it was a dark and stormy night . . .

Remember Snoopy just typing away on top of his little red doghouse? . . . "It was a dark and stormy night . . ."
I don't know how he did it, but he made the cliche dramatic setting so incredibly cool. Man, I miss Snoopy.

I just experienced something that I have never experienced before as a writer. Granted, I've never written a short story before, but for a good 30 - 45 minutes this evening, I was completely in my story. Totally absorbed, fingers typing away . . . it was great. Now that doesn't mean the story is any good because I got all caught up in it, but I'd like to hope that others might get caught up in it as well - at some distant point in the future, after many inevitable revisions.

Not that anybody reading is probably very interested in the details of my creative process, so I apologize - but I'm about to start in on my second glass of green tea and I've got that weird green tea caffeine buzz. Healthy caffeine! Healthy caffeine! (Oxymoron?) I'm trying to wean myself off of caffeine from the likes of diet pepsi (which harbors that supposedly cancer-causing ingredient, aspertame). I'm struggling, though. I'm addicted. I need a mentor. Any volunteers?

I've got about roughly a quarter of my story left to write. I think I'm going to do some more brainstorming on paper and then perhaps . . . perhaps . . . finish the rest tomorrow, post-internship. But we'll see.

Ok, I must go and get another glass of green tea pumping through my bloodstream. I wonder how thick the ice is on the windshield of my car and how much earlier I should get up tomorrow to clean it off . . .

i miss them . . .

It's odd sometimes the random moments when you feel a pang of lonliness, when you realize that certain people who were always there for you are no longer there . . . and the void (tiny or large) makes its presence known again, even if it is only for a second. I had a similar feeling a few moments ago as I was writing. I was just scribbling in my notebook when all of a sudden I thought - I miss them. I really miss them. Both of my grandparents died last spring within a month of each other and it was so hard. I grew up with them. They grew in my heart as I grew from a child to a woman. My grandmother was the sweetest, kindest, most gentle soul that I've ever known, always trying to do just one more thing for me, to help me in any way that she could - even as her body was ravaged by cancer - even during her last days, when I was fortunate enough to be able to visit her. She loved God. She was my angel. My grandfather was one of the most strong, most God-loving, most intelligent men that I have ever known and I will always miss the twinkle in his eye when he called me "kelly boo-boo" and when I paid him a nickel for words of wisdom. I will never forget their funerals. I will never forget seeing their coffins. I will never forget the look on my grandfather's face when he held my grandmother's hand as she lay at rest forever. Their love lasted 54 years. Their unconditional love of me is something that I will always cherish.

I know that they are up in heaven right now and that they no longer feel the pain that ravaged their bodies during the last few years they were here, but as I look over at their photograph, I can't help but miss them.

opera in marshall

Who would have known that I would be exposed to the wonders of opera here in good old Marshall Hall? Here I am, sitting at the computer trying to think of brilliant things, when the classical notes of opera, accompanied by the swooning cadences of a bass voice drift to my ears from beneath my feet. That's right, there's a guy who lives underneath me who sings opera. He's also my HR. Normally, Katie and I are only honored with a few choice selections from his singing-in-the-shower moments, but apparently, he's practicing for something right now.

I like opera. I want to go see "The Magic Flute" in D.C. in March. But, I'm poor.

I'm not going to church tonight because of immenent (or emminent) snow. I feel bad.

Back to writing! Aaah!

if only this was real 

the pen doth write . . . perhaps

I'm supposed to be writing a short story right now. The problem is that I think I want to develop a character sketch I wrote earlier into said short story - but I don't know how. And my goal to be amazingly productive today is not starting out well, seeing as I am instead creating a new blog. I hope that I write in this one with some regularity, as opposed to the torrid and cyclical love affair I had with my xanga blog.

Last night was a weird dichatomy. I went to IV for the first time. It was fabulous, albeit a bit awkward (due to the fact that I was new to the whole scene and everyone is so close). Getting to praise the Lord with people my own age is something that I've missed out on most of my life, so it was very nice. The speaker reminded me just how much I need to show those who don't know Jesus his love through my actions and my presence. I was determined post-IV to get some work done on this story, but I got lured away to the apartments to play board games and have a drink. I don't know, I felt a bit uncomfortable there. I'm not used to such a crowd.

MUST WRITE. Dear Lord, help me to be creative and brilliant and the next big thing in writing. Or, just creative. Because I need to get this done.