What is Christmas? Presents? The tree and lights? The food...? Sure, all nice, materialistic, things. But, really, is CHRISTmas?
She will give birth to a son, and you are to give him the name Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins.
So, again, I ask: What is Christmas?
Not candycanes, icicles, or people rushing around a mall.
Christmas is the definition of LOVE.
ONE small CHILD was BORN to SAVE US.
People rejected them at their doors, they wouldn't make room, those people couldn't find room in their hearts to spare some space. Save one, who gave them a manger, to where our Lord laid.
Too many people forget that Christmas isn't about big dinners and opening presents or expecting things from everyone (which I know all of you expect things-even I do) , its about realizing that we're only here for a short time, and that we have to make due with it as best as we can. Celebrating the child who was born into this world, and who left it, shedding his own flesh and blood for all of us.
People...are selfish, so much that it almost makes me want to cry. To think that humanity...has lost its humanity. You expect more than you give. You envy more for what someone else has, then what you have. You think of what you didn't get, then for what you did.
Too many people don't believe. I can't change their minds, opinions, etc. But I can pray. I can have hope.
FINALS.ARE.OVER! I can say with all sincerity that I am so glad this semester is over and done with. I only had two classes this term, granted, but its those obnoxious, still stuck in high school, can't grow up, people that bug the living hell out of you. Oh, and don't forget a teacher from Satin's domain that just makes his class so....special.
Note my disdain.
There was this one moment in dance class when my partner dropped me on his knee, right into my spin; so I have whiplash, cracked sternum, bruised back, and a cracked rib-- although he does not know this. So I am on drugs as of today and on bed rest, I also happen to be writing this while on a pain killer, so if I happen to be spelling everything wrong....I'll fix it later. Or maybe not, I think it would give this little blurb some much need characture.
As for some advice on writing....don't do it on drugs, it just turns out bad, save yourself the pain of having to read it and then delete it.
Everyone leaves. Whether by their choice or not. It sucks; and I may have never had a boyfriend, or experienced the things they sing about in songs or write about in books and in the movies; but that doesn't mean I have never had my heart broken. Its just a different kind. It still hurts just as bad though.
...You know the one I am talking about. The one in your mind that just blocks all creative flow, its really annoying, and makes you want to pull your hair out. Yeah that one.
Let me tell you about this wall. For the past couple of months I haven't been able to write a single damn thing. BECAUSE OF THIS STUPID DAMN WALL! Its a frustrating, annoying, and obnoxious muffin! I just sit in front of my computer with WORD open and all I can think about is....nothing. I had no idea what to write. Of course I pushed past it somewhat and finished the chapter, but granted I had to tear, claw, and bash my way through it. I got it done all the same. Then I came to another wall, for the next chapter, this one was filled with stupid questions, i.e. : "Is my story cliche?" "Will people like it?" "Am I a copycat?"....I had to slap myself, dramatic yes, effective, most certainly.
The thing about walls is that we build them up, not other people, and its completely mental. (Yes I meant that in both the stupid and physiological way.) We find these unnecessary problems with our stuff whether it be with our bodily image or with our art and writing. IT'S NOT NEEDED! So if you're doing it, or you're falling into a funk...STOP IT! Just find the nearest sledge hammer to you and take a big ol' wack to that wall that is lodging its heavy ass into your head....and if you can't find a sledge hammer or you're just not into violence (though it does feel good once in a while to hit something) then give it the bird and tell it to F*CK OFF. Telling a wall to do that is sort of weird....oh well, gotta do something right?
The beauty of life...funny thing about that... life slaps, bites, pinches, pokes, and gives us a run for our money more than once in our many years.
The beauty of life...funny thing about that... life helps, builds up, creates dreams, and picks us up more than once when we fall in our many years.
When we feel unaccomplished, that is our own fault. People now expect praise and rewards when they do something, instead of just simply enjoying the fact that they accomplished something. If you're doing something you love, don't expect praise, they're just ego boosters. If you're doing something and want people to praise you, then you must not love it a lot.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not saying praise is bad and we should live a life void of it. That is nonsense. I'm just saying that if you truly love to do something, create something, imagine something, then it shouldn't matter what people say to you; good or bad. You do it for yourself, not for other.
I write, because I can watch my dreams come to life. Now they have a heartbeat, a pulse, and many years ahead of them. Sure I feel like I let a person down with my fictional journal now and then, they just can't see what I see or something, I feel like "I could have done better." Then I realize I'm not writing this for them, I'm writing this for me. If they fall in love or fall in hate with my story then so be it. If a child continues to dream well into adulthood after reading something of mine, then that is jut a bonus. But the main thing is, I did it for me. Not to out do someone else, or get praise.
I get pinched, poked, bitten, slapped, and a run for my money. That doesn't stop me. Life is about learning.
OK...so I think I have fulfilled my monthly quota of being deep, meaningful, and completely and irritably cliche. I think I'm good for this month?
Guys don't forget to like my author page the little Facebook icon is at the top on the right, next to my new Twitter link. Follow me on twitter at AllAboutPhe.
I think I am finished..
OK, so, writing. Lets talk about writing, I mean we are on an author's webpage, are we not?
How does one write? Well...you think "A E I O U and sometimes Y" and you go from there. Writing isn't rocket science, if it were then many of us would have won a big prize by now. So if it isn't rocket science then why, please explain to me, why people say "I wish I could write like you" or better yet my favourite, "I can't write." Well can you spell your name? If not then go back to kindergarten. Though if you can, then I shall rightly slap you in the face as you so deserve. If you can spell your name then I am sure you know how to write, so please don't be an ass and say "I can't write." I shall wish to slap you and will do so promptly.
Now lets move onto "I wish I could write like you." One. You can. Two. Stop watching so much damn TV and actually sit down with Microsoft WORD open, or with a pen and paper, and begin. Like I said, it isn't rocket science. Kids start scribbling when they are only months old, so...why can't you? I see no a difference.
If children can use their imagination to see a world in which you can't, then I suggest you start taking notes from them; maybe add a little sugar to your now bitter lives of adulthood. Peter Pan can fly, why can't you?
So I just realized that Roger Fraser may have missthought what my story "I Will Follow You Into the Dark" was about, it was a religious story or rather a modern story with religion in it, not a science fiction story....oh well haha. Actually that story has a story behind it and why i wrote it, will I tell any of you what it is? No, probably not.
My father says I’m wise beyond my years; because I look at life in a different perspective? I have no idea, ha-ha. I guess having an old mind can become relevant whilst writing. As a writer, I like to look at a much bigger picture then the one I’m presented with. Its sort of like looking at a masterpiece painting painted by a world renowned artist back in the day, and looking at it and saying to myself, “I would have done this differently”, not that anyone would appreciate it if I actually did that. I think they would be offended.
Before I started to write, well really write, I use to read more then 400 books a year, big books; and then once i really started to get into it and take it seriously I started to read less and less, and when I did pick up a book I would nit-pick at it; where the author should have done what, what he/she should have added, or what they could have put more detail in. Its a trait I’m starting to get annoyed with, ha-ha. Hopefully other writers do that to my work too! I would hope there would be flaws in my writing, I would hate to be perfect.
When I write something now, its like I become that character when I write, like a part of me— or a part of them, shines through. And hopefully when my readers read my work, they see that too.
Though something has started to happen, on the more serious topics of my writing, like death or telling the world to grow F off, I will re-read what I wrote, about a month later, and be like, “how did I write this?” Its like it happened, but I don’t know how it happened. Like, I don’t remember writing it— well the better way to put it is, I don’t remember how I wrote it.
Does any of this make sense? I guess not, if it does then you know what I’m feeling… or so I like to think.