A Rambling Raconteur

A Life in a Pair of Shoes

2012-01-11T09:20:00.000-08:00

I was cleaning/reorganizing my bedroom today and I decided it might be a good idea to go through my shoes and set aside those I don't want or no longer wear. A couple times a year, I round up clothes and whatnot to donate. It's about time I did the same with my shoes.

I knew this particular pair of shoes was in my collection still, even though I haven't worn them in years. They are ugly and ripped and no longer comfortable. But I've been holding on to them for a while. These aren't just any pair of shoes. These are a pair of "Orange Popsicle" (the official name of the color), hi-top, Chuck Taylor, Converse All-Stars. I bought them in the summer of 2002.

I went through a lot with these shoes. They've been Sharpie-d, painted, and white-out-ed to death. A few months after I got them, I took an ultra fine-point sharpie and stared writing on them. Song lyrics, lines from poems, quotes from movies and books and the random catchphrase here and there. They were an everyday part of my 14 and 15 year-old uniform: orange Chucks, knee high gym socks, either a pair of guys shorts (that were baggy and came to me knees) or a pair of jeans with the bottoms rolled up a few inches, and a solid color t-shirt that I had taken a Sharpie to. I had a whole set of t-shirts that I had done myself. Memorable shirts included my "Crazy for Swayze" shirt and of course "Nettleton Dance Team Reject: Too Phat."

I see now, looking at these shoes, that I haven't just been holding on to a pair of old sneakers. I've been trying to hold on to who I was back then.

Who was 14 year old Sarah?
She was a Lord of the Rings fanatic, hip deep in her first research paper devoted to the topic. (Okay. So *that* bit still holds true.)
She wrote poetry all the time. It was almost all thematically the same: cool people are stupid, mindless sheep, nonconformity is awesome and being a teenager sucks.
She was trying so hard to be different than everyone else. Oh, the clothes she wore.
She lived with a mom who was battling breast cancer and a dad who was battling a disease she couldn't pronounce and her brother had started college and never seemed to be awake when she was.
She had panic attacks she didn't know where panic attacks.
She did some stupid stuff and said some stupid stuff, but 24 year old Sarah has made her peace with that. I know now that 14 year old me was doing the best she could with what she had.

Even though I bear her no ill will, it is time for 14 year old me to stop living in the bottom of a shoe bin. 24 year old me needs the space. Because life is here and the future is arriving a moment at a time. I think I'm finally ready.

My Dad, The Boss and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

2011-06-19T07:03:00.000-07:00

There are many things I don't remember about the time right around when my father passed away in September of 2007. My memory gets a little fuzzy around the edges and the timeline of events gets screwed up. I've lost days and weeks from that year. But, mercifully, I do remember one thing with absolute clarity: I remember the last conversation I had with my dad.

It was Tuesday. I was walking around campus. I had been to the bookstore earlier that day and had bought him a present. I don't remember where I was going, but I decided to give him a call and tell him what I got for him. (His side of this phone call is in bold.)

>Hey Daddy! I bought you a present today!

> What'd ya get?

> A book. "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance."

> Oh, cool! I've always wanted to read that.

> Good! I'll give it to you when I get home, okay?

> You can read it when I'm done.

> Sounds good. I love you.

> I love you too.

> Bye.

Yeah. He had a terrible habit (one my brother tends to share) of hanging up the phone once I said goodbye! Eh, I didn't mind. And I still don't. I don't mind that we didn't get "to say goodbye." Because the last thing my father ever said to me was that he loved me.

I read the book I bought him. "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance." It's good. It's about a guy's theory that his practice of taking care of his motorcycle himself is what truly allows the motorcycle to be his and for him to enjoy it. How fitting, seeing as how I'm still learning from my father that we can't expect everyone to take care of everything for us.

He taught me how to shine my shoes, how to check the oil in my car, how to put a new seat on a bicycle, how to use a record player (and just generally have good taste in music).

That last one I think has stuck with me more than most. Dad's favorite musician was Bruce Springsteen, known as "The Boss." A year or so ago I wrote this poem about my dad and about Bruce Springsteen. (I'm fairly certain that as a young child that I thought they were one and the same, but that's beside the point.) Enjoy.

The Boss
a poem by Sarah Wofford

From inside the womb
was heard a rhythm,
a gentle thump
that sounded like
Nebraska.

She emerged from the darkness
into a familiar stranger's
waiting hands.
Callused palms that cradled her
as he swayed and sang
about a dead dog
who existence
would always bring a tear to her eye.

Together they would
sing the songs
of this six-string guitar god,
some lower deity
descended from Elvis's Mt. Olympus.
They sang of velvet rims,
yellow men,
and racin' in the street.
And no one could touch them.

Not illness nor death,
nor the thick Jersey air.

They were tramps.
Together.
Born to believe.

Religiosity - A new poem

2011-04-28T05:52:00.001-07:00

Religiosity

My religion is that of
Jesus Christ of latter-day Romantic poets.
Love is my religion.
Isn’t that right,
St. John Keats?
I have faith
in what I cannot see.
I am certain
of what I hope for.
The rhythm and meter
of my life
will end
in two perfectly rhymed couplets,
five iambs each.
My eulogy will flow
from the lips
of children and angels
and not a soul will weep
for me
for I will finally be
where I belong.
The Lord will meet me
in the halls of prophets
and etch my name
into His grand anthology
of poets and singers and
various and sundry
rambling raconteurs.
Until that day
I will follow a path
that is not marked,
a trail no map
could plot.
Loving all,
doing harm to none,
teaching generations
of my successors
that free verse
and blank verse
are not the same thing
but that Jesus loves them
anyway.
Reminding saints and sinners
that the grave
knows no denomination
but only asks
“Who do you love?”
Informing intellectuals
that it is the pen
and not the printing
that makes a poet
and that the hallelujah chorus
should not just be saved
for holy days.
My last recitation
shall by my requiem
and I will follow
the Great Bard of Bethlehem
home.

To the Deeping Wall - a poem of battle and friendship

2011-03-28T18:14:00.000-07:00

To the Deeping Wall
- a poem of battle and friendship -

Once more,
to the deeping wall we go.
To that stone wall
built
out of the dust
of our insecurities
and second thoughts.
Never will it be crossed
by our enemies.
Too much of our pain
has been mixed
with its mortar.
Too much of our anger
quarried
its stone.
Once more
we stand at our positions,
defending the keep
from an enemy
whose making would probably lead
back
to those of us who villainize it.
But never the matter,
a villain is villainy
when it threatens to burn the gates.
So onward we set
out from our homes
riding our
plastic particleboard horses
to acts of anti-heroism
and deep confusion.
But to the deeping wall we charge!
There our every breath
is the opening note
to our last stand
and stanza.
Our weapons,
merely props from Shakespeare’s
lesser plays,
but our battle cries
echo
all the greatest sonnets.
We will meet you
face to face
and this is our victory!
No matter if we win
or lose.

God Save the Intellectuals - A New Poem

2011-02-13T16:44:00.000-08:00

God Save the Intellectuals
by Sarah Wofford

God save the intellectuals.
Their hard-fought cynicism
certainly won't
do the trick.
Throw a rope
to those over-philosophizers
for they are drowning
and their hope
is too far ahead of them
to help.
They are not-
perhaps-
scoundrels,
but the plot
is slowly slipping
through their grasp.
They have forgotten
the usefulness
of cheerfulness
and refuse to keep their chins up
for fear
of losing their heads.
They are certainly not
the enemy,
but they
bear a resemblance,
do they not?
They have made
Thoughts
their master
and forgotten
they were children once.
Children with faith enough
to climb
the tallest tree
and laugh in the face
of the sunset.
They now confuse
an optimistic disposition
with the blind naïveté
of one
who has never seen the world.
They believe that
to have any modicum of
Faith
with any hint of
Understanding
one must be jaded,
with one's collar
turned up against the world.
Living
is but a struggle
to survive
to the finish line.
They would see the evil
in all but themselves,
ignoring the equality
of their nature.
God save the intellectuals,
before they try to save us all.

I live in the sea - a poem

2010-11-19T18:14:00.000-08:00

I live in the sea,
tossed between waves
of unspeakable sorrow
and overflowing mirth.
This life is a river:
either bone-dry
or lapping wetly
at the underside of the bridge.
Often both.
Often it is a rushing
emptiness
or thunder
booming
from a clear sky.
This is where there is no middle ground.
No port of harbor,
no anchor to settle you.
There is only the faith
that your boat
- this self made
by hands not your own -
will withstand
the belly-fulls of laughter
that leak tears from your eyes
and the body-wracking sobs
that end in chortles
of incomprehensible laughter.
Perhaps you can not know one
without the other.
If joy
is knowing what you have
and sorrow
is knowing what you've lost,
perhaps
those who truly laugh
- at this oft-discussed "life"
and the merry fools
that populate it -
are those
who have learned to grieve.
Having gasping, messy
tears
visibly shake
our crouching figures of flesh
makes us privy
to those moments
when the stillness permeates our noise
and - beyond alive -
we are living.
For we have touched both ends
of an endless circle
and are riding out the storm
under a cloudless sky.

However Measured

2010-09-13T20:05:00.000-07:00

"If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away." - Henry David Thoreau

Most people have heard this quote, or something very similar to it, and yet we only partially put it into practice - if we do so at all. We tend to roll our eyes and forgive or ignore so-called "eccentrics" when they seem so loudly and purposefully out of step with our own rhythm. Some would see the quotation - from a writer who did so much more than provide us with fodder for repetitious platitudes - as a free-pass for all those with the ubiquitous wish of being thought exceptional. Were he here to discuss it with us, I believe Thoreau would tell us that we were missing the point.

He is not merely telling us not to make fun of the kids on the playground that we think are weird. That's part of it, sure, but not all. What about the person who's thinking track seems to be a little off center from the rest of the office? The artist who's unfinished painting appears to be a detailed rendition of pond scum? The writer who gets so excited at a new idea that you'd think she'd found the lost city of Atlantis under her bed? Okay, that last one is hitting a little close to home...

My point is that I believe Thoreau is trying to tell that we need to celebrate and embrace those that never quit thinking, those that are always imagining, always searching for the perfect rhythm to step to. He isn't implying that we all need to dress like the Lonely Hearts Club Band 24/7, but we oughtn't quiet those who keep the stream from becoming stagnant.

Three cheers for the thinkers, and one for you, Mr. Thoreau.

Twenty Years - a new poem

2010-07-12T13:18:00.001-07:00

The first twenty years
of my life
were a fight.
A fight
against everything.
Like a toddler fights
against
every playpen
you put him in
against
every bite of food
that might do him good.
I raged at every turn
without prejudice
and without payment
for what I did
and what I had.
Every iota of energy
was used
against! against! against!

I felt tired
too early
and old
too young.

May the next twenty years
be a slow surrender
to who I am becoming,
whoever that may be.
May the fire in my spirit
be the hearth
by which we sit.
May I live
in quiet revelations.
May I always long to touch
the eternal
with my simple, mortal
hands.
May I breathe
slowly
and deeply
so that every flavor in the air
alights briefly
on my tongue
in a flicker of understanding.
May not a day pass
without learning
or a night
without courage
to face the dark.
May I stave off
stagnation
and always court
change.
May I never be dead
while I am
living.
May I never beg
for more days
than I am given,
whether twenty years
begets another twenty
or not.

I wish I could write a poem

2010-04-16T07:14:00.001-07:00

-

I wish I could write a poem
as beautiful as a mountain.
Like that mountain,
that morning in North Carolina,
where I was shaking with my usual fear
and filled with my usual dread.
A stream percolated from the rocks
and ran past my feet
as I stumbled through the trees
on the footpath.
I was stumbling away from my
regularly scheduled panic
and fleeing into the
green and brown embrace
the mountain promised.
I sought the voice of God.
I heard leaves swishing
and water running
and realized His voice
was not as loud
as I remembered.

A New Video

2010-04-15T08:59:00.001-07:00

Here's a little "get-to-know-Sarah" video I made. I'd like to think that this is what you might show someone if you wanted to convince them to have me come perform poetry somewhere. In reality, about 2 or 3 people will watch it (my mom will watch it several times, I can almost guarantee) and that will be that. Cest la vie.

A Thief

2010-04-03T14:40:00.000-07:00

One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: "Aren't you the Christ? Save yourself and us!"

But the other criminal rebuked him. "Don't you fear God," he said, "since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong."

Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."

Jesus answered him, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise."

Luke 23:39-43

For as long as I can remember, I have been captivated by this short passage of scripture. It comes in the middle of the crucifixion, seemingly in between other, more major plot points. But this unnamed man, referred to as "the thief" or "the criminal" gets to play a glorious part in the greatest story ever told.

We don't know this man's story, except for what he tells us. The only information he lets us in on is that he is being "punished justly." He is on his cross for his own sins, and he is well aware of that fact. But he is hanging next to Jesus. If I could trade a moment of vision with anyone from history, it would be this man. What did he see when he saw Jesus? How did he...know?

"Remember me when you come into your kingdom," he pleads.

Is this not our lives? Sinners. Thieves. Murderers. Betrayers. Is this not us? Unable to do anything good on our own. Sentenced to death for our own sins. Pleading with the Lord of the universe to remember us in his kingdom.

Jesus answered him, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise."

And so we have salvation. Our sins are laid upon another's cross and we are free to enter paradise.

Glory, glory, hallelujah. We are saved.

It's Good to Be Me

2010-03-30T13:11:00.000-07:00

I give myself pep-talks constantly. Stand near me long enough and you are bound to hear me talk to myself.

"Keep going, Sarah. You can do this."
"Ignore that. You're above that."
"Be nice!"
"Deep breath, Sarah, deep breathe."
"This is one moment. This isn't your whole life."

That last one goes through my head quite often. I get caught on little things very easily. Little things burrow into my mind and pop up often. It is both my favorite and least-favorite quality about myself.

On the one hand, I can recall random things you say in conversations - even the way you said them, I remember little details from movies I've seen or books I've read. I can remember smells and textures and moments with amazing clarity.

On the other hand I can also recall all those times I did something stupid or said something bratty or insensitive. A lot of times these negative moments like to all pile up and act like they are my entire life. When that happens I just have to remind myself: "That was one moment, not your whole life."

I am, and I suppose we all are to some extent, that little kid in arts and crafts. I'm sitting there, stringing beads onto a necklace one at a time. And such is our life. We string it together, one moment at a time.

Two Years in the Making

2010-02-08T14:58:00.000-08:00

Solomon’s Light
Written: November 1, 2007 - February 8, 2010

I’ve heard of many artistic undertakings being called “a labor of love.” I’m not entirely sure that applies to my recently finished novel, tentatively title Solomon’s Light. To be honest it was borne of grief and overwhelming sadness.
In the book, Nova, my main character, is raised by her grandfather. Within the first few pages we learn of his passing and we begin to see the effects this will have on Nova’s life. She is left a rather unusual inheritance and soon takes off into space as the newest Captain aboard the spaceship Solomon.
Nova is an impetuous 16 year old girl when we meet her. She has no friends and no family to help her understand and deal with her grief so she chooses to express it as anger, which is easier for her to handle. She slowly adjusts to life in space and inadvertently makes a few friends and enemies along the way. With the help of her new friend Jack and the journals her grandfather left behind, she is learning about her past as she prepares for her future. When she is barely saved from a kidnapping attempt, she begins to realize just how dangerous her future might be.
The story begins with a girl some people called a captain, who didn’t know where she belonged in the world. It ends with a young woman who is the Captain and who knows where her place is. I feel my own story is very much the same.
I began this novel about 6 weeks after my father passed away. I was a 19 year old little girl, angry at the world. Some people called me a writer, but I wasn’t sure. I just knew that I was in pain and didn’t know how to deal with it.
Very slowly, I began to write. I would go days or weeks sometimes and never write or read a word. Gradually I began to see more and more of the story. The more I saw, the more I wrote. I would occasionally have times where I would slip into my own sorrow and ignore everything else. For 27 months, I slid between deep depression and the light that telling this story brought to my heart. As the weeks and months went on, I slid more towards the light than the other. Today I can say that the light is where I live. I am not under the oppression of my grief any longer. I am a writer, of this I am sure.
“He who was seated on the throne said, ‘I am making everything new!’ Then he said, ‘Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.’” - Revelation 21:5
While I don’t think it is the only story I have been given, I believe that right now, this is the story I was born to tell. God has given me a tremendous gift. I’m very excited for the time when I can share it with you.

Much Love,
Sarah Wofford

You ought to know...

2010-01-19T17:50:00.000-08:00

Things Lord of the Rings Fans Think Twilight Fans Ought to Know
written by Sarah Wofford, a supporter of fandom diversity

- You thought we were weird at the time but we were right about the magic of books, weren’t we?

- If you stop laughing at our elf costumes, we’ll stop laughing at the body glitter you made your boyfriend wear.

- If you *don’t* stop laughing at out elf costumes, one of us is liable to shoot you with an arrow.

- Be warned, our arrows tend to be handcrafted. And sharp.

- Legolas may prance a bit, but he doesn’t sparkle. Trust me. Our fangirls are very much okay with this.

- There is something inherently beautiful about a good death scene. We’re sorry that you’ll never get to experience that. It’s not because your characters are immortal. It’s because your author is kind of a wimp.

- There is a very good reason no member of the fellowship was described as being a “klutz.” Klutzes tend to die really quickly.

- I can’t say that any of us feel very sympathetic when people make fun of your fandom. We’ve been putting up with it for 60 years. Suck it up.

- We know you think Edward and Bella are really sweet and self-sacrificing, perhaps they are, but Arwen gave up paradise to be with Aragorn. And Aragorn, he put his own heart on hold to - you know - save all of Middle Earth.

- Be careful before you try testing our patience. We’re the people who have sat through 12 hours of Extended Edition DVDs. Often in one sitting.

- If you do happen to reach the end of our patience, remember: we have several languages to choose from in which we can call you some very nasty things.

- Do not try to outwit us. We learned from Gollum and a whole Shire-full of hobbits. We really enjoy making people sound like fools.

- Be wary of any Rings fan that wants to show you their “pointy hat trick.” I can’t explain to you why, but believe me when I say that it will be unpleasant.

- We’re pretty certain that Samwise Gamgee could kill a vampire whilst armed with nothing but a cooking pot, relying just on the strength of his heart.

- You may think you’re a fan. You may think you’re a fanatic. You may even think you’re obsessed. You have no idea.

Movies of the Decade

2009-12-30T21:25:00.000-08:00

Before I share this list with you, I’m gonna need you to understand something:
I watch a lot of movies. A lot. And there are still many great films and flicks from the past ten years that I have missed. Because of the sheer volume of movies I’ve seen, I’m going to give you a much abbreviated list. These are the movies that stayed with me beyond the roll of the credits. The ones I constantly quote and reference, the ones I throw in my DVD player on a rainy day (or a sunny day, or a sad day, or a happy day, or a… I think you get the point.) Here’s my Favorites of the Decade and the reason behind my choices.
(Oh, and this list is based on purely personal preference. Nothing technical.)

Shaun of the Dead – Aim for the head! This movie opened up the world of Zombie flicks to me.
- Honorable Mentions: Zombieland, Dead and Breakfast

Hot Fuzz - A buddy cop/action flick that is an homage to buddy cop/action flicks. And it’s *hilarious*. I quote this movie all the time, often without realizing it.

Stranger Than Fiction – I often put this movie on in the background when I write. To me, this film was ridiculously true to life, but I think you have to be a write to understand how I mean that.

XMen – In 2002, I dyed my hair to look like Rogue. In 2007, I had a poster of Wolverine in my bathroom. That’s all I have to say about that.
Honorable Mention: The Punisher – I think I rented it then watched in 8 times.

Batman Begins – I had always thought Michael Keaton was the best Batman. Then in walks Mr.Bale. I know some people prefer the Dark Knight, but enjoyed Batman not being upstaged by his villain. It’s his movie after all.
Honorable Mention: The Dark Knight – Because dorks weren’t the only people to take a comic book movie seriously!

Snatch – Made me realized that I really like English films. And it introduced me to Jason Statham.
Honorable Mentions: RockNRolla, In Bruges, Lucky # Slevin

Dodgeball – Ridiculously quotable. Side-splittingly funny. “If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball.”

Elizabethtown – I liked this movie when I first saw it. Then it happened to me. After that, I realized I *loved* this movie.
Honorable Mention: Almost Famous – I automatically started singing along with “Tiny Dancer” when they were all on the bus.

Kung Fu Panda – An awesome Kung Fu movie with an animated panda, the animal which I personally believe would be my totem animal if I had one.
Honorable Mention: Chicken Little – Because I totally *got* that little chicken.

Serenity – This movie made me proud to be a science fiction fan. I still firmly believe that the best sci-fi isn’t one that’s drowning in gadgets and space suits, but one that is grounded in characters that *believe.* And this movie is all about belief. And it’s awesome. Like, space-western, gun-slinging, cool-heroes, everything-the-Star-Wars-prequels- weren’t awesome.
Honorable Mention: Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Lord of the Rings – If you’ve ever been to my house, then you have undoubtedly met my life-size Legolas cut-out. Call me whatever nerdy names you want, I stand by my opinion that these movies are the best that this decade produced. Epic doesn’t even *begin* to cover the feel of these movies. I started crying about 2/3 of the way through the first one, and didn’t stop crying until a few hours after the credits rolled on the third one…3 years later. I honestly think Peter Jackson got inside my head. Minas Tirith, Edoras, Hobbiton… all of these were exactly like I pictured them in my mind. (sigh)

There you have it. My list. Please leave me your opinions and anything you think I left out, that should have made the short list. Although I warn you about arguing over the last two with me. That is a battle where many a brave warrior has made their last stand. :)

I Love to Tell the Story

2009-11-09T18:41:00.001-08:00

"For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." - Psalm 139: 13-14

I love to tell the story,
'twill be my theme in glory,
To tell the old, old story
Of Jesus and his love.
- I Love to Tell the Story, hymn

I love to write. If you've ever met me, it probably took all of 30 seconds to realize this of me. I have the tip of an ink pen tattooed on my right wrist. I sometimes confuse things occurring my novel with current events. I've had to refrain from mentioning my fictional characters when someone asks for prayer requests. I write. I tell stories. It's what I do.

But why do I do it? I write because I am inspired to write. I am writing stories because my God did so first. I wasn't there when he made the universe, but I don't think he put pen to paper to do so. I doubt he even had a typewriter. Even so, you've got to hand it to him: he can tell an awesome story.

The world as a whole, sans humanity, would be an epic story in and of itself. But God added us to the mix. Billions of individual stories, all interweaving and linked yet unique and separate. They say that every writer has a set cast of characters in their minds. Shakespeare supposedly had about 20. I think I've got about 5 or 6. God? Yeah, he's had several billion - and he's not through yet. Amazing.

Tonight I was working on a new scene in my novel. Two of my characters were in a new place, having a discussion. My main character said something that could have been pulled straight from my own life. I realized that I am writing a story as a way to pay homage to the one God is writing for me. My life is an adventure. For that, I am thankful. I want to share the amazing adventure my God has blessed me with. He's given me a great way to do so.

To put it one way: I write a story, because he first wrote mine.

Much love,
Sarah

2AM and the Writer is Awake

2009-10-11T00:13:00.000-07:00

It’s 2AM and I'm awake. Awake, but not writing. (Unless you count this, of course.) I managed to get some much needed work done to the novel today yet my word count didn’t budge. Housekeeping, I suppose one would say. It felt nice.
Part of me knows that I should be working on my novel. If I'm going to be awake and alert at this time of night, shouldn’t I be putting it to good use? Alas, my mind is elsewhere.
Tonight, I'm thinking of past. Well, Pasts, actually. We all have one. We all come with something else included. We’re all packaged deals. Some of us come with spouses. Some of us come with children. Some of us come with mountains we have climbed, struggles we have faced and battles we have fought - including some we lost. Accepting the extra weight, the “baggage” is what makes a friend a friend, right?
Me? I come complete with a loving mother and sarcastic brother. But I also am followed by the ghost of my father. If you want me you get all of my enthusiasm and gusto, my playfulness and humor, my creativity and imagination. With all of that you also get my mood swings and my tears, my bouts of immaturity and stubbornness, my manic periods and my off-kilter sleep cycles.
“No man is an island.” Yes. But I would also add that, “No person is simply a piece. We are all a puzzle, to which every event, person and personality quirk contribute.” To love, we accept - past and all.

“Accept one another, then, just as Christ accepted you, in order to bring praise to God.” Romans 15:7

Low Visibility - Day Two

2009-10-06T13:27:00.000-07:00

Monday was groovy.

Usually it takes all the patience I can muster just to sit through a 50 minute lecture, listening to a professor drone on and on about Russian Formalism or The past exploits of WB Yeats. On Monday morning I sat through 3 hours of the same speaker and was simply left asking for more.

Steven James, who's written some apparently good fiction that I've never read, spoke about hoe he crafts stories and works action, adventure, mystery and suspense into his Christian novels - and keep them from sucking. He was a very intriguing speaker. Thankfully I brought my voice recorder along. I fully intend on listening to all three hours again when I have some time.

I've made some lovely friends as well. Sarah, from Colorado. Lily-Bea, from Indiana (I think) and Angie, from a tiny town in North Carolina. We've already begun exchanging emails and such. It's good to know other writers. :)

Also on Monday, the fog rolled in. You couldn't see more than 50 yards in front of you the moment you stepped outside. When it lifted a little the mountains surrounding were stilled swathed with fog. It's eerily beautiful to see the fog rising from the mountains. You feel for a moment as if you were the only person on Earth.

Day One

2009-10-04T07:25:00.000-07:00

Good morning! I'm blogging from beautiful Black Mountain, North Carolina today. This afternoon will see the beginning of the Blue Ridge Christian Novelist Retreat and I must admit and I am a tad excited.

There will only be 50 to 60 writers attending the retreat, for which I am very thankful. Things will be able to be more personal this way. If many more people were attending there would bound to be some of us that got lost in the crowd. I hope to be able to personally introduce myself to every writer here.

I'm trying to be a good girl. I have a bad habit when it comes to being around other writers, I'll be honest. I guess you could say I have a "Highlander" mentality to the whole thing. "There can be only one." :P I'm just not used to competition. Sure, some of my good friends are writers, but we are all in different places with our writing. I'm researching publishers while another friend of mine is just casually going through story line in her mind. Here, it's going to be a bit more even. We'll all have a novel that is currently being written. Should be interesting.

I'll post again tonight after we've had our first session thingy. Have a great day!

Much Love,
Sarah

PS I'm also posting the obligatory travel photo. I'll post more pics as I take them.

I Give This Poem 4 Out of 5 Stars

2009-07-21T18:35:00.000-07:00

I Give This Poem 4 out of 5 Stars

I’m tired of playing critic.
It’s time to come clean.
I’m done playing it cool with my movies.
I’m done melodramatically yawning
when the hero tells the girl he loves her.
Now more pretending my heart isn’t
a puddle of goo in my chest.
I’m don’t playing high-brow
when another cliché is on the screen.
I’m done.
I’m tired of pretending I’m cooler
than the movie reel.

Let me be frank with you.
I’m throwing down the gauntlet here.
If anyone dare snub their nose at me
I’ll gladly break it for them.

I love movies!
Summer blockbusters.
Low-budgets.
No-budgets.
Indies.
Comedies.
Dramas and
dramadies.
I love sappy romance flicks
and big-budget epics.
I love comic book movies
and novel adaptations.
I love clichéd ending,
heroic speeches
and robots that know kung-fu.
I love slow-motion fist fights
and awesome one-liners I can quote for days.
I love wizards
even they act emo and angsty.
I love vampires too!
I don’t care how much their acting sucks.
I support the phenomenon
that got a whole new generation
of 14 year old girls to read!
Sparkle on!
You won’t catch me
laughing at anyone else’s fandom.

Two thumbs up to anyone
who ever asked
for a lightsaber or phaser
for Christmas!
Because if the hero’s got the right swagger
I don’t care about the plot holes.
I don’t care if the effects budget
was 5 bucks
or 5 billion.
Just give me the money shot:
dawn,
breaking on the horizon
and into the frame
come a helicopter
or the hero
or the villain
or the plucky sidekick.

I love plucky sidekicks!
I love punch lines
and bad guys
and superheroes!
God bless the superheroes.

I don’t care if the movie
is intellectually stimulating enough
for the Academy.
The Academy
can kiss my butt.
When I pay my money
and park my rear
into that theater seat
I don’t want reality
projected on the big screen.
Spoon feed me fluff
if you have to.
If I wanted reality
I would have stayed at home.

I love movies
and if you have a problem
with my taste
take it up with someone who cares.
But for now,
just shut up.
The previews are about to start.

Things Lord of the Rings Fans Think Twilight Fans Ought to Know

2009-07-01T13:22:00.000-07:00

Things Lord of the Rings Fans Think Twilight Fans Ought to Know
written by Sarah Wofford, a supporter of fandom diversity

- You thought we were weird at the time but we were right about the magic of books, weren’t we?
- If you stop laughing at our elf costumes, we’ll stop laughing at the body glitter you made your boyfriend wear.
- If you *don’t* stop laughing at out elf costumes, one of us is liable to shoot you with an arrow.
- Be warned, our arrows tend to be handcrafted. And sharp.
- Legolas may prance a bit, but he doesn’t sparkle. Trust me. Our fangirls are very much okay with this.
- There is something inherently beautiful about a good death scene. We’re sorry that you’ll never get to experience that. It’s not because your characters are immortal. It’s because your author is kind of a wimp.
- There is a very good reason no member of the fellowship was described as being a “klutz.” Klutzes tend to die really quickly.
- I can’t say that any of us feel very sympathetic when people make fun of your fandom. We’ve been putting up with it for 60 years. Suck it up.
- We know you think Edward and Bella are really sweet and self-sacrificing, perhaps they are, but Arwen gave up paradise to be with Aragorn. And Aragorn, he put his own heart on hold to - you know - save all of Middle Earth.
- Be careful before you try testing our patience. We’re the people who have sat through 12 hours of Extended Edition DVDs. Often in one sitting.
- If you do happen to reach the end of our patience, remember: we have several languages to choose from in which we can call you some very nasty things.
- Do not try to outwit us. We learned from Gollum and a whole Shire-full of hobbits. We really enjoy making people sound like fools.
- Be wary of any Rings fan that wants to show you their “pointy hat trick.” I can’t explain to you why, but believe me when I say that it will be unpleasant.
- We’re pretty certain that Samwise Gamgee could kill a vampire whilst armed with nothing but a cooking pot, relying just on the strength of his heart.
- You may think you’re a fan. You may think you’re a fanatic. You may even think you’re obsessed. You have no idea.

The end cometh...

2009-06-16T20:32:00.000-07:00

I started writing my current novel, Solomon's Light in November of 2007. Today, June 2009, I have completed the outline for the end of the book. As it stands now, I should be done writing it by the end of the summer.

Wow.

But this means that the hardest part is coming up:
The last sentence.

I could write opening lines all day long, but the last line? That's a whole other ball game. I don't want it to be hokey or cliche. I want it to be a good ending. I know, generally speaking, how the book will end, but I don't know the specific scene that will take place. I've also got the strike that precarious balance between a solid ending and something that leaves you wanting to know what happens next.

Well, I suppose the only thing there really is to do is to get writing.

Here goes nothing.

"As you get older it is harder to have heroes, but it is sort of necessary." - Ernest Hemingway

2009-06-15T18:56:00.000-07:00

Last Monday I visited the Hemingway Museum in Piggott, AR. A few of my friends chipped in gas money with me and we made a day of it. It was fun, to say the least.

I doubt you'll find many English professors that will not praise Hemingway's various literary works, but walking through his house I had to wonder what had become more important: his writing or his legend?

Some people couldn't tell you the name of any of his short stories but could tell you how he died. His suicide and alcoholism have bolstered his persona to near-mythic proportions. Does this legend of an adventuresome, boozing womanizer outshine his literary feats? I hope not. Although this does bring up an interesting point.

I'm not a Hemingway scholar by any means, but it seems to me that being a writer was only second in ol' Ernest's life. He was alive first a foremost. I may not agree with all of his practices, but you can't tell me the man was boring.

I think that this is where a lot of modern writers are falling short. They do nothing but write and publish. They've missed a very important step: living. How can you write about a great adventure if you've never had one yourself? How can you write a romance if you've never fallen in love? How can you write through the eyes of a character if you've never stopped to see the world from another person's point of view?

So, tonight I raise my glass to you Mr. Hemingway. May I live a life worth writing of.

And I shall call him Bruce!

2009-05-29T23:44:00.000-07:00

We have a new edition to the Wofford family! He's a goldfish. His name is Bruce! He's named after three very awesome people: Bruce Wayne (aka Batman), Bruce Campbell and Bruce Springsteen. (Bruce was also the name of the big mechanical shark on the set of the movie Jaws. How appropriate!)

He's so cute! (Don't you think?)

A Work In Progress

2009-05-05T17:15:00.001-07:00

Long-time, no-post. Sorry about that. But school is done now so hopefully I'll be updating more again soon.

I've been getting a lot of writing done lately. I feel like doing a little victory dance after every paragraph. I usually refrain, for victory dances take up quite a bit of time. :)

While working on my novel yesterday I was hit with an idea for a new short story. I just put a pin in the idea at the time and carried on with what I was doing. But when I took a break I pulled out a blank sheet of paper and jotted down a few sentences to see if the idea would go anywhere. Oh, has it ever.

What was originally an idea for a new short story has somehow morphed into the bare-bones outline for my next novel.

It's the story of a guy who dies and, instead of ending up in heaven immediately, finds himself in The Library. This novel will pose the question: What would you do if you were given the chance to rewrite your story?

It turns out that Heaven's library is full of people's life stories and his might just not make the cut. But first the Librarian is giving him the chance to rewrite his life story. But our main character doesn't know where to start. Luckily he's in the greatest library in all of creation, with every great story ever told right at his fingertips.

So? What do you think? I'll still be focusing on finishing Solomon's Light first, but I'll definitely be working on The Library as well.

- the author

Shel Silverstein Can Read My Mind

2009-04-18T22:31:00.000-07:00

Writer Waiting

Oh this shiny new computer ---
There just isn't nothin' cuter.
It knows everything the world ever knew.
And with this great computer
I don't need no writin' tutor,
'Cause there ain't a single thing that it can't do.
It can sort and it can spell,
It can punctuate as well.
It can find and file and underline and type.
It can edit and select,
It can copy and correct,
So I'll have a whole book written by tonight
(Just as soon as it can think of what to write).

- Shel Silverstein

Stuff to know:

2009-04-13T22:31:00.000-07:00

“Every man dies. Not every man really lives.” I don’t know how many times I have heard this said, either directly from the movie “Braveheart” or from my brother who loves to quote said movie. Either way, it’s a truth; but are we really living like we believe it? Many people I know have a list of things they want to do or accomplish before they die. That’s good and all, but what about helping everyone else out? Life is fleeting. Shouldn’t we be trying to pass on any knowledge or wisdom that we might have? I believe every generation has something to learn from every other generation. So this is, among other things, is my gift to the world. If Jesus comes to get me tomorrow this is what I want you all to know. Alright kids, listen up. I’ll try not to be overly maudlin. Please keep in mind some of this stuff is what worked for me and some of it comes from mistakes I’ve made.

- High school is something you overcome. But it doesn’t happen until after it’s done. While you’re there, try to enjoy yourself and not do anything too stupid.

- Doing a few stupid things isn’t the end of the world. As long as you aren’t being overtly dangerous, just try and have fun.

- A driver’s license doesn’t make you an adult.

- Drinking doesn’t make you an adult.

- Smoking doesn’t make you an adult.

- Sex doesn’t make you an adult.

- I have no idea what makes you an adult.

- Being an adult is somewhat overrated. Enjoy not being one while you still can.

- Take life one day at a time. If that doesn’t work, take it one hour at time. One moment. Don’t rush it.

- Get a job in high school/college. Even if it’s crappy. Learn to spend your own money.

- Write down your ideas, your goals, your dreams, your fears. It makes a lot of things easier to sort out.

- Do your homework.

- It’s okay to go through “phases.” Take your time figuring out just who it is that you are. Not all change is bad. Just don’t make fun of people who look different from you at that moment. You probably look like a dork to them, too.

- Read. Read a lot. Find a style or an author or a genre you like. Ignore what your peers say about it. It doesn’t matter if it’s cool or trendy or not. Just read. If you aren’t sure where to start, ask a librarian. They are awesome people.

- Be nice to your substitute teachers.

- Don’t grab a knife by the business end.

- It is not wise to make fun of someone’s tattoos. Doing so is simply asking for a fight with someone who enjoys pain.

- There is right and there is wrong. Do and stand up for what is right.

- If you have a point to make, be heard. You’ll never change the world sitting in the back whispering to yourself.

- You *can* change the world.

- If something is funny, laugh. If it’s sad, cry. Don’t let someone else tell you how to respond.

- Even those born to be leaders must sometimes learn to follow.

- Obedience is not a sign of weakness.

- Falling in love is absolutely foolish and often leads to nothing but heartache. Do it anyway.

I suppose I could go on and on, but I will refrain myself. I will, however, leave you with one last thing:

- SEIZE THE DAY – So simple, yet so daunting. Give it a try.

Hard Times Come Again No More - An Easter Post

2009-04-11T19:23:00.001-07:00

We are children of a risen Savior!! Hallelujah!

I've been thinking a lot about my blessings today, especially since we will soon be celebrating one of the greatest ever, and I decided to make a little video. Some find the song to be a little bit of a downer, but I think it's rather hopeful. Here's a look at some of the blessings in my life. Enjoy.

I Was Only 19 - a poem

2009-03-29T11:44:00.000-07:00

I was only 19 when we dug the plot
of land where you would finally rest.
And just like all children I never had thought
you would leave us somewhere less than the best.

Death was always tomorrow, never today,
or simply never for someone like you.
We picked our stories and the songs we would play
then cried a goodbye that never would do.

You were too much for this world to handle
but too little for this world to care.
Just a little Jesus with a broken sandal,
just some angel with the wind in your hair.

You never knew perfect, but never knew hate
and you left us all wondering why
a good man like you would daily fight fate
when in the end you got only to die.

You were more of a blacksmith and less of a hero,
melting our soft hearts to steel.
I guess you knew when your life fell back to zero
iron would would be easier to heal.

Yeah, I was only 19 the morning you died.
Who knew a dead man was hard to forgive?
But now I know, through the tears that I've cried:
your death taught me how to live.

My friend and our kite

2009-03-16T22:29:00.001-07:00

This week one of my bestest friends is staying with me. Kelley is in grad school in Texas so we don’t get to see each other very often any more. Which is a bummer. She’s really groovy. This week she is on her spring break and is staying at the Hotel Wofford while she is in town. It’s some awesome to get to be around her again. She’s one of my favorite people.

Today was an absolutely beautiful day so Kelley and I decided to take a trip to Craighead to play. I had a kite I had purchased but never used so we attempted to make it fly. There wasn’t much wind but we still had a blast. It was one of those moments when you remember that it’s not what you do with someone, but who you do it with.

After the kite, we sat at the edge of the water and threw in rocks. Kelley has the amazing ability to skip stones. I, unfortunately, do not. I’m not too upset though. I’m easily amused. It’s enough for me to just chunk rocks into the water and listen to them ker-plunk! It was a beautiful day.

Water Water Everywhere

2009-03-10T22:38:00.000-07:00

Psalm 23:2
He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters,

Psalm 33:7
He gathers the waters of the sea into jars ; he puts the deep into storehouses.

Psalm 78:15
He split the rocks in the desert and gave them water as abundant as the seas;

Psalm 93:4
Mightier than the thunder of the great waters, mightier than the breakers of the sea— the LORD on high is mighty.

Psalm 147:18
He sends his word and melts them; he stirs up his breezes, and the waters flow.

Matthew 10:42
And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones because he is my disciple, I tell you the truth, he will certainly not lose his reward."

Mark 14:13
So he sent two of his disciples, telling them, "Go into the city, and a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him.

Luke 5:4
When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch."

John 4:14
but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life."

John 7:38
Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him."

Water is a blessing. This is made clear in the Bible. While there are plenty of references to being in water too deep, water is primarily used as a blessing. Sometimes metaphorically, sometimes literally.

It rained today. I was sitting on our porch tonight, watching it rain. I have a tendency to think of everything poetically and tonight it was bothering me. I didn't want to see this rain shower as anything but rain. I asked God to just let my mind shut up for once.

Instead, he whispered: "Sarah, rain is falling from the sky."

Poetically speaking, God rains his blessings down on us.

Literally speaking, God rains his blessings down on us.

Look at the clouds and listen as he speaks: "My rain falls from the sky."

My Childhood

2009-03-05T22:09:00.000-08:00

I suppose there are many poets who would never say this, but I'm going to: my childhood was fun.

It wasn't until I was exposed to parents that aren't around very much that I realized how much my parents were there while I was growing up. Both worked full time, but they always had time for Matt and I.

My mother always talked to us. I'm referring to actual conversations. Yes, we may have only been six or seven but we always got to voice our opinions an thoughts on things. We were constantly talking and discussing, even if it was just the latest Ninja Turtles episode.

My father was a "do-er." An adventurer. I remember him, my brother and I all on our bicycles making the trek to the library. Or going swimming. Or laying in the floor with him watching TV. I don't remember what we would watch, but I do remember curling up behind his knees when he would lie on the couch.

I had an awesome childhood.

To this very day the sound of certain Motown songs gives me the urge to vacuum. This is because on "cleaning days" my mother would play music while we worked. One of her favorite CDs was "the 20 Greatest Hits in Motown History". We listened over and over.

I don't remember all of the cool toys that I had or every cartoon I ever watched. But I remember my parents being there, and being awesome. And really, I couldn't have asked for anything better.

I Will Not March - a poem

2009-02-23T20:28:00.001-08:00

I Will Not March

If I hear one more person
in the free world
whining
and clamoring for their
rights,
I may cry.
We have no rights.
I have no rights.

There are children,
sweating,
making our shoes,
scarring their fingertips
with every seam.
There is war.
And disease.
And so many horrors
that I'm too weak-stomached to mention.
We have no rights.

I can only drag my meager self
across campus
waiting
for that time I'm deemed strong enough
to go out into this world
without it eating me alive.
I am comfortable
and ashamed.
I have no rights.

Our homeless live better
than the richest of some.
We have no rights.
No gay rights.
No straight rights.
No civil rights.
No uncivil rights.
No liberal rights
No conservative rights.
No political rights.

Children-
babies, for goodness' sake, babies!
-are crying.
And dying.
While we protest our rights
and whine.

We have no rights.
I have no rights.

Sermon on Mount Parnassus - a poem

2009-02-23T18:06:00.000-08:00

the poet-disciples descended
rubbing elbows
with the muses,
those angelic beings
offering coffee
and whispering inspiration,

they, the poets,
gathered 'round the Messiah
awaiting their words

this was their moment of truth
their commission
their calling
their coronation
into the halls of the prophets

here they would be equipped
with pens
paper
and soapboxes
here they would be equipped
with their words

26 Albums - The Soundtrack to my life?

2009-02-21T20:14:00.000-08:00

I often find myself contemplating what the soundtrack to my life would sound like. This list was inspired by the Reddicks. Let's rock and roll.

1. Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band - The Beatles
2. Everyone's Beautiful - Waterdeep
3. Sam's Town - The Killers
4. Graceland - Paul Simon
5. Nebraska - Bruce Springsteen
6. London Calling - The Clash
7. Till The Sun Burns Black - Ray LaMontagne
8. Third Day - Third Day
9. Take Me To Your Leader - Newsboys
10. IV - Led Zeppelin
11. Underdog - Audio Adrenaline
12. Joshua Tree - U2
13. What You Don't Know - Don Chaffer
14. Whole 'Nother Deal - Waterdeep
15. Runnin' On Empty - Jackson Browne
16. The Songs of Leonard Cohen - Leonard Cohen
17. Bullet - Mat Kearney
18. Supertones Strike Back - Supertones
19. Live at Wembley '86 - Queen
20. Bloom - Audio Adrenaline
21. 20 Greatest Hits in Motown History - Various Artists
22. The Cars - The Cars
23. Songs You Know By Heart - Jimmy Buffett
24. Lifesong - Casting Crowns
25. Born to Run - Bruce Springsteen
26. Within A Mile of Home - Flogging Molly

Boromir: That Old Redemption Story

2009-02-15T10:46:00.000-08:00

"I tried to take the ring from Frodo," he said. "I am sorry. I have paid." His glance strayed to his fallen enemies; twenty at least lay there.
- The Two Towers, Chapter 1 - The Departure of Boromir

Boromir, the favorite son of Denethor, wanted nothing but the rescue of his people. He saw before him a small token of gold hat held unimitable power. Perhaps even the power to save Gondor from slaughter. He wanted the ring in order to save his people. That is a very honorable thought but the problem is that Boromir was under the assumption that strength and power were the key. He was a warrior, after all. He thought armies and arrows would bring victory. His pride in his strength blinded him to the truth that his only real hope lay with a halfling, a creature with no great strength or prowess. A hobbit whose only weapon was a great deal of heart.

It took only a small seed of this emotion to capture Boromir. In the presence of the evil of the ring he went mad. The ring used that small big of doubt and pride and tried to kill him with it. Boromir tries to take the ring from Frodo. Frodo escapes. The madness leaves Boromir and he immediately jumps to the aid of the other hobbits as the orcs descend.

"I have paid," he says. Does he mean the dead orcs at his feet or the fact that he is dying? I believe it to be a little of both. He has slain some of the orcs that were attempting to capture the hobbits. He has given his life to a cause he wasn't sure of until it was almost too late. He has redeemed himself.

It's a great metaphor for the Christian life. Our redemption comes through death. We die to the world, die to ourselves and our sinful natures. In this death we live through Christ. We are redeemed. We are saved.

I think in this moment Boromir gave the only thing he knew he had: his life. His strength was fading. His noble birth could not help him. His life was all that was left so he gave it up. That is our own story, too. We have nothing to offer Christ but our lives. Everything else is superfluous. We can only life for him and use whatever gifts he bestows upon us during our journey.

"For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain." - Philippians 1:21

Eddie's in a coma

2009-02-12T18:05:00.000-08:00

Sigh.

My computer, Eddie, is currently in comatose state. I'm hoping that the good doctor Erk can fix him. If not, I'll soon be investing a new machine. I'm kinda bummed. I like *my* computer. That and I don't want to have to spend money on a new one. That would be most uncool.

On the bright side of life, I have a new job! Starting Monday, I'll be picking up four kids from school, taking them to their extra-curriculars and home. It's a pretty sweet deal. I'm looking forward to it.

Sorry I don't have much to say today. Not too talkative.

Off to read a book!
- Sarah

10 Reasons I Love Books

2009-02-03T17:20:00.001-08:00

1. Books smell really good.

2. There was a time in my life when I thought the only person who understood me was a fictional girl named Harriet M. Welsch. Because of this attachment, I've read Harriet the Spy over a dozen times. It inspired me to get a notebook of my own.

3. In the end, the only peace Frodo really got was found when he finally sailed to the Middle Earth equivalent of Heaven. But he knew he had done what he had to do. I believe that's a little how my father felt as he passed through the pearly gates.

4. We didn't do a lot of traveling in my family as I was growing up. Books were the only way I could see the world. I could probably find my way around the Heart of Gold or Hobbiton just as easily as I can Jonesboro.

5. I've read my share of trashy romance novels. I've even read Twilight. After all that, I can only conclude this: if I ever find a man that is a subtle blend of Aragorn and Mr. Darcy I will marry him *immediately*. And that is no lie.

6. Escape.

7. My own decisions didn't seem so hard when I realized that Ender had been fighting the aliens the whole time.

8. I thought I had a pretty good handle on the narrow vision of "the south". Then I read "To Kill A Mockingbird".

9. After "Wringer" I knew I wouldn't have been able to kill the bird either. And I also knew I'd never back down when my own time came.

10. No book of mine has ever crashed, gotten a virus, refused to open or randomly deleted all the words within it.

A Girl and Her Books

2009-01-31T10:04:00.000-08:00

It has been brought to my attention that I buy a lot of books. I've got a personal library that consists of two 6ft bookshelves that are packed to within an inch of their lives and overflowing. I haven't read them all but I have every intention to do so, honestly. I've never bought a book without wanting to read it. I'm just not exactly sure when I'll get around to reading them. Someday, hopefully.

The other day I picked up a book written by someone who seems to have the same affliction that I have. He buys tons of books and hasn't gotten around to reading them all. But he wants to...eventually. The Polysyllabic Spree by Nick Hornby is a collection of his articles from the UK lit mag the Believer. I'm going to follow his example and list, at the end of each month, the books I've bought and the books I've read.

For this first book post I've combined the months of December 2008 and January 2009. With Christmas break these months kind of blended together and I can't quite remember which month I bought which book in. *Note: this lists does not include books I received as gifts.

Books Bought:
December 2008 - January 2009

Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
Polysyllabic Spree - Nick Hornby
Shakespeare Wrote For Money - Nick Hornby
Short Stories - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Poetry and Prose - Walt Whitman
Blackbird Singing - Paul McCartney
Inkheart - Cornelia Funke
Electric Koolaid Acid Test - Tom Wolfe
Residence on Earth - Pablo Neruda
Dandelion Wine - Ray Bradbury
Biography of Tolkien - Carpenter
Coffee with Hemingway - Kirk Curnutt
The Trouble With Poetry - Billy Collins
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (2) - Douglas Adams
The Memory Keeper's Daughter - Kim Edwards
I Am Third - Gale Sayers
The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
Tiny Yarn Animals - Tamie Snow
*Edit: After posting this, I went to a flea market and bought a few books.
Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Arabian Nights - some dead guy
Death of A Salesman - Arthur Miller

Books Read:
Polysyllabic Spree - Nick Hornby
Shakespeare Wrote For Money - Nick Hornby
Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
the Illustrated Man - Ray Bradbury
Coffee with Hemingway - Kirk Curnutt
the Trouble with Poetry - Billy Collins
Inkheart - Cornelia Funke

New Poem - The Boss

2009-01-27T10:23:00.000-08:00

From inside the womb
was heard a rhythm,
a gentle thump
that sounded like
Nebraska.

She emerged from the darkness
into a familiar stranger's
waiting hands.
Callused palms that cradled her
as he swayed and sang
about a dead dog
who existence
would always bring a tear to her eye.

Together they would
sing the songs
of this six-string guitar god,
some lower deity
descended from Elvis's Mt. Olympus.
They sang of velvet rims,
yellow men,
and racin' in the street.
And no one could touch them.

Not illness or death,
nor the thick Jersey air.

They were tramps.
Together.
Born to believe.

To Pablo, my Chilean love - a new poem

2008-12-13T14:31:00.000-08:00

To Pablo, my Chilean love

It's hard to read Neruda
and not fall in love,

hard to not fall in love
with somebody,
something,
a god or goddess
or just the life around you
or maybe some poet long-dead.

I fell in love
with a certain dark thing
somewhere
and I've been searching for it
elsewhere
ever since.
I imagine I'll find it
when I stumble upon someone else
searching
for the same thing.

It was easy to read
revolucion
living darkly beneath my surface.
It didn't even take
cien sonnatas
to unearth it.
It was
aquí.
It was
dentro de nosotros.
It was
you
and he
and I
all along.

It's that time again...

2008-12-01T21:18:00.000-08:00

It would seem that Christmas time is nearly upon us. I love December. All the cool people are born then. Don Johnson, Walt Disney, some dude named Mark, a girl named Sunnie, Me, Jesus... Seriously. It's a month for awesome people.

And my brother, who has been in Miami since August, is coming home! I've actually kinda missed him. It's amazing how much better we get along when we no longer live in the same house - let alone state.

I'm just happy it's finally cold out. I love warm weather as much as the next person, but there's just something about the cold that makes me feel alive. It's also a great excuse to find a comfy spot and read a book. There's something to be said about the feeling one gets when finishing a novel in one sitting. :)

As far as gift giving goes, I'm taking the advice of www.adventconspiracy.org and conserving money. Instead of buy pricey gifts, I bought lots of yarn. I'll be using my extensive old-lady knitting and crocheting skills to *make* gifts instead this year. The money I save will be going to a Christian charity. I don't know which one yet.

Well, I'll update as the holiday season progresses.

God bless,
Sarah

Showdown At Super 8 (A new short story)

2008-11-28T21:32:00.000-08:00

Showdown At Super 8

based (loosely) on true events

(with apologies to JPD and Super 8)

The International House of Pancakes was open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. In a college-town like Jonesboro, one could never drive past it and see its parking lot deserted. It was a hot-spot for the twenty-something crowd. There was always fun to be had and memories to be made. And of course pancakes. One night in the late fall, somewhere between midterms and finals, the late-night college crowd got more than they bargained for.

It was nearing 10pm and the parking lot was its usual half-full. A couple of students pulled in, ready to devour a some Belgian waffles when lights began dancing before them. They watched as a Jonesboro police officer turned on his lights and barreled through the streetlight a block away from them. They laughed, figuring someone, somewhere had been caught speeding so now half the police force was coming to oversee the ticket-giving. Their laughter abruptly stopped, however, when said patrol car pulled to a stop in the parking lot directly across from them.

Across from the IHOP was a Super 8. This, in laymen’s terms, translates to “motel for the desperate.” There was nothing super about this particular Super 8. But something was apparently brewing there tonight. The officer in the patrol car skidded to a stop, left his lights flashing and took off running towards the rear of the motel. The students, still sitting in their car, looked at one another wearily. This sort of thing didn’t happen often. Do they stay in the car and watch the events unfold? Or do they traipse into the restaurant and demand waffles?

“Stay,” they said simultaneously, answering the unspoken question. Waffles would have to wait. Not a moment later another patrol car joined the first, its driver sprinting off to find the other.

The scene was eerily quiet for a moment. Only the flashing of the patrol cars’ lights interrupted the peace of the evening. Suddenly sirens began sounding from the left and right. Fire trucks were descending upon the motel from both directions. Within the next few minutes a dozen more squad cars arrived, along with three ambulances and 2 more fire trucks. The students turned the car back on and tuned into the always trusty local AM radio news station. The events happening before their very eyes were quickly turning into the big news of the night. After waiting a few minutes, the DJ repeated what everyone had been waiting to hear.

“There is a hostage situation now occurring at the Super 8 motel.” The students gazed into the flashing lights, stunned. This kind of thing just didn’t happen around here. They were certain this had just been an over-reaction to someone’s cat being caught up a tree. They were gravely mistaken. Apparently Bubba had finally crossed the line. No, really.

Bubba Monroe (pronounced MUN-row) had gotten tired of it. He loved his wife but it was finally tim0ed they both admitted that she was just after his money; and his trailer – it being one of those classy new double-wides and all. He had never really minded that she was a gold-digger. He knew she loved him all the same. That is until he found her shacked up with some chump from her bowling team. He had walked in on them after she had rented a room in his name at the Super 8.

Bubba, being the enraged husband he was, stormed out to his truck and grabbed his shotgun from its hiding location behind the seat. It wasn’t loaded, but no one would find that out until the next morning. The clerk had merely seen an angry man stomping up to one of the rooms with a gun in his hand. The cops were immediately called and now there was a major hostage situation right across the street from the IHOP.

So the students sat, watching and listening as it all unfolded before them. Unfortunately there was no trained hostage negotiator within the Jonesboro Police Department. Instead there was Rick. He was the night secretary down at the station. He was known for his level-head so he was handed the job of talking a now blubbering Bubba out of the motel room without firing the unloaded weapon at any of the room’s occupants. Bubba lasted a solid thirty minutes before he came out, crying like a baby. He had even tried making a few outrageous demands – a new pickup, a new wife, a new gun – but none were successful. It was later said that he cried all the way to the station.

Within the hour all of the noise and the lights had faded. The last squad car had driven away. The two college students turned off the car and sat in silence for a moment. Crime had been committed. Guns raised. Officers dispatched. What were they supposed to do now? In the end, there was only one thing left to do.

Waffles.

THE END

I think Mr. Bradbury predicted this...

2008-11-20T06:55:00.000-08:00

Books are such trouble-makers. Parents get into such an uproar about what their children read. In the past several years there has been multiple series of books come out marketed to the teen/young adult age group. They're mostly fantasy novels with a touch of magic or somesuch. It seems that many parents hear whispers of "unnatural" things in the books and they flip out, banning their children from reading them. Banning a book that you've never read is a good way to anger me.
I thoroughly support a parent's decision to monitor what their child reads. But banning books? Will you burn them next? First try turning off their TV and sorting through their DVD collection. In a book, an author can describe a fight scene but it's up to the reader to provide the pictures. TV and movies remove that step and shove blood and guts on the screen. It doesn't have to be that way with a book.
These people are banning books they've never read! They're judging them by their covers and their critics. I was under the impression that we were supposed to be teaching kids to think for themselves. Apparently not. It bothers me greatly that parents get so wound up about a book with magic or vampires in it and yet they haven't taken a look at the lyrics to their kids favorite emo bands - most of which are thinly veiled metaphors for self-harming, self-hate and suicide.
We are living in a society of instant gratification. We have our 3 minute songs that whine about our lives. We have our 2 hour movies where the hero almost always gets the girl and the bad guy gets his just desserts. Am I saying that books are lands of peace and rainbows? Heck, no! Books are filled with everything imaginable. Love, hate, peace, war, sex, drugs, foul language and morbidly depressed robots.
But books nurture imagination and creative thinking. They expand your vocabulary. Ask any professional teacher and they'll tell you: good readers make good learners. If someone is worried about the influence reaching their children's generation, books aren't the first place to look. Heard some mixed reviews about a book they want to read? Read it and decide for yourself. Don't have time to read a whole novel? Skim it. It doesn't take long. Please monitor what your children listen to, watch and read, but I beg of you to make up your own mind about a book. Don't listen to what "they" say about it. It might even be wise to talk to your kid!
And remember this: there's a lot of teen/young adult fiction out there that I don't like. Some of it I do, but most of it isn't my style. There are even some that I just can't stand. That being said, I may not personally like what they read but I will defend to the death their right to read it.

- standing on my soapbox

It's November Again!

2008-11-02T18:48:00.000-08:00

Ah. November. National Novel Writing Month.
This thought horrifies. It's still hard to believe that at one point I sat down and wrote a novel in a month. It can be done. I didn't really sleep much, but it happened.
Now here we are again. November. Apparently there's some sort of election going on. And some vampire movie is coming out. Whatever.
This is a whole freaking month dedicated to the craft of novel-writing. That means that if I go a day without getting something written on the novel, I feel like a jerk. A big, uninspired and uninspiring jerk. Ugh.
This is not going to be easy.
One of the rules for NaNoWriMo is that you have to start a whole new novel. No, "Well, I wrote a chapter or two of this thing last year...". Nope. Can't have that. But I just don't have the heart to write a whole new novel. My brain is swimming with stuff for this one. I'm scared to see what would happen if I swapped my trains of thought now. So what am I going to do?
Trudge on.
That's all I really can do. I'm hoping that all of the novel-talk will keep me going. Keep me typing. Let me tell you, folks. You want to know what the hardest thing about writing a novel is? The next word.
So, I'm just dedicating the month of November to the next word. In the end, that's really all I've got.

- Sarah

The first step

2008-10-17T12:53:00.000-07:00

I'm currently getting a bunch of self-addressed, stamped envelopes ready. In the next few days I'm going to begin sending out my poems and short stories to every literary magazine I can find that will accept submissions. I'm a bit horrified, I must admit. It feels like I'm letting my children off into the world for the first time. They've never been so far away from me. I'm worried they won't be treated nice. At some point one of them will limp home with a rejection letter in their hand. I can't wait.

Dignity? I Hope Not.

2008-10-05T14:00:00.000-07:00

I watched Lord of the Rings last weekend. Friday was the Fellowship, Saturday was Two Towers and Sunday was Return of the King. I laughed. I cried. I was eerily giddy. I've watched these movies more times than I can count and I still have the same reaction each time. It had been over a year since I had seen them in their entirety. You'd think I would have calmed down a bit. But no. I'm still just as much of a die-hard fangirl as I was when I first immersed myself in Middle Earth back in junior high.

But how can you not love these films and these books? I know some people can't stand them, but I don't see how. They're just so epic. The story says so much about the human condition, about everything that's wrong and right with people. I can't help but feel a deep connection to it.

I could go on all day about the awesomeness of all things Tolkien, but I won't. Hopefully I'll write a book about it someday. Until then, I'll just be here, books in hand, watching the movies with my Legolas standee. :D

It's 1:30 AM. Do you know where your protaganist is?

2008-09-23T19:31:00.000-07:00

Writing frightens me. Why would something I'm so undeniably passionate about scare the crap out of me? How does that work? It just seems so impossible. Like I'm addicted to something I know will kill me, but I can't give it up. It's horrifying.
It pisses me off that somebody who's never given writing a second thought can jot down a note on a napkin or have a weird dream and then boom! they're bestselling authors and multi-millionaires. How can that happen to them and yet here I sit, the call of writing having been echoing in my soul for years, at 1:30 in the morning, anxious and restless because I don't know what to do with my story. I've been working on it for nearly a year and I haven't even written 100 pages. What the crap. I'm just stuck. I know where I want to go, but I don't know how to get there. And will anybody want to read it if I do?
Do people even read books any more? And I mean real books. Those not written on a third grade reading level. Ugh. I feel horribly pretentious. I'm just jealous. All those published authors who found the will to finish. I'm horrified that I can't.

~On a side note, this was written very early in the morning. I stared at my computer for a bit after writing it and then I pulled up my manuscript and typed out 3 new pages. Go me. :D

Retreat! (But I went forward...)

2008-09-13T14:56:00.000-07:00

This weekend was the annual BCM Back-To-School Retreat. As usual, it was teh awesome. I'm never disappointed with what these guys offer us!

We had a wonderful worship leader, Frank Hendrix. I mean, come on. The guy started singing a worship song to the tune of "With or Without You" by U2. Seriously. And yes. It *was* that awesome.

Our speaker was Michael Kelley. He's an Editor for Lifeway and has written two Bible studies called "The Tough Sayings of Jesus" (I and II). He was GREAT. 1. It was cool to get to sit and chat with someone who, however accidentally, has published a book, and 2. he had some really awesome things to say and points to make.

He spoke about love - a favorite topic of mine.

Teh Political Post

2008-09-11T06:11:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling the need to crawl up on my soapbox for a minute here. Try and bear with me.
I hate politics.
I am not a Democrat.
I am not a Republican.
I am not an Independent.
I am apolitical.

It's a game I just refuse to play. Will I be voting in the Presidential election in November? You bet your butt I will be. Blood was shed for that right and I'm not gonna throw it away. But am I going to tell you who I am voting for? Nope. I hate politics.
I'll be glad when the results are in and people will finally start shutting up a little bit. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but the world will still be spinning whenever they announce the winner. Whoever it is, I doubt the world is just going to go into freak-out mode. Gas will still cost an arm and a leg. There will still be troops that aren't home. Kids will still be dying of AIDS in Africa. The sun will still rise in the east. It's still gonna set in the west. This whole election thing isn't really that big of a deal.
Now, calm down. I'm not an anarchist, I swear. I promise I understand the importance of the American President. I'm just saying that there are bigger issues out there and that by making our President the most important person in the country we're selling ourselves short. Power isn't in the hands of the President. It's in the hands of the people. We are horribly dangerous. Well... we have the ability to be. I'm just trying to say that, no matter who wins the election, the ultimate power will still reside with the American people. One, fallible man will be the leader of our country. But if he's not doing a good job, we can overcome that. We have to be the change we want to see. We can't expect our politicians to do it for us.
I'd also like to plead with my generation for a moment. Please turn off your TVs for a bit. At least... take them off the comedy channel. Freedom of speech is amazing. I'm enjoying it right now, but don't let yourself be spoon-fed. Shows like the Daily Show and the Colbert Report are enjoyable and witty, but they are also teaching my generation that our leaders don't deserve any respect. I just think it's odd that we expect the rest of the world to respect our government but we won't. How sad. I'm gonna slowly back away from my soapbox now.
Much love and much peace,
Sarah

ARAGORN/GANDALF in '08!!!

Stories

2008-09-01T20:14:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I thank my God for stories. I tend to find life difficult to deal with. Stories are my escape. I love happy endings. But sometimes I love those that aren't as happy just as much. I love both the trajic and the comedic. Perhaps it is because my life seems to carry touches of both. Some days it is strange how much I long for my happily ever after, my happy ending. But still there are those moments where I just want things to be right. Not necessarily perfectly happy, but right. As if the rightness transcends whatever "happy" may be. I love stories. Passionately. A story isn't just an event or series of events. It's more. It's happenings that form a grander meaning; that either in the moment or later on you learn from, or someone else can learn from. Our own stories may seem to be crazy-random-happenstance, but perhaps they could provide a wealth of knowledge to someone else. Perhaps someone else has just the story that we need to hear. God is the Author or our Faith. He's been on the best-seller list for a few millenia now. Surely we should take the time to listen to one or two of the few billion he's got in progress now?

Abba,
Thank you for stories.

Sarah

New-ish

2008-08-30T20:39:00.000-07:00

Yeah. I used to have my own website.
Dude. Those things cost money. And I'm poor.
So. I've gotten a blogspot. Not quite the same, but I think I can make it work.
Sorry I don't have anything deep to write tonight. I'm tired. Gimme a break.

Peace out.