Molded by undiscerning time
Shifted by volatile moods
Blown by careless thoughts
Soothed by moonlit caresses
Imprinted by love lost and gained
I possess the power of a grain of sand
*Google image, source unknown
I have spent too much time contemplating my love for the ocean. I have sifted through hundreds of adjectives that encompass the smells, sounds, tastes, sights and touches of my beloved sea and yet, I still fail to capture its essence. The tides mesmerize me. The timeless journey of the sun from breathtaking sunrise to stunning sunset amazes me every day. The infinite diamonds that adorn the Atlantic waters beckons my piratical ancestry. And that breeze, the seductive caress of Poseidon’s mythological breath seizes my imagination. This place is my home, not in physical address, but in the pounding surf of my life’s blood.
*Photo courtesy of Neos Design
Watching a wish take flight
Whispers of hope
Sailing in the twilight
Sorrow’s dew hitches a ride
Nature’s beauty cannot be denied
*Photograph courtesy of Lynn Langmade Fine Art Photography
The little girl sat in the bay window, surrounded by pillows. She leaned her head against the paned glass and looked out into the misty blue dusk. She let out a sigh that was much too mature for her seven years. Her raven hair looked like wet ink spilled down her white cotton nightgown. Her eyes were the color of raw honey and they searched the prevailing darkness earnestly. “Oh, please let him come. I do miss him so,” she whispered. She was still sitting there, eyes glued to the velvet beyond when her mother came to check on her. “Darling, I’m sure it won’t be much longer now. Be patient. Give it another night or two.” But even the soothing tone of her doting mom could not draw her from the vigil. Her eyes grew heavy as if weighted with the worries of the world and her shoulders began shaking with silent sobs of a broken heart. As she tried to pack away her disappointment in the remaining sniffles, she lifted one fragile hand and held it against the glass. And just as she was about to wish him a good night, wherever he may be, he lighted against the tip of her index finger! It was the first firefly of summer!! The light from his luminescent glow could not compare to the radiance of her welcoming smile.
I want the melody of my future
To contain the deep timbre of your chuckle
And the smooth comfort of your voice
I want the rhythm of my future
To keep time with the beating of your heart
And the strokes of your hand over my hair
I want the lyrics of my future
To repeat the words you whisper in my ear
And the vows we spoke at the altar
I want the harmony of my future
To rely on the strength of your arms
And the devotion conveyed in your shining eyes
I want the song of my future
To be sung each morning as we open our eyes
And on the day my soul slips away to Heaven’s gate.
Assignment 2 of this course requires a detailed description of a serial TV character of our choosing. My character was originally introduced in a series of books that was ultimately made into a television series. I prefer the literary depiction of this character but based the profile on the serial character as requested.
Physical Description: Tall, muscular and sexy. A walking/flying 6’4” hunk with bluish green eyes and dirty blonde hair. His bad boy smirk is a trademark move that enthralls many female viewers.
Gender: ALL MALE
Age: approximately 1000 years old
Personality: Charismatic, egotistical, well respected and powerful
Ambitions/Desires: “My destiny is to answer to no man.”
Loves: Blood (esp. Fae blood) and Sookie
Believes in: being loyal to the ones he loves
Trusts: Godric, Pam
Fears most: the final death
Fights for: the ones he loves
Hates: The man that massacred his wife and children (Russell Edginton)
Most important event in life up to date: Massacre of his human family/final death of his maker, Godric
Most influenced by: Godric, Sookie
Best friends: Pam, Sookie
Worst enemies: Russell Edginton
Relationship/family: Prior to vampire life, married with six children; has one vampire child, Pam.
Social/Ethnic background: Scandinavian
Occupation: In human life- Viking warrior; Vampire life – Sheriff of Louisiana Area 5, Owner of Fangtasia
Special skills/talents: Vampiric speed, strength and fighting skills enhanced by his age
Flaws: loyal to the ones he loves
Disabilities: suffered a brief bout of amnesia due to a curse
Special quirks: Maintains constant eye contact, enjoys very close physical contact
Style: He is wealthy but dresses casually and sensually.
Name: Eric Northman
TV series: HBO’s True Blood
** artwork courtesy of NeuralDefekt at deviantart.com**
I am currently enrolled in iversity’s Future of Storytelling. My first assignment is to recall a story (written, heard or seen) that greatly impacted me. After summarizing the story, I have to explain the context in which the story was important to me or influenced me. Below is my response to this assignment.
The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams is a children’s story that explains how a toy can become real through a child’s love. The Velveteen Rabbit begins his stay in the nursery as the laughing-stock of all toys because he is an old-fashioned stuffed animal with no modern-day mechanics or tricks. He actually sits neglected for a long while until he is used to replace the boy’s missing bedtime toy. The boy becomes attached to the Rabbit and takes him everywhere. The Rabbit becomes shabby in appearance but does not mind because the boy believes the Rabbit is “real”. The boy becomes sick with scarlet fever and the doctors insist all the toys and bedding must be burned or thrown away, including the boy’s beloved bunny. The Rabbit cries while mourning his fate. The nursery fairy then appears and bestows upon him some magic to turn him into a “real” rabbit that he has seen in his forays into the forest with the boy. The Velveteen Rabbit is overcome with joy at being able to run, hop and play with the other rabbits and still remain close to his boy.
I don’t know how old I was when I first read this story but I remember that I began to place a lot of sentimental value on all of my stuffed animals. I did not drag my toys around or even play with them enough to lose their aesthetic value. I did remember the occasion in which I acquired each animal and I used those toys as a never-ending bond to the giver of each one. When I was twelve, I was in a car accident that required a hospital stay and subsequent surgeries. I racked up quite a collection of stuffed toys during that three-year duration. Even though I was well into my teens and had outgrown the security of my many plush toys, I refused to give them away or trash them. I was emotionally invested in the toys merely because of the circumstances in which I received each one. To me, they were all “real” in that they represented real people who had shown me real compassion at a time I needed it most. In ridding my room of these toys, I felt I was dishonoring the memories of those that had loved me. When at last I was married and acknowledged the need to sever my ties to these childish items, I passed them on lovingly to other children that I hoped would love them and make them “real” in their own hearts.
I find it ironic and extremely frustrating that I have two children that have learning disabilities that inhibit their ability to communicate effectively. I always excelled in writing and public speaking throughout my childhood and college years. I even majored in Communication Studies (after the evil administrators at UNC-CH thwarted my desire to go into television. But that’s a blog post for another day). I realize that I take for granted my ability to put my thoughts to paper and, more times than not, effectively speak my mind. David was blessed with the writing ability but struggles with the public speaking only because of his lack of confidence. Once Hunter’s speech delays were identified in first grade, I had imagined that he would blossom into a vessel of self-expression. It was upsetting to acknowledge and embrace that there were neurological causes for him to struggle with reading and writing. While he can speak his mind, he now lacks the confidence to do so with conviction because of his issues with dyslexia and dysgraphia. Hunter has made ASTOUNDING progress in the past year to overcome these obstacles academically. Tests show that he is now reading on grade level, but tests do not illustrate the amount of effort it takes him to do so. His writing abilities have improved as well now that he utilizes a computer for most of his school work. The keyboard does not present the same challenges as a pencil to his dysgraphic mind. It is by sheer force of will and work ethic that Hunter has achieved so much. We are fortunate that he is surrounded by teachers that believe in his abilities and do everything in their power to assure Hunter that he is much greater than any of his disabilities. I struggle as a parent in walking the fine line between wanting to make school work as easy as possible for Hunter while making sure he/we do not take advantage of any modifications to his academic work plans. It is also a struggle for me to understand what Hunter experiences because the written word has always been so easy for me. Luke seems to be on the same path as Hunter. We diagnosed Luke’s speech developmental delay at four and began his speech therapy two full years ahead of Hunter. While we have seen vast improvement with Luke’s speech, we know it greatly affects his relationships with peers his age. Adults attempt more patience at conversing with Luke. Other five and six-year olds don’t have time for that! Since beginning kindergarten in July, it is has become obvious that he has issues with recognizing letters and numbers. He is currently well behind his classmates in his writing and pre-reading skills. Luke will have several diagnostic evaluations completed this week so we can determine what other services may benefit him. Of course, whatever we discover with Luke, we have the advantage of having “been there, done that” with Hunter. I can’t help but wonder how I have failed these two children — they are extremely intelligent, outgoing children that should not be hindered in their abilities to interact with the world. I know there is no fault to be assigned, just as there is no miracle cure for their issues. While I grieve the opportunity to wield my red ink pen on their assignments, I am grateful that they have not let their learning disabilities define the boys they are and the men they will become.
It is no secret that I have been working on a novel for the past several months. This journey is much more difficult than I ever imagined. I have become emotionally invested in my characters and have a very difficult time deciding their fates, as I want to protect them from heartbreak and pain. In a lot of ways, they have become like my children. I am struggling with the direction of the novel because I am trying to follow my literary instincts instead of emotionally manipulating the outcome. Since I have hit a wall of frustration, I thought I would share a short excerpt from the story. I am hoping that if I release some of the protectiveness I feel for this story, I will free myself to write more effectively. Plus, I just can’t get enough of Devin. :)
Devin propped his long legs on the weathered pallet that served as a coffee table on his private dune-top deck. This was his favorite place in the world. Well, second favorite, barely losing out to being in his bed wrapped up with a beautiful, voracious lover. He brought the chilled bottle of Buckshot Amber Ale to his lips and drained half the bottle, lost in his thoughts.
He had visited the Kindred Spirit mailbox that afternoon and enjoyed perusing the many entries that filled the journal’s pages. Most days he just skimmed the random musings but today his attention had been drawn to the sweeping lines and curves of an eloquent, cursive handwriting. He had run his fingertips over the pencilled words that flowed over the page like calligraphy. He was curious what the passage contained and imagined a flowery pledge of love. He was touched by the plea hidden in the artistic writing. This Genesee woman seemed to be lost but intent on finding a direction forward. Devin knew better than most how helpless a soul could feel when discovering your life’s compass had malfunctioned. Devin’s desire to gain back control of his life had led him to Sunset Beach ten years ago, against the wishes and demands of his family. Somehow, the day he first crossed the pontoon swinging bridge, he knew he had found his way home.
In all his time on this island, he had never bothered writing or responding in the Kindred Spirit notebook. Today, he succumbed to the yearning to offer some solace to the mysterious Genesee.
Our Kindred Spirit is still in residence here. At least that is what I tell myself when I feel there is no one else to listen to me. I hope you enjoyed your wine and were able to celebrate the breathtaking sunset yesterday. I must admit I find myself very skeptical of the everlasting love and soulmate quest. Perhaps the closest we ever come to that is another Kindred Spirit passing through our life … for a few weeks or even a few decades. Enjoy your return to Paradise, my forever home. I will raise a beer and toast you moving forward in life. In Passing, The Wanderer
As Devin finished the last of his beer, he surveyed his island home. For far too long he had been plagued by a sense of deja vu while walking through the dunes and down the barren beach at Bird Island. He often felt there was a deeper pull for his life to be anchored to this place but so far he had been unable to figure it out. He set the empty beer bottle down, settled back in the wooden swing and let the ocean breeze and lapping waves of the low tide sweep away any lingering thoughts.