artykins

Skyline High's theatre is haunted by a ghost and/or a poltergeist.

That is all.

Later Days,
Arty

Evening, kids. This post is going to be short because tonight something strange happened. I was sitting in class listening to the discussion of a book we read and I was completely lost. The book is fabulous, but there's so much of it and there's so much packed onto each page that it was hard to digest. This, of course, led to a discussion about what the book did to us as writers, to which most of us (myself included) responded that it just unsettled and threw us off. The funny thing is, though, that none of us could explain why.

This inevitably led to the question of why we write. Again, none of us could come to a solid answer, but the more I pondered this question, the more and more I became aware that it's different for each of us. We talked about whether or not a Muse exists in us or out of us or somewhere else (inside the fridge, perhaps). A few people said they didn't believe in a 'Muse' per se, but I find it hard to accept that there's not one, somewhere. And even if it's not a Muse, it's something. It's far bigger than I am and it's the spark the makes me want to write.

But again, why write?

Well, I write because I must. It's like part of me is stuck in a constant underwater excursion and writing is the air that I breathe. It was discussed tonight as well that most writers are melancholic. I can see this point. Most of us are. Others argued that we're all just masochists that enjoy the pain that our writing induces upon us. But what do you do with this argument when most writers will tell you that we write because we must? We do it because we have to. We have an urgency to write and in writing, to create, which (I think) takes us closer to God.

As I mulled it over some more, though, I began to think that I, personally, write for the great mystery of it. I can create a mystery in my writing, but most often, I'm held captive by a mystery that I don't quite understand. My toolbox includes, and in some ways is limited to, using the written word as a way of discovering something that is otherwise undiscoverable. It's my magnifying glass, my chemistry set and flashlight. The only difference between me and Sherlock Holmes, however, is that he is searching for answers that lead to an end that has already happened.

To make it clearer, he already knows about the murder. He's looking for the clues to catch the person(s) who committed the crime. I'm stuck in the perpetual state of not even knowing about the murder. I'm forever stuck in the haze of trying to figure out who did it without knowing their crime.

But what's the point, I hear some of you ask? Figure it out, you're yelling!

Chances are I probably can't. In truth, I'm not sure I would want to know the mystery behind the reason of why I write. I'm simply happy to stay, knowing that I write because I like to. I write because I must. I write because I'm addicted to the mystery unknown to me and I'm attracted to what others would call an unending circle of madness because even in the most melacholic writer is a spark of hope that keeps us enchanted.

Most importantly, though, I write because I'm thankful.

Later Days,
Arty

Evening, all! Okay, so I know the title of my blog is really weird. To be honest, I don't even know what it means. All I know is that it's Latin for something or other. It's also linked to what I'm thankful for today.

As may of you know, the end of the semester is fastly approaching and I'm going all but mad trying to get everything in order. While the focus of this has been on me as of late, it shouldn't be forgotten that other people are going through the same kind of crunch and moments of sheer and utter panic.

I have a friend, Pam, who's a music major at school. For her thesis, she's had to compose a few pieces for handbells and she asked me to be part of the group that's going to play for her recital in mid-April. I said that I would and we had our first rehearsal was tonight. After being there, I feel as though I shouldn't be just because everyone around me is so fantastically good. It also helps that Pam told us she chose each of us to play because we 'play well with others' in the sandbox. She didn't say she chose us because we're good at what we do (*laughs*).

So, along with a couple of her pieces, we're playing something by another music major and it's title is Hocketus Repeatum. Seriously and no kidding on that one. Oh, and it's possibly one of the hardest pieces of music I've ever had to play. It's insane.

Like I said, don't ask me what it means because I don't know and I lack the energy to find out. I don't lack the energy, however, to go onto Google after this and research how to say 'can bite me' in Latin so that when we're told to take Hocektus Repeatum out, I can add the tag 'can bite me' in Latin to it and have a laugh. I'm told the guy who wrote it is going to be at our rehearsal next week too, so I'm hoping and praying that he doesn't know the Latin for 'can bite me' because if he does I'll have some serious problems. What are the chances, though? Eh?

But what I'm really thankful for today is music and my ability to play it. Granted, it's one thing to like listening to it, but it's a completely different thing to play it. And playing it is completely different than creating it, I imagine. I've only ever arranged already existing stuff so my creativity when it comes to actually writing music is absent from me. I'm sure I could learn. I'd need to brush up on my theory, but I think I have everything else it might take.

Playing music is, for lack of a better term, like magic. To be able to take dots and lines on a page and build sound and harmony is something that I think a lot of musicians overlook. We tend to see music in terms of what we need to work on and only that. We don't tend to see it as what we can do already. We see flaw instead of correctedness. We see dissodence instead of harmony, room for improvement rather than achieved perfection. It's the nature of the beast we feed.

Tonight, however, I was reminded of how much fun it is to get together with a group of other incredible musicians to not only play music together, but aid a dear friend by doing so to help her achieve her degree. Like I said, it's like magic.

That said, I hope you find something magical in something old hat today. It's really worth stopping and looking at something you've done for years in a new and fresh light.

Later Days,
Arty

Evening all. I thought that I'd take a break from writing analyses to do...you guessed it...more writing! But this is writing of the fun kind. Oh yes. Fun, fun, fun, fun, fun.

Tonight I watched some TV with Uncle Arnie and we came across the film 'Just Like Heaven' with Reese Witherspoon and Mark Ruffalo (no kidding, that's his name). It's a big giant chick flick, but I was actually surprised at how much I liked it...much like I was actually surprised that I could call all the turns of said film. Uncle Arnie blames the writer in me, which I suppose is a pretty flawless argument. I think in linear storyline fashion. Personally, I blame the witch blood in me. It's spooky sometimes.

Anyway, today I'm thankful for films. Granted, some of them suck, some of them rock and some of them scare the bejeebers out of you, but all of them function to bring about one goal. This goal? To take us away for a little while from ourselves and the world around us. We become engrossed in them and can easily pass two hours just forgetting about ourselves and caring entirely for the fictional people on screen. It's great stuff, actually. We all need it now and again, so I'm for the occasional temporary escape from life through films.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to finish my analysis of Ulysses.

Later Days,
Arty

Evening, kids. Tonight's blog title is fitting because I'm at a point in my life now where a bunch of things are aligning...much like the stars in Hercules, to propel me forward into my future. Today, I'm thankful for the 'almost there' status in my life. But just what is 'there' you ask? Well, let's go through a list.

1) Matt's nearly finished in Nepal. Thursday he'll be back in a major city and so will return to the use of the internet, much to my rejoicing! I've missed him terribly the last three weeks while he's been off galavanting in the Himalayas. I've gotten one solitary email from him in that time and in it he was only able to tell me that he was violently ill. My nature, being as it is, was distressed by this news and it was tremendously hard for me to not be able to comfort him in any way, not even verbally as I have the last three years. I'm sure he'll have memories of this place for the rest of his life, but it's been so very hard for me to deal with him not being there the last few weeks.

This isn't to say, of course, that I'm dependent on him to be happy. I'm quite an independent girl. I'm smart and I'm exceedingly driven by internal desires that move me forward in life. It's funny, though, how Matt has gotten under my skin. The last few days I've been doing a whole lot of thinking, probing the inner recesses of my mind and soul only to discover that I'm no closer to figuring myself out. It's still dark and scary in my mind.

What I have discovered, however, is that I'm more sure now, after a few days of searching myself, that Matt is the man I am intended to be with. God put us together and despite my deepest desires and urgings, I am completely aware of this divine placement in my life. I've wanted to be with other men at times, but I still come back to what I believe one of love's aspects to be: that love manifests itself not in physical actions or verbal displays, but the decision, in body and mind, to honor the promise that I made.

I know that the above deeply hurts some people, and you have my apologies for being a source of pain for you, but I will not apologize for knowing the heart of God in the matter of who it is I should marry. It's my hope and prayer for all of my friends to know what I know. If that means that you are meant to be married to someone God has chosen for you, I will celebrate and rejoice with you. If that means that it's not meant to happen, I shall comfort you to the best of my abilities and with the encouragement that God, who knows everything, is in control of your life. And He will never fail you.

2) My birthday is coming up within the next month. I'll be twenty-three. Matt is flying in on my birthday proper, so I'll be spending time at the airport that day. I really would like a party, but I don't have the heart to ask for one with everything else that's happening this year. I would like the chance to wear my purple dress out, but I know that won't happen either for my birthday this year. I'm just glad something good is happening that day with Matt's arrival.

3) Graduation. The panultimate event that I've been working so hard to see for four years. In some ways I'm thrilled to death that I'll be done. I have grand plans to not pick up a book for a year after graduating, but I know that won't actually happen. I'll go to one book store or another and inevitably be charmed by the words and pick something up to read. In some ways, though, I'm really quite sad to see it all go away. It's been the hardest four years of my life, but they've also been the most fun. The people I've met are fabulous. My professors have been utterly amazing and I have grown by leaps and bounds thanks to the encouragement and nurturing care that I've been given both at school and at home.

To my tios, I'm sorry that school prevented me from going out and having fun all those weekends when you wanted me to go out. I'm quite sad I won't be able to just go and hang out with you much longer. I've got five more weeks of hard core studying/reading/writing and then I'll have just a few months left with you before I'm someone's wife. While I look forward to this transition in my life, I want you to know that I love you very much indeed. Thank you for introducing me to British comedy and for being there in good times and bad. I've learned a great deal from you and I won't soon forget any of it. Te amo.

To my parents, thank you, thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart for everything you've done for me. You have been one of the driving forces that have helped guide me to where I am right now. You have sacrificed your time and your efforts and your money the last twenty-three years to make life comfortable for me and the boys. Without you, I wouldn't be so near to graduation and I know that you both willingly made a choice to go into debt in order to send your little girl to college. I hope I never give you cause to grieve your choice. I love you both very much.

Also, thank you for living God-fearing lives as examples to your children. The boys and I have learned a great deal from watching how you live your lives. As I'm getting ready to be a wife (fearing it because I've never been one before and I'm afraid to fail) I want to thank you sincerely for showing me what a solid and strong marriage is like. Someone asked me recently what my parents have taught me concerning marriage and I answered them that I've learned that it's okay to argue. And it is. Growing up I've watched and witnessed you have your fair share of arguments and disagreements, and although I didn't like seeing you fight, I've come out better, I think, because I have seen that arguments don't result in divorce. You have shown me that married couples can fight and still remain in a loving relationship through Christ, who reconciles us all to him through love. My hope and prayer is that my own marriage will be strong and stable like yours.

To my grandmother, whom I love very much. Although we have our fights and our squabbles, I am so used to having you around. You have been another driving force in my life that has brought me thus far. My most vivid memories of you as a child are of listening to you pray. You would (and admittedly still do) read your bible every morning and then pray in Spanish and as you prayed in Spanish you would cry. I used to think you were sad when you prayed because you would just be so overcome with tears, but in retrospect, I know now that it wasn't sorrow that manifested itself in the language of your fathers, but your devotion. You love us, all of us, so much that your fervent prayers empty out into the world the only way they know how, through tears of devotion. I'll never forget that. Thank you for your unbending love that knows no bounds and for the devotion of your fervent prayers throughout the years.

To my brothers, joys of my life. I love you both so very much. I don't know what I'd do with myself if it weren't for you two. So many of my happiest memories are linked to your presence and I'm going to miss not living with you once I'm married (despite your promises/threats to be at our house every day).

Jeffrey, my fondest memories of you and me are when we were still quite young. I think my favorite ones are the ones where you and I would build 'tents' with spare sheets from the linen closet. Do you remember the one underneath the dining room table? We took some soap that was shaped like fruit from the linen closet as well and put it in a basket for our 'food' supply. There was river right outside that we would scrub up in and I was always kicking you out of the tent because you would do something to upset me.

As time passed, you and I devised more and more elaborate plans for our tents and we moved from the dining room to the hallway before taking over the living room and moving out onto the front porch during the summers. Do you remember all of those? We also had a pillow pit and some wonderful stuffed animal wars where you and I shared the bunk. I remember all of those clearly.

You are a tremendously gifted young man. You'll be eighteen shortly, which is hard for me to believe. I don't know why it is, but it is. I can't get over it. I know you worry about things in life. Right now it's about surviving through the next production. You also worry about college. If nothing else, remember that God has all things in control and He will lead you down the right path if you remain open to His leadings. You have a certain flare as a people person. I look for you to go into something where you'll work with lots of people and keep them all in line. I'm so proud of you.

Jeremy, despite what I say I'm actually quite pleased that you're following in the footsteps of your older brother. You're well on your way to becoming like him and that's nothing to be scared or ashamed of. You've got the same wonderful sense of humor. My memories of you go back to the hospital right after you were born. I remember having to scrub in with wire brushes and iodine just to see you in the intensive care unit. I remember the nurse asking me if I wanted to hold you and I said no just because you were hooked up to so many machines, I didn't want to chance pulling a tube out. I just stood behind the rocking chair with Daddy and watchd him hold you. When we left after visiting you, I cried and Daddy took me in his arms and asked me if I'd rather see you as you were or not at all. You taught me then, young as you were (only a couple weeks old) that God is a God of miracles. By all accounts, you shouldn't be here, but I'm so very glad that you are.

I also have memories of you as a baby, after you'd plumped up and come home from the hospital. You used to jump up and down in the mornings until either Jeff or I came and got you out. The pictures that Mom made of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck that hung against the wall over your crib were forever askew because you would mess them up. I remember the ambulance rides I took with you when you were a little boy and had trouble breathing because you were so sick. Do you remember the stories I would tell you? I would tell you stories about silly things to make you laugh and take your mind off the noise of the sirens. I remember you standing at the door all alone on the first day of school when Jeff and I would leave. You cried those first few days of school because you thought we were leaving and not coming back.

Now you're taller than I am and you're only thirteen. Thirteen! You'll no doubt be taller than Jeff. You have an exquisite artistic mind. I somewhat envy you being able to take anything from paper to old wire and turn it into something else completely foreign to the material but recognizable to the average person. I won't get to see you go through high school like I've done with Jeff, but I won't be far away. I'm proud of you too and of the young man you're becoming.

I love you both like the dickens.

To Matt, my love and source of much happiness in my life, I owe you so much. I've learned so much about myself through you the last three years that it sometimes boggles my mind. You and I have had some rough times, but I remain solidly grounded in the knowledge that you and I have been brought together by the goodness of our God. I feel so strongly compelled to open my heart to you, but I know you're not reading this any time soon, so suffice it to say that you're a good man, I love you with every fiber of my being and that I look forward to being your wife.

4) Europe. That's right, after graduation and all that madness is done and over, I'm going to take Europe by storm. I'm going to meet people and go places and generally have lots of fun. I look very forward to meeting up with DJ and giving him grief in person (we need to figure out what mischief we're going to cause that day, DJ).

I'm going to immerse myself in the history that surrounds me whilst in Europe as well. Unlike most people who see history as something dusty and on a shelf somewhere in some obscure little archive, I view history as a living, breathing thing. It makes me giddy to think that I'm surrounded by so much of it when I'm walking through London or Winchester or Southampton. It's completely amazing...but then again, I'm a nerd and I gravitate towards those things.

5) Marriage in October looms somewhat down the line, but I know how time has a habit of sneaking up on us, so really it's not that far off. I have nothing to say about this matter other than it'll happen later this year. As details arrive and fall into place, I'm sure I'll be blogging about it all, but until then, the first four items are more than enough to keep a girl like me busy, occupied and well out of trouble.

6) The ever impending shower, to be taken tonight. Right now, in fact. Jeff's timing, although long when he's in the bathroom, can sometimes be perfect. He's just gotten out, which is my cue to mosey on in. Good grief. I'm talking like DJ now. I really need to stop that.

Until next time, mon ami!

Later Days,
Arty

So tonight I watched Planet Earth in HD and was utterly amazed. I want to kiss whoever conceived of, developed and produced High Definition cameras. Likewise I want to kiss the creator of HD televisions. The picture...I just don't have words for it. It's insane! It's like being IN those places. Gah! I need to go watch Planet Earth again!

There are no words for it!!!

Later Days,
Arty

Evening all. Tonight it's going to be short. Today, even though I haven't spoken to him in a couple days, I'm thankful for DJ. Yes, that's right! I said it! And nothing's wrong with me either...although the Bailey's I had a while ago might be affecting my judgement.

But he's good people! He's the kind of people my family would adopt into our little clan. He really is people of the best kind. Even when he talks like a Texan.

And that, is what I'm thankful for today.

Later Days,
Arty

Ἄτλας

He is a giant. One who towers. One who is cursed to bear the unbearable burden of weight. One who knows the depths of the whole sea, and keeps the tall pillars who hold heaven and earth asunder. One who is bound for immortality.

He carries the world on his shoulders, but he doesn't have to do it alone. If he asked, he would find help. If he asked, she would take the burdens and heaviness that rest on him and take them away.

He is weary, but she would allow him to find find rest. She would help him stand. She would help him retain instead of yield.

Ἄρτεμις

And she is beginning to know him. She sees the struggles and reads the thoughts he has. She would give anything to know his heartbeat against her own, but it would take tremendous effort on her part to do this. She would have to take his place. She would have to willingly take the world from his shoulders and bear it alone for a while to give him the freedom that he craves, the freedom that he needs.

She would keep him from having to lay the world down, save him from the consequences of such actions, all for the chance to see him walk and run.

Ἄρτεμις

Like him, she is bound by responsibility that she's not sure she wants. Like him, she is chained by a deep honor that keeps her where she is. Like him, she is cursed by the blessing of good conscious, which she wishes she did not have when she looks at him, when she hears him speak, when she lays down to rest.

Ἄρτεμις

His heart has been stirred and he has stirred the heart within her. It was a heart that was once full and brimming with life, but has since been covered over by a layer of stone. She had to do it. She had to cover herself in hardness in order to survive because without a toughness in her, she would have been lost. Destroyed. Miserably unhappy.

She would have found happiness still. She is not so cold or unfeeling that she cannot find joy in life, but her happiness would have been trivial in relation to what she wanted, what she most craved in the entire universe. Her happiness would not have penetrated her shelled heart nor would it have made her feel truly alive, in love with him for chipping away the granite exterior of her passions and desires.

Ἄρτεμις

And yet she is still tentative. She is not foolish and she knows the darkness of men. She has fallen prey to it before and become a victim for feelings of inadequacy, of disappointment and of sorrow. She would have freed herself, and she certainly had that chance, but her honor kept her bound to him. Her sense of what is right and what is wrong was stirred, but not poured out.

She is hesitant because she only knows what she alone feels. She cannot be sure of anything that he tells her simply because she has not been able to feel his heartbeat against hers. She is relatively certain that if that were to happen, she would find the rhythm that her own heart has been searching for. A rhythm that would make her utterly and wholly complete. Content. Happy.

Ἄρτεμις

If she would feel she was wanted more than anything in the world, there would be no bounds to the goodness her heart would give. Her love would be limitless, her flame brighter than it's ever been, and she would see to it that she built a series of supports to hold the world for him so that he could lay down and rest. She would work goodness in the world on his behalf until he was strong enough to stand beside her and do things that she could not.

She would let him hold and protect her. She would let him expose her heart to the gentle caresses of his fingers, secure in the knowledge that he would never break so precious a commodity. She would make him laugh, comfort him when he cries, be a foil for him and argue with him when he is wrong. She would continue to stir his heart and inspire his hands. To move. Holding the world, but free to move in it. Changing what is seemingly unchangeable.

Ἄρτεμις

Her heart has been stirred, yes, and already her hands are beginning to follow its direction. She is, after all, a woman of her heart. She sees the future of unhappiness and apathy and wants to rush forward and change it. She wants to make the world a better place for him and her children. She sees the barriers that are blocking her way: a white dress, the expectations of hundreds of people and promises that have been made.

What does she tell him? What does she tell the man who has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders for so long?

Ἄρτεμις

She tells him to shrug. I have enough supports in place to keep you and me from being crushed by the weight of the world.

Hello! So I'm sitting here at my computer, my thesis laid out before me in parts according to their various functions. I'm in the midst of the dreaded re-write stage, which I never really know what to do with because I'm jaded and think all my writing is perfect and makes sense (neither of those is actually true). So here I am, papers strew across my usually clean desk, with a red pen in hand just hacking the living daylights out of my tales.

Oh, and for my newly acquired readership, you don't know what I'm talking about. I graduate from college in May and as such I need to produce a thesis for my degree. Since I'm a creative writing major, I need to crank out a story between 35 and 50 pages in length.

At first I thought that I would just add on to a story that's already been in the works for a while. I started it last semester in a short story fiction writing class and decided to go with it again this semester for a novel writing class. It was simple enough, just loads more writing. But alas, things that are planned, don't always go according to plan and I came up with an idea completely different to that of my original plans. Instead of one big story, I thought, why not do a collection of short stories?

I scribbled ideas down furiously over the course of two days and had a list that contained everything from an idea to rework a piece I wrote in high school to creating something completely new about ninja penguins who got their powers from cherry bakewells (this idea was inspired by Hobbs and Benny). I still have that list somewhere, but none of the ideas on it ended up being in my thesis.

Instead, I was struck with the idea for what I have in front of me whilst I was languishing on the floor of my bedroom and bemoaning my fate as an English student (at the time, and several times since then, misery was mine). I'm not sure many of you know it, but I'm an avid reader. Voracious is a good word for it too. I devour books and since I have a natural affection for the written word and bookstores, I have quite a few books myself. I keep them under my desk, lining the walls, on the shelves...pretty much anywhere I can get them to fit without being in the way.

As I lay there knowing misery I turned my head to one side and saw a couple of my fairy tale books, which I picked out and started reading to save myself from my own self-pity. It was then that the idea struck me for my thesis. Why not re-write the fairy tales in a way that hasn't been done before? I mean, Dreamworks and Disney have done it with Shrek and various other animated Disney films. Why not me? It's not an original idea, but what I've done is.

Thus, The Dead Witch Society was concieved and created and furiously written in fits of passions that produced 67 pages of manuscript in three days where I was stopped only by one of my family members dragging me away from my computer (kicking and screaming, I might add) and nourished by graham cracker sticks and bananas (bananas are brain food, you know).

What's that?! You produced 67 pages in three days, I hear you say?!

Yes! Yes I did! I often write things in fits of passions. My history thesis, which was admittedly much harder and more work for me because it was academic and 'formal,' was written in one night. I sat staring blankly at my screen until about seven o'clock in the evening when I was bowled over by inspiration that I don't doubt comes from God above. I then was able to sit and produce 37 pages by three o'clock the following morning.

Of course, I realize now that the subject matter for both my theses is quite dark and morbid and depressing. For history, I did a thesis on crime, torture and execution methods in medieval, early modern and victorian England. The fun of doing this topic was going archive diving. I highly recommend it. Handling old parchment with gloves on is great fun. The only other fun thing about the whole thing was my title: "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Gallows:" and then there was an academic explanation of the title that was no fun at all. Apart from those two things, it was utterly morbid and dark and I had to eat a lot of ice cream to be happy after those long research sessions.

This thesis deals with witches. Another dark and morbid subject, really, isn't it? I wonder if that says anything about me that I gravitate towards the deeply disturbing things in life. Or perhaps it's just the graham cracker sticks that induce this trait in me. No, I'm pretty sure it's just me. The graham crackers are just a delightful perk of my sick and twisted mind working late into the nights.

So yes, I'm here, nourished by the aforementioned yumminess and blogging about what I need to do. So far, I have four stories written (the fourth one has added another 30 pages to the 67). I'd love to stay and tell you what it all entails, but I'm afraid a red pen is calling to me and who am I to disobey a pretty red pen?

Oh, and in case none of you could guess at it, I'm thankful for having my thesis written and in the stages of polishing it up. I also wonder if there's something odd about it being Day Thirteen too. DJ, you're free to ponder. And yes, I am aware that I'm sick and twisted at times, especially late at night when I'm tired. And also that I'm part witch. And spooky and all that other stuff.

Later Days,
Arty

I've been thinking a lot about the color green today. I like it. I love it, in fact. It's the color of new life. Of hope and of so much promise. Potential. Vibrance. It's the color of all things new and exciting while still being the color of all things near and familiar. Known. Wanted. Desired.

I think of it now because I was out for the day with Uncle Benny. All the hills were green. Al the trees were too and I found myself utterly enthralled with being surrounded by something so overwhelming. It was everywhere I looked. Even in the water of the bay there was a green that I could see.

So yeah, I've been thinking about green. And I'm thankful for that.

Later Days,
Arty