Eeeeeepiphanies

I'm going with the lamer definition of this word that simply means a realization. Not one like, oh yeah, I always feel sick after pasta, but more like... well, you'll see.

I think. A lot. More than is probably good for me. I think about cheese. I think about time. I think about books and writing. And I think about things I'm not really sure too many other people think about on a regular basis. This leads to a whirlwind of words and thoughts and twisters of ideas that never stop with their motion but keep going going going
and sometimes it drives me crazy.

But sometimes I have epiphanies. Or, what is equal to an epiphany for me. Something that I kind of want to begin running around and telling everyone because ohmyword, how did no one think of this sooner?? (Or just how did I not think of this sooner)

So, I figured, I'll share some of those epiphanies floating around my head with you. No matter how lame and just simple realizations of epiphanies they are. 

1. I'm not normal.  

Hold on there. Hasn't this been affirmed time after time and aren't I already well aware of this and have been since I began to interact with humans? Well, yes.

This in itself is nothing new. But coupled with regular social and psychology and other stuff from my psych and human sexuality classes, I am so far away from normal I might not even be human.

List a bunch of normal social conventions and how normal people go about their lives and, well, I don't usually follow those definitions. Stick me in social settings, I don't work like normal people.

For example, in Psych we went over this story: A woman's husband works twelve hours every night and is tired when he gets home. His wife feels lonely and longs for companionship. Because of this she takes a ferry every night to the city across the river to see her lovers. She never becomes too intimate with them, leaving one and moving on to another anytime intimacy is beginning to go too far. One night she gets into a spat with a lover. She leaves in a hurry. When she gets to the ferry she realizes that she has forgotten her wallet back at her lover's house. She begs the Captain to take her on anyway, promising she will pay the next day. He feels for her, but rules are rules, her can't give anyone exceptions. The time is getting closer and closer to when she must return home. She returns to her lover's house, asking him to give her her wallet back. He refuses. Desperate, she visits an old lover and asks to borrow enough to cover her fare. He refuses. She must leave now if she is to return home. The only option besides the ferry is an old bridge that doesn't have the best reputation. With no other option available, she decides to take her chances. As she crosses the bridge, a highwayman rapes, robs, and murders her.
Who is the most responsible for her death?
 Are you thinking the woman? If she hadn't been cheating, she wouldn't be dead. 
If you are, the rest of my class agreed with you. 
I did not. Say she had gone to the store to pick up some things for her husband and had lost her wallet in a store and winded up dead. Different situation, but same ending. It was the highwayman's fault. 

Anyway, that was just the latest in a list of ways I differ from most people. 

2. Those girls in books who think they aren't attractive yet every guy they cross paths with wants to date them? They exist. 

I can't roll my eyes at those books and threaten to throw them across the room. No matter how ridiculous it sounds or seems or whatever. 

I was calling this the Bella Swan Syndrome. You know, two guys fighting over her, nothing that obviously special about her but every guy tripping over themselves trying to get her attention and complimenting her fiercely. Ridiculous. Stupid. Annoying. Dear God, authors what is wrong with you!

I think they were all watching my life. I'm shy. I'm pretty plain looking (pretty, I guess, but plain looking). I am awkward and clumsy and don't normally have much of a social life. 

I met two guys yesterday and got asked out by both of them and was laughing hysterically at the weird things they were saying ("You like fedoras and have two of them? That is the sexiest thing I have ever heard a girl say. Marry me." <-- a="" accidentally="" and="" asked="" both="" did="" find="" friends="" get="" go="" have="" home="" i--="" i="" into="" just="" kid="" make="" me="" movie="" not.="" see="" separately="" the="" them="" then="" things="" to="" twilight="" two="" walk="" with="" worse="" you="" zone="">

This is after my two best male friends both liked me (as I dated one of them). 

So, hey, Bella Swans do exist!

And it sucks. (Of course, I am hoping that I am right and they mean as just friends, but Life has proven that whenever I think friends a male thinks Iwanttodateyou)

This picture. Is huge.

3. Sometimes that cute guy you find really interesting turns out to be a professor. With a son your age. 

Thank you life for those awkward moments. 

4. It's nearly impossible to ridicule Buddhism.

Someone had made fun of atheism in an inaccurate summation of what they believe and then I began thinking about how easy it is to make fun of Christianity (the hole "take of My flesh and blood" thing) and Islam and Hindu and animism and so many things people believe can be boiled down to sound completely moronic. Except Buddhism. I couldn't think of anything at all to make it sound stupid. In fact, I kinda winded up making it sounds really really cool.

So, Buddhists, take pride in that!

5. (This happened this moment) When I start a blog post, I know exactly what I want to say and have these epic lists, but by the time I'm done with subject #2, everything flew away. 

I swear, I'm secretly a mother, the way my mind does stuff like that.

Anddddddd..... I'm just going to go away now and stop ruining stuff like this.

Wait.

6. I SHOULD STOP MAKING LISTS

 

D....d...d... Dreamsssss!!!

Not sure why that is just so dang exciting, but it is. I think.

Why a post on dreams? Why not dirges or death or despair or destruction, or combine all of them and do dragons? Outside of the fact that I don't want to seem to absurdly morbid, I was at a friend's house drinking tea and eating some blueberry danishes (No lie. I felt slightly British), I mentioned that I have a blog and before I could get to whatever point I was trying to make (assuming I had a point), she perked up and began firing questions at me. Then helped me brainstorm non-morbid "D" words when I said "D" was up next. Her list: dating, dreaming, dancing, delight, daring, Denmark, and distance.

So, I changed a verb into a noun and, viola! Dreams.

There are, apparently, people who don't have dreams. I want to say that they are very unfortunate people, but then I remember just how weird my dreams are and how frazzled they can make me that I begin to consider that they are the lucky ones. They never have to face the possibility of having a nightmare or the disorientation caused by not being sure whether a memory is dream or something that actually happened. And that "What the frack?!" feeling is something they will never wake up to.

That feeling you have after seeing this, that's how waking up from one of my dreams feels

I can't begin to count how many times I woke up with that feeling. Generally followed by staring at my wall trying to figure out if anything in that dream made any sense. Why was my best friend's brother who never danced begging me to dance to "Thriller" with me? Why did my friend suddenly have a six-pack, and was protecting me from her were-wolf brother? What the heck with me not being me and shooting some random guy at a funeral? And the waking up with "Oh good. That was just a dream" when I thought I was forever imprisoned in Victorian era clothes. Sure, those dreams can be kind of fun, but I'm pretty sure I could have lived without ever dancing to Michael Jackson or killing someone.

But, as a writer, dreams are priceless. They are the inspiration and motivation to actually write whatever story is in my head. Because I can only remember my dreams for so long, I have a limited amount of time to write them down. So I have to write. Then I go into a fury of typing fingers and glares at interrupting family members because ohmyword, I am loving what this is turning into.

(After not really looking at the sloth and just having it sit there in my peripheral vision, I am beginning to be freaked out. So warning: DO NOT LOOK AT THE SLOTH FOR TOO LONG).

look at the cute little puppy that won't turn dreams into nightmares

Interesting fact about dreams: Studies show that the ability to dream/recall dreams is linked to a person's political party. In general, as with most things.

Yes, apparently you can make an educated guess about a person's political standing based on their dreams, or lack thereof.

Honestly, this makes sense. Who tends to be more artistic and creative? Liberals (or people like my friends and I who are sitting there kicking are feet refusing to identify with any political party because they are all idiots). Aren't dreams seen as a somewhat creative thing?

For the conservatives who do dream, they get stuck with mundane ones that make sense. They probably dream about a lovely little neat romance or a day at the office and everything is orderly and linear and there is no world hopping (those are the people to pity. Never getting to spend the day in Narnia with Aragorn or climb all over Lothlorien's trees with Edmund... it's a shame) or labyrinth tackling or falling in love with the devil. Instead it's the liberals who get to experience the fun, and scary, side of dreams.

I do know conservatives who have insane dreams, by the way. Not quite as bizarre as mine, but up there.

No. I retract that statement. Having people change faces and three people rotate bodies and our pastor try to kill him for talking about God was pretty bizarre.

Do you dream? Are those dreams bizarre and mind-blowing-upping or the kind that are just there? What is the weirdest dream you have ever had?

C... Castles!

I was going to tell you all about cats. Particularly my cats. Mainly because they are awesome cats with awesome names (Hercules and Zipporah - or Princess Zipporah Moon Shadow - it doesn't get much more awesome than that). But then I sat down and I really don't feel like writing about cats. Don't get me wrong, I love cats. I will be that crazy old cat woman and I shall have to find myself a crazy old cat man if I ever plan on finding myself married one day. But alas. I shall not be writing about cats. Not today anyway.

What do I want to write about?

CASTLESSSSSS

As a fantasy loving and writing and lover of epicness, I have to love castles. It's just part of the description. 

Unfortunately, this does not mean I have actually been in one. For starters, I am broke. My family rarely had/has extra money to spend on awesomesauce stuff like that. So getting my butt to a castle, not so realistic. Second. I live in America. We have manors and mansions and really cool buildings, but I'm pretty sure we don't actually have castles. Not the awesomesauce ones in Europe and elsewhere anyway. 

You know how the brain likes to remember things five minutes later? Mine just did. I have, technically,  been in a castle. My grandfather has a house in Vermont and right down the street is this place called the Wilson Castle. Most visits to his house we have also visited this pretty awesome building. And by awesome, I mean that the one time I snuck out at night to walk into the nearby city of Rutland (with no nightlife, let me tell you), the place had transformed and I swore it was going to try to eat me. 

 
There it is, in it's non-menacing form. There are tours that show off a really nice fireplace, some fancy schmancy bedrooms, and an area of collected art. And it's in Vermont, so there's this really pretty view along the road and the highway right by it. Especially in the fall.

This place was built by some guy who married a pretty rich woman and decided, hey, let's build this place and call it a castle in 1867. So it's not even that old.

In 1939, a radio engineer named Herbert Lee Wilson, came to Vermont. He was a pioneer in the AM radio field and built radio stations all over the world. He was looking for a new location to build another station and a summer home for his family. He bought the castle & installed radio station WEWE in the old stable, which remains in operation.

That's from the website and just solved the mystery of what exactly was up with the old building and the antennae sticking out from it. But, it also explains why it is the "Wilson" castle.

Every fall, the owners do a haunted house tour. I have never been as we always avoided that stuff (for a reason. Anything creepy and I mentally peed my pants). But the one year they were testing out some of the stuff a couple of weeks before the haunted house opened. Well, my family went and when my brother asked what was behind a particular door, the tour guide grinned and said he can open it if he wanted. The elders among our group began laughing and smirking. My cousin and I stood there trying to figure out where this laughter was coming from. Brother narrowed his eyes at the guide and told her to do it herself. She came up with some excuse. Then my five year old cousin hopped over, opened it in a grand display of bravado, then screamed like a little girl, along with my brother, as a skeleton popped out of the closet. So the tour guides have plenty of fun with people whenever they can.

Okay, so you know how I said there are no castles in America? Apparently there are quite a few of them. More than a few actually. I am just a snob and think America has nothing epic. Whoops.

So here's a few to look at for you Americans, and non-Americans who may be scratching your heads wondering when exactly such things happened.

1. Lyndhurst ~ Tarrytown, New York




The history is nothing too interesting, but feel free to look it up yourself.

2. Castello di Amorosa ~ Calistoga, California

 

 So, heh, there are torture chambers at this place. Along with a moat and a Catholic church thing.

torture chamber....

This place is now a winery, so for any of you who love wine and torture chambers, there you go.

3. Bowman's/Nemacolin's Castle ~Brownsville, PA




The castle started as a little trading post set up where a couple of forts used to be. During the French and Indian War, the Brit's had built themselves a wooden fort and before that, the "prehistoric indigenous peoples" (or, old time Native Americans) of the area built their earthen mounds there. The castle is at an intersection of the Nemacolin trail (thus the one name). Before all the Native Americans got their butts kicked by some greedy, land-stealing Europeans, they had a trail running through the mountains and Nemacolin, a Shawnee chief, decided to mark the trail, and ta-da! there it is. (I honestly have more interest in the trail at the moment than this castle. I like Native Americans and I like trails.)

4. Lord's Castle ~ Waltham, MA



Nothing too exciting to look at (to me anyway), but the tower looks kinda cool and the story behind it is kind of sweet. This guy, Rufus Lord, fell in love (or lust. Or something) with a chick from Germany. He proposed to this lovely lady and she decided that she would not give him an outright yes or no. Her answer was conditional. As long as he built her a castle like the ones from Germany, he could have her hand and the rest of her, too. Because the guy was a builder, apparently had some money, and was a builder, she got her castle and he got himself a wife. I find this adorable on his part and kinda like a lady dog on her part.

5. And finally, the most famous one of all (I'm sure you know it...)



Yeah, that's right, Cinderella's castle. The icon of my childhood. What little girl growing up before internet became common in households across america (as that's about when the quality of movies went down the toilet), didn't ever dream of seeing that castle on the horizon? Everyone wanted to go to Disney. As a girl, especially one trying to convince my mother to name the baby in her belly Cinderella, I would have killed to go there. Lucky enough for me, I got to. Not that Cinderella was actually there. Oddly enough, even though I went to the Cinderella Castle, it was Sleeping Beauty we were told was hiding in it. This is now disturbing me greatly...
Anyway. The name of the castle says it all. Although, historically accurate me would like to point out that the castle, if Cinderella's, would more than likely actually belong to the family of her husband, the prince, not to a merchant's daughter.

And, that's a wrap!

And this is for your darling (or not so darling) cat's to rule in.

Birthday Wishes... B

This is a tad late. As, well, life has a way of pushing me away from all things I plan on doing. I do believe I made people aware of that at some point. Anyway, so here is the much too late "B" post...

My birthday happened. Or didn't happened. Or happened as I tried to pretend that it is not in existence and holy whoa, I am not actually this stupid defunct age of 19. But, I am now throwing around defunct like it is a frisbee, so, it's not half-bad.

When it comes to birthdays, at some point, someone, usually, asks what one wants for his/her birthday. There are normal people answers (not that I can tell you what they are, as I avoid normal people.). Then there are my answers. I'm not sure why my mother even bothers asking me such questions because I have always given such answers.

So, here is my birthday wish-list:

1. A ship. Pirate-y, Viking, Egyptian - whatever. Something sure to bring about epic times as I sail the world and try to conquer my fear of the water. A ship stocked with a crew would be even nicer as I can barely manage to row a rowboat (as I discovered yesterday), much less work a whole amazing ship.


2. The ability to pause time so that I can read and write. Apparently I don['t know anyone who can grant these kinds of wishes, which is upsetting as I really need this to be able to write while at a concert.

3. Switchfoot in a jar. More specifically, Tim Foreman in a jar. (I am allowed to Fangirl sometimes)

4. A sword ('Nuff said).

5. A new cat. Preferably a little calico kitty that likes cuddling with me.

6. Kevin to exist. He is one of my characters and the fact that he is not in this reality is heart-breaking. I want to non-marry him and have a wonderful life of adventures. (Shhh... Don't tell whomever I am romantically linked with this. I don't think me pining after a "non-existent" being would go over to well with  most people...)

7. to become a wizard. More Gandalf than Harry Potter.

8. A cape with matching hat and boots.

9. A cloak and Elf-ish boots. Also a handy bow and full quiver set to go with.

10. A camera. A real-live working camera. I have never owned one of these things and have been pining away with camera-envy for years now.

And... That's about it. Really lame post, but oh wells.

A... Autumn!

Look! Look! I'm sticking to the plan! I am following something I would do! Guys, you have no idea how rare this is. I have been waiting a month now saying I am going to write my resume. Is it written? Not in the present time, no. So, to not ramble too much before I even begin...

Let's see what Google says:


Look guys, it's a really creepy looking pumpkin! I am honestly of the opinion it thinks human flesh is tasty and would love to fly from the screen and chomp on my face. 



Because we always think of adorable puppies that might be in the middle of a fight with leaves.




The cat woman in me approves.






I have been lucky enough to hike right by this during the Autumn. It is indeed this pretty.

Now, what do I have to say about Autumn?

Mwahahaha.

I don't hear the word "Autumn" and think of creepy pumpkins and kitties in leaves and crazy leaf necklaces about to kill an adorable puppy or ohmygoodness, that's a pretty view with leaves on fire. Nope. I tend to get that look on my face people get when they hear their name. Oh, right. I am hearing my name.

See, names were very important to my parents. Or my mom at least. I was never around for the hunt for the perfect name on my dad's behalf. Mom would throw names left and right until she found the perfect one. My one sister was due a week before Christmas, so she wanted something winter-y but not obnoxiously Christmas-y. Everyone else was given Biblical names. Heck, even winter-child sister got a name that appears in the Bible.

I'm the stand alone, non-Biblical name. I wasn't supposed to be born when I was. I was supposed to be a Summer Baby and my name would either be Sage (wise and a plant. My mom was a hippie) or Hunter (That would be me dad. ), depending on gender. Then I refused to come out of the womb for a couple of weeks and whoops! Autumn descended on the northern hemisphere and isn't Autumn such a pretty name anyway? So believe me, I've had plenty of time to think about the season I bear the name of.

By the way, dear parents, yeah, sure. Pretty name. Don't! Naming your child a season is a curse. Every time she meets someone she will hear the same old joke, over and over. She will want to kiss the wonderful person who doesn't make some supposedly clever quip about it. Also, when she is in primary school, every time her name is mentioned in something the teacher is reading, the rest of the class will giggle and make some comment.

look! There's a whole group of people agreeing with me!

Anyway. Back to Autumn and me not going on tangents.

Autumn is gorgeous in the area I live in. The sky seems bluer, the days are often the perfect temperature. The gradual change of the leaves covering the land is amazing. Nature is just screaming to be looked at and enjoyed. Take a hike up a mountain and by george, the view will be absolutely breathtaking.

We used to visit Vermont every autumn and stay in a house nestled into the crease of a mountain. We would hike up an old dirt trail with rocks to climb over and trees dangling their jewels. A little pond would reflect the colors of the sky and trees and birds would chirp their good-byes until they came back for spring. We would reach the top with the old cairn my great-grandfather built and two benches, one wooden, one stone, and find ourselves holding out breath so as not to disturb the beauty we were alive in. Looking down we saw fields with green green grass and one littered with specks of orange we might later raid. There was a sparkling sliver of blue cutting across a meadow. A brave tree reaching it's lonely arms, up, up to the sky, leaves skittering away every time a strong breeze blew. There was so much magic surrounding us as we finally breathed again and began darting between trees and laughing and giggling and teasing. My brother would pretend to conquer some age-old enemy hidden in the woods as I would search for hidden traces of fairy life. My parents would hold hands and smile at us, passing whomever was the baby at the time back and forth. To me, that is Autumn.

Autumn is also a season, not just memories. It's a season so alive in color, in nature's mimicry of flames, and so so beautiful. But it's a season tinged with sorrow. Yes, the sweeps of land are alive, but they won't be for long. I know I'm a pessimist, but let's face it, autumn is the season of dying. When I was little I saw winter as the season as death, but that's not really it. Everything is already dead or sleeping in winter. It's quiet and peace. White.

So it's autumn where everything dies. Slowly, then all at once it's all gone. The beauty doesn't completly disguise the coldness that's coming or the dreary, oft overcast skies. It's a farewell, beautifully done, but a farewell none the less.

Guys, this is another reason not to name your child Autumn. She will grow up with this sense of impending doom all her life and as if everything bad is her fault, because she's the season of dying, so of course things around her are going to die.

But, all in all, such a lovely time to wander through woods. I suggest it.

A Plan! ( I know, crazy!)

I now have regular access to computers and regularly have time to play on them and write weird or emotional (sometimes both - those are scary. People feel like pot roasts) things to my heart's content. Well, when I'm not distracted by Pinterest and Goodreads... Anyhoo. So that means, I get to actually keep this blog up. And, oh the excitement, I might actually have a graphic designer friend who will help me redesign it and make me want to read it (If I didn't know what tragedies of writing might await me, that is).

So, what does this have to do with A Plan you might ask? I'll tell you.

Well, okay. I'm not sure if this even counts as a plan because the idea of me planning something is crazy. I plan concerts and I plan... Um. I can't think of anything else. But,  but but but but buttttttttt - I have one! For my blog! Mwaha!

Going through the alphabet, letter by letter for direction for the subject (that sentence is awful, please throw bananas at that awful sentence as it sits on your screen). It's nothing fantastic, far from original, but I shall make it fun. I hope anyway... It's a possibility...

Here's a little gift, funions! (because this is just a happy thing. C'mon, you want to smile.)

Standing on the Edge

It's 2 a.m. and I can't sleep. It's September 23rd of 2013 and I'm falling to pieces and broken to bits by life. There's nothing else to it. It's painful, with these jagged edges and bruised soul, hurting and unable to stop hurting; for whenever I do, I accidentally bump into myself and tear open whatever was healing.

But I'm not sure I would change it. 

I have never had an aching in my chest for this long or felt like life is unbearable to this degree before. I have never taken such comfort in the beauty of the moonlight before or lay on the road and gotten lost in the stars like I have lately. Now, there's nothing more precious to me than the simple sound of nature or the scratching of pen against paper or having someone to lean into when goddammit I can barely stand.

I'm standing on the edge of myself
                                                   And it's beautiful.

There's something to be said for having oneself torn apart. All the words of truth and all the beauty scratched out, pulled apart and rewritten. When everything one held as true in this world falls apart and melts in one's hands, whatever is left is so achingly beautiful in it's endurance that at times it takes one's breath away.

"It's when you're breaking down with your insides coming out
                                             That's when you find what your heart is made of..." ~Switchfoot

Somehow, despite everything, I am holding parts of myself I would have never thought still existed, or ever would. The parts of me I fought hard for, loving beyond measure and hoping when there is nothing to hope for and a faith that might not move mountains, but can withstand any disaster thrown at it, are still standing, rising up from the ruins of who I was. Amongst the rubble and ashes, those seeds have begun to push their way up.

One thing I always desired, cried over when the moon hit just right and all the magic that could be brushed up against my soul, was to have an epic story. I wanted to be a queen who fought for her people and ruled with justice and mercy, her reign benefiting the peasant and the lord. Screw math problems; I wanted to be out slaying evil monsters and saving those who couldn't save themselves. I wanted to be hated because of what a threat I was to everything evil and wicked in this world.

If I had never been broken, I would have never come to realize that I have a story like that waiting for me to write it, with myself as the protagonist. I may not ever get the righteous king to stand beside me and love me for the same reasons I love him. I may not ever get the chance to swing a sword and watch something of pure evil topple, but I can go out and live like I am the leader of a country, with a nation of people to guide and protect. I may never be able to travel the world and traverse mountains, but there's plenty where I am now to explore and discover, I just have to learn to open my eyes.

I may never be able to wield magic or dance with Fae or speak with trees, but I have the ability to write, to create stories and possibly transport someone to a place where they can live, if only for a little bit, and that's the best magic of all.

All I needed to see the sun rising within me, daring me to shine with whatever I can, was to stand on the edge of me and chance a fall.