The one that started it all

This book is the reason I believe no matter how cool they make ebooks, they will never completely replace the real deal.

This is a copy of Marguerite Henry's Misty of Chincoteague I found in a used book store. It is also the first signed book I have ever owned.

Every time I hold this book in my hands, I realize not only am I holding a book I love, my favorite childhood book, in fact; I am holding a book Marguerite Henry held. A book she signed. A book she personalized. It wasn't meant for me, but it was meant to be special.

Sadly, I will never get to meet her. She died in 1997, but this book allows a way for me to connect with one of the people who had a positive influence on my life. That's right writers; like it or not, you are influencing a person's life.

In the same way some people get excited about going to concerts or have favorite athletes, I have an affinity toward authors who positively impact my life with their writing. I have built up a small collection of books signed by their authors. Books meant for me (Books someone else will own one day).

There is one thing I know about this one. I think I knew it the first time I held it in my hands. No matter how many I obtain, there will be something about this one that gives a little extra tug at my heart.

Make me believe you

Have you ever read a book where you just didn't believe what is happening? I don't mean agree with specific viewpoints, I mean BELIEVE IT IS REALLY HAPPENING. It can go on and on and you just want to call, "BS! I don't believe you!". How can a story have so much room to share and leave the reader feeling hollow? Perhaps it is because a story's length provides just enough rope to hang one's self with.

Take song lyrics, for instance. How long is a song? Two minutes? Five minutes? A person is not expected to sit down with that song for 7 hours. After two minutes, a person can love a song, hate a song, feel indifferent, listen to it until every word is memorized. A song has an infinitesimal amount of time to share its message. The message might be random, vapid awesomeness (nothing wrong with that if you ask me), but every now and then you'll come across a set of lyrics that can tell you exactly the person who wrote them felt in less than ten words. Less than five.

• "Love is a first"

• "I want you to want me"

• "Like the red sea, she split me open"

• "I'm not going to write you a love song"

• "When a heart breaks, it don't break even"

I like to think there has to be one special thing a person does in their life. Everyone does special things every day, but there is one extraordinary thing that will stand out when all is said and done. The trick is, you won't know what it is until all is said and done.

In that same tone, every task performed repeatedly in one's life will have one moment that out-shines the rest. Even buying milk - I don't know how, you figure it out and let me know when you do ;)

What it all boils down to is you can write a story, or a song, or a letter. But don't censor it to become something you think another person will want to see. Write what is real. Write what really happens. Don't say, "She's wonderful and exciting," when what you really need to say is, "She's as hard as AC/DC, she gets my thunder struck."

I can't see the fire in your eyes, but I want to read it.

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Canned worms, a la mode

Have you ever heard the phrase, "That's going to open up a whole new can of worms" ?

Have you ever said it?

Have you ever wanted to open a can of worms anyway?

Have you been instructed to open one?

Have you ever secretly handed one to your significant other and said something like, "Honey, can you open this for me? You're so strong."

Significant other flexes muscles, "Sure, hand it over. All you have to do is twist the - wait a minute! This isn't a pickle jar! There are worms in here!"

"Fine! I'll do it myself!"

"Fine!"

No?

... me neither.

Personally, I prefer time to open canned worms. If you do before you're ready, the result is similar to that of opening a bottle of pop recently fired from a cannon. No good can come of this. (ps - Good luck convincing your significant other to open a bottle of pop recently fired from a cannon)

Anyway, I got an email today saying something along the lines of, "I got the lid off the worm can for you. Get started. Yesterday."

Funny thing is, as hard as it is to open up a can of worms, I've always got a can of whoop-ass on hand.

Time to get the can opener.

Random awesomeness

Check out the new business card. I mean, look at it. It means business. You may notice I'm going through a bit of a phase where I am into ninjas :)

Well, actually its a trading card. My sister works at an art gallery and they had a make your own trading card night.

The point of the game:

Make a trading card, stick it in a binder filled with completed cards and choose a new one.

I got a little attached to mine and she said I could keep it.

Anyway, mine is now a business card. The problem is I only have one.

Here is my plan:

Next time someone asks my for my business card, I'll hold it up and say, "Here it is, but you'll have to fight me for it."

A challenge

My home is overrun with notebooks. I can’t get to sleep unless I have one on the nightstand. If I don’t have one, it is inevitable that I have some random idea pop into my head right before I fall asleep and I am faced with one of two options:

Option 1: Try really hard to remember it, fall asleep, wake up knowing I needed to remember something but am not sure what, spend all day trying to remember, have it pop up again in my memory right before I fall asleep.

Option 2: Write it down somewhere.

The thing is, once I have something written down, I fall into that headspace of, “Its down, its safe. No worries.”

Now, keep in mind I am tired, the lights are off and the idea probably isn’t that great. Sometimes, its GET FABRIC SOFTENER. Others, I'll flip through in the morning and find a page that says things like: rabbit, he farted, push them.

?

In a nutshell (help, I'm in a nutshell), I leave myself a random trail of bread crumbs and hope I can follow them come daylight.

Some days, I’ll read something and think, “What a great idea, sleeping Stephanie solved the problem waking Stephanie couldn’t.” Other times, what I have written is 100% indecipherable (see attached photo). Either way, sleeping Stephanie enjoys it - one morning I woke up with my notebook in one hand, a pen in the other. I gripped them so tight, my arms were stiff the next day.

Anywho, even if doing this makes me seem like a bit of a nutso, it works for me. I'd recommend it for anyone having trouble sleeping, remembering things etc.

Today’s challenge:

I scanned something I wrote down one night and was totally excited about. If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have got up and put it in my computer right away. Instead, I wrote it down and went to sleep. I woke up, grabbed my book and saw what you see attached to this post: a bunch of scribbles.

10 points to whoever can first translate my sleep-scrawl ;)

... she chortled

There are an amazing number of words used to replace the word said. These words can be both a blessing and a curse. The right combination and you feel like you are living in the book. Over-application and you want to stab your eyes out with a pen knife. At least I do.

Today, I tackle chortle.

Let’s be realistic – I have perhaps chortled twice in my life, at least one of these times, I am sure tequila was involved.

I have only ever seen one textbook-defined chortle I can be certain wasn’t just a jolly laugh or a merry chuckle. It was Thanksgiving, my niece was three and she was eating blueberry pie.

Well, she wasn’t eating it; she was shoving it in her mouth. Without chewing or swallowing. She was beginning to resemble a small rodent when she looked up and met my eyes.

I don’t know if it was the look of disgust on my face or the simple joy of pie, but she opened her mouth and laughed. It was one of those big belly laughs that make everyone in the room join in hysterical laughter until tears run down their faces. Her eyes made those cute little rainbow shapes, she was smiling and around all that pie, her laughter had a sort of loud gurgling quality. If I weren’t laughing, I probably would have thrown up. That, my friends, set the bar pretty high for all other chortles wishing to follow.

My recommended usage of the word chortle: 1 per story. More if pie is involved.

What do you think?