Baby Doll

I have big news. Something happened less than forty eight hours ago that simply doesn't happen everyday. A new creature was brought into this world, a baby girl. She's an absolute doll, which is how she came to be called Dollie, and she's already too big for me to hold in my arms. She has beautiful red hair, an admirable feature, and kind brown eyes that scream for attention. If she would just stand still, I'm sure you would think she was plastic. She's the perfect baby doll!

I must say that I the hour I had allowed to groom, tack, and ride T-Pony this morning before I left for a long weekend in a suburb of Chicago was not entirely spent on riding. In fact, most of that time I spent on the floor of a stall, stroking Dollie's neck as she fell asleep on her mother's hay.

Lovely Ladies

Isn't she the cutest, littlest, sweetest thing you've ever seen? The very fact that she literally fell asleep in my arms is enough to melt my heart.

For those of you who don't know horses, it is NOT normal for a two-day-old filly to be so comfortable with humans as to fall asleep in their arms. Dollie is the exception to the rule, and I love it!

So dear readers, you see... You are never too old to fall asleep dreaming of your baby doll!

Bubbly

You know what's really sad? Smelling like Orbit Bubblemint.

Yep, the gum.

Why, you might ask, do I smell like Bubblemint?

Because, I tell you, the new Catwalk shampoo, which is supposed to be incredibly moisturizing for curly hair, smells like Bubblemint.

You know what's even more sad? Smelling, if only faintly, of horse 24/7.

For the last eight years, I have kept a strict rule that when I come home from the barn, I shower immediately. I love the smell of a horse... in a barn. Not so much while I'm lounging around in sweat pants or sipping my Toffee Mocha. This rule has not changed, but for some reason the pungent smell of hay bales and sawdust have decided to lodge  themselves between my fingernails, at the very roots of my hair, and deep within the callouses of my hands.

Note that this is NOT a complaint. I love being at the barn everyday. I love hearing twenty horses munching happily at their breakfasts before I have my own. I love the simple pleasures in my life, the things that make me smile, the things that never change.

I love to cook. I love to bake even more. It is another thing that will never change. No matter what, if you follow the recipe, something delicious is bound to result.   

I HATE chocolate chips cookies. I do believe in the cookie monster. It's the thing that comes and flattens my chocolate chip cookies every stink'n time! It's the thing that interprets my cookies as pancakes instead.

Anywho, I think over the course of the last four months, I have baked/cooked almost everything imaginable. Baking has always proved to be highly therapeutic for me. It is when I do my best thinking.

But wouldn't you think I could have been programed to think while running? Or while engaging in some sort of exercise?

Having fresh produce, freshly baked goods, and at least one delicious meal constantly before my eyes has had a surprisingly undesirable affect on my lovely lady lumps. So I've decided. Only one batch of baked goods every week. That's a good place to start. But that darn raspberry truffle cake is calling my name... SILENCE!

Sigh. 

You know your life is officially dull when the voices in your head happen to be food items.

NaNoWriMo WINNER!!!!

 There is a point in every young writer's career when you sit back and say, "Did I  honestly just do that?" At the beginning of this November, which is also the beginning of National Novel Writing Month, I was challenged by the thought of writing a 50,000 word novel in a month. I started week one with great ambition, but by week two was starting to doubt my own abilities. Pep talk after pep talk sat in my inbox, and yes, I read them, and I appreciated their wisdom, but it took inspiration and personal motivation from everyone around me. And then it got to be week four, and the encouragement that consumed literally every conversation in which I was engaged got to be quite irritating. In fact, the people that pushed me through to the insane amount of 50,000 words in a single month were the few who told me I couldn't do it. They were the ones that said, "What do you want to be a novelist for, anyway?" BECAUSE IT IS MY PASSION!!! Words are incredible mixture of letters that you can shape to express anything you care to. They are completely non-judgmental and unprecedented, and when someone bold enough dares to shapes them into beautiful phrases, they can form an art unlike any other. So here's the purpose of this blog (other than to flaunt my dinky little web badges;): GO WRITE!! We all have unfinished plots sitting unwritten in our heads that we partially develop in the middle of the night and have never actually pursued. Set a goal for yourself, and unclog your mind by getting those pesky little plots out on paper. Start with 100 words a day, and before you know it, you'll become so enthralled with your plot that you'll write 200 a day, and then 300, and then the words won't matter so much as finding out how the scene that you're working on will turn out(it rarely ends the way you imagine it in your mind). If I accomplish nothing else by writing this book, I hope that I inspire someone to be audacious enough to get out there and write, knowing that there is a huge chance that you will fall flat and fail, leaving your literary masterpiece to rot in Cyberworld in an incomplete Word document. And so what if you do? Then someday when you're old, when you have time to sit back and ponder over the perfect word choice, you'll never have to suffer the plight of looking at a blank page. Try it! You, my dear reader, have my word: You will not be disappointed in yourself. You can do it!

Now I know on November 3rd I promised sneak peaks into this novel of mine, but honestly, when you're writing 2500+ words everyday, you have no interest in disclosing sneak peaks! But now that the majority of the pressure has been lifted, I will share with you a few details of this tale of mine.

My novel is entitled Told You So and it is meant for an audience of young adults such as myself. Here's a short synopsis written by a good friend of mine:

Sadie Richwood has the perfect life- gorgeous boyfriend, devoted friends, and a white-picket-fence family- until it crashes down around her, and she is pulled into a search for her true identity that could end up costing her everything.

And an excerpt from one of my favorite parts:

    Sadie felt a rush of adrenaline flow through her finger tips, and the reality suddenly hit her. Her eyes widened, and panic spread across her face. An involuntary gasp passed her lips, which drew attention to her stationary figure.
    Suddenly the bickering between the professionals stopped, and their eyes met Sadie’s. The doctor intimidated Sadie, but she couldn’t say why. His dark features penetrated her skin and his eyes seemed to read not only who she was, but what she was thinking. His blue eyes shone wickedly in an arrogant fashion that made his entire being intolerable. None of the nurses looked like they were much past the drinking age, and although they appeared to have decent hearts, Sadie couldn’t tolerate their whiny voices.
    Without any further explanation than the pathetic sigh that emanated from the slightest nurse's mouth and her heavy, defeated expression, Sadie turned and bolted towards the door, tears streaming down her cheeks. She had no choice but to combine sobbing and sprinting, and her breathing soon turned to gasps for life. She ran past everyone and everything. The world blurred before her eyes and she felt the earth’s gravity dragging her down.
    Once in the elevator Sadie collapsed to the ground in misery. She clawed at the red carpet that was fraying from years of wear, hoping it would relieve her heart’s pain. Sadie heard the sounds of the changing floors, but could not manage to raise herself to her feet. She stayed exactly where she was until at last her sadness turned from raging depression to exhaustion. As she closed her eyes, she heard a familiar voice.
    I told you so. 


The story if far from complete and the plot continues to thicken! I keep telling myself I cannot add any more subplots, that the characters are as complex as they need to be, but the inner perfectionist continues to scream, "But what if?", and sadly that side of me usually wins my internal battle. The book stands at 50,059 words, and I still am not 100% sure where my story will end up. However present the uncertainty, I'm more passionate about writing than ever, and I assure you that someday Told You So will be on the shelf of your local Barnes and Noble, at least I hope so. And so I sit here in my office, on the last snowy day of November thinking, "Did I honestly just do that?"

p. s... i did it for you, Peanut Butter

Two More Reasons

Among all of my other responsibilities in this world, I am a big sister to two incredible kids. I have an eight year old sister, A, who has Downs-Syndrome, and a barely six year old brother, G. Both are full of life and vivacious boldness that can only be found in little ones. Most days I have to exert all of my powers of patience towards tolerating their... flaws. On the other hand there are those days in which their smiling faces bring joy to my heart. Yesterday was one such day. My brother's hand waving vigorously two inches from my face was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes and his big brown eyes followed. "Good morning, Sister! (giggle, giggle, giggle)" Oh boy! It's here again. Strangely enough his company wasn't as annoying as I usually find it; in fact, it was unexpectedly pleasant. It was only a matter of minutes and who follows, but A, she too on the hunt for my attention. Both immediately snuggled into my full sized bed... ugh... tight, tight fit! Still not completely back to my senses, I only listened to their giggles and their hushed bickering, as if I didn't know they were there. It was completely adorable and a great way to start my Friday. The entire day I had one or the other attached to my hip.

Their persuasions were irresistible as they entreated me to help them carve a pumpkin. And not just any old pumpkin, a pirate pumpkin. How could any loving big sister deny such a request? Bet you couldn't guess what I spent most of my morning doing! Yes, our pumpkin was complete with mustache, ears, an earring, and most importantly a three-corners hat. My artistic abilities are not quite as well-developed as I would like them to be, however they were thrilled with the finished product. It was quite something.

Throughout the rest of the day I found that since G turned six, he's become quite good at playing the Wii! Not only do I have to try, I really have to TRY! And the depressing thing is he still beats me a good 50% of the time.

They both are growing and changing faster than I realized and are completely different kids than they were at the beginning of the summer. It's incredible to watch and to be a part in raising two terrific people. They are two more reasons for me to be better than I am; I'm sure they'll be watching. I love you guys!

Inspired

Every great writer needs inspiration. Ten percent of that inspiration is the people that encourage you to continue, 40 percent comes from the things you choose to write about, and 50 percent is having a great writer to model and to learn from.

Here's my inspiration:

10%- You know who you are.

40%- The only things I ever write about are the things that I see everyday, such as Mocha Frappuccinos and horses.

50%- I was introduced to my favorite writer, a poet actually, in the second grade. His name is Robert Frost, a perfect example of someone who only wrote about what he knew. Frost has been described as an ordinary man intensified. Upon first glance his work may seem rudimentary, for his favorite subjects are things that you and I may see or be a part of daily. Yet his wisdom reflects someone who is here, been, and gone. When reading Frost's work you are being let into a much deeper world than that of the ordinary poet. Frost judges, but rarely condemns; he is fundamentally serious, but never pompous.  He accepts the world's contradictions without being crushed by them. In one of his most recent poems, The Lesson for Today, he concludes:

And were an epitaph to be my story
I'd have a short one ready for my own
I would have written of me on my stone
I had a lover's quarrel with the world.

"I had a lover's quarrel with the world." No reviewer has written, none will write, a more accurate summary of the poet's spirit. On another account Frost said of himself, "There are two types of realist. There is the one who offers a good deal of dirt with his potato to show that it is a real potato. And there is the one who is satisfied with the potato brushed clean. I am inclined to be the second kind. To me, the thing that art does for life is to clean it, to strip it to form." Frost's writing always displays the principle of "the clean potato". He isn't afraid to call it like he sees it and he most certainly has an unforgettable impact on his readers.

Cleverness, imagination, ingenuity, inventiveness, originality, resourcefulness, talent, and vision. These are all words that can easily be linked with true inspiration. You know where I find mine. What is yours?