Today's Writing is: Christmas Carrots

Baby carrots? No, the most delicious carrots I've ever seen!

  I remember when I was little and the days seemed so much longer and shorter and brighter than these days do now. I remember flowers and clouds and vivid green grass. And I remember carrots.
    When I was very young my mom had a garden by the house in which she grew tomatoes. One summer she let my older sister and I pick what we wanted to grow and I picked carrots. I was little enough that the idea that I had grown them made perfect sense; though I am positive that I dug once in the dirt and never watered them. I was probably three.
     A few weeks ago, I helped my lil' 2's and 3's in the church Christmas program. Wearing giant paper snowflakes around their necks like those disgusting Victorian collars--and looking adorable--they sheepishly walked, shuffled, and nudged their way onto the stage with the help, prodding, and herding of myself and two other adults. They stood there rocking back and forth and twinkling their fingers until they were herded off stage to receive excessive and jubilant congratulations from their adoring public.
     Now, being about that age, they believed every word of praise. They were the best snowflakes ever. They had done a great job. And just like that: Christmas Carrots.

It's easier to be brave,or stupid, in groups. Groups in costume.

     I think it's important to believe with destructive naivete the encouragement you are given. Unlike those kids and three-year-old me, I have known people who could never, ever take a compliment well. A coworker of mine was once told by our boss that he enunciated well. He told me, "That's not a compliment. That just means he thought I was boring."
     Honestly, I'm not always great at this but I do try to quiet my inner critic enough to hear the legitimate praise others give me. It's very easy for self-doubt to masquerade as self-protection or the Whoa-There-Meter. Getting too big headed--Whoa There! Acting too rashly--Whoa There! Not believing yourself to be the utter failure that you really are--Whoa There! See? Sometimes the voice that tells you not to order that at-home massage from craigslist is also the voice the crushes your self-worth into itching powder. It may also crush you into not much of anything.
     If I told those kids that they were disorganized and boring, they would have never participated in another church program again. They would not want to try new things and, worst of all, they would believe failure to be a cardinal sin(also their parents would have stoned me). None of these things is healthy(particularly the stoning of young women). Few of these things are even true at all(hopefully the stoning of young women).
     I think that when trying new things or doing things you love, it is good to view yourself as a two-year-old. You grew those carrots all by yourself, you were the greatest snowflake ever, and everything you do wrong only makes you cuter. Personally, this kind of confidence helps me to step out, to not take myself too seriously, and to be more willing to be coached and corrected.
     Mostly I really like to think I'm awesome. That was a joke...kind of. I also think you're awesome. That's not a joke...kind of. I doubt the other people read my blog.
  

Today's Writing is: A Thank You Note in Disguise

"Illusions, Michael!" --Gob Bluth

When I sit down to write there are usually a few things I need. I used to think these things were as simple as coffee, iPod, pen and paper. But this is like when I thought Third Day was the best artist I'd ever heard and I just hadn't met Mumford and Sons yet. Recently, however, the fates have given me some well-timed little marvels. In fact, if coffee, iPod, and paper is like "Live out Loud,"  then these lil' guys are like "White Blank Page." Here they are:

     Marvel I) A red mug with a chalkboard speech bubble and two white chalk pieces. This mug was given to me by my pastors Pete and Tamar and it is perfection. Each morning I get up, fill it with coffee, and get ready. By the time I get in my car it's half empty and sitting snug in my cup holder; where it gets polished off by the time I get on camera. Then, at some point during or after the work day, Red and I go to a cafe where he's filled again with coffee and watches me write. Finally, we go home, get washed, and rest up for tomorrow morning. Red is now an essential part of my ability to quite myself enough to write. I see him as my own little VeggieTales friend who sits there supporting me adorably. 

Ya, that's cork board. Jealous? 

     Marvel II) A beautiful notebook designed and created just for me by my remarkable Aunt Cheryl. As it happens, I write all of my first drafts the old fashioned way, with pen and paper. I have just recently starting work on my first novel and having a place that is safe and clean and warm to put all of my precious characters, plots and tragedies is priceless. My secret hope is that the spirits of the muses that help Aunt Cheryl create such lovely cards may have taken up residence in these pages and will make my words equally lovely. A girl can hope.

     My highest accolades to Aunt Cher for making for me a notebook containing beauty, simplicity, functionality, inspiration, and class. Spot on. (Additional aunt accolades for delicious food, inviting me to Easter dinner every year, mothering my best friend and cousin, Taylor, and being fearlessly creative.)

     The thing I love most about these two gifts is that they come from my family and from my church family and it's just nice to have them close now that I'm doing something which requires bravery and the taking of risks.

     A giant thank you to Pete, Tamar, Aunt Cher, and Mom--who gave me the book for Christmas. I'll save you all a dedication somewhere in the future.:) 

Happy New Year, 

Miss Victoria Stern

*Accidentally in Love: An Experiment in the Immense Use of Hyphens

*Title rights not owned by author, property of that band that did that song for Shrek back in the early 2000’s.

There are a few different ways we love things as humans. One of them is to want to love the things you love. Another is to not really want to love the things you love.

We are who we are and some of us are
 the getters of gear and cog tattoos.

I am a writer. It’s just true. Deep down in the me-est part there is, you will find the same gears and cogs that have cranked up and unwound the best and worst literary minds. These are the gears that told the consequences of feeding friendly, overall-wearing rodents home-baked goods. These gears cranked out the eternally identifiable Elizabeth Bennet. These gears even drove, to the vast dismay of High School Freshman everywhere, William Shakespeare to pen a tale of star-crossed lovers. These gears are in me and they lead me to believe that I love writing.
Imagine my confusion when I would sit down to the computer and find that I did, in fact, have nothing to say, or incoherent things to say, or unimportant things to say, or worst of all, boring things to say. All of these feelings and fears and disabling thoughts made me question if maybe I really didn’t love writing. I found it tedious one day, but exhilarating and fulfilling and the best thing I could do for the rest of my life the next. Writing, it seemed, was a mixed bag of tricks.

A surprisingly fitting example of happily
wanting to love the things ya love.:)

I have learned rather recently that this is the price you pay for being a writer. The price is that for a not small portion of it you have to be miserable. The payback is that you get to absolutely, head-over-heels love all the other portions(editing, polishing, fixing). Another upside is that you end up with something you can share and if you share it with the right people, they might head-over-heels love it, too. (Another writer plus is that you are encouraged to do a really bad job at first. In fact, the bad is where you get your material from. So, suck it up and fail big. You just might win a Newbery.)
All of this writing rambling is to show that you want to love some of the things you love. The thought of not loving writing made me frightened that maybe I wasn’t actually a writer. I was a afraid because I really want that for myself. A good thing too, as I’m stuck with all the gears I got.
Part II comes next. It will contain thoughts on not really wanting to love the things you love--also, I’m gonna bait you here with the promise of pictures of cute kids from my travels. I’m that low. But you are, too. So. See you then.

A Tip from the I-Love-That-I-Love-This-Epiphany: Once you figure out what you love, throw yourself into it with abandon and bravery, because terror adds fun…and material if you are a writer, movie producer, or torture chamber administrative assistant.

--T (Tobias)

My story is...

Hardly believing it's Fall. This weekend three things happened all in a whirlwind of occurrence. I dove to Bend and back and forth between there and Eagle Crest to watch young children for a retreat, the month of October reared it's lovely head, and a cold front seems to have settled over Portland while I was gone. This triple threat of happenings has worked seamlessly together to leave me fully immersed in Autumn.
After two days the kids tired me out enough to make me slow down, breath deep, and notice things like the way the sun and my drapes color my room a Fallish sort of gold int he morning.
The month changed from non-committal, could-be-Summer-could-be-Fall September to sold-out-for-the-cause-known-to-all-in-association-with-pumpkins October. On top of that, it happened when I wasn't looking(Did you know it's already the 4th?).
Last but not least, it's cold. It's so  cold I need a scarf. It's so cold I need a jacket. It's so cold I use the heater. For someone who will sweat through September wrapped in her cutest scarf because she wishes it were Autumn already, this is a big deal.

And so, in one fell swoop, the world around and my little city decided to change and agree with me.
It's time for Fall.
(yay)

Post Script: This post inspired by Breken Kitchen and a journal that says "write your own story."

Be Spunky...but not stupid.

The other day I had a particularly tiring day at work so when I got off I grabbed food and went to the movies by myself. Now, the point of going to the movies alone is to be able to relax and be alone, text people during the previews then enjoy the film. But for some reason every time I go, I find myself looking for someone else sitting alone. If I find someone I always want to go sit with them, thus defeating the purpose of going alone in the first place. Why do I do that? When I see another loner I think, "We have something in common. How fun would it be to introduce myself and sit with them? Wait, I came alone, that's the point." And then I sit down and enjoy myself, but I always think for a fleeting moment about the lost opportunity to do something spunky.

Another problem with my new cinema friend: Not very many girls go to movies alone. There is definitely a difference between asking a girl "Is this seat taken?" and asking a guy "Is this seat taken?" In the years I've gone to movies I don't think I've ever seen a woman under 60 alone in the theater. I have, however, seen a surprising amount of guys alone. In fact, the first time I went to a movie alone I was one of two people there. I considered sitting with the other guy, but the movie was Stardust and it was weird that he was there alone.

Anyway, I enjoy going to movies by myself and in the spirit of adventure I'll sit next to the next sane-looking girl I see in the cinema.

What do you enjoy and how will you add some spunk to it next time?

-Young Victoria

Post Script: I saw The Other Guys. I give it 3 stars. It was a 4 star movie, but it looses a star for being too inappropriate to watch at home without fast-forwarding(it was on the same level as Anchorman). Here's a funny clip!

Life is a Box of Stalagmites?

Head lamp: $20
Full gas tank: $40
Climbing through a pitch black cave with my younger brother and sister: Priceless.

Have you ever been spelunking? As one of my favorite children's book characters Fancy Nancy would say, Spelunking is a fancy word for walking through a dark cave. All you do is grab a flashlight, a snack, your hiking shoes and you're set to drive to the nearest cave and spelunk! 
Last time I went home I went spelunking with my brother, Josiah(10), and my sister, Tess(15). My family lives in Bend, OR where there is a plethora of caves near town; so Tess, Joe, and I grabbed a snack(something about caving leaves you famished, but not thirsty), clambered into my car and drove the 20 miles to Boyd Cave.
Quick caving plug: It's easy enough for kids to enjoy, it's naturally air conditioned(we were pretty cold the whole time), and our particular cave was only about an hour long trek from start to finish.

The three of us had so much fun together. As it happens, Tess and I have the same reaction to being in complete darkness, but for the light of our flashlights. Our depth perception and equilibrium get poned. After about twenty minutes the change is noticeable. When lowering from one rock to another three two feet looks like four, when stepping onto another rock your foot hits it just before you thought it would, and if at any time you stop moving you start swaying. My first time spelunking the cave took an hour and a half to two hours to get through and by the end of it my knees were shaking and I could hardly walk straight or without tripping. With about fifty yards of flat cave to go, I asked the person next to me if I could please hold their arm until we got to the cave. The change was instantaneous. As soon as I took their arm I had control again. Alone I felt like I was slowly falling forward because the ground kept hitting my foot too soon, now I was just walking. Alone I was confused and frustrated by an environment that was taking over, now I stood tall and straight and confident.

Life is to cave as people are to flawed.
Arm is to stability as God is to grace.

We are all of us human. We cannot help but make mistakes, and God knows it 'cause He made us that way. When I do something unwise I tend to beat myself up for it, but every time I hear God say, "You're in a cave of course you're going to fall; just take my arm." And that makes me feel a lot better about the whole situation.

Post Script: "Poned" means "Professionally owned" according to my sister. Here it is in context:

Wednesday Win!

Welcome, welcome Wednesday Win! Today's win has so many things going right, it's heard to tell which aspect is the true Win. After slight internal struggle, I give you:

Wednesday Win: Senior Safety Feature Win