberry Shortcake dolls and Michael Jackson cassettes. And Christmas was huge for me back then my aunts and uncles would come. The tree would have tons of gifts and on Christmas morning we would have to wait for my Aunt Jamie and Uncle Mike for hours because they were always late. I never realized back then how incredible it was to get to spend time with all my family like that. And then my friend Holly and I would play in the snow. Yeah those were the days…

So now I’m an adult and I live in San Diego where there is no snow. I see my mom’s Christmas tree by pictures my sister sends via text. I’m pretty socially maltarded and I don’t have that group of friends to go out with and celebrate. My tree doesn’t have that many presents as it did when I was a kid. My grandparents are all gone and sending photos of animals in Christmas clothing on Facebook is my substitute for Christmas cards. Things have changed so much, but I feel really lucky now, because this Christmas I know how much I value all those ones that have come before. I can watch Miracle on 34th Street and A Christmas Story and think back to all the places and people who I have watched them in the past. And this Christmas might be the best because I get to spend my day with D and I know that I have something better than a new sweater or another Furry Bones figurine. This year we have one another and all the books and movies and toys, I get to share with my best friend. I miss being a kid but growing up is pretty great.

So here’s to new blogs, new things and old friends. I wish you the best, warm thoughts and prayers. I hope you have the best of all that is old and what’s new. And I hope you have someone to share it all with, because at the end of it all, it’s the people we have and not the things that we get.