The Amazing Human...Nightlight?

“Kneel.”

I obeyed Lon, kneeling in the squishy mud. He slowly put my hands into the water, and a searing pain exploded in my palms. I screamed (and I'm not too proud to admit to it). The pain was excruciating, and even though Lon instantly jerked me away from the pool, the pain only intensified. I curled into a ball, clutching my hands to my chest, biting my lip against the burning sensation.

“Are you certain this is the pool?” Lon demanded of Jenen.

“Yes, but it seems the properties have changed again.” His own voice was concerned.

“Are you all right, Key?” Veija asked, and I felt a gentle hand touch my cheek. “Let me see.”

Several pairs of strong hands sat me up and gently pried my hands away from me. I didn't bother to hide the tears streaking my cheeks. It hurt too dang much to care. I avoided looking at my palms even when the others gasped audibly.

“Oh, Key,” Veija whispered breathlessly.

Finally I forced myself to look, and my own eyes widened. My hands were horribly torn and burned, but where there should have been blood, a brilliant silvery-blue fluid, pulsing with light, dripped from the wounds.

“Told you I was turning into a nightlight,” I muttered, trying to ease the pain by joking.

“If this isn't proof enough that he is Vendaeva, then nothing is,” Lon stated, unwrapping a strip of cloth from his arm and wrapping it around one injured hand.

“Glad I could sacrifice my hands so you'd know,” I said, gritting my teeth as he tightened the lavender bandage. “Though I assure you that up 'til now I've never once bled anything but blood.”

“It's a magic wound, Key. Of course it's going to be different.”

I scowled. “Well excuse me for never having seen a magical wound before to compare it with.”

Ups and Downs and Ups S'more!

Christmas was amazing.
Simple as that.

Then, my car died.
The transmission has been slipping a lot, and now...
It is no more.

Ah well. Payments must be made either way.

Still, Christmas was amazing.

Despite the Flames

Last Saturday evening my parents dropped my youngest brother (age 10) off at our home while they took the other two younger siblings (14 & 17) to a youth dance two hours away. A few hours later, we received a call from a neighbor that said the home my parents were renting was on fire. My older brother, myself and my little brother (the only ones not at the dance or at work) jumped in our car and drove over to the house. We got there forty-five minutes after the fire had started and before the fire department ever arrived. It was far beyond saving.

When we arrived at the scene, I comforted my little brother, who shook and cried for a long time. After that, I looked for any cats who may have gotten out alive. I found two; our outside tom-cats. The flames were not entirely put out until about 11:45 PM, after my parents had returned and we had taken them to our trailer house. (My older brother and sister (27 & 24), and my next youngest sister (19) and I (20) had moved away from home into our own place about twenty minutes away, back in November).

My parents and three youngest siblings lost everything they owned, save the clothes on their backs. We also had several cats locked beneath the house to save them from the cold weather. When the fire started, they never made it out. My own two cats and my turtle died... I also lost a lot of other important things, but nothing compared to my parents, as I had mostly moved my possessions from the house.

How did the fire start? We can't say for certain, but the most plausible reason was the bend in the wood-stove's chimney. Creosote always gathered in the bend, turning it red-hot. It was getting worse, but we never expected it to do that so suddenly, with the fire so low. It most likely over-heated, exploded the pipe and spit hot flames out into the kitchen (the only real exit) like a flame-thrower.

Our church has been helping with food and clothes, and my parents and siblings are staying with us in our little home, until tonight, when they will take what they have and move into a cabin offered to them, a ways down the road. They will stay there while they receive help finishing their permanent home on their 20 acre property.

A lot of things can never be replaced, especially our beloved pets, but the most important thing is that no one was home and caught in the fire. For that, I'm very grateful. Christmas will be a little different this year, but we've all decided to make the most of it despite our new circumstances, despite the hot flames that consumed memories, records and pets. We just thank God we still have each other.

A Writer's Quirks: 01

I've just realized some of my writing quirks:

-I always have at least one forest scene in all my books, and the forests always have oak trees.
-I always use a male protagonist (which is intentional, but still amusing).
-I can't avoid humor, no matter how I try.
-Writing without music is impossible.
-Black eyes ROCK. Green eyes, too. They are my favorite to use for characters.
-Slender, beautiful men are not overrated. I'm serious! And they must always have striking eyes, long hair, cold dispositions and must walk lithely.
-I love plays-on-words.
-While I hate writing in first-person, it's actually somehow easier to write, but, aside from Paradise?, I will probably never use it again.
-I love, absolutely love, creating fantasy religions and cultures.
-My female characters are never very important unless they are slightly sarcastic.
-I usually write after the fact, when people are suffering from the repercussions of someone else's stupidity. In other words, I start the novel in the middle of the story, and slowly reveal the past. It's more fun that way.
-Instrumental music is actually more distracting to write with than lyrical songs are.
-The most common letter I use for a character's first name is "J"; like Jenen, Jeyeswe, Jenkin, Jenny, Jason, Jeremy, Jana, Jamae, Jemi, etc.
-If I quit writing at the end of a chapter, I have a hard time starting again later. However, if I write even a single line in the new chapter before I quit, I can pick back up easily the next time.

I'm sure I'll recognize more as I go along. NaNoWriMo has been teaching me a lot about myself, this year.

NaNoWriMo: Day One

I've managed to write over 5,000 words in BONDS today, thus far, which rocks! As it's a Saturday I was able to spend most of my time focusing solely on writing, so I certainly don't expect every day through November to be so productive. Still, this gives me a head start, so that on days where writing is simply out of the question, I won't so resent the time away from my novel.

In all, so far so good!

Redundancy of the day: The word "so".
I wonder how often that ended up being used in my writing today...

About Time, Yeah?

It's that time of year again, when adults are given an excuse to dress up and be somebody different. The last few years I've only been able to throw things together from my wardrobe, slap a name on it and pretend I know what I'm doing. This year is different.

I planned to go as a samurai, actually, but I ended up ordering a different sort of costume. I'm as pleased with this as could be, however, so no complaints here. I plan to post pictures later, after my sister snaps a few. I actually loathe getting my picture taken, but this costume demands to be viewed by the world--even if they don't know what it is. (This is proof that despite my protests, I really am a fan girl. (Yes, you may shudder.))

So far, at the few parties I've attended, people have mistaken me for a "catholic priest", a "Chinese person" and a character from something I'm unfamiliar with. Doesn't matter. The point is, the costume seriously rocks. That's enough for me.

More on that later, when the pictures come.

Happy Halloween! Hope you enjoy my own capture of a very eerie sunset.

On another note, I've been trying to figure out why I can't seem to stay faithful to my blog very long. I finally determined that I needed to personalize it so I felt like it really was mine, and I really could say whatever I wanted. Thus, my new layout. Nifty and neat, yeah?

NaNoWriMo Much?

I'm absolutely pumped for National Novel Writing Month, this year. I disappeared (aka moved) during last year's month-long writing retreat, but kept writing anyway. Still, it'll be nice to have fellow participants and supporters, er, supporting one another and thus-and-such.

Too bad there are no local cafes or bookstores for the proper environment. Ah well. It'll still be worth it. The way I figure, if I write three pages EVERY day minus Sunday, size twelve font, single spaced, I can make it. I did last year, though I had considerably less time, what with the move, so I had to get in more pages every day...

This year will be fun. The story is demanding to be written; it won the lottery when I was trying to decide between around fifteen titles, and it's definitely being persistent now that it has that winning ticket. All I can say is it better stay a winner. I'd hate to get half way through November and then realize that it isn't going to fly. Ugh. I hate when that happens.

Anyway, for all participants, good luck! Wanna add me as your buddy? I'd love it (and most certainly return the favor).

Happy writing, all!

Who KNEW?!

Rewrites have always intimidated me. Not to say they aren't still daunting, but I'm thoroughly enjoying the rewrite of Paradise? for some reason. Normally I try to do as little actual 'rewriting' as possible, and just edit typos and add a paragraph here or there. This time, however, is different, and I'm loving it. I know the story backward and forward, so now I get to explore the world within a little more.

If I'd know earlier how fun it is to completely rewrite something, I'd have much more done. But that's okay. Better late than never.

And fortunately for me, it's almost finished being rewritten. Then, submission to agents, here I come! *insert huge cheesy grin here*

Confirmation, much?

It's always been amazing to me that when I'm having any sort of creative block, especially when it lasts for endless months, the strangest things unlock the bars around my mind, in the end. It starts small--a simple comment, gesture or song. Then, it continues in a series; even after your mind is freed.

I was experiencing a severe writer's block. It was discouraging me. Then, a friend sent me a note, prodding me to start the rewrite that was so bogging me done. I informed her that I was having no luck starting it. I turned to my sister in that moment and explained my situation. She shrugged, made a simple suggestion and BANG! the bars lifted.

As if that wasn't enough, conversations, music and a single movie fortified the ideas suddenly swimming dizzily in my mind.

Block be gone.

I always know I'm on the right track when an idea is backed over and over. Like, one time, when I was trying to give a novel its title. Idea after idea. Dead end. Then, finally, when considering the flavor of the plot, and the underlying currents, I knew what to call it. As soon as I decided its name would be BONDS, people started saying "bonds" in their conversations; lyrics in songs sang out "bonds" --heck! I even received confirmation from the pulpit.

Inspiration can be found anywhere. Anytime.

It's really quite amazing.

In Their Footsteps

At 8 a.m. on the fifteenth of July, some two dozen youth and local youth leaders of Kamiah 2nd Ward in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints left Clearwater with two authentic hand-made handcarts holding loaded buckets and food, and started a strenuous trek along rough back roads that would last four days. The trek was made in honor of their Latter-Day Saint ancestors who crossed Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska and Wyoming between 1846-1857 to gain religious freedom; they endured countless hardships, including death, and eventually entered the Salt Lake Valley of what later became Utah State.

This year a committee was formed to plan and prepare for this trek; endless hours of planning extended over long months brought about the final results. Amish handcart kits were ordered from the East, and were put together by several young men who would be participating in the handcart trek. Several historical reenactments were put into play, including the “Mormon Battalion” incident where the men were called away to fight in the Mexican war, leaving the woman to pull the handcarts on their own.

Activities such as square-dancing, dutch-oven food and pony express delivery occurred, teaching Latter-Day youth more about traditions in the times of their pioneer ancestors, historical facts and to “appreciate that the first Saints remained cheerful despite disheartening circumstances,” says Deborah Wadsworth, Trek Committee Member and Young Woman President of Kamiah 2nd Ward.

“This trek was planned so that the youth would understand and appreciate the sacrifices endured by early members of the Church,” Wadsworth continues. “So they would understand how to endure to the end, and the significance of religious freedom. This doesn't just apply to our Church. It's comparable to the sacrifices made by the pilgrims on the Mayflower. Anyone who wants religious freedom endures whatever hardships come to attain it.”

The weather remained beautiful for the trek's duration, but that didn't stop this trek from having a few setbacks—some planned, some not. One evening dinner didn't arrive, as it had on previous nights. Youth Leaders offered 1/2 cup of flour, with water, and three tablespoons of wheat berries to the youth—the only food with them—to try and sate their hunger. This meal was similar to what the pioneers had to eat on the Mormon Trail. After the youth had eaten this, the real food arrived; stark contrast to the tiny portions they first received. Unplanned, however, was surgery, when one leader got an infection on his foot. A pocketknife and disinfectant were the only tools available.

Letters, written by real parents and loved one were delivered by pony express to the youth.

Wednesday evening found the trek participants with an opportunity to share their feelings about the trek, as well as bear their testimony to the group. Heartfelt emotions filled the atmosphere as youth and adults felt near-inexpressible gratitude for the sacrifices made by pioneers so long ago.

On July 18, tired, dirty and smiling, Kamiah 2nd Ward pulled the sturdy handcarts back into Clearwater some thirty-miles later with newfound love and understanding for their ancestors, having walked in their footsteps.

--
Clearwater Article, Draft 1
(c) Melissa Wadsworth

A lotta life, a lotta love.

It's rather sad when the expression "a day off" is in reference to one day without a headache. Argh. I get plenty of sleep, plenty of water, and plenty of exercise. What's my deal? Aside from that, though, life is pretty good.

I received a new calling in my ward. Gospel Essentials Instructor. Heh. I'm a little nervous, and a lot excited. It's a wonderful thing to be able to teach converts and investigators about our Church principles, the basics, the foundation. It will strengthen my own testimony, which is always, always possible. With a lot of prayer, I know it will be a tremendous, amazing experience.

I've also been asked to write an article for the local newspaper detailing the "why and what" of our ward's youth handcart trek. This is somehow more nerve-wracking than teaching a class. I write fiction, not articles, but I'm also very honored and excited. It will be an awesome learning experience--though, lately, what hasn't been?

My job, working with my dear friend, who is blind and autistic, continues to be a joy, but also a huge trial. She's wonderful, but thoroughly exhausting. Sometimes, I wonder if I can make it through the entire work day, but I always do. Still, when the time comes to move on to other things, I don't know if there'll be much hesitation. I couldn't work with her for years and years. Besides, writing is my eventual pursuit.

As for writing itself, I live it and love it.

"Being an author is like being in charge of your own personal insane asylum." ~Graycie Harmon

Last autumn I asked myself a question; what happens to a story, and its characters, when you discard the idea and scrap the whole project?

A new story was born from that thought. Ironic, ne?

Sometimes, being a writer scares me.

"We know the truth, not only by the reason, but by the heart." ~Blaise Pascal

You recall that friend who just got married? The one who made me ponder change and its bitter-sweet experience. Yes, him. I've known him since I was thirteen and he was sixteen. We attended Seminary together, discussed our goals (both of us wished to serve missions, etc) and then, we grew up. And we changed.

He returned from a mission February of 2007, but seemed reluctant to discuss his mission. I wondered why. I felt a little concerned. I found out today that he has become agnostic, and very-anti-Mormon. He's written several essays in his blog pertaining to polygamy, and accusing the Church of "hiding the truth from us" all this time. The points he brought up were parts of history he never knew--these same "disturbing" facts which I already knew about. It hasn't shaken my faith.

I don't resent this young man's change of heart. I'm sadden, as it has made him a very bitter person, but he has the right to believe as he will. Still, I am sickened that he won't leave the Church alone, as many others never can after they have "left" it. He has to tear it down and try to destroy others' testimonies, since his own is gone. Again, he can believe what he likes, but he should allow others that self-same right. As the 11th Article of Faith declares, "We claim the privilege of worshiping Almighty God, and allow all men the same privilege; let they worship how, where and what they may." That I firmly believe. If this young man believes that the Church is wrong, and its Prophet is false, he may. But he must allow others to believe as they will, also. Just because he doesn't know something anymore, doesn't mean it isn't still the truth.

I don't believe the Church is true. I know the Church is true. The Gospel has been restored. Joseph Smith saw a Vision of God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ, and he translated the Book of Mormon; another testament of Jesus Christ. I know the Atonement of Jesus Christ is for us, that we may be redeemed if we repent. Thomas S. Monson is the Prophet today--he wears the mantle of Prophet, Seer and Revelator. He hears God's Word and shares it with us, His people. I know that God the Father lives and loves me. That his Son is my brother, and died that I might be saved, if I will repent and strive to be perfected in Him. The Holy Ghost guides, directs and comforts if I heed his Voice.

This is my testimony, undiminished by the "disturbing" facts in Church History. My testimony is not the testimony of my mother or my father; it is not the testimony of someone I heard last Fast Sunday. It is mine; firm, unmoving, true. I did not receive this testimony by some miraculous event, the seeing of angels or hearing a booming voices. I knew it in my heart; have always know it in my heart. That is enough for me.

A Tribute To Shasta

Yesterday wasn't what I'd consider the best day of my life. In fact, I ended up crying so hard my head nearly exploded. I had a severe headache up until I finally took painkiller this evening.

We received a phone call from a neighbor who explained that he shot our dog. Apparently the jerk assumed it was another neighbor's dog--one who had been dragging garbage around their yard--and he grabbed his shotgun and killed my poor Shasta without making sure it was the same dog. He didn't even offer to compensate...wasn't even truly sorry...just said, "Gee, sorry, but he shouldn't have been in my yard." Not that money or anything would have helped--another dog won't replace Shasta easily...but he didn't even care. Shasta had followed my younger brother up when he went to visit the jerk's son. Shasta never meant any harm...

When I received the news, I just burst into tears. I don't cry too often--but that news hurt. I love dogs. LOVE them. I've had four--each has died; but I keep replacing them, hoping this one will be different...Heh. Maybe I should stop. Except I can't. I LOVE dogs. But replacing Shasta...that will be difficult. I'm going to have trouble dealing with our neighbor for a while, I'm sad to say...

Shasta was half German Shepherd, half Samoyed. A huge, blond dog, he liked to run ahead of my car whenever I came home, pretending he was leading a sled. He barked whenever an intruder came, greeted everyone cheerily (except the rare people he just didn't like) and had the prettiest brown-puppy-dog eyes ever.

I will miss him so terribly.

It's strange how painful, how hollow it can feel when a beloved pet has died. And this...feels like murder. I'm coping okay-- after all, he's not in pain now. He's had a good burial. But...I will miss him.

I love you, Shasta.
See you on the Other Side.

...Sunrise, Sunset, Sunrise, Sunset...

I received an email from an old friend I've known since I was thirteen years old. His news was, unsurprisingly, "I'm married." This is to be expected. After all, he's a twenty-two-year-old returned missionary, back for just over a year. Still, it was almost unnerving. This is the fourth friend around my own age who has recently tied that particular eternal knot. And why not? We're all adults now, right?

But, yesterday...we weren't.

Growing is painful. Not like those scrapes we got falling off our bikes when Daddy let go of the seat behind us. Not like the water up your nose when you learned how to dive. This sort of pain is...deeper. It's the sort of pain you experience as you close the casket, or when you have a terrible argument and you're sure your relationship will never be the same again; and it isn't.

Not that marriage in itself is painful. On the contrary, I consider it the most sacred, important event of one's life. But...I guess the prospect of change frightens me. Who isn't frightened by it, at least a little?

I guess I just remember too well the joy of yesterday. Those days of tangled, half-done braids, no makeup, holey pants, stained shirts--totally indifferent to my appearance. The running through hundred-acre corn fields, climbing trees, scampering over rooftops, drawing without caring how badly it turns out. What changed?

Swiftly flow the years...

We grew up. Opinions started to matter; paths diverged. Change.

I'm not bitter. In fact, I am grateful to be where I am now. I wouldn't want to go back to all the troubles youth entails, but, still...I always remember my childhood in the sunlight. I guess that's how memories are--honey sprinkled with a grain or two of salt. Today is never as good.

I wonder if that can't be changed, though. Why does yesterday always have to seem better? Why do we have to let those opinions start to matter? Certainly we don't want to run around with tangled braids and holey pants, but...we don't have to like that movie just 'because it's popular' or bleach our hair because it's 'in style'. We don't have to change who we are. What we like.

I guess that is what I fear. Unnecessary change. Things like marriage, graduation, moving away; they don't have to change the ways things are. Friendships can still be whole. I believe what strains a relationship is when people aren't themselves, and then one day they wake up and realize that, and decide to change.

If we start out as ourselves, we have little to fear. It won't fix everything. It's not always, or even often, the answer. But, still. It may make today better than all our yesterdays were.

Heaven On Earth

I live in a visually stunning place now, completely opposite from the large city I left back in November. Here, there are mountains, curving roads, tiny towns spotting here and there, scattered ten miles from one another, countless pines and icy cold rivers joining and churning as they head for the pacific ocean. Wild live is prominent; turkeys, deer, coyotes, wolves, elk, fish, eagles. The weather fluctuates constantly; one minute raining, the next 80+ degrees, the next it's snowing. The spring has brought brilliant pink and white blossoms, bees, meadowlarks and sunburns.

In this place my family and I thrive. The people are kind (if slightly eccentric), the religious fervor is a pleasant (if startling) change from the apathy of my former home, and the drive is always adventurous--even when one is driving down to the local store to buy a loaf of bread. And you can always count on something going on, somewhere. There's hardly a moment to breath, yet I've never felt so relaxed in my life. How is that for a change? In my city-life I was going nowhere, and getting there too fast to know what hit me.

My 13-year-old sister, sick since January '07 is making a rapid, miraculous recovery from her illness. Though she still suffers from arthritis, she insists on making her own meals, walking around, and she laughs on a constant basis. It's a big change from Christmas time, when she couldn't get out of her wheelchair without help, and hoarded her food like it was always her last meal. We were sometimes afraid it might be. However, with faith, prayer and many, many priesthood blessings, Jennilyn is gaining her strength and energy faster than we ever imagined. It's been a tough road, but with all the family working together, and the support of people we know, and even some we don't, my sister will recovery wholly.

I've also taken a new job since moving. Formerly I worked at a service deli (as you may recall), but now I am a care provider, assisting an autistic, blind woman around my own age. Together we perform service in the communities, and we cook and clean. I've learned valuable lessons in patience and love since meeting her in February. Her simple faith, in both life and her Savior, has made a profound impact on my own spiritual feelings. How can a blind woman see more clearly than I the plan of this life, and hereafter? Yet she can; it's humbling. She has no doubt in her Savior's love for her, no doubt that one day she will see through her eyes; see all the colors that she always asks me so eagerly about.

Life is different here. It's...spiritual. Like God touched this spot on the Earth and said, "Let the trials here bring more strength, more love, more compassion. Let these people learn of my hand in all things." This is a tough place to live. People struggle; they live in humbler circumstances than many people can fathom existing in the United States. Jobs are scarce, but everyone comes together to help put up homes for those without, everyone gives of the storage when a family is hungry. It's...beautiful. Amazing.

I love this place. Despite having moved twenty-one times in my 20 years of life, this is home.

Relaxation suits me fine...

Believe it or not, I'm back. It's amazing, returning to the Internet after such a long hiatus. But, you wouldn't ever believe how hard it is to get Internet in the woods where I now call home. But, obviously, I prevailed against the po-dunk-i-ness, as I am back. (Though, seriously, I love my new home. It's wonderful.)

I should probably explain where I've been the past seven months. What has transpired. But...I'm not really up for it right now. I'd rather kick back, listen to Michael McClean's Garden CD, and enjoying the flashing light on my desktop which assures me, "Yes, the Internet truly IS back."

Tomorrow. I'll explain it all tomorrow.