From the kitchen…

 Coffee in a bright red cup. Tulips in a glass milk jug. Three silver pans stacked up by the sink. A teapot just cooled, honey and a spoon resting on the counter together. A loaf of bread still open. Today I like short sentences. Today I like word pictures. Today I like a few words grouped together and a period at the end. Today I like coffee in a bright red cup.

I’m reading…

Resting beside me on the table top, lying open, just as I left it when I set it down to come write this is “Jane of Lantern Hill.”  Yes, another L. M. Montgomery. What can I say? I don’t think I’ve read a book of hers that I haven’t loved, more than loved. You can just slip into their pages, find yourself walking in Avonlea, feeling the soft PEI breeze whisking past you and clutch your daisies as you skip through the tall grass. Of all the places in the world Prince Edward Island is still one of the ones I want to visit the very most. It used to be the place I wanted to go to the very most, with other places coming as follow-ups, but now it’s positioning has shifted to “one of the most.” You see, I would like to go to Australia more now, but the idea of Prince Edward Island still has all it’s magic. The idea still gives me prickly feelings as L. M. Montgomery’s words of description come back to me. There’s just something so enchanting about the idea of walking in the fields where Ann walked. Now, don’t anybody tell me Ann isn’t real, because I just won’t believe you. Of course Ann is real, and of course she walked in those fields of tall grass, and ran down by the shore, and of course her laughter still rings in the air, because that is Prince Edward Island.

I’m wearing…

Today I am staying home all day and wearing whatever I like, as can be told by my horrendously clashing pink and yellow strip dress and purple and blue striped socks. With a fancy white shrug sweater as the whip cream of my horrendously clashing attire.  

A quote I’m contemplating…

 "The secret of happiness is to live moment by moment and to thank God for all that He, in His goodness, sends to us day after day."
~Saint Gianna Beretta Molla

 And I rather liked this one…

 People are like stained-glass windows. They sparkle and shine when the sun is out, but when the darkness sets in their true beauty is revealed only if there is a light from within.

~ Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

 I’ve never heard of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross before, I wonder if she’s an author? Anyways, I liked this quote.

 I’m creating…

 Right now I’m working on creating a letter for a dear friend. I do like letters, writing them and receiving them. It just makes me happy.

 I’m thinking…

 I still need to write up all the pages and pages of journaling pages and things that I wrote up in my notebook while I was away at Christendom, I think I have a few stories written up by hand that I need to type up, that is if I still like them when I come to typing them. That’s the thing about writing, by the time you come to typing it all up your views often change so it never seems to come out just like you had written it before.

 A picture thought I'm sharing...

Many and More Thoughts

I’m thinking…

I have to say one of my biggest procrastination excuses when I’m writing is sitting, facing the computer, and changing the font and formatting multiple times. When I can’t seem to come up with any of the words that fit what I want to say properly, I have a bad habit of opening up the little font box at the top of the screen and clicking on half a dozen different fonts. I will type a little with each font, and then finding (surprise) that the new font isn’t inspiring me any more than the previous one, I go and choose a different one altogether. It’s really quite a bad habit to fall into, because you can just sit staring at the empty word document for the longest time imaginable just going through different fonts. It doesn’t get you any farther in what you are writing, it doesn’t change any of the words that you have written already, and it doesn’t change anything- except give you an excuse to distract yourself from actually writing.

I suppose it’s really the same thing as when I start writing out the beginning sentence to a letter I’m trying to write over and over again on sheet after sheet of paper. I stare at my handwriting, looking lopsided at the head of the page, frown, and crumple up the sheet of paper. It’s really all an excuse to put off doing something that you want, and should, be doing. It’s a somewhat reasonable excuse at first, “oh I just want to change the typesetting, this one isn’t working for me,” but when you have been sitting at the computer changing the font over and over again and going nowhere with the actual writing, it becomes a problem.

I think sometimes that beginning whatever you are writing is the hardest part of it, but other times I think it’s the middle, and still other times I think it’s the end. You see what a fickle creature I am? Sometimes I find it easy to write up ten different beginnings for ten different things but when I come to the middle I have a hard time plowing through. Then again, there are times when the beginning is the hardest to come up with, that single beginning sentence that progresses easily into the rest of the paragraphs.

I suppose, really, that’s why I like to have quite a few different stories and blog posts going at the same time, so that when I get muddled or tired with one I jump to the next. The problem is it’s rather hard to jump back and forth from different styles of writing. It’s easy to let a story fall neglected in the back of the saved documents, saying “I shall get back to that one soon.”

I’m listening to…

Keep Breathing by Ingrid Michaelson. I really love this song, I think because the words “all we can do is keep breathing…” that play over and over again in the chorus are really so beautiful. It’s really a word picture that I want to capture somehow, and that I keep trying to in different things as I’m writing, that feeling of just breathing in and out and listening to that sound only. I don’t quite know how to express it, it’s like a sense of all these tumultuous emotions going on inside of someone, and all they can do is keep breathing in and out, hanging on. I think everyone has moments like that, only varying in strength and weight. Breathing in, breathing out, closing your eyes, listening to the physical sense of the air filling your lungs, and the thoughts that flood through your mind.

I’m creating…

Can one simply be creating thoughts? I feel like that at the moment, sitting here, as I try to write and formulate coherent words. Soft music plays in the background and I keep finding myself drifting away from my fingers that are trying to type, and drifting into a train of thought. Thoughts that can’t seem to be put into any words at the moment, perhaps someday they will become words that will play a large part in something I write, but for the moment they are just little inconsequential thoughts that drift in the back of my mind like little breezes. Too inconsequential, not well formed enough, still too vague, to be put into sentences that express them. I think it’s interesting how old thoughts tend to come back after a while and drift into my various stories without my even intending them to. I won’t be thinking about it, I’ll be writing about a couple random characters and suddenly they are speaking words that are a part of thoughts that I had been thinking a few weeks, perhaps months, sometimes even years ago. I’ll read over it again and wonder how those words crept into the story, how those thoughts I had almost forgotten were now part of the very fabric of the story I had just written. That’s why giving yourself time just to think is never wasted, everyone needs moments where they can sit back and stare at the ceiling and think many thoughts. Are those thoughts ever wasted, even if they are never to be put into words? I don’t think so. I don’t think thoughts are ever wasted, they shape who you are, and they become part of you. Thoughts and time to think are never wasted.

I think that’s part of the reason why I like my job at the library so very much. You see, I can think while working. I don’t have to think about if I’m shelving things in the right place any more; I can just pick up the books off the cart and get caught up in my thoughts. There’s something so very lovely about walking around, pushing my cart of books, thinking my own thoughts while my hands are busy doing something else. I suppose why this job wouldn’t be right for just anyone, I think a lot of people would get really bored after a while because even when they were working their very hardest there is still nothing to really occupy your mind with unless you enjoy getting caught up in thoughts about the cloud drifting past the window. You have to enjoy being quiet, you have to enjoy listening to the sound of a soft rustling of books in the background; you have to enjoy thinking random little thoughts.

 I have rather a bad habit of getting too caught up in my thoughts though; it can be a bad thing. I can get so caught up in thinking about some little thing, turning over an odd little thought in my head, that I can get rather oblivious to what’s going on around me. The other day I apparently looked somebody straight in the face, so obviously they thought I had seen them, but I didn’t. If I hadn’t gone up to say hi and ask why they hadn’t come to say hi when they first arrived, I probably would never have known. Yes, I get that bad. It’s rather embarrassing and I need to work on it. Emily needs to get her head out of the clouds sometimes, but it’s rather hard when thoughts are so interesting sometimes.

 Outside my window…

For a long while the blue heron that comes to our pond was standing directly across from we when I glanced out the window. I like watching him stand in the water, motionless, waiting, then suddenly diving his head into the water and coming up with a goldfish. Can you imagine having to do that? Just standing there, hour after hour, never letting yourself move, until your dinner came close. I think I would much rather be the little goldfish swimming beneath the water, finding my dinner there, even though if that were the case I’d probably get eaten by the blue heron. I’d rather like to be a little fish though, swimming down in the water, looking at the world from beneath the rippling surface. I’m watching the water move on the surface as I write this out. Watching it ripple, and go swirling from one side to the next. I’m watching the little raindrops making their imprinting upon the surface in a calm moment. The little reeds and small trees at the water’s edge rustle with the breeze and the grass looks wet and green with the drizzling rain falling on it.

One of my favorite things…

Rhymes that aren’t cheesy. I’ve been discovering that so many rhymes get so cheesy sounding, they sound like bad puns. A good rhyme sounds beautiful; it just makes a sentence blossom out into poetry. You don’t even notice that it was a rhyme; it was just part of two sentences that go perfectly together. Have you ever listened to the rhymes they insert into commercials though? Oh my goodness. Really. It’s bad. I sometimes wonder who sits writing such balderdash: do they enjoy writing things like that? Things that make somebody snort and go off into muffled choking and laughter saying “did they really just rhyme that with that? Dear me.” So yes, a rhyme that is well rhymed is one of my favorite things. It creates beautiful sentences, beautiful poetry to the ear, I can’t say I am very good at coming up with them myself, but when I hear a sentence where someone has it just makes me beam happily, now THAT was a good rhyme.

From the kitchen…

I put some chicken in the crock-pot to simmer away until I can get the rest of the ingredients together for a soup I’m going to make for dinner. I’m rather excited to try out this new recipe, it sounds delightful. I do like soups; they are such nice homey things. There is nothing homey than a nice big pot of soup bubbling merrily away in the kitchen, filling the house with warm lovely smells, especially when it’s rather a cold chilly day, with rain drizzling outside.

I’m wearing…

One of the dresses I brought along for World Youth Day and that I wore in Paris, so it always reminds me of that. When I walk around, with the long, black and white striped folds swirling around me I think of walking down the street listening to a group of musicians playing “What a wonderful world” by an old looking café. I think of lying on my back in the grass and looking up at the Eiffel tower gleaming at nighttime. It’s interesting what little things can bring back such strong memories. Things like wearing a dress that you wore somewhere else; it can bring back all those memories of that day.

A few plans for the rest of the week…

At this point all I can really think about when I reach this prompt is Thursday. Thursday, getting on an airplane and flying to Virginia. All I can think of is packing my suitcase and toting around as I tour Christendom college. All I can think about is what book to bring for the airplane ride, all I can think about is finding a proper camera, all I can think about is the little stack of things waiting for me to get them ready. All I can think about is Thursday.

Audrey Hepburn Drawing

I've posted this drawing in a journaling page before, but I wanted to post it again now that I can scan it. The quality is a little better that way.

Crossing into the Realms of a Victorian World

So this is a drawing I just finished, I'm planning on entering it for a contest being held near us. I thought I would put up a few of the steps, and different sketches I had going in the process as well as the final work. I'm pretty pleased with it since I spent so much time on it. I looked up pictures of different hairstyles, Victorian shoes and dresses, modern styles in coats and hair to give me references.

First of all, this is an excerpt from the requirements:

"The subject of the show is Victorian works of fiction, specifically the whimsical and fantastical worlds created by authors of this time. This show opens on Friday March 23rd and runs for a month. Those selected will have their work professionally framed and mounted and receive a certificate of participation. The opening party is on Friday, March 23rd at 7pm and is open to the public. The show will also be featured at the Victorian Heritage Festival Grand Ball after-party and hang for a month. Artists can set whatever price they wish for their piece or choose not to sell it. Apothecarium takes no commission; 100% of the sale, minus tax, goes to the artist. Sales do not include frames and peices must hang for the full duration of the show."

This is the sheet I filled out summing up my artwork:

Name: Emily

School: Homeschooled

Size of work: 8x12 inch

Medium: Pencil

Title: Crossing into the realms of a Victorian world

What inspired my drawing:

My drawing was inspired by the idea of a modern person being transported through the pages of a Victorian work of fantasy back into that day and age and also into the fantasy world of the story. I made several ‘Alice in Wonderland’ references in the fantasy half of my drawing.

 Not for Sale

I started out with a basic positioning sketch

I originally had a much smaller drawing that fit this proportioning, but somehow I lost it. *sighs*

Then I went into a sketch where I tossed around different ideas and elements I wanted to be a part of my drawing.

Then I started on the final drawing. I changed her hand positioning a little bit and moved away from the doorway idea.

And here is a close up of her face

Organization and Outlines

I’m thinking…

Recently this prompt has been one of my favorites to write. In a way I think this is because it’s a bit of an easy out. There are so many blog posts I’ve been wanting to write up, blog posts on this that and the other thing, random thoughts that I should like to sort out, but truthfully writing a blog post on a single subject it a bit intimidating for me. I’m not quite sure how to begin these blog posts I have contemplated writing in my head. That’s always the trouble, finding where to begin. This is why I find writing up this prompt so very enjoyable, because it is as if the beginning is paved out for you. You can take it anywhere, beginning with “I’m thinking…” and watch one’s thoughts unfold on paper.

I think though, I need to get a little better at writing out blog posts. Where I begin with an organized subject and proceed to write out my thoughts, sticking to that subject without drifting all across the map with my thoughts. There is something to be said for organization of one’s thoughts as well as free-writing. I think I talked of free writing in my last journaling page. Of how I liked reading a person’s writing as if one is reading their thoughts, and writing that way as well. Rambling, drifting, flouting easily from one subject to the next, like one’s thoughts drift through one’s mind. However, you really needs to be good at writing something that is more to one subject I think.

I suppose it’s simply a balance. You have to find a balance between writing easily and letting your thoughts drift out into words, and sticking to a more organized subject and group of ideas. I suppose this is where outlines would be helpful, right? I’ve always hated outlines though. Skimpy things formed of the strict idea of something, the bare bones. I want to add so much more to an outline than the barest of details. I want to go in depth, search deeper, find greater meaning to the words I am choosing, but then it wouldn’t be an outline.

I think I need to get on better terms with the outline, rather than he and I eyeing each other warily like two arch enemies I should realize that the outline is there to help me. I can’t help but feel he is my enemy though, I want to kill him dead and unleash the pent up words he hold prisoner.

I shall try to resign myself to making better use of the outline. He should be my map, my guiding light as I wander through a dark tunnel of thoughts, wondering wherever I should come out. I like that feeling though, that feeling of uncertainty, wondering where I shall end up with my thoughts by the end of whatever I am writing. I especially like looking back at the end of it, retracing my steps and looking at the finished item.

Anyways, this really leads me to what I was going to say originally, about wanting to write some more focused blog posts. A little more centered one idea, and the thoughts surrounding that idea. I love my journaling pages and I love writing out this prompt, but I need to write more focused things too. Mondays are for journaling pages though, so I shall proceed to ramble and drift as much as I wish for the entirety of this, and enjoy myself thoroughly while doing so.

I’m reading…

A couple days ago when I was shelving books at the library I came across ‘Anne of the Island’ of course you know I had to open it up and read the first page and then I was caught. Anne caught me up with her magic, and as soon as I came home I had to go straight to my bookshelf and open up my own copy. I love books that no matter how many times you have read them they still contain some of that old magic, they still surprise and delight you with that old first time read glory. I haven’t read ‘Anne of the Island’ in a long while actually. I’ve reread most of the others quite recently, but not this one. It’s funny, it was never one of my favorites of the Anne books growing up, but I’ve found myself loving it more and more. I suppose it’s yet another one of those cases where the book matched my stage in life, and as I grow older the books that are my favorites change with me. It doesn’t mean I forget my old favorites, they’re still there, in the back of my mind, much loved and well read, but each year has a new favorite, a new insight into an old book. You are always getting new thoughts and opinions on old reads, and that’s what I love best about rereading books. You always get something new from it.

 I also picked up a book on grammar yesterday when I was at the library. Called ‘The Grammar Bible: Everything you always wanted to know about grammar but didn’t know whom to ask’ I have to say I enjoy reading these sorts of grammar books. *chuckles* really, I’m quite attached to this book I own called ‘Eats, Shoots and Leaves’ I dig it out and reread it just to amuse myself. It’s because the author has such a funny way about talking about grammatical errors that people make and common errors. My favorite section in that book is this chapter where it is showing a couple copies of the same letter style writing, but by switching around a few commas it means such very different things. It’s really fascinating to think about what can change in your meaning by simply putting commas in different places. I suppose it should serve as a warning too, you know, that you should be very careful about how you write something, because it can be so easily misread. I think I must work on my grammar a little more.

I’m listening to…

 I just recognized the theme to the ‘Titanic’ playing in the background. I’m really not all that fond of that movie, for various reasons, but I am in love with the music. *proceeds to listen to the soft piano rendition happily*

I’m creating…


I just finished this drawing I did for a contest. I’m really quite proud of it. I think I shall post it and perhaps some of my practice drawings for it soon.

 Outside my window…

The pond is glistening back a reflection of the lovely blue sky and the puffy white clouds. A gentle breeze brushes the top of the water from one side of the pond to the other. A soft sprinkling of rain is falling.

No Regrets

This is short story I just finished writing. I'm toying around with the idea of writing something along the same ideas but in a longer form. As it is I'm rather pleased with how it turned out. I feel like it's a bit of a new writing style for me and I was rather happy with the first person tone. I'd like to still tweak with it a little more and make it better but I think I need to hold off for a bit and come back to it after a few weeks or so and see what I think then.
No Regrets


It is but a part of life that past decisions must be reconsidered, their wisdom debated, and inevitably, a few of them must be regretted. Choices of old must be considered with a wisdom gained only by the subsequent result of such a choice. A question must haunt the back of the mind with a persistency created by past regret, the question of "What if..."

The question lingers in the air, in the back of the mind, in the thoughts that mix with memories like new rain upon a long standing body of water.

Sometimes, this question is formed by idle curiosity, rather than even regret. Yet it always contains a strange poignancy, a power of haunting, for it is a question that can never be answered.
I used to regret. My thoughts used to dwell on how different things could have been if only my actions, words, and even thoughts had been different back then.

No longer do such thoughts disturb my mind however. I find myself satisfied- nay, grateful for each event, each choice, for they led me along a path that was to prove a formation of my mind, creating myself into the being I am today. Why should I regret such action and events that have had such a happy result? Why should I be troubled by what could have been, when what is now, is so much pleasanter?

It is true, the question can never have an answer. We can never find out what could have been, but only question and surmise. Not I, however, I have no wish to question, no wish for surmises. I am well pleased with the results of past events and past choices. The past has no power to haunt me. I am free from it.

There is a certain phrase that was uttered in reference to me that comes to my mind unasked for this day. An utterance from years ago, I do not know why I remember it. The words were spoken by a girl, she was simple and dim-witted, why do I remember her? She said, those many years ago, I should come to regret. How wrong she was proved. Poor silly girl, I used to think her very sweet and clever. It is almost amusing to consider one's thoughts back then, as a child.

It is my belief now, that in a child's mind anyone who happens to be friendly and cheerful is considered then both sweet and clever. It is the only explanation I can give for my finding any of my childhood playmates charming, for I was not dim-witted, nor was I simple, yet looking back now I find most of these playmates to have been thus.

Certainly Willa was thus, and if I were to regret anything in my life, I might almost say it would have been her friendship. It is rather painful for me to speak so of someone, I should not do it if I did not feel in every form this girl was a bad influence of my child self.

Days could have been better spent, instead they were wasted, as we whispered in our secret hideaways. Thoughts that could have been directed in productive manners were instead spent on false fantasies of magical lands. Childhood could have been better spent, instead it was spent with Willa.

"David," she had whispered one day, as she leaned against the windowsill.

"Uh huh?" I had nodded sleepily, still caught up with the clouds we had been looking at moments before.

"Don't you ever change. I don't like how people change as they grow up. They lose something, something beautiful that can never be regained, and then they seem to spend their entire lives searching to find that something once more. They can never find it though, and because of that they are left miserable and unhappy. I don‘t want to see you unhappy, I don‘t wish for anyone to be unhappy, but especially not you."

What did she want me to do, stay a child forever? Illusions die, fantasies are crushed, people grow up.
It is the order of things, how things are, and how they should be. Childhood is a short-lived stage of life, it should not be clung to or dwelled upon. It is a time of wasted opportunities and foolish dreams.
We must all grow up. The time of transition between childhood and adulthood comes at a different stage for each, but come it will. I did not expect it to take the form it did, but then, did I expect much back then? I knew nothing of life, of it’s fears, of it’s sorrows. I knew only the passing of each day, of counting stars and chasing butterflies, and Willa.

She was the only one who seemed to remain untouched in the possession of her childhood. While my other playfellows found to their surprise, each in turn, that they had parted with childhood forever, Willa remained the same. She grew taller, slimmer, more womanlike in appearance, yet her thoughts remained a child’s speculation. Speculations on dreams and fantasies and imaginings. I tried to tell her none of it was real, but she wouldn’t listen to me.

“Dreams are beautiful things, David. Don’t let go of them. Hold on to them. Don‘t you remember?” She had said.

I could only shake my head and wonder how she could remain such a child.

It was then I had realized for the first time how simple she was, how near-sighted. Why wasn’t she touched by the cold hand of reality that had so shaken me? Why didn’t she change? I had changed, it was good, it was for the best.

Of course I remembered those dreams. I remember them now, I remember lying on my back looking up at the sky and counting stars. Willa had tugged my sleeve and pointed out the falling star, we had both screwed our eyes closed and each wished. I remember those wishes now, and how sure we had been that they would come true. Perhaps Willa’s did, all I know was my wishes were lost in that all consuming darkness, the darkness of the night.

They were foolish wishes, foolish wishes of foolish children. Why should I remember them now?
I wanted Willa to change. I wanted her to loose that childish way of hers of always hoping, never fearing, knowing no worry, always hope. I wanted her to grow up, to be an adult, to face reality. I wanted that cold hand that had touched my soul to touch hers as well and make her see life as it was. I couldn’t understand how she remained untouched by any of it.

I remember that day, the day when childhood slipped out of my fingers like a sunbeam quickly fading in the evening. It had been my fault, I should have realized we had climbed too high on that steep little slope, I should have realized the edge was sheer and jutting and that Willa was worn out from the climb, but I was a child and I was thoughtless. She had slipped, just like that, and there she had been, lying on the dirt with her face drained of all color.

She had lived, but only just. I thought she was going to die that day and that I had murdered her, but she had lived. When I had found out I had almost wished she had died, I knew I would have wanted to have died in her place, anything rather than that. She was paralyzed, those young legs of hers would never walk again, and it had been my fault.

I waited for her to scream at me, to shriek out those words of hate and loathing. None had come.

“I don’t mind, David. Not all that much. I used my legs so very much all those years, perhaps it is good that I shall rest them now.” She had said with a smile.

I couldn’t understand it. I wanted her to hate me like I hated myself. I wanted her to show some accountable reaction, to look down at her stilled legs and cry at the thought of never running with them across the field with me. I didn’t understand how she could smile, how she could tease.

I know now that she was simply a foolish and dim-witted girl, too simple to understand the reality and hopelessness of the case. She would never walk again. It would never get better. There was no hope.
I couldn’t stand being around her. I couldn’t stand to see the results of what I had done. I had said goodbye, moved off to a boarding school, resolving to leave her and my childhood behind. When I left I could tell that she knew why I was leaving.

“It wasn’t your fault, David.” She had said.

We both knew that was a lie. It had been my fault, it was my fault, she would be forever caged in something that was my fault. I couldn’t believe she forgave me, it was impossible. She only took my hand out of memory of those childhood years, nothing more. She hated me.

“Goodbye, Willa.” I had said, trying not to let her see my hopelessness.

“Don’t go away, David. Don’t go away.” She had said suddenly. “If you go away now you’ll regret it. It will forever be something that haunts you as what could have been.”

Of course I don’t regret it. It was a choice that shaped my being into the man I am today. A business man, a man of intelligence, a man of sense, drive and skill.

Yet sometimes I wonder, what if...