An Awesome Announcement

Hey, y'all. For the last couple of weeks I have been working on something I am way excited about. I decided that Hopes and Dreams needed a makeover, but then as I got to thinking, I thought that I needed a new name as well, something that would fit the theme of my blog a bit more.

Please check out Living Aesthetically and subscribe by email or G+. I hope that you all enjoy this new and exciting blog as much as I have been enjoying putting it together.

I will not be getting rid of Hopes and Dreams, but I will not be posting on it anymore. So don't miss anything! Hop on over to to Living Aesthetically. See ya there.

Live Aesthetically

Life is busy. It's hard to stop and see the beauty in every day life. It's hard to take a moment to sip at the coffee and watch the sun rise when all the homework is piled up. Or when your new creative project is nagging at you to work on it. Especially during the holidays, we miss the simple moments. We miss the joy. We miss the beauty.

Scholars in the area of Aesthetics define it as "critical reflection on art, culture and nature".  People who are aesthetic often dwell on the beauty of every day life all day long. They see the beauty in everything around them. They find the beauty in the things that most people miss. They reflect on that beauty. They never stop looking for it.

To live aesthetically would help us not miss the simple things. Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts is a perfect way to start living aesthetically. She challenges people to keep a journal and write down throughout the day the simple things that bring you joy or help you see beauty. She is an amazing writer who encourages everyone to see what we normally miss.

"If the stars only came out once a year, we would surely stay out all night to watch them. But they're out there every night, and we have become accustomed to them." ~Paraphrased quote, author Anonymous.

The things all around us -- the beautiful things -- are there all the time. The simple things we never even think twice about. We've become accustomed to the things that should mean a lot to us. All around us lie these things that we could put our focus on. To live aesthetically means to reflect on the beauty. God gave us these things in life to think about, to dwell on, to put our focus on.

When life gets overwhelming, take a deep breath and watch the stars. They're never going anywhere. They'll always be there, you've just become accustomed to those things that always around you. Don't miss a beautiful moment because you're wrapped up in schedule. Keep a journal of all the beautiful things you notice. All those simple things that you never noticed before.

Take some time to learn something new, to study something you really love. Take the time to "smell the roses" and "look up at the stars". Someday you might just wake up and realize how much you wasted on doing the stuff that never really matters in the end. Do something today that counts. Live aesthetically...

The Life of Creatives

(Photography by VintageRose Photo)

You light a candle, the scent filling the room with a wonderful fragrance. The little flame flickers, trying to stay alive. It wants nothing more than to melt the scented wax so that you can have a calming smell. It burns. Not very brightly, but if you put it in a dark room, it will dimly light it. The breeze from the movement of people around it cause it to flicker, to barely hold onto it's little fire life. But it holds on.

Creative people are no different from that little flame, trying to burn the wax of imagination. As creatives, we are a little flame in this big, dark world, trying to light it just a little bit with our art. We want to give off light, a little warmth, a good scent, and feeling inside... We want to be useful, to feel like we are accomplishing something. Sometimes people say things, causing us to flicker a bit, and sometimes it takes everything inside of us not to be completely blown out. We can't reach every part of the world with our 'scent' or 'little light'. But we try right where we are to create beautiful things, just by the spark of inspiration and imagination lighting us up. But there are horrible times where people try and blow us out. At this time, you need to be one of those prank candles where the flame won't blow out and keeps coming back.

Because you matter.

You are a creative, and you are the reason that this world still has hopes and dreams. The life of a creative is more than just typing words onto a computer, or snapping pictures, or drawing portraits... It's about lighting the darkness with our little flames. Get enough candles in a room and you will rid of the darkness. We all work together in a unique way.

By one creative making music that a writer uses to make an inspirational or fight scene.

By one painter being inspired by the interior design of an apartment and makes an abstract splash painting from the colors.

By a photographer watching the musicians play on the street and taking a picture, capturing the moment.

We're all one big spider web, interwoven into greatness, into a beauty that makes art. We are the creative people. We are the ones that give off the pretty fragrance, give off a little heat. We have to not let others blow us out, to fight strong to keep the candle of imagination lit.

You impact not only others around you that aren't creatives, but other creatives as well. Because maybe a poem you write will inspire a song. Or a song will inspire a painting. The possibilities are endless. Don't let the flame die.

Hopes and Dreams One Year Anniversary *throws confetti*

Actually the fifteenth was the anniversary of one year, but I was too busy to post. SO now I am posting this.

One year ago I decided to make a blog. I had no idea what I would put on it. I just wanted one. I wanted to have a start, somewhere to share my love of Jesus, my love of art and creativity, my love of writing. I wanted somewhere to show others my soul and hope in turn that they would be inspired and be able to find their own soul and inspiration. Art is something that is express-able through many forms. From a simple prayer to Jesus, to a magnificent painting, or an epic novel. From the shortest of poems to the smallest latte design. We're all Creatives just looking for a small beginning to eventually have a great ending. And so I started my small beginning.

Start your small beginning. Don't let the joy of Jesus get crowded out by a cloudy day. Don't let "no inspiration" days get you down. Because those days will come. And you just got to keep pushing forward to fulfill the greatest of things.

<3 Sarah

Why...? {Seasons}

The question "why" seems to interfere with who we are. It interferes with our creativity and our hopes and dreams. It plagues us every day. It is everywhere...

Why...
That's the million dollar question.
Why?
Why do you write?
Why do you take pictures?
Why do you draw or paint or sculpt?
Why do you spend hours a day reading?
Learning...
Teaching...
Care taking...

Why...?

I was scrolling through my Pinterest earlier and ran across a quote that didn't have a name claiming it... But it said "Why do we think Autumn is so pretty? Everything is literally dying."

And I had to stop for a second and think about that. Everything is dying. The leaves, the plants, the bugs... Birds are migrating so that they don't die. And we think that it is pretty. To think of death as a pretty thing is mind blowing. The idea that most people's favorite season is a season of death is...something else. Something you have to stop and think about.

Why do we think it is pretty?

As I try my hardest to get my NaNoWriMo count up for the day, I ask myself several times why in the world do I still write? Or why I chose to keep this novel going when it clearly has plot holes, outline problems, and weak characters? One, is because it's NaNo and everything written during NaNo isn't all that great. Two, I had fallen in love with the idea of completing this novel. Not only that, I had fallen in love with the weak characters and undeveloped plot. So it needs some help, right? That's why it's a "rough draft".
But the question why always plagues me. I tried to stop writing once. Lasted probably two months before I got annoyed with myself and started a whole new series. Guess what? I ended completing a novel in that series that I absolutely love. It's a third draft now and still needs help, but I love it. When we push ourselves past our limits and then ask ourselves why we even did it in the first place, a dying period always comes. There's dying seasons. Seasons where we won't want to do things. In these seasons of dying passions, we realize just how much we love what we're doing. Or you realize just how much over your head you were.

But the point is:
There will always be the "why's".
There will always be seasons of dying.
But you know what?
Guess what happens after everything falls?
Snow comes. (for most people)
It comes white. Pure and full of sparkly treasures. It shows us the sacrifice the leaves and bugs and birds had to make, and that it was worth it.
The dying season can be beautiful. It can be full of moments of "breathers" and moments where you can relax. In those moments you realize what comes next after everything seems dead. The snow comes, bringing greater and brighter things.

Every. single. person. has seasons where everything appears to be dead.
Passions gone.
Creativity a big gaping hole in our brains.
Inspiration completely evaporated.
Motivation to do what we love just up and ran away.
And for the moment, you see the beauty in it. You can finally just breathe and relax. But as the wind picks up, the leaves blow away, you realize how much you really miss those passions. That creativity and inspiration and motivation.

It's for everything in life. Not just for writers, or photographers, or painters. Life is full of the question why and it's full of the seasons where everything is dead. Part of life is dying. Physically and metaphorically.

Why do you love science?
Why do you spend countless hours and years studying and practicing medicine?
Why do you still try and paint that picture even after years of mess up?
Why do you keep moving forward?
WHAT motivates you?

In each of those things is a season that at first looks beautiful, but then "why's" plague you, and the wind blows in, picking up every leaf, leaving the ground bare... Don't let it slip away. Don't let life get you down with the whys. Snow is coming. Treasure.

It's funny how when I write how unforced it is.
It takes me forever to get myself to write. I usually convince myself that there is something better to do. But as soon as I sit down to write, the words just flow. For the majority of time anyways. I can write thousands of word in one sitting if I just let myself go of the bare grounds. Let the snow fall down.

My sister is a photographer. A lot of times she doesn't capture pictures in the moments, because she convinces herself that she has something else to do. (Granted, she is busy a lot and actually doesn't have time..sometimes...) But as soon as she purposefully sets out to take pictures, she fills up SD cards like crazy with fantastic work!

I often wonder if we just quit with the whys, quit telling ourselves there's something better and let ourselves just...go, what would happen?

It's the bare grounds that get us down.
It's the questions of why that plague us with doubt.
It's yourself that keeps you from being the best YOU.
It's our own minds that convince us that there is something better to do, and that passions and art can wait.
But what if the moment leaves you?
The sun might not set like that again.
The words to that poem might not last in your mind forever.
The children will grow up fast...
The paint will eventually dry up; clump.

Why?
That's the million dollar question.
Why do you write?
Why do you take pictures?
Why do you draw or paint or sculpt?
Why do you spend hours a day reading?
Learning...
Teaching...
Care taking...

Because you are a human. You have talents and you were meant to use them for good. You have art that is meant to be shared with the world. You have compassion that is going to spread abroad.
Perhaps the why doesn't matter.
Maybe it never did.
The leaves fall every year and every time they die we think it is the most beautiful thing ever.
Autumn means even more beautiful things to come. For in those moments of temporary death, life always wins out. True passions show.

And maybe none of that makes sense. Maybe I just needed to write out a small rant. Who knows.
Do you love your passions? Do you strive to be your best, even as the autumn leaves blow away and give way to bare grounds? Do you let the "why" question always haunt you?

**** <Snow Flakes>

Burning Creativity With Excuses of Not Enough Time

That was  a long title. It probably took you a couple seconds to read that. The fact that you're reading this means you have a few seconds of time to spare on reading something that may or may not be helpful in the end. I hope it is.

Not. Enough. Time.
Please stop and take a deep breath. This is life. We run around like chickens with our heads cut off (which I really want to see some day... //random) and barely have time to just... breathe. Seriously, take a moment, take a breath, refresh yourself with tea or coffee, or ice cream (gelato is better than ice cream, but not many know exactly what that is...) That's it. Have you slowed your brain down enough to just relax for a few seconds? If you're one of those people (*cough* me *cough*) that like to have five tabs of research open, my writing document on one side of the screen and this blog post on the other side, then you're not really taking a break. Put it all away. Give me five minutes of your time.
Okay, maybe ten...

It's a busy month for just about everyone out there. Thanksgiving is coming up, people get breaks from school (YAY) and for those crazy people like me, it's NaNoWriMo (which is where crazy people try and write 50,000 words in 30 days.) But life still goes around us. Creativity stills floats just beyond our busy schedules. Inspiration at our fingertips, but because we're hanging onto too much we simply can't grab it.

Not enough time.
Not enough time to stop and take that picture.
Not enough time to stop and write down that really awesome book idea you just got (y'know that idea that will bug you and beg you to write until you start it and then you realize you... don't have enough time... oh the irony.)
Not enough time to hold the kitten, sip at coffee and watch Leap Year.
You're burning yourself out, darling.

We simply can't see past the calendar these days. Maybe, just maybe, you can take a deep breath, and do what you love. The excuses we make about not having enough time will burn you out. It's time to watch a movie in the middle of the day. It's time to pick up your favorite novel and start reading it. It's time cuddle the cat and watch the candle burn as the sun sets. It's called refueling. Because all your creativity will be lost as soon as you let "not enough time" get in the way.

If you see it, grab it. Don't let the inspiration slip between your fingers like sand. Stop, take the picture of the setting sun right now because you might not have this chance when you do have "time". Stop, and just write a poem. Don't worry about the five novels you started (because at that time, you thought it was a great idea... now not so much. :p) and just write the free verse. Because, goodness, as soon as you get a poem idea, it needs to go down on paper, you will lose the inspiration, I guarantee it.

Stop. Take a deep breath.
You find a book that looks interesting in the book store, but you convince yourself that you don't have time. What if there was something inside that book that you needed to read? What if that was going to be the momentary breather where you could relax? You just passed up the chance to do something you love.

Take a deep breath. Be still.
Creativity is right there in front of you. Inspiration is everywhere, and you might just miss an opportunity that will never come again, because you didn't have enough time. Don't let that burn you out. It isn't just for artists. Everyone needs to take a breather. Don't lose those special moments. Take every chance you can to get out and do what you love. Have some "me time". Read others blog posts, take pictures every chance you get, write poetry, draw pictures, take a moment to get away from your novel. Take a moment away from life. Take a walk.

In the end, the world won't remember you as a person who wrote 100,000  novels, or one who took over  a billion pictures, or who published the most songs. They'll remember you for the greatness of it all. It doesn't have to be in numbers. They'll remember the overall message. They'll remember the things that matter. What's your goals? To paint a million landscapes? Or to paint that one that will always be remembered? You'll get that inspiration when you slow down. In the still and quiet moments where you aren't running around like a headless chicken, that you will you find the best creativity ever. It's in those moments where you realize what matters in life. Not the numbers, but the greatness. The beauty.

Maybe it's time to make time.
Sit at the coffee shop, drink your latte (or tea) and forget about the things you have to do for just a moment. Slow down, listen to the wind and the birds.

Breathe...

The Masks We Wear

You sit down. You take a deep breath. And you start working. It could be a poem, it could be a novel, it could be a drawing/painting, or it could be a photograph you're fixing to take. You're working hard at making it your best, and then thoughts start to come to your mind. Will they like it? Whoever 'they' is. You're mom, dad, best friend, sibling? Whoever you let see your work the most. Will they like it?

As you plot/set out your paints and pencils/get your props ready for the shoot/ or open the document with all your other poetry in it, you can't seem to get the thought out of your mind. The end goal is for your art to be widely loved, so hey, you might as well work on it now. You might as well start manipulating your style so that that one person will like it. The more you get to work, the more you start to realize how much you yourself doesn't like it. It's so... not you. And the ease of art has now become ten times harder than it should have been. The photograph didn't turn out as good as it could have, the painting isn't as abstract as you would have liked, and the plot is... dull. "You" have now been taken out of your art. None of it says that "you" did it. It looks foreign to your own eyes. Genuine has now been taken out. Individuality gone.

What happened? When did you start caring so much about what others thought?

It's natural to want people to like your work. It's a way of life, it's apart of art. But when you focus your thoughts solely on what others think, then you won't like it.

Will they like it?

Probabilities are that if you love your work, then others will, too. They will see who you are, what you love, and your passions. They will be able to see genuine art with individuality. That photograph of that flower you just took? They will see the beauty you saw in it. The free flow of that poem describing a thunder storm? They will be able to see what you saw and feel the poetry. The passion and all that time you put into that plot and outline? They will be able to see it in the novel.

We put on masks, trying to disguise who we really are, thinking that others will like our art more. But it holds you back. Don't be afraid to take a random picture if you think it is a good picture. Don't be afraid to write a poem or novel; paint or draw. If it's what you love and your passion was in it, others will see/feel that, too and automatically feel an appreciation for it. (Though there will always be those who will never like what you do. :p)

The masks we wear are holding us back in everything we do...
Are you going to let others define you? Are you going to let your thoughts always wonder to what others will think of you? Or will you let yourself be free and to create beauty that you love...?

Explosions of Ink on Paper

Some of my favorite art is the kind that looks like the artist literally threw paint balls at a blank canvass. Even if at first it looks like a complete mess, it isn't. It's what the artist intended (maybe) and someday that piece of art that looks like an explosion of paint happened will be famous. Abstract art is getting more and more popular. Mess up on a painting? It's okay, just splatter colorful paint all over it and call it abstract.

Unfortunately, writers can't exactly do that. There is abstract writing, but it's mainly the concepts. If you threw words on a piece of paper and tried to justify it as abstract, you won't get far. Maybe with poetry you will, because poetry breaks all the rules. But not a novel. Perhaps a short story can be counted as abstract and will someday get famous (look at Edgar Allen Poe). But there's a lot of rules to follow in a novel. If it's prose, you have to have paragraphs, sentence structure that is strict, grammar rules to follow, and chapter breaks. There is a plot, there are subplots, there is an outline, there are many, many characters that need developed. And when we mess up on it, there's no throwing a bunch of words on the paper and claiming it's abstract. It will never fly with society. And it will probably never fly at all. You have to fix it. You have to make it better...

"A writer is simply a photographer of thoughts." ~Brandon A. Trean.

Thoughts...
That's all we got. Thoughts and our fingers to help us put them down on paper. We -- as writers -- have the ability to capture thoughts and imagination in a trap and be able to show it to the world. Every artist has the ability to trap creativity and show it to the world, but in a different way then writers. Music, paintings, dance, etc. is shown differently than writing. As writers, we show it to them through a way where the readers can actually see what we saw. Maybe not exactly, but close. We have the ability to paint them mental pictures with only a few words. "Description begins in the writer's mind, but should finish in the reader's." ~Stephen King. We paint them this picture with words, something no other kind of artist gets to do.

A musician plays a song and the crowd hears a sad, haunting tune. We will never know what the musician wanted us to see unless s/he tells us. We will have an idea, though. Perhaps we see rain drops falling slowly down a window pane, but what the musician intended was the image of  a little girl crying softly in a dark corner after losing both her parents in a car crash. Musicians paint us a mental picture with music. They never tell us how to view it, we get to decide what we want to see.

A painter shows us a painting of what looks like an abstract paint splatter. Perhaps we see that there are dark colors and light colors and that each color follows a hidden pattern. We can't tell what it means. Maybe it has something to do with the spectrum or something else entirely. We can't tell because we were never meant to know. Maybe what the artist really intended us to see was that the dark colored splatters mean sadness and the light colored splatters mean happiness. They all intermingle into the weave of life, all doing their part to create a beautiful picture... The painted provides us with a platform, and lets our own imaginations do the rest.

When I was younger, I went to a zoo in San Diego. There was this man talking about pandas, putting on a little show. He has a blank canvass and a palate with different colors of paint on it. He doesn't say what he is doing as he starts splattering paint on the canvass while he talks about pandas. By the time he is done giving us all the boring details about these animals he is also done splattering paint. He asks the crowd what we see. It just looks like a bunch of black, white and green paint thrown on a canvass. Then he flips the canvass upside down. The picture reveals a panda bear eating bamboo. My childhood wonder thought that was the coolest thing ever. And I wanted to be an artist, however, painting was never my thing; I found art in a different way. I paint my thoughts on stark white paper with these annoying black letters. I describe what I want the reader to see.

As the observers we never really know what the artist is intending. It could be a simple picture of rain depicted through music. Or maybe paint splatters that don't have a real meaning on the outside, but dig deeper and there is something beautiful.

Writer's have a way with words, a way of "photographing" their thoughts for others to peer into  and read. They have this burning desire to put words on paper. Creativity isn't meant to boil inside one's soul for eternity. We all have our own ways of getting it out. And that's what makes you an artist. Perhaps it really is just explosions of ink on paper. And that's okay.

All you have to do is write. All you have to do is paint. All you have to do is play the song, or sing. You can fix terrible, but you can't fix nonexistent.

Be Eccentric

(My sister was doing a photo shoot with a family and I went with her. As we got into the car to leave, I saw this lonely flower up against the brick wall and was like, "poetry!" My sister looked at me funny. :P So I got out and shot a picture with my phone. It's not a very good picture, but I like the poetical value behind it.)

~

When every one is doing the same, it gets a little boring. When there's fads and fashions and things that everyone is doing, where's the individuality? I get tired of the same old genres, and the same old Dystopian teen novels. The same old poetry that rhymes like nursery rhymes... The personality is gone from everything. Modern day artist depict the same old things. It's all...the same. Nothing changes.

Until you run into those great poets like e.h. The beauty of individuality lies within his/her work.

And then there's modern painters like those abstract artist such as Jover.

I long for individuality in every piece of art I create. From trying to write a novel that's never been written, to forming poems that will be loved and shared for years and years to come. And I wonder how it is that some people get so popular so fast and it's only for a moment. Painters like Van Gogh will always be remembered.  Poets like Poe and Frost will be known for their poetry for centuries to come. 

People leave legacies. They leave things that will be remembered for years and years to come. Will they be remembered as good things, or as scars?

"Humans are obsessed with leaving marks on this world. But far too often, the marks people leave are scars." ~John Green.

I want to be different in a good way. I want to be remembered as something positive. To be known as a great artist and love of God. I want to be that abstract author with the eccentric ideas. I want to be eclectic; to get away from the cliches. 

But that only happens when you get out of your comfort zone.

Do something you've never done before. Do something strange and spontaneous. Write something that's different from the rest. Draw or paint something that no one has ever thought of before. Maybe get out of your introverted shell and just...do something new. 

Be eccentric. 

Be eclectic.

Be different.

God created you unique for a reason. Let yourself shine "out of the box". <3

Hello, Autumn

Enough with the writing post for now. They're fun to write. Like super fun. But I really have no idea what in the world I am doing when it comes to writing. Does anyone really, though? *shrugs*

Autumn.

My bones ache...

It's such a beautiful season. A season for change. A season for colors. It's where the summer leaves start to wither away, slowly losing their color, their life and crumpling, floating down to the ground in the slow death of summer. The departure of the heat is slow, but leaving nonetheless, giving me a legit reason to wear my hoodies. I live in the mid-west where spring and fall barely exist. It's like a small thread of time where I actually get to see the leaves change color and float poetically to the ground in the symbolism that summer is going away. Fall has started here. Pumpkins are out. Hay bales are used for decoration for who knows what.
And as summer fades with the last long sunset of the year, I wonder what exactly I have accomplished this year. I can now do a pirouette. I have finished the third draft of a novel... Made it past a hundred poems, and entered a novel into a contest that I was scared to enter in before.
But does any of that matter? Those are just things that are temporary. It only matters for the moment, not for eternity...

My soul aches...

All the things I thought I was good at have faded into nothing. Writing has turned into a painful chore. It isn't that I don't like to write anymore, it's that all inspiration is dry. My creativity is completely gone. Ten years spent learning to play the piano and it's hard for me to just sit and play that classical baroque piece that I used to adore. I stare at the computer screen and sip at my coffee drink while I try to figure out what in the world my characters are doing. And I have an overwhelming feeling to just take a walk and leave my writing be every time I try. It's no longer about whether I can write. Because I can. Anyone can put words on paper and call it a novel. (*cough*) It's the fear of no one liking it. I could care less what people thought of me. I just want them to like my art. That's all. And that's a lot to ask of people. And that's a sorry reason for not wanting to write or play the piano or make poetry.

 But it's the hard truth for every single person.

Why don't you do what you used to love? Maybe it's because someone said it wasn't good, and instead of trying harder, you were filled with fear that it would never be good. It's not just a writer thing. It's a musician thing. It's a pastor thing. It's a mother or father thing... It's a life thing. How often have we quit because someone didn't like it?

But it's my art!
It's my baby...
That's my life... my work...

My spirit aches...

God's creation floats around us, slowly changing from scorching summer to the color of autumn and we don't take the time to admire His art... 
Soon autumn will fade into winter, sprinkling upon our heads snow flakes and sheets of ice. And God looks down at us from Heaven and whispers, "Why didn't you like my art?" He knows our busy lives, and all He asks for is a moment of our time, just tell Him how much we appreciate the falling leaves, the snow flakes or the rays of the sun that are setting off in the west.

That's all we want, isn't it? Just a little bit of praise. We just want to be told that our manuscript was amazing, or that that poem was beautiful, or the song was gorgeous. We want to be told we're doing a good job raising those little kids, or parenting those teenagers. And when you take the time to tie that tie, or put the mascara on, you want to be told your pretty or handsome.
It's human nature.

And God doesn't ask much of us. He doesn't get upset when we don't tell Him how beautiful of a day it is. But we are made in His image. Don't you think He'd love it if you told Him that the sky is exceptionally darling today? Or that the spring flowers are poetical...?

Hello, Autumn. 
Soon it will be goodbye. Don't miss it. Enjoy the moment and live fully in the now. Because even if your work and art isn't admired right now, someday, someone will think it is. And God knows your doing your best.

Don't give up on your passions.
Autumn is just beginning. So maybe you should try and start up what you used to love, or begin something new. Take the time to admire the Creator's art. Take a deep breath and let go of the fear that was in the past.

Blank Pages: When the Spark is Gone....

~

Have you ever lost your spark? Have you ever been in that position where you feel like your WIP is merely existing and that it has no meaning? Do you have a lot of blank pages you can't seem to feel? 

~

I write.

A lot.

Though if you hadn't noticed that by now... than yeah...

It used to be fun.

I think it still is fun.

But I lost my spark....

I have a lot of blank pages.

Pages that I'm not sure will ever get filled.

~

Type. Type. Type. Don't stop. 50,000 words until finished. I think... maybe it will end up longer, or maybe it will end up short. I don't know yet. All I know is that I'm no where near the end, and I have to keep going. I have to make my word goal today or I won't be able to finish. Type. Type. Type. 

Read over what I just wrote.

See how awful it really is. 

I will never be able to get published. 
Where's all the excitement? 
It's all...dull.

~

I just finished a third draft of a novel I have been working on for over half a year. It was my pride and joy. Cyborgs. Princesses. "Knights in Shinning Armor" coming to "Save the Day". Death. Fighting. Agents. It was exactly what I loved. I had spent MONTHS developing my MC's Archer and Sylver. I had spent MONTHS plotting the novel and outlining. And then writing time came. The entire story seemed to flow, taking me less than two months to write the entire first draft. It was beautiful in my site at the time. But I wasn't finished. I didn't give myself but a few days break before I started on the second draft. I sent the second draft to a friend so she could help me with the mistakes that I might have missed. She gave me feedback and I started on my third draft about a week later. I knew what I wanted the end to look like. I had pictured glorious victory.

But when I finished my third draft I didn't feel excited like I thought I would. I have seen people get so excited about finishing their first draft. I wasn't even happy about that. I didn't feel the joy that is supposed to come. Instead, all I could think about was how imperfect the thing still was. And as soon as I set the novel aside, I realized that I didn't want to mess with it for a while.  

I was burnt out. 

Burnt out about how fast I wrote the first draft. 

Burnt out that all my creativity had to come to an end. I think that is the saddest part about writing. Finishing and not feeling like you have finished.

Burnt out. 

It had been months since I even attempted to write a poem.

Mainly because I was too scared that everything I wrote would stink because I was so brain dead. 

It was too hard to place any kind of emotional investment into a poem or any other kind of writing. It was as if I had spent all my emotional investments into this one novel. I burned it all like one would burn a hundred dollar bill: in the matter of seconds.

But writing is my life, right? I can't just quit writing for a while. So I figured I would try working on another project. I try and rewrite the first book in a series I am working on. And I can't get past 1,500 words at a time.

And I cringe every time I read over what I just wrote. Like, I am to be a WRITER. Why can't I WRITE?! Why can't it at least make sense? 

School.

Work.

Fighting sickness.

Everything drained me.

It drained my creativity.
It drained any ideas I had flowing in.

So I took a deep breath. I stopped writing for about a week and I just read different things. Read blog posts about writing, read my favorite novel, read the Bible (because that truly is the most awesome book ever and it has a lot of inspiration).  

I was experiencing a type of writer's block. The type where I can still writing, and I can still have ideas, but I didn't enjoy the ideas. I didn't enjoy the ways my characters were turning out.

So I went searching for inspiration. And in my inbox were several unread emails from a blog called This Incandescent Life. Truth was, I didn't want to read a blog with beautiful words. I didn't want to see how this wonderful writer was doing. I was too far burnt out to look at her inspiration, because it was so amazing. (And you should seriously check it out). But I needed something to help me. So I clicked on a post that seemed interesting to me. And I read it. And I saw that I'm not the only one who is experiencing what I was (and still am) experiencing. I took the advice on it. And I took a walk. I cleared my head.

I still don't feel the joy in finishing a third draft. It's melancholy hope that I might be able to finish the series that that single book belongs it. 

And I think that's it.

I wasn't finished with what I was working on.  

It's not just a single novel. It's a series of four books. I wasn't finished. It wasn't completed. Only part of my plot was fulfilled, only a little bit of the timeline I had created had played out, only some of the villain's work was destroyed. There's so much more to do. So much more to write still. 

And I got to thinking...

God's our author. It's not just about one chapter of our lives. It's not just about one novel of our lives. It's about the entire series. It's about the entire plot, the entire timeline, and the complete destroying of life's greatest antagonist and villain. Just like I know that my work isn't quite finished, that all four books are needed for it to be complete, God's saying that about our lives. He knows the plot of our lives, He knows what's coming next. And He's looking down from Heaven and telling us that the series isn't over yet. Yeah, that book has finished, but there's still so much more He still has planned for our lives. 

It won't be completed until the entire plot is fulfilled. 

My spark isn't back completely. My joy isn't there, and I'm not sure why. Writing had become more a "had to" thing in my own mind that I made it more of a job than a hobby. I'm still looking for the inspiration to get the spark back. I still write. Just slowly, and I take more breaks in between writing so that I don't feel so burnt out.

Writing isn't an easy task. I used to think it was. All you do is put words on a computer screen, right?
Yeah... not. It's so much more. It's an investment of time, emotions, creativity and so much more.  

Do you have inspiration to keep you going?

Do have a bunch of blank pages?
Is your spark gone?

Fall, Then Fly

When a bird learns to fly, it falls off a high surface. It spreads it wings, and it tries to fly. Maybe it takes a couple times before it is able to soar through the clouds. Or maybe it takes only one time. But they fell. It's a beautiful concept, really
I was walking in a grocery store the other day and caught the chorus of a song playing on the radio. I don't remember the exact words but it said something like: "You only learn to fly when you fall." And I don't know. Maybe it's just a wild idea. We're humans. We can't fly on our own with wings. We weren't built for that. But in a general abstract idea (i have those a lot) we technically do fly in a metaphorical way. And in this flying, we have to fall first. It's like the saying about falling down and then getting back up again. It's part of life. it's part of why we live. It's part of why we walk in our daily lives with God. Because he's always their to help us up when we fall down on our faces and scrape up our knees. But He's also the momma bird. He's there when we finally jump off the branch on our own. He there's when we fall. He knows we can eventually soar into the clouds, but just in case we miss the timing, just in case we forget to open our wings, He's always there to catch us and help us back up to the branch.

"When it feels scary to jump, that is when you jump. Otherwise, you end up staying in the same place your life. And that... that I can't do." ~Unknown.

We limit ourselves and our abilities. We limit our talents, and we feel scared. We don't want to jump because we are scared. "But what if I fall?" "Oh, my darling, but what if you fly?" ~Unknown. I just want to live my life with no fear. I want to be able to JUMP off that branch, even when I am scared to death. I want to be able to take a leap of faith, always believing in God to catch me when I slip up; when I forget to spread my wings; when I hit the ground too hard. I want to wake up believing this day is going to be a good, despite all the pain, despite all the heartache that goes around us. And when we finally learn to jump off the branch and fly, then we help someone else. Our ultimate destiny on this earth is to win others to Christ. And I get scared. And I give up easily. And I won't fly, because I am afraid of falling. Of failing.... It's almost too natural to be afraid of this feeling. And we're wrong when feel like this. "Fear not, for I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee."

Am I helping others around me want to fly? Or am I encouraging limitations? Others watch us all the time. Do we always set the good example to fly whilst believing God is there to catch us?  Because we were meant to "fly". All it takes is a leap of faith, a jump off the branch, a spreading of the wings, and a mind set to soar instead of fall. You're not going to fail anything with God at your side. Maybe it's the thought that others are standing their watching, too, waiting for you to mess up so that they can talk about it. It's not men we are trying to please, it is Christ. Maybe you end up with a broken wing. You let the Healer take care of you, and you try again.

It's that feeling. That dread. But you can't fly until you fall.

Crash and Burn: The Dance of Life

.......

Crash

.......

and

......

Burn
.......

There comes a time in everyone's life where they are at a high. There is also lows in life. You never get to a high point in life without having a low time. It's like the laws of gravity. You can play with gravity. You can try and change them. You can defy them only by leaving the earth's atmosphere. But they're always there. The law never changes. You leap, and you fall....

I run across the studio floor, arms out in front of me in First. My toes points as I come off the ground, spreading my legs apart, and bring my arms up to Second Arabesque. I stay up in the air as long as I can, then come down, my right foot hitting the ground first, rolling from the toes to the heel of my foot. All my weight lands on my toes, and then my ankle. As I finish landing, I bring the left foot to the floor, standing up straight once again. And then I feel it. The pain shoots from my toes, to my ankle and I cringe. All the pressure I put on my foot aches, but only for a moment before I am fine again. It's strange how that works out. "You didn't roll through your foot properly," my dance teacher says. I thought I had. And this is where I groan, because I've been trying to do it properly for a long time. And still, for some reason, I haven't learned. I try again, and this time I do it right. But then the third time, I do it wrong again. My ankle is sore, my legs hurt, my head pounds, and I'm on the edge of giving up on the grand jete. "One more time," she says. (One more time is always a lie in dance class, by the way.) So I get ready. I start at the corner. I put my arms up and get my "pretty fingers" ready. I run, and I leap, spreading my legs out again. I land, rolling through the foot, standing up and smiling. My knees weren't bent, my toes pointed, and my ankle doesn't hurt this time. My teacher smiles at me. Now I feel like I have accomplished something for the day.

It might not seem like a hard thing to do. But it is. And there's a lot to think about while you're up in the air.  You can't bend your knees, you have to point your feet, think up and straight, don't bend your back, land on your front foot and roll through. But it's just a jump! You say.

It's just life, I reply.

We're all on the dance floor. Our heart beat is our music, and we dance. We get ready to grand jete. This is it! This is what you've been waiting for. This is the grand moment. You are going to make the whole class proud. You are going to make your teacher proud, your parents proud. This is it! And you leap, and you forget to point your toes, you bend your knees and your back slants forward a little. When you land, your ankle rolls and you fall. This was going to be it, you cry. This was going to be the moment. Yet, you failed. Too much pride got in your way. You had too much confidence inside yourself, instead of in Christ. "It's a stupid jump," you say as you peel yourself off the floor. You walk back to the corner as your teacher tells you to try again. Maybe you groan, or maybe your hold yourself up high and you do as you are supposed. Maybe you fail the jump again, or perhaps this time you listened to all the instructions and you make a perfect Arabesque or Grand Jete. Or maybe you just give up all together.

Don't. give. up.

There's worst things out there than falling. "Falling down is life. But getting back up, that's living."
~unknown. So you miss. You don't twirl right, you don't jump right in the dance of life. But you get back up. Because falling down is what happens on occasion, stumbling is inevitable. Make it apart of the dance. God's got your back. Just like my dance teacher, He will give you as many times as you need. "One more time, Child," He whispers. "Listen to my instructions, and you won't fall, you won't fail, you will make that leap."

It's faith.
It's the high and lows in life.

Maybe you crash and burn. So what? Get back up, because that is living. Maybe you stumble forward instead of standing straight up. So what? Don't let it bring you down, 'kay?

~S.E.

Words and Inspiration.

Where am I going with this? I really have no idea yet, other than it is 11:15 at night, which makes it 45 minutes until tomorrow. And I really want to write something, but don't know what to write. Also, I liked the picture...

Someone said the word "confide" to me earlier, and it made me wonder what the exact definition was. I use the word in writing and in real life all the time. I knew the gist of the word, and how to properly use it without sounding like an idiot. But I hadn't known the exact definition word for word. Now I do... 

Confide: to tell someone about a secret or private matter while trusting them not to repeat it to others. 

Hm. Okay. We all probably knew that. 

Break down the word and you get the words "con" and "fide". What do those mean? 

Con: Persuade (someone) to do or believe something, typically by use of deception.

(Bona) Fide: Genuine; real. 

(fide isn't a real word by it's self.)

I wish I was motivated enough to look up the history of that word "confide". How do cons and fides fit into one word and create something so literal? A con isn't genuine or real. Maybe that's the beauty of it. I love words. I always have. I used to ace spelling until I started anatomy, yo. Like.... who knew muscles had such weird names with weird spellings, right? 

Back to the point. If you look at words and see where they came from, how we use them, break them down into their tinier words, it's so beautiful. Like, we all use SO MANY words in a day. I type at least 2500 a day, and say a lot less than that out loud. However, have you stopped to think about the alphabet? Just twenty-four letters that make up millions of combinations to make up millions of languages and  EACH language has their OWN alphabet. But the gist of the alphabet is the same through out all languages. You have so many letters that are put together to makes words; words are put together to make sentences; sentences are put together to make paragraphs; paragraphs are put together to make pages; pages are put together to make stories which make novels!

Words are beautiful. We should confide in some people, but only the fide ones. The con people aren't the goodest (it's a real word, y'all. I'm pretty sure it is...) people to confide in. Find fide people. Genuine; real. God is a fide person. He's always there to listen to our rants and pleas.  

But we use words all the time. And it's easy to accidentally (or maybe not so accidentally) put those 24 letters into a combination that isn't so nice. It's easy to not use our words to glorify the Creator. 

But here's some beautiful words that I love that you might want to use next time you have a conversation. You might end up with some new friends with these. ;) Or maybe it will sound good in an essay, or novel, or even when writing thoughts down in a journal. I don't know, actually. I just really love these words. So I wanted to share. And the above-ness was really random and didn't have  much of a point. 

BuT heRe yoU gO.

Phosphenes: (n.) the stars and colors you see when you rub your eyes.

Ectopic: (adj.) Occurring in an abnormal place or position; displaced

Salivagant:(adj.) Wandering alone. 

Duende:(n.) That mysterious power of art to deeply move a person

Orphic: (adj.) Mysterious and entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding.

Lethologica: (n.) When you can't think of the word for something.

Agraphia: (n.) Writer's block.

Brontide: (n.) The low rumble of thunder.

Fernweh: (n.) An ache for distant places; a craving for travel.

Pliuviophile: (n.) A lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace during rainy days.

Anyways... 

( I wrote this a few nights ago and never posted it. So here I am, posting now. nOw.)

~Still Me. 

What Does It Mean To Be Artistic?

I can't draw.

I've tried over and over. Watched tutorials. Read library books on How-To-Draw ____. I just wasn't born with that ability, I guess. Where one can draw these amazing portraits of people, I can maybe get a stick figure's body to be straight. But the odds of that happening is very low. 

When you think of the word "art" you think of drawing, painting, and sculpting. Italian and French artist pop into your head. Or perhaps a friend you know can draw really well, and that is who you think of. Maybe you were born with the talent of being "artistic" and can draw and paint. 

When I think of the word "art", numbers fly through my head. I can hear Mozart playing in the background, and I imagine dancers performing. 5,6,7,8... and 1 & 2 & 3 & 4 &... comes to mind. Frost's beautifully crafted poems comes to my mind, or that novel that I recently read, where the Writer put so much of his heart and soul into creating a masterpiece. 

art

¹

[ ärt ] 

NOUN

1. the expression or application of human creative skill and imagination, typically in a visual form such as painting or sculpture, producing works to be appreciated primarily for their beauty or emotional power:
   "the art of the Renaissance"
   synonyms: fine art · artwork
2. (the arts)
   the various branches of creative activity, such as painting, music, literature, and dance:
   "the visual arts"

Powered by OxfordDictionaries · © Oxford University Press

"The expression or application of human creative skill and imagination." 

I really like that. When one has artistic skills and they are told they can't express it, it kills the person. Most of the time, though, people automatically think of art only as what is on that piece of paper, or up on that canvas. But it goes so much deeper. To be artistic is to express your creativity. To apply your imagination in a visual form. Dance, music, writing, painting... It isn't limited to pencil and paper. It isn't limited to paint brushes. But rather it isn't limited at all. If you're a writer, or a dancer, or a musician, you are just as much of an artist as the person in your class that can draw and will be the next Van Gough. 

To express that creativity in novels is a beautiful thing. When one does world building, or character development, they are creating a form of art. When one can spend hours putting loving care into dialogue, and actually care about how that sentence sounds, it's art. 

To express that creativity in poetry is a beautiful thing. I have read through so many good poets' work, and I aspire to be like them. To be able to put words together in a soul stirring form. To be able to create emotion in just a few short stanzas. It's art when one can express that. 

To express that creativity in music is a beautiful thing. When one sits down at the piano, or stands up with their violin, playing their music with all their soul, it stirs something in those around them. Music really is the universal language, and it's art the way some people can stir the hearts and soul of those around them. 

To express that creativity in dance is a beautiful thing. I like elegant dancing, rather than stuff like hip-hop, because it doesn't seem to create the same tranquil feel. But all dance is art in it's own way. 

I could go on about what art is, and how much it inspires our world today, but I think I might end up boring you. If you need some inspiration or some "how-to's" on art other than drawing, you can look at these. :)

The Golden Poetic Soul
Story Forger
Character Development
Dialogue
Dreaming Hobbit
October's Poetic Soul

...be artistic...

...express yourself...

~Sarah

Of Prayers and Writing

Maybe it's because I'm so tired, and overwhelmed with recent events. 

Maybe it's because I ache with pain all over, as I try to keep this migraine from taking over my life for the next few days. 

Maybe it's the constant fighting for rest, the constant on-the-go-don't-stop that we all are living through at the moment. 

I struggle to put any thoughts down on this computer.

I struggle to write anything that makes sense in the slightest. I want to write so bad, to pour my heart and soul back into the poetry. I can't. I can't think properly, for I am in this fog...

~

Music plays through my headphones and I type these words, just trying not lose my sanity. Words are my life. Not many actually understand this. Not unless words are your life, too. And I struggle through the day, reciting Bible verses, trying to comprehend all that is around me. And no words come. Not even a poem. 

I watch children, trying to keep my cool, to not get angry as they gripe and bicker at each other. And it's silly things, like how much sugar goes into the lemonade, or how smooth the "smoothie" is supposed to be. 

How in the world does Jesus keep His cool? 

How is it that we can gripe and bicker at him, end the prayer in His Name, and He doesn't get angry? 

Mt 7:7  "Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you:"

And we go to Him with all our sufferings, with all our pain. We go to Him, screaming and yelling, asking why; telling Him that this isn't how it is supposed to be. We bicker. We gripe. We complain. And He still lovingly holds us, making beautiful things out of it all. He rocks us back and forth. 

"It'll be okay, Child," He whispers. "Don't fret over this. I've got it under control."

"But why?!" we scream back. "If you're a loving God, then why is this happening?" We fall on our knees, tears streaming out of our eyes. We can't see how this is for the good. for the better. We can't see the bigger picture. 

But you're just a fraction of eternity. What happens now is for a greater picture, something that will soon be set in motion. 

"I do love you," He says back. "I love you so much. That is why this is happening."

We want to believe that so bad, but sometimes it's too hard.

Or is it?

Is it ever too hard? 

No one ever promised believing was easy. 

No one ever said life would be fair.

And, darling, it isn't easy to believe in the invisible. It isn't easy to believe life will never be fair.

But we have to hold onto all this. 

To pray when it is hard. 

To realize God will never get angry at us for complaining to Him, for griping to Him.

He won't ever leave us. And everything has a greater purpose.

He holds us, comforts us through all our hard times. He's even there when it is easy.

For there is one set of footprints, and it isn't yours. It's Jesus', because He is carried you through the hard times.

Hold onto to that hope.

I am.

I've written words.

But now my fingers twitch, wanting to play the ivory and ebony keys.

~Blessings,

Sarah

Recent Catastrophe// Experience for Novels

Instead of cleaning up, I'm going to blog a bit. I miss writing and I haven't had a chance these last few days. It's been hectic. So here. I have a blog post with some pics from a recent catastrophe that was caused by a natural disaster: a flood. It's been flooding a lot lately everywhere. Sometimes I wonder if the entire US will end up under water. Too bad we aren't as cool as the Lost City of Alantas, right? Not many people would go looking for the "Lost United States". *shrugs*

'Tis beside the point, I guess. 

I am constantly putting personal experiences into novels. It's easier to write about a headache that I have experienced before, than to write about what a bullet wound feels like, because I have no idea what a bullet wound feels like. It's easier to write about what stepping on a rock feels like, rather than writing what stepping on a knife feels like. Because I haven't personally experienced some thing, they aren't written very accurately. Well, now I can accurately write about a flood. #Writerproblems 

It's now going to be easy to write the terror of a flood, to write what it looks like after a flood. It's going to be easier to account the amount of work that comes after a flood. It's time to write a short story of this when all of it is over. I probably shouldn't be excited, but I am a little bit. 

I wanted to share some of the experience. 

This is actually a really pretty picture. It looks like the water is supposed to be there, but it isn't. It barely missed a house. It's gorgeous, though, isn't it? Do you see the train that was stopped? The tracks were covered in mud and water. 

These were some National Guard dudes that were distributing water. (We aren't allowed to drink the town water.) 

(It almost looks like something from a war movie.)

So then, damage? A lot of damage. Friday we started clean up. This is our church building auditorium, we were ripping up the carpet. It was soaked. (Sorry it's dark, the power was out at that time.)

These next two pics, I didn't take, but I took them from a news article. These are what happens to roads during a flood:

It's devastating, the amount of people that lost their homes, or had serious damage done. But God has a purpose for everything, and in everything there is a meaning. What that is, I don't know just yet. 

But I have more work to do, and a story to plan for. 

(Oh, and when I get more pics, maybe I will put them up, too.)

Have a fantastic day. 

"I love you," He whispers

I smile as I wake up in the morning, a feeling of overwhelming pain aching through my bones and muscles. And yet, I still smile. It's not easy, no, and not everyday do I wake up smiling. Actually, I rarely smile until after my second cup of coffee. Then I can feel happy and awake.

I sigh a sigh of heaviness. A burden that no 16 year old should have to carry upon their shoulders. And I don't often give my burden to Jesus. Why? Because I'm human. I'm stubborn. I want to do things on my own, to be independent. But Jesus is always ready to take our burdens, to carry us when we hurt, to pick us back up when we stumble. He wants to help us. And I give Him my burdens. More often than not, I stumble because of the load on my back. And if we know that it is easier to just give Him our burdens, then why don't we? Why carry them ourselves?

I cry tears that are built up from several months of pain. Tears that Jesus catches and keeps in a jar. He wipes away each of our tears, keeps them for later on, and then He holds us tight, rocks us back and forth; comforts us.

I cringe against the messiness of my life. The chaos that I am in. Maybe I put too much on my plate, take too big of a bite that I can't swallow. And again, Jesus is always screaming at me, telling me to give Him what's bothering my soul. And I take a deep breath, swallow hard, and give Him the rest of the "food" on the plate.

It's been a long journey. And in the end, I wouldn't trade this journey for anything. God shows us so much through our hard times. He teaches us character. He teaches us faith. He teaches us love.

And every time I feel depressed and down, He always whispers, "I love you."
God loves you.
He'll never leave your side.

Jesus, the Son of God, went through Hell on Earth just so you could be with Him in Heaven if you Believe. He hung on the Cross. "I love you," He whispered.

He did this for me. For you. And all the pain, sickness, death and hurt we go through on this earth, Jesus gave us a way to be with Him. He gave us a way to be comforted.

"I love you."

I ran across the song To the Dreamers by For King and Country the other day, and fell in love with the chorus:
"To the dreamers/wide eyed believers/hanging onto hope by a thread. To the soulful/heart open hopeful/keep on charging ahead."

Don't stop. Keep on charging ahead. Follow your dreams. Trust Jesus. Never give up hope. Never give up soul. And darling, never give up on yourself. Jesus will always be there for you.

"I love you," He whispers.
Never let go of that.

I yawn, exhausted from life. And I hang onto to that hope. Onto that Promise that Jesus is always here for us. I hang onto that love of my Heavenly Father. And I wait. Ever so patiently, I wait in my Saviors arms.

~Jeremiah 31:3,
Sarah