FairWind's Life Soundtrack

I carpool with my brother-in-law to school, which means that we sometimes have to wait for each other's classes to get out before we can head home. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, it's my turn to wait, and I have about an hour and a half to kill before it's time to leave. 

This most recent Tuesday, I was sitting in a lovely, grassy spot on the UVU campus beneath a tree, feeling stressed about life. As it happens, I didn't bring enough homework with me to keep me busy, and I was too on edge to get anything productive done anyway. What I really needed was a distraction. Normally when that happens, I go hide in my room and dispel, but that's not exactly an option at school. So, I pulled out my iPod and did the next best thing - just listened to music. 

It didn't work. I was looking for a distraction, but music by itself was too easy to set aside as background noise. Fortunately, Dragon Masters came to my rescue, as it very often does. 

I've been listening to a few songs recently that have reminded me of FairWind's childhood. Music is a pretty big part of fey culture too, so the idea of FairWind actually singing the songs I was listening to wasn't entirely ludicrous. In that moment when I was lying beneath a tree, desperately searching for some way to escape my tension, I thought it could be fun to build up a soundtrack specifically for FairWind. I've been wanting to do it awhile for Dragon Masters in general, but I thought it could be fun to put together a group of songs that are unique to FairWind. I've separated them into two groups: Her youth, and the years of her Dragon Master training. Here is what I came up with:

Youth

• The Orphan (Jane Eyre Musical)
• Exemplifies how she felt in her few moments of childhood. Especially shows the beginning of her yearning for freedom and acknowledgement from her father. Also introduces her passion. FairWind, like Jane Eyre, is a very passionate girl, but she keeps it hidden deep within.
• Nobody's on Nobody's Side (Chess)
• This is the first time she starts to realize that everything she's doing to please her father may not be enough and the start of her wondering if its even what she wants. Her frustration to the world when she's nearing the end of her training.
• Anthem (Chess)
• The beginning of her doubt. The idea of running away is first planted in her heart. This is her clinging to the last hope that she belongs in the place she considers home.
• This is the Moment (Jekyll and Hyde)
• The moment before her final test where she will become the youngest master in the twisted arts and officially a part of her father's elite warriors (or assassins, not sure which yet). Exemplifies her unfailing hope that everything will be better when she succeeds. It's her trying to forget her doubts and cling to her dreams.
• Nothing Left by Beth Crowley
• FairWind's feelings after the test, when she realizes she's chosen the wrong path. Her looking back on why she left her home and how she feels about her father.

Dragon Mastery Years

• Pretend it's Home by Beth Crowley
• FairWind's warrior side taking over after her memories are blocked. She recognizes that she has always been an outcast, but she's going to continue anyway. This is like her preaching to TigerClaw and BurningFeather about what she does and why.
• Open Your Eyes by Bea Miller
• The moment when FairWind chooses to leave her forgotten memories behind her and decides who she's going to be and how she's going to live. The second verse could allude to her brother when they meet again.
• Lost in Paradise by Evanescence
• The moment when even FairWind's stubbornness couldn't save her. Her darkest hour and moment of truth.
• 2007 by Beth Crowley
• Listen to the song. Enough said.
• Undefeated by Daughtry
• The moment when she becomes a Dragon Master
• Where No One Goes (How to Train Your Dragon 2)
• Come on, can't you picture FairWind flying around in triumph to this song? If this were a movie, this would be the song that would end the prologue and transition into the story where you see FairWind as an adult and fully fledged Dragon Master Warrior.

Ode to April

Guess what! I did it! And what's more, I'm not the only one! I think all of my friends who took on the Poetry Month Challenge made it through the whole month. None of us missed a day - how cool is that? Especially for everyone else who managed it, I mean, it was probably much harder for my friends than for me. They all wrote full poems - one a day - and they had school and jobs to balance on top of that! Seriously, I'm sending you all virtual air-fives right now. What you managed to accomplish is amazing. I'm so proud of each of you!

So, other than feeling really cool at the end of the month, what is the point of the Poetry Month challenge? Honestly, I think my friends and I started it just for the sake of the challenge. We were in Jr. High, we didn't care about learning stuff back then. But now, there is a reason we keep trying to do it, despite our hectic adult schedules. Put simply, we do it because it's hard, and none of us are very good at poetry. Well, maybe we are now, but you know . . .

As a writer, there's a lot to be said for poetry. Forcing yourself to work within a certain rhythm, or constrain yourself to words that rhyme, or try to tell a story or evoke an image in a limited number of lines - let's face it, that's hard to do! It's these limits that forces us to stretch our creativity and build new ways of thinking for ourselves. And doing it everyday for a month - you'll be hard pressed to lose what you've gained.

And let's face it, writing one poem a day for a month - that's hard to do. It's almost worth doing just for the bragging rights.

Though, truth be told, I feel I went a little easy on myself this month. Limiting myself to a one haiku a day - though it had its challenges - seemed almost too easy sometimes. After all, they're only three lines. I did have days where I considered dropping the haiku idea and just writing whatever type of poetry I wanted, but I stuck with it anyway. You know why? Because it was different. I'm terrible at poetry! I can't work with rhythms and meters - and let's not even get started on rhyming. So, I may have skipped the rhyming thing, but I wanted to challenge myself to work in meters anyway, and let me tell you, it was hard. The meter of haikus is 5-7-5, but apparently all of my thoughts come out in even numbered syllables, so I was always wanting to do 4-6-4. Finding new ways to phrase my thoughts within the meter was just the kind of creative challenge I needed. It was hard sometimes - even a little frustrating. But I'm glad I did it.

I can't say that I'm a better poet now than I was at the beginning of the month. Indeed, I think one of the biggest things I've learned is that I'm terrible at haikus. And I think I could do better at evoking imagery. I didn't know that before. Now that I do, I can work on it - I can fix it and become a better writer. It's so nice to be able to pinpoint a fault in your writing. It makes bettering it so much simpler. Oddly, it also makes me excited for next April. I wonder what I'll do then . . . Should I try forcing myself to rhyme everyday? Oooo, scary.

Congratulations to all those who made it through this challenge! Even if you didn't - you tried, and that's amazing. This is the first time I've made it through the whole month without missing a day. I think it's the first time for a few of my friends too. What a cool month! Best of luck on all your future writing endeavors. :)

Day 24

Simple words work best -
and simple talk can also -
to gift lots of feels.

Day 23

So many voices
that dance in my head - and wait,
for someone to hear.

Day 22

Monsters that think like
us, hide in the shadows, where
they know we can't see.

Day 10

The demon voices
across the tranquil moors, blow
vanquished cries again.

Day 2

Steaming off the road,
ghosts of all who have past here;
fading with the rain.

Day 1

Her mirror that broke
from eyes as wide as a rose -
falling petal tears.

National Poetry Month Challenge

A few years ago, my friends and I heard from a teacher that April was National Poetry Month. As none of us were (or are), in any way, practiced poets, we naturally decided to create our own Poetry Month Challenge. For every day of April, we would write one poem. We had to actually write a poem every day. If we missed a day, we couldn't write two the next day to make up - you had to write a poem every day.

That first year, I'm pretty sure none of us made it. We got really close, but (actually, it may've been on the same day now that I think about it) we forgot to write a poem until after midnight on one day. It was quite tragic. The next year, we didn't hardly try at all, and last year, I forgot about it until June. Good stuff!

Well, now, another poetry month is approaching, and I've decided to take the challenge again. But this year, it's going to be much more legit! I'm determined to succeed this year! And to add to the challenge, I'm not going to write free verse this year - which is all I'd ever write in past years. That and acrostic poems. I'm not a very skilled wordsmith, you see. That's why I want to try to challenge that weakness this year. This year, I'm going to write a haiku everyday.

For those who don't know, haikus are actually relatively simple. Usually they only consist of three lines and it doesn't necessarily have to rhyme. They often relate to nature as well. So you may not think this is much of a challenge for me. Ah, but you underestimate my total lack of skill! My challenge here is to fit my daily thoughts into only three lines and hold them to a strict meter.

I'm kind of excited! As poetry is easily one of my weakest points in writing, I'm really looking forward to learning more and, hopefully, become a better writer for doing so.

To encourage myself to hold to this, I'm going to try to post all my poems here, every day as I write them. Or after I edit them, I don't know. However this happens to work, I'm going to try to post every day. I don't know what's going to happen or what I'm going to come up with or even if I'm going to succeed this month, but hey! It's nice to have goals.

Emptying my Brain

Sometimes I have random story ideas that I have to get out of my head before I can focus on whatever story I'm writing at the time. This scene and these characters I came up with while watching CW's "Beauty and the Beast", season 2. I haven't read over this or edited it at all, I just wrote it down and now I'm putting it up here. :)

It was in a hospital that Marella opened her bleary eyes. She didn’t know it yet, but she had been there all night. She’d had intensive surgery to remove a bullet from her abdomen. She was going to live. The bullet hadn’t done any damage to her insides that the skilled surgeons couldn’t repair. Besides, her body had been through worse.

Indeed, perhaps that was why she seemed so surprised when she came to. She had blacked out before being found. She had been sure that she would bleed out before anyone would find her. Yet, she found herself alive, in a hospital bed with oxygen tubes in her nose. She knew she was alive because she could still feel soreness in her belly, but with all the painkillers in her system, she mostly felt a little woozy. But her biggest surprise was yet to come.

She blinked to clear her eyes and tried to look around the room. Even that small effort made her dizzy. Her eyes fell on a figure sitting beside her bed – a man, leaning on his knees and watching her over clenched hands. Marella had to rub her eyes and blink a few more times before her eyes were clear enough to see who it was.

The soreness in her belly seemed to vanish along with everything else in there as shock enveloped her. She felt as if her limbs had gone numb, for she could no longer move. All her senses were forced onto the man beside her; a man with short, dark hair, eyes filled with intensity and scruff all around his jaw. He didn’t seem able to move either as his gaze met her’s without blinking.

Marella barely found her voice. “. . . Dad . . .” her voice came out a whisper.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t move at all, as if he was still trying to figure out if he was in a dream or not. Marella frowned at him. “Dad . . .?” she said again, a little stronger.

She lifted a trembling hand. The man’s eyes flicked to it for a moment before looking back at her. Marella swallowed and closed her eyes again. Her fingertips found the scruff on his cheek. Her breathing was unsteady as she slowly traced her fingers across the contours of his face. She nearly stopped breathing altogether when she knew where all the dips and curves would be before she felt them. She knew this face. She had memorized it long ago.

“Daddy,” this time her voice broke.

The man took her hand away from his face and clasped it between both of his. She hadn’t realized how cold her’s were until he did. He placed a rough kiss on her knuckles.

“Hey there, kiddo,” was all he could manage to say. Emotion of every sort welled so high in his chest and throat that it was a miracle he could speak clearly at all. Marella didn’t dare open her eyes for fear he would vanish if she did.

She felt the warmth of his hands spreading through her entire form like a soothing current. Yet, even so, she could speak with no more ease than he could.

“Are you –” she sniffed. “Are you really here?”

“Yeah, I’m right here, bud. I’m not going anywhere.”

The cragginess of his voice had never sounded so sweet.

“Is it time to go home now?” Marella’s words barely came out as a breath.

Her dad brushed stray hair off her brow like he’d always done to her out-of-control bangs as a child. “Almost,” he said. “I promise I’m going to take you home soon.”

Marella let out a sob. She rolled onto her side as best she could and reached out to hold her father’s hand in both of hers. Still she didn’t open her eyes as she wept in her pillow. Her father kept smoothing her hair away in the softest caress his rough hands could manage. It brought such warmth to Marella’s heart, yet it made her cry even harder. She didn’t know why. She didn’t quite understand all these feelings bursting within her now. There was only one thing she recognized and she was holding tightly to it with both hands.

For the first time it what felt like an eternity to them both, they were together.

Outside the room, the cop who had found her and called her father in walked past. She glanced in the window, not intending to pry, just checking in, but the sight in the room made her smile. Though she couldn’t see the father’s face, she could feel something coming from him – something that could only be described as joy, yet even that word seemed so lacking. She wiped a stray tear from her eye and turned around, giving them some privacy. She smiled for a long while too.

Fighting Ants in My Pants and Writer's Block

Every writer has a different way of dealing with writer's block. My usual method is mostly just me indulging my procrastination side. I figure, if I can't think of anything to write in a given moment, maybe I'll be able to tomorrow. Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow, right? But, I've got to write sometime, and at some point, writer's block starts to lose it's legitimacy as an excuse.

But, never fear! Writer's block isn't the only excuse I have. Whenever I get really in the mood to write something, I get really excited about the story. That's great and everything, but it means I have a really hard time sitting still. Even when I'm on my ADD medication, when I get excited, I'm just pumped with energy and I don't want to just sit and write. I want to be up and about and doing something. That's part of where dispelling comes from. For those who don't know, when I refer to "dispelling", it means I go to my room, listen to my iPod, and act out scenes in my stories. That's usually what I end up doing instead of writing. Then there are days when I feel physically drained, but still in a writerly mode, but as soon as I pull out my notebooks, it's like my creative juices die. So rude.

Usually when that happens, I just write anyway, but I don't get very much done. So I have developed a new method. 

I was bored today, so I decided to dress up like one of my characters. I've done this before with my character Nella when my friends and I made an ASL movie of it for school, but this time I wanted to dress up as someone else. I was watching these beauty video things on youtube and I saw one about a Dragon Queen hairstyle and one about Dark Angel makeup. I combined them with my own little twists and built up my own costume. It was bizarrely fun. I'd never want to take that much time on myself for a normal day, and I would never want to wear that much make up either, but sometimes it's fun to dress up as someone else. That's the only thing I like about Halloween. I get to dress up - if I want. Heh heh. 

So, here is the result of writer's block, an inability to sit still, and a vivid character in my head. This is FairWind. She's the first real character I ever created. She's a fairy (though in this world they call them fey. Specifically, she's a sky fey), but her wings are usually tucked under her shirt. That's my excuse for why you can't see them in these pictures. She is a three and a half century old Dragon Master. Dragons in this world are actually what they call the magic people have - it's not a reptilian beast. Everyone has a dragon, but few know how to recognize them, even fewer know how to use them, and still fewer are capable of mastering them. Thus, Dragon Masters are considered mythical beasts. FairWind is one of them. She also has mastery of an evil sort of magic (the name of which I haven't yet decided on), but she doesn't know that at the beginning of the story. She's a very stoic, serious, compassionate, vigilant, mysterious type of character.

FairWind has a very special cape that has certain abilities which keep her . . . healthy, per say.

She doesn't smile much. Can you tell?

I'm not actually posing here. I was trying to come up with a way to make the waist-scarf visible. The scarf is one of the reasons you know she's a sky fey. Many sky fey wear similar styles. As FairWind has spent no time amongst her own kind, little reminders like wearing that scarf are small connections she can still have with them. However, the scarf isn't supposed to be visible, because that's where she keeps her daggers.

This is me wondering if I could make this position look normal. 

I'm wearing a skirt as a shirt, if you didn't notice. :) I imagine the sky fey have very lose fitting, flowing shirts because they have to fit their wings in there, and they're usually there for a long time, so I figured a flowing shirt would make sense. It would certainly be more comfortable.

Hey look! She's almost smiling! 

I only took this picture to show the wrist tattoo. It's one of the few clues FairWind has about her past (which she has no memories of), but she doesn't know what it means or why it's there.

I think this pose is supposed to be her daring someone to fight her. I don't know. I was running out of ideas at this point.

Making Myself Giggle

Sometimes it's fun to go through old writing that you've forgotten about. It's even useful, in that if you read stuff from a long time ago, you can feel cool since you're a much better writer now. Every now and then, though, you find something that's really silly. Is it vain to laugh at your own jokes?

My friend and I created this detective character on my sixteenth birthday, and since then, we've made about six mini movies with this character. I've always been interested in taking our little detective silliness and making a legitimate story out of it. As a writing method, I got this green notebook and made it the detective's journal. I've only written maybe two entires in the thing. A few days ago, I was reading through it, and I couldn't stop giggling. I emailed it to my friend as a sort of pick-me-up. If you're having a bad day and need a little something dorky to lighten it, I hope this'll be the something. Possibly you'll just think I'm crazy or that it's stupid, but I'm sharing it with you anyway. :)

So, here are the first three entries. I hope you enjoy!


Transcript from the Detective's First Video Log

Welcome, I am the Detective. My name shall not be disclosed at this time. 

I've been working in this profession for longer than I care remember. Longer than you would think, I assume. I've found most people take the combination of my age and career choice to mean I'm just a delusional child. Honestly, they think I'm a child. Silly adults.

It's not the happiest of jobs, dealing with death - usually . . . everyday. And the crying psychos are never . . . nice. 

So, here I am. I just solved the Laurence Fisher case - the man killed by his uncle - twice removed - for his baseball. It's strange the things people will do for . . . things.

Now, finally, I'm hoping to get some time off. I've got me, I've got my cigar and I've got my beer-water bottle. What more do I need?

I am the Detective. I will find the answer. Because I always do.


First Entry

This book is stupid. I like Bob better. What do I need a journal for when I've got a cameraman? I guess Bob only stops by once a week unless there's a case. And Ally is . . . *insert crazy scribbling* (that's an inexplicable noise that only makes sense when it's - you know, a noise). See, this book is stupid.

BUT I'M SO BORED!!!!!!

Ally's in Indonesia. My nose itches. The guy next door keeps making car screeching noises. It's very sunny outside.

See, this book is dumb. What exactly do I use it for?

Uh oh. I hear crying noises coming closer in the hallway. I think a case is coming for me. *insert crazy scribbling*


Second Entry

A case is afoot! I don't actually know what that means, but Ally says it a lot when we have cases. About feet. This one's not about feet. Never mind.

Crazy-crying-person's sibling is dead and I get to find the killer. Quite tragic and exciting. Bob shall be here soon to make record of the case. Because that's important.

Now I'm wondering why I started writing this entry in the first place.

Writing Spots

I have a lot of places I like to go to write. The Springville Library, the trail off of Snake Pit, the Elk Ridge Park, my kitchen, etc. I have to have so many because sometimes some of them don't work out.  The Springville library is far away, and sometimes when I get there, all the good seats are taken. Sometimes I don't want to walk to Snake Pit or the park where random people may walk by me, but sometimes I just want to get out of the house so the kitchen is no good. I think it's because my writer's psyche is always trying to get me to procrastinate so I have to come up with all sorts of excuses not to, and not having the perfect place to write is an easy excuse.

My current favorite writing spot I've only actually used twice. I didn't consider it as a spot until I had to bring my car in for inspection stuff and I had to wait for it at Peteetneet. I don't know why, but it was really nice there. There were even some people there, and I was still fine with being there. That's kind of weird. But it was really sunny and quiet, even though there were cars driving past all the time. I sat on one of the benches and wrote for awhile, I took a break on the swings, then I found a new place to write on the playground, then I climbed around on the swing set (probably not the smartest idea, but I was careful), and even though there were gardeners around mowing the lawn, I felt really comfortable there. I don't know why, but it's a nice place. It's not just a place I go to try to make myself write, I just like going there.

I even have an enemy on the playground. There's this big hairy spider that's been hanging around both the times I went. He's never gotten close to me yet, but I always seem to spot him, no matter where I sit. Oddly, that makes it kind of fun. I would've thought that having a freaky looking spider following me around there would bug me, but I just giggle when I see it. Plus, today, I got to escape it by going down the slide. I felt so sneaky!

I don't know if my joy at hanging out at Peteetneet is going to last - I'm sure I'll find something wrong with it eventually - but for now, it's fun to go and get lost in my own little world and take breaks by being a kid again.

Dreams and Nightmares

I was having a bit of a writerly struggle for awhile. I think it's something that pretty much every writer has to struggle with in some form or another. The only reason I can think of is because writing - well, creating anything at all is often more of a spiritual act than it is physical or mental. That may sound cheesy, but aren't the best stories the ones told from someone's heart and not their hands?

Below is a page I wrote to myself of what I was feeling. I'm sharing it because I think many people view writers, artists, even actors sometimes as . . . I don't know, less somehow because all we do is entertain, and some may not see that as a helpful contribution to the world. So, here is a glimpse into the mind of a frightened writer.


"The older I get and the more innocence I lose in growth, the more my passions hurt me. Once I could write whenever and whatever and it was always fun. Perhaps now I over think it. I try too hard now to make an honest story so it loses the magic. I'm so experienced now that it's . . . something else.

"I used to be able to write my dreams and it never bothered me that they weren't perfect - because to me, they were. They were just how I saw them, so why need I be hurt? But now, what I see isn't so easily transferred to paper. Now, when I write my dreams, my ink dirties the world and it becomes a nightmare. Once the dreams reach the mortal world, they're no longer pure. It's like I'm a bridge from heaven to earth, but, because I'm no longer a child, the passage that I am is . . . jagged and muddy and the dreams can't come through me without being broken. Now I'm afraid to write. It doesn't matter how I do it, what I write, or how I feel before - I feel terrible afterwards. I'm not even sure why or how it gets there and I know just as much about getting rid of it.

"I'm not the first to feel this way. Norman Mailer once said, "Every book I write kills me a little more." I understand that feeling, but why does it exist? Writing is a passion, and I think I can do good with it. After all, stories affect people. But are writers doomed to destroy themselves so that someone may be touched by our words? I believe that such would make it worth it, but it doesn't mean that I can do it. Like I said, I'm afraid to write. I can't do it because it hurts so much. How can I ever do good if I can't find the apathy to do so?

"I wish I could ask all those who came before, how do I do it? How did you? How do you brave through the pain to find the dream again? How do you make the pain stop? How do you find the heart to write a story when every time you do, it takes away your soul? From a young writer to a wise one, what am I supposed to do?"

Picard Quote #1

"It is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness. That is life."

-S 2, Ep 21

Picard says this to Data because Data is worried about again losing a strategy game against an exceedingly . . . well, "skilled" opponent. After reprimanding him, Picard says this.

In this crazy world we live in, it's hard to cut yourself a break sometimes. We all get caught in the trap of needing to do something perfectly. The culture we live in is one that devalues losers and overvalues winners, so I suppose it's hardly surprising that we all will, on occasion, fall into the trap of seeing ourselves as weak simply because we've failed.

This is one of those quotes that reminds me of that Thomas Jefferson quote that Ben Gates says in National Treasure. The one about the lightbulb. "I didn't fail. I found 100 ways not to make a lightbulb." Very often we view our losses as nothing more than failures, which has a very negative overtone. Failing is bad. Failing means you're a pathetic, wimpy person. If you fail at something, that means you yourself are a failure as a person. It's one of those things that we humans tend to focus on and label ourselves with when they occur.

That's why I like this quote from Star Trek. As much as we'd like to think otherwise, we won't win every battle, but that doesn't make us failures or "weak". "That is life." It's one of those things that make us equal because it's something we all share. 

The way this quote resonates with me is mostly to my writer's side. We writers tend to be very hard on ourselves. When our creations our rejected, it's taken very personally because it doesn't feel so much like our writing is being rejected so much as who we are is. But, that's not really fair to ourselves. If no one likes the things you come up with, that may be hurtful, but does it really matter at the end of the day? I hope not. So long as you've created something that you are proud of, then what does it matter what everyone else thinks. This may be encouraging selfishness, but I think it's okay to just write for yourself and forget about everyone else. :)

Sometimes even something perfect will be rejected by those around us. That doesn't mean it's bad. From an LDS girls' perspective, I look at the many missionary stories from the Book of Mormon. More than once, they would go into cities, preach the gospel, and get kicked out - usually getting severely injured in the process. They did everything they were supposed to, everything they were asked, but it looked as though they still lost. Well, not really. They did their job. The fact that the people rejected them wasn't their fault. They couldn't force them to believe. The final decision was left up to the people they preached to, and they chose to reject it. So, I guess technically, the missionaries didn't lose, but the cities who rejected them sure did.

Anyway, I guess my whole point is that this is a good quote; something to remember when you're being really hard on yourself. Don't let yourself label yourself when you make mistakes or fail at something. As Riker says in a later episode, "It's arrogant to assume you'll never make a mistake." And as Mr. Jefferson said, "I found 100 ways not to make a lightbulb." Losing isn't a failure or a weakness. It's the first step to finding something greater. That's a cheesy thing to say, I know, but let's be honest here, you know it's true.

Fearfully Stepping Forward

In my last post, I mentioned how my Anxiety was a Protector and my Perfectionist an Exile. However, as I've gotten to know my Perfectionist better over the past couple of days, I realized I had it wrong. He's not an Exile, but another Protector himself, and he's one that is fighting for dominance over my soul with Anni. His name is Peter (it's easy to remember: Anxious Anni, Perfect Peter).

I've been reading Richard Schwartz book on Parts Therapy and there was one section I came across where he discusses "polarized parts", which is what Anni and Peter are. He described it through an analogy of a boat. The boat is about to tip over. Each part is leaning over either end of the boat and if either of them moves at all, the boat will tip. However, he they both move towards the middle at the same time, they'll be safe. The problem is, neither part trusts the other enough to take the needed steps, so they're stuck in a permanently precarious situation. Schwartz explains that what is needed is for a peace to be found with polarized parts is for a third party to step in. If this metaphorical boat was literal, a captain would need to get involved to mediate with the two and teach them to trust each other enough to start taking their steps towards the middle together. So, when there are polarized parts inside you, what needs to happen is for your true Self to step in and be the mediator between them. I understand that this probably still doesn't make a lot of sense to many people and the fact that I'm talking about what are essentially my personality traits in such a familiar fashion may just convince some that I'm crazy. Well, I'm sorry if you are confused, and if you think I'm crazy - I'm a writer, of course I'm crazy. :)

Moving on: I was trying to find a way to get Peter and Anni to work together. At my last therapy session yesterday, my therapist and I spent most of it trying to get to know Peter a little better. However, the whole time he was there, Anni felt the need to stay in the room and keep an eye on him. I remember when I first got Peter out of me, my therapist asked how I felt towards him and I told her that I was afraid of him. She said that that was because some part of me was distorting my view and that I needed to ask that part to step back so I could see Peter through the eyes of my Self. The part that distorted my view was Anni. She did step back. She went and hid under the desk and watched as Peter paced the room.

As far as I imagine them, Peter and Anni are complete opposites. Where Anni is pale, thin, hunched, and always hiding, Peter is tall, buff, imposing, and powerful. He has no hands either. Instead, at the end of one arm is a whip to punish me when I'm not perfect, and at the end of his other arm is a chisel so he can form me into what he thinks is perfect. Through Anni's eyes, he is scary and dangerous. She doesn't trust him at all, and she does what she can to keep me away from him.

However, with her outside of me (oh, did I mention that I discovered Anni was a girl? I'll explain why in a moment), when I looked at Peter, I found I felt more curiosity towards him than actual fear. He was less threatening to deal with when seen through the eyes of my Self. So my therapist and I started talking to him and getting to know the Exiles he was protecting and so on.

I remember one moment, I after I had reparented a couple of the Exiles he was protecting, I got him to stop pacing the room and sit down. The problem was he sat down at the desk under which Anni was hiding. I had to mentally guide Anni out from under the desk to get her away from him because it freaked her out so bad. Whenever he's around, Anni stays close by me. She knows now that my true Self can control Peter, but she still doesn't trust him, nor he her, though he usually just pretends she's not there.

Anyway, my whole point in telling you this is that I've been trying to figure out a way to bring these two together - to help them find harmony with each other and discover new, happier roles within me (neither of them actually enjoy their current jobs). The idea I came up with was a story (shocking, I know).

This story on the outside is a cliche poor-girl/rich-guy romance. I decided, Anni will be the girl and Peter will be the guy (that's how I figured out what Anni's gender was. The fact that she has a girl's name also helped). Through writing a story where they are forced together and forced to get to know each other and work together, I hope that I can find a way to make them fall in love, in a way. Doing it through the standpoint of a story would allow me to act as my true Self so that I can control the situations and guide Peter and Anni through this so that I can find some peace.

Truth be told, I'm slightly terrified of this idea. Its both of them that make me feel that way, too. Anni is afraid of me spending too much time with either of them or putting so much effort into a story because it could ultimately just hurt me, and Peter's afraid of me writing because there's no way the first draft will be perfect, and imperfection is what he tries to protect me from. Whenever I sit down to write, I have to talk to each of them to reassure them that no matter what happens, I'm going to be okay, and that they can stick with me the whole time I write this story. They're calmer when they know they can step in at any time if they feel like they need to.

But, none of this explains the title of this post.

This is the part that will likely make the people who care about me frustrated and worried. I know my parents aren't super excited about it either. I'll get right to the point. I've decided that I am going to defer my schooling for a semester, so instead of going this Fall, I won't be going to school again until January. Most people around me are probably convince this is a terrible idea. This means that for the next five-ish months I will have neither work nor school, which logically means I will sink deeper into the hole my anxiety has built for me. Most people around me will be very worried about me making this choice and will be scared that I'm going to be very hurt because of this.

Don't think that such thoughts haven't crossed my mind too. This has been a terrifying decision for me. I really wanted to go to school this semester. I miss learning things, I miss the Academic drive of school, I want to be a student again, but the truth is, I'm not sure I'm ready for it yet. Whenever I talk about my fears of going to school again with my sisters, they always tell me not to worry because college is so much better than High School. I appreciate their attempts to try to reassure me, and I know they're right, but the fact is that the things about High School that hurt me so much aren't unique to High School. I wasn't hurt because I was in High School, I was hurt because I was in school.

When I think about the things that scared me about school, I remember the hallways, the noise between classes, the lines when getting lunch, teachers in front of the class, the classrooms themselves - whether it be College or High School, these are aspects that are still going to be there. I'm still in a very fragile state. Yes, it's true that I need to push myself to do things that make me anxious or I'm never going to get better, but if I throw myself into something that huge so soon, I don't think I'd make it. This will sound like an exaggeration, but it's not. More than once, when I thought about going to college, the very real fear that my mind will completely crumble if I go there has always hit me. I need to do little steps to heal myself. Things like writing this story - which will be my work from here on out. I don't think I'm ready to handle to pain of school again. I'm afraid of going back, because I'm afraid of being hurt again.

I'm also very afraid of staying home. I'm afraid of the limited human contact I'll have. It's ironic, that never would've bothered me before. These days, I'm just worried about all the things I could be missing out from not going to school this semester. I'm afraid I may be losing the chance to gain valuable friendships, or to really get the education I crave. Part of me feels like I'm signing my death warrant by staying home. Although, to be fair, I felt much the same way when I thought I'd be going to school this semester.

So, am I making the right decision? The truth is, I don't know. Would it have been smarter for me not to defer and just dive into school as soon as I can? I don't know. I really don't know if I'm making the right choice. However, this is the choice I've made. For better or worse, I am going to stick to it, and I am going to move forward from here. I'm going to write every day. I'm going to do something everyday to make me stronger. Just today, I tried calling my bank to figure out what's up with my online account. That ended up being pointless because they're actually closed today since it's Pioneer Day, but I still did it! And now I know what to expect when I call them again tomorrow - which I am really going to do! Also, I have plans with my friend Camilla that we will meet once a week to talk and write together and keep each other grounded in reality. I know I can hang out with my cousin, Amberli, because even if she's married now, we're still as close as we ever have been. I'm having an easier time talking to my parents now, so I'll probably be spending more time with my family. I think I may be able to handle going to all three hours of church from here on out - every week.

I'm terrified of the future, yes, but whatever happens from now on, I have hope that it'll be better. So whatever you think of my decision, please don't criticize me for it. Please don't look at me as wrong or broken. I'm taking my own journey, and I'm taking it at my own pace. Most people probably won't be able to really understand why I made the decision I did without being me, but know that I have been considering this for months on end now, so at the very least, I'm not making a rash, stupid teenager decision.

So for the first time in almost a year and a half, full of fear and hope, I'm finally moving forward. In that at least, I can be happy.

My Anxiety Protects My Perfectionist

There's a lesser known type of therapy known as IFS or "Internal Family Systems". More commonly, it's simply referred to as, "Parts Therapy". I've discovered I'm really not the best at describing what this is, but if you'll bare with me, I'll try.

Essentially, Parts Therapy is the idea that every person is made up of multiple parts. You know when you're trying to make a decision and you think something along the lines of, "Well, part of me wants to do this and another  part  wants to do this." That's an example of parts being at conflict.

Richard Schwartz - who wrote the book on this type of therapy - noticed many of his clients had this sort of problem. An inexplicable conflict inside of them; like a family that couldn't agree. Hence the IFS title. Schwartz developed Parts Therapy by teaching clients to separate themselves from a part that was hurting them so they could essentially talk to it and figure out why it was there.

In essence, Parts Therapy is learning to treat your problem parts - ie, anxiety, depression, anger, self doubt, etc. - so that you can get to the core of the problem and heal yourself.

If you still don't get it, I'm sorry because I'm moving on.

My therapist taught me how to do this so I could get to know my anxiety better. It's really hard to separate myself from it because it's become such a integral part of me, but sometimes I do manage to get it to "leave my body" as it were so I can talk to it at a distance. It's name is Ani. It's neither a boy or a girl which is why I call it "it". To me, Ani is a humanoid, pale creature that is very very thin. It has long arms and legs with three fingers and toes on each that are thin and sharp. Ani has no mouth, only wide eyes that watch everything. Ani is usually always in a hunched position with its arms either blocking its chest or held out to ward bad things off. Whenever I talk to Ani, it's usually hunched in a corner or hiding under a desk. In a way, Ani bares many  physical similarities between these creatures my friend Aubrey and I created in our book Connection. Ironic.

When talking about a problem Part, Schawrtz specifically named them, "Protectors". Most things similar to my anxiety problem are born because something traumatic happened, so a part was created to defend from that ever happening again. The parts that the Protectors are trying to protect are what Shwartz calls "The Exiles". The goal of Parts Therapy is to convince the Protector to let you see the Exile so you can sort of mentally step back into the moment where you were hurt and "reparent" the Exile; tell it what it needed to hear then. That's when you start to heal and your Protector starts to find a different role to play within you.

It's important not to hate your Protectors. After all, they're still a part of you and they aren't trying to do you harm. I struggle with that when I talk to Ani.

My point is, I had an interesting experience with Ani today. I've come to realize more and more recently how much of a role Ani plays in keeping me from writing. Very often, I get a strong sense of foreboding or impending doom whenever I sit down to write, or even if I think about sitting down to write. I wanted to know why, so I brought Ani out and asked it, "What are you afraid will happen if I write?"

Initially, all it said was that I'd ruin the story, but that answer didn't feel complete, so I tried digging deeper. Eventually I discovered exactly what the title of this post says.

You see, I hear stories all the time of writers who are constantly doubted by their peers and have to learn to overcome that. That's a problem I've never had. All my life, when people found out I was a writer, they would exclaim how awesome that was, how they couldn't wait to read my stuff someday, or that I was bound to be the next Rowling. As far as my writing goes, I've never once been doubted by those around me. I've always been believed in and encouraged. That's why Ani had to come in. Ironic, isn't it. You see, the lack of doubt from everyone led me to believe that I was capable of great things, that I really could be a great writer someday. No matter what I say or do, the Perfectionist in me will accept nothing less than stunning work from me. Anything less, and I wouldn't just be letting myself down, but everyone who'd ever known me. True, that sounds ridiculous and exaggerated, but if it weren't how I felt, Ani wouldn't have stepped in to keep me from writing and facing the inevitable pang of failure.

My Perfectionist part is one of the Exiles Ani has long tried to protect. It makes sense that I would dread sitting down to write. No matter how much faith I have in my creativity, I can't write a perfect first draft. But my Perfectionist doesn't care which draft it is. If it's broken, it's worthless and I've let a lot of people down. More than that, even if I did manage to get  past draft one and even get published, not everyone whose encouraged me over the years is going to like what I write. My Perfectionist says that means I let them down. One way or another, writing at all is bound to make me a failure, so Ani makes me afraid of it so whatever pain I feel could arguably be less than what  it could've been.

This whole post seems very pessimistic and you may be wondering why I didn't just step in and reparent my Exile like I was  supposed to. Then I would be on the road to recovery and this wouldn't be a problem anymore. Well, I was going to, but I just don't know what to say. My exile often tries to break free, like when I'd enter a writing contest, but when I'd lose and not even be acknowledged, my Exile would be further bruised. That's part of why Ani's so strong these days. It's also why I have so many memories of my Exile In my life. I can't reparent every memory, can I? Even if I could, I ask you, what exactly do you say to something that's been damaged because it's always been believed in?

That's all. Thanks for listening to my pity fest.

From Alex to Zane

I was looking through this little notebook the other day and I found this letter I had written between a couple of my characters. Most of these I don't even put in the book, but they're fun to write some times. This one here is from Alex (the sister) to Zane (her brother).

Zane,

What does it mean to have a good life? The stories I've heard tell of love, of things, money and popularity. But the things I've seen strongly go against that.

Things aren't lasting. Sure they can be useful or even fun. But if your head's on the chopping block, they can't come to your rescue. They've no feelings to be saddened at your loss. Money is much the same. It is a need to purchase the necessities of course, but how much is enough? It's easy to let the want of things to overcome you, even for the best of men. Does money bring you joy? Do things uplift your life? Not from what I've seen.

I hear stories of the power of love and its ability to heal. I've loved before but all its gotten me are many more scars. Does love make your life better? I guess I wouldn't know.

To all that ask, I tell them my life is pain and hiding. To all who know, they'd say I had a bad life and for years, I agreed. I thought myself dead, hid and hurt. All I've wanted is death which has always evaded me. I now live in the nightmare I used to dream as a child.

But I've realized something; I'm feeling more then normal. So here's the truth I once knew as a child.

A good life isn't easy. A good life has work. Heck, sometimes a good life just hurts. I've found here the one thing I've been running from since I was ten-years-old, and that, my dear brother, is you.

-Kaiti

(Her family always calls her Kaiti, so that's why she signed it that way)

the last line is one I imagine her saying with heavy sarcasm, but without a hint of irony. She's weird like that.

The Joys of a Good Story

Recently, I started watching a cartoon that some friends of mine had shown to me a few years ago. It's called Stormhawks. It was awesome seeing it again. Its almost like I'm meeting with old friends again. Every time I turn on another episode, from the moment I hear, "My name's Aerrow, and I'm a Sky Knight." I start grinning like an idiot, and most of the time that grin stays for the entirety of the episode and for quite some time afterwards. Why? What is it about this show that always makes me so happy? Why exactly is it so awesome?

In Choir this week, none of us wanted to do anything so Mr. Bills let us watch Enchanted instead. There's plenty of people out there that think that movie's creepy, and that's okay. But for me, is just so . . . silly, I can't help but laugh every time I see it. Then, it is hard not to laugh every time Prince Edward comes on and yells, "Giselle!" and bites his knuckles and stuff. Something I've always liked about fairytales is the lighthearted, happy feel they always have. They always seem to have this easy feel to it that - well, to me - is kind of relaxing, some times refreshing. This movie did very well and capturing these aspects, sticking them in real life and making them somewhat plausible. It's a movie that reminds you that there is such a thing as happily ever after. How many movies do that nowadays?

This world in general has a very depressing view. Almost all the new movies and books are always dark and . . . well, depressing. There's always violence and evil and people making stupid mistakes. Sometimes, you'll come upon a story that's not half bad, but's still heavy. Here's my conclusion:

There's so many stresses, expectations and competition in this world. People all around are looking for happiness in all the wrong places, often resulting in the heavy stories. They try to laugh off anguish in crude jokes. This world is hard. Sometimes even scary. The surrounding media doesn't make it any easier. But every now and then, you come across a story that makes you laugh. That just has silly jokes like, "Huh, he's not in the radio. Imagine that." or "I've been been dreaming - Ah!" They're not crude, they're not uncomfortable, they're just funny. These stories always seem to be coupled with great characters who have a strong sense of unity; who work together for the greater good. Often they have a relationship that runs deep. It's not - as some people are annoying enough to try to make it seem - gross or anything, but a true, deep friendship. How often is that done right nowadays!

It's good to get away from the heavy feel of wordly stories into a happy, life-is-good feel. What makes a good story? It doesn't take violence, or extremely evil bad guys, or a big dramatic fight for good, or sex, vulgar language. All it takes is some happiness. Just a little light, you know? We don't have to be negative to make a good story. A good story is one with true friendship, something that will leave you feeling happy and bright, not dark. When you can find a story like that, it's amazing how happy that can make you. And since when was happiness a bad thing?

Dream

I had this dream last night. What was weird about this one was the fact that I was partially conscious while having it so I was in slight control of what happened. When I actually woke up, I could still remember everything about it. Although, I went back to sleep and didn't think too much about it for fear of it losing its innocence of being a dream. Now the fine details are slipping away, but that's all right because I remember the important things.

I won't go into detail about (since I don't remember the details), I just remember at the beginning of the dream the little girl was about eight years old and had the fate of the world resting on her shoulders. She was being trained by a woman (I think she was a witch) named Angela (heh heh). By the time I woke up I think the little girl was all grown up and fully trained and stuff and she could do cool things.

There was one part in particular that I remember vividly. Probably because I could really feel the little girl's emotions there as sharply as though they were my own. That's never happened to me before. I can even remember her thoughts. You see, she had been chosen to save the world or something of the sort, but her mother didn't want her to go, so the little girl ran off. She was with Angela and thinking things like, "Will my mom accept me back?" "Will she hate me now?" She was overall just terrified and Angela isn't all that big on comforting and was just sort of standing around and staring at the little girl shiver in the corner. It was a cool moment.

Anyway, I finished my chores today and got on my computer. I was going to work a little bit on my big summer project, but all day, I couldn't get the dream out of my head. So I wrote down this little journal entry thing that Angela wrote and this is what I came up with:

Fifth day of Teqniv, 1123

It's been said, that there will be one with the power to end the reign of Lord Creven; one to free the oppressed. It's said that when they're born, the fires will cease, storms will calm and the waters will run pure. Once the Lord is overthrown, legend says that the earth will be born anew and the people will be liberated.

It's a story that's been handed down from generation to generation for thousands of years. And in that time, we have waited. With each child born, we're given new hope. Maybe this will be the one we're meant to teach. And every time the child is either sold into slavery or reaches adulthood only to become a slave trader of one of Creven's own servants. The lucky ones will die in infancy.

I'm the last of the colony. For some time now, I've doubted the legend. My people have waited for this child to be born for thousands of years. Never has it come. Perhaps this legend was just simple folklore. May it's just a myth created to give the people hope. An admirable wish, yes, but a hopeful lie is still a lie. We've wasted centuries waiting for something that would never come. And in that time, Creven only has grown stronger. I worry now that its too late.

I've no idea if this could actually turn into anything, but for now, I can't seem to get it out of my head.