march book fail, and other fun stuff.

Well, I've certainly not been my usual bloggy self lately, have I?  In my defense, I have been working a ton.  Working and writing and emailing friends.  Totally an acceptable series of excuses.

It is the last day of March, and I can say without any real surprise that I didn't reach my reading goal this time around.  Meh.  Plain Kate was too good.  It sort of turned me off to anything that was't just like it.  I tried to read a book I'd never heard of, that jumped out at me at the library, since it was fantasy like Plain Kate, and in third person, like Plain Kate.  But it just hasn't hooked me yet.  Maybe I'll still read it (I think I'd like to, I really do), but not this time around.  So then I checked out Howl's Moving Castle, which I've always wanted to read.  Surprisingly, I haven't gotten into it yet, either!  I mean, I'm enjoying it, I'm just not reading it.  Am I flickering out?  Again, I cite working too much and writing too much (der, that's supposed to be a good thing) and emailing friends.  You know who you are.

Oh, wait, I have one more excuse to file: spending too much time online.  How does one break such a habit?

For the past few days, I've been thinking, I have to post something.  I have to post something.  Why can't I think of anything?  What's wrong with me?  So, since my brain is currently fried with working and writing and emailing and wasting time online, I thought I would share with you some of the interesting things I've learned, lately.

First of all, what the heck?  It is incorrect to insert two spaces after a period?  You really should only use one?  It's an actual thing.  It's true.  What?  I mean, this post has two spaces between sentences, and I don't think it looks too bad, but it is wrong.  Wrong, I say.  I cannot wrap my mind around this (and, I'm overreacting a little bit, too).  I remember being taught in school to use two spaces.  I remember that!  What were those teachers trying to do to my brain?  Now I have to unlearn the double space. Must. Try. Does this look better? Is that why it's the rule? I am never going to get anything written if I have to spend so much brainpower correcting my impulse to double space.

Another thought: I was always taught that boys have blond hair and girls have blonde hair, but I've been noticing lately that everyone seems to have blond hair.  These are the sorts of things an untrained mind wants to be sure of before embarrassing herself in front of professionals (you like how I highlighted that double space?  Yeah, even after writing about it, I still can't change it.  Doh!  Did it again, and again, and again.  This is what editors are for, right?).

Also, a few weeks ago, Laini Taylor posted the best-ever thing about writing beginnings, and you should read it.  [I'll be here when you finish.]  

Isn't her writing advice just the best?  Or maybe it goes a little beyond advice and into the realm of a real education.  If she ever writes a book on writing, I will be first in line.  I love the idea of asking myself questions to iron out development.  And with the revision stage looming in front of me, I'm starting to get really excited about figuring all this stuff out.  No guarantees on the outcome, but it should be a fun ride.

Oh, and one more excuse: I'm still not over the Jennifer Lawrence thing.  How could I be?  It has turned me into a veritable casting rat, and I'm trying trying trying to not care about who gets cast in the rest of the roles.  Trying.  Failing.  So, if you really couldn't care less about who lands what in the Hunger Games, just ignore this next part.

The most amusing thing I've seen in casting possibilities is this:

As Gale.  Baha.  Bahahaha.  Oh...  Oh, no....  I mean, don't get me wrong, I think David Henrie is great.  But he is so goofy, and I would thinking about Wizards of Waverly Place the whole time.  That can't be right.

The most exciting one I've seen is this:

As Prim!  Oh, Joey King.  Oh, this would make me so happy.

And, since I have to share my opinion on this matter, 

the boy I'd most like to see as Peeta:

I know, I KNOW, he doesn't have blond hair.  I know.  But... I like him.  I like him more than almost all the other guys who are up for the part.  And, I mean, Jennifer Lawrence is blond(e?), and if they can dye her hair to be Katniss, they can dye Josh Hutcherson's hair to be Peeta.  I hope.

See?

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Okay, maybe not.  But I'm not giving up on him yet.

nasty statistics and how they eat your soul.

At the library yesterday, my writer-librarian-friend Kate (with whom I would have talked all day, had she not eventually said, "Shoo!  You go write!") mentioned something she'd read that claimed this horrifying statistic (which I will now paraphrase):

If you haven't got the main crux of your novel written in six weeks, it's probably not going to happen.

rrrrRRR?

"Isn't that interesting?" Kate (who is much more confident than I am) said.  And I was, uh, I was too mortified to speak.  Six weeks?  Let me just turn in all those new pens and notebooks and index cards now.  And can I get a refund on Scrivener?

Six weeks?  What can I do in six weeks?

... Zilch, man.  I can't do anything in six weeks.  I've been drafting this thing for SIX MONTHS.  And the rumor implies, to me, that it isn't even about the book getting published.  It's just about you finishing it.  Again, I ask, SIX WEEKS???????  What the almighty heck?


The other girl working at the library asked, "Isn't that a little fast?"  My thoughts exactly.  But, apparently, no!  According to what Kate saw, if the great big picture of it wasn't nailed down in six weeks, the novel probably wouldn't get written.

It feels unfair to the slower writers, you know?  Or maybe I am just horribly naive, and NO ONE takes this long to write a first draft.  And no first draft that takes this long to write becomes a book worth reading.  It bummed me out, too, because it actually makes sense.  A really strong, instinctive writer WOULD be able to draft in six weeks.  A strong, instinctive writer, with lots of experience and no day job or social life.  No to-read list.  No family troubles.  No doubts or disillusions.  And none of my neuroses.

Who's hoarding all this writing-magic, and how can I contact them for a free sample?

Thankfully, another woman walked in and we started a new conversation.  I hoped that Kate hadn't seen my face blanch so... loudly.

Anyway, the whole thing got me to thinking:  is my big picture NOT nailed down?  Had I to guess, I'd say I'm about two-thirds through, maybe a little less (depending on how wild my imagination is about to get), but I do know where it's going.  I DO know my big picture.  And I have no intention of quitting, just because some unknown-to-me observation claims that it's "probably not going to happen."  In fact, I won't even dignify the fear by considering it.  I know that even if I say I'm giving up, the story and its characters will continue in their relentless quest to be brought to life.

This painting by Bella Abati also helps.  [here]

Thoughts?

i make lists. and have revelations.

[First of all, holy cow is it beautiful outside today.  Today is not a stay-indoors-and-write day, it's a go-outside-and-read day.  Today is the sort of day that leaves your skin smelling like sunshine and dirt, even if you haven't been rolling around in either.  Dang.  Alas, I am indoors.  Why does my computer screen have to be so hard to read in natural light?  There's something wrong with that.]

Rory:  I'm not entirely sure what to do about you, Jess.
Let me put it in a list, and I'll get back to you.
(Not her brightest idea.  Or an actual quote.)

I am a list-maker.  Not necessarily in the Rory Gilmore, pros-and-cons way (though I do get like that sometimes), but more in the daydream-y way.  I sneak pieces of scrap paper to make tiny lists at work all the time.  I often want them to be about the story I'm writing, but that could get real embarrassing real fast (I cannot keep tabs on all my lists.  They have the propensity to fall on the floor and get discovered by my co-workers).  Usually, they are about my dreams and goals.  Sometimes, they're just things I'm thinking about.  An especially great one from this past Saturday was "Reasons Why Today is Awesome."  It included:

1.  Laughing with Christy (over the voicemail she'd left me in a Baltic accent- no wonder she's my friend).
2.  Signing with Chester (a deaf man who comes into Mast all the time).
3.  Meeting Jose (who used to interpret both ASL and Spanish in South Texas).
4.  High-fiving the guy who works at Lenny's.
5.  All the cute dogs!  (Mast is a pet-friendly establishment, and I love that.)
6.  Talking with Dani on the phone for an hour and a half (which happened before work, not during, in case you were concerned about my ethic).

Today, my list is of the to-do genre, and it looks like this:
1.  Apply to volunteer at this library I love so much (happening right now!).
2.  Do a lot of thinking about where I want to be in the next few months.

It's a concise one.  It's an exciting one.  God has been teaching me a lot about myself, and I feel like a door is opening somewhere, even though I can barely tell what shape it is.  This whole I-know-Katniss madness has pretty quickly deteriorated into a why-do-I-suck-so-bad? pity fest.  I mean, it kind of hurts.  It shouldn't, but it does.  I know that girl (and she's not the only one, either), and even if I am not remotely as talented, I still grew up with the same interests.  Dreams.  Passions.  And then I got scared.  I stepped back and let it go on without me because I never, ever, believed in myself enough to take any steps toward success.  And by success, I don't just mean playing Katniss in the Hunger Games movies.  Success for me would be, say, actually writing this book and then querying agents (which I never thought I would do).  Or, better yet, getting actively involved in a theatre group.  Why have I let that slide?  Did I really think that I would no longer enjoy acting after college?  Well... yeah, I did.  I did think that.  I remember coming to terms with myself over "not being in plays anymore."  Ridiculous.

The other night it finally dawned on me:  way to slap God in the face.  He made me to love theatre.  He made me to love writing.  He made me to love sign language and deaf culture.  He made me to love camping ministry.  And not just to love them, but to actually do them!  And by ignoring these things, I am the one who is missing out on what He has in store for me.  I used to be ashamed of the impracticality.  I used to think, Why do I thrive on things I will never be able to do?

Well, who am I to say that I'll never be able to do them?  Or that I won't just do them anyway, regardless of the success of others or my fear of failure?  Did God not shape all these desires in me on purpose?  (Yes!  Yes he did!)

And as I was pondering this the other night, it all came together:  words.  God has given me a gift (small though it may be) of using words.  Spoken, written, signed, and even those expressed by Him.

So, yes.  I have been scared.  I have stepped back.  I have never fully believed in myself.  I have been complacent in doing other things.  And you know what?  I'm done with that.  If you haven't noticed, I am a strong believer in the unfolding purposes of the Lord.  And some amazing things can really happen when I let myself get out of the way.  Friends, if you will hold me accountable to getting back into theatre, taking writing more seriously (because what if the Lord really does want that from me?), improving in ASL, and, most importantly, spending more time with my Bible, I will be grateful.

Who am I to ignore it?

[I still plan to write my completed work out by hand in journals and then hide them in the attic, though.  That won't change, even if I do get published.]

some linkage, and assorted jennifer aftermath.

First off, anyone out there easily stressed over lending books to your friends?  I know I am.  Thus, it rarely happens.  But look!  Now you can have your very own library system!  Do I want to buy this out of practicality?  Amusement?  Both?

Second, if you drool over miniatures and dollhouses like I do (and why would you, normal person that you are?), grab a paper towel or two before perusing this incredibleness.

And I found some cool things.  Don't roll your eyes, please.  I know I have a much smaller audience than most of the bloggers who are discussing big issues like Hunger Games casting, but I'm allowing myself to get into it.  I believe I have a fair excuse (see previous post).  And once I get it out of my system, you won't have to hear about it anymore.  Just let me get it out of my system.

From an awesome blog my darling husband found, called WORD for Teens,  this really neat photo mash-up:

And from mockingjay.net, the official Hunger Games fan site, this super-exciting banner:

And awesome fan art poster:

I don't know about yousguys, but I'm ready.

More non-Hunger Games-related blogging later.  Promise.

because we could all use a little more gush and squee.

There's no questioning how I feel about The Hunger Games.  I read the whole trilogy twice through in five weeks.  Remember that?  Remember how often I gripped at my heart and stammered over my own words?  And have you noticed how I still can't stop talking about it, six months later?  How it invades my thoughts for days at a time?  Maybe you haven't noticed that last one, but I sure have.


You'd think I'd have moved on by now, but it's only getting worse.  I feel uneasy recommending the books to people, for fear that they'll hate them and I will take it personally.  Because, likely, I will.  Sheesh.

Well, if you've been following the buzz, you can see where this might be going.  How they got it all wrong and ruined everything by casting a tall, blonde, 20-year-old as Katniss.


Not so, my friends.  Not so.  I'm here to tell you that they got it right.

And also maybe to jump up and down and scream in your face a little about how (ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh) it's Jennifer Lawrence!

Is there a not-stupid-sounding way to say that she and I are from the same town, and that I grew up going to church with her family, that my mom remembers when she was born?  That all of Louisville is a-flutter with her, that I set aside my usual Oscar-grievances because there's no way not to watch, when you know a nominee?


How's that for an equation in self-destruction?  The film version of your favorite book + an incredible actress you still think of as the twelve-year-old sister of a boy in your Sunday School class... as the main character.  As Katniss...

KATNISS!!!

And that equals my mind right now.  Totally blown.

I spent the whole day at work yesterday telling every possible person about this.  None of them had read the books or heard of Jennifer Lawrence.  I told them anyway.  I jumped up and down every time I went into the back.  I started squealing while straightening clothes.  I almost threw up a couple of times.  Every thought was taken up by trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Jen Lawrence is going to be Katniss Everdeen, and that I used to know her. That I'm not making it up.  And that this is going to be the best thing ever.


Around my lunch break, I calmed down enough to remember something:  Jennifer looks nothing like how I'd pictured Katniss.  Oh, no.  People are going to hate this.  They are going to hate me for being so excited.  She's pale, she's blonde, she's got all the wrong features (though, there, I disagree).  This could be a disaster.


I know this is how some people will feel, and I don't blame them.  But to those people, I say:  go watch an interview with Jennifer.  Listen to her voice.  Watch her eyes (which, indeed, are rather grey).  No.  No, it is definitely not a disaster.  This girl is incredible.  Have you read this announcement?  Allow me to quote from the article what Suzanne had to say:  


"'Jennifer’s just an incredible actress. So powerful, vulnerable, beautiful, unforgiving and brave... I never thought we’d find somebody this perfect for the role. And I can’t wait for everyone to see her play it.'”


There you have it, folks!  If the author is behind the decision, how can I not be?  Regardless of the fact that, you know, I sort of know the girl.


Eeeeee!!!!!


Jennifer, I am so proud of you.  You represent home so well.  You will be excellent, and you already shine.  Go knock 'em dead.  :)

in which i gush over plain kate, etc.

I stayed in bed until 12:30 today, reading a book.  And not just any book.  It's my new of-many-favorites book: Plain Kate, by Erin Bow.  I cannot begin to describe all the reasons I loved it.  Here's a list, to get my brain going:

1.  It was beautifully written, and I mean that in the most genuine sense.  Meager broken lines away from being considered verse (in my book).
2.  There is a talking cat.
3.  You both love and fear the villain (Can you even call him that?  Genius).
4.  It's a story about friendship and family, a breath of fresh air after so much boysboysboyskissingkissing.
5.  There are boats, and I love boats.
6.  I cried at the end, but I'm not depressed.
7.  The heart and message are intriguing and incredible.
8.  The magic is terrifying.
9.  The story is concise.  No wandering around without purpose, thinking.  Every scene fills a role.
   and...
10.  I am, for the first time in a while, not left to wish the author had done something different.

That's a pretty concise view of my opinion, actually.  Oh, but this is so hard, because I want so badly to tell you everything, but then you won't read it, and I really think it would be better for you if you just read it.  I have to be honest, I haven't felt this way about a book in a long time.  I've read a lot of great books in the past year, but this is one of maybe a fistful that call out to me in a different way.  I loved The Hunger Games, of course.  Brilliant.  But something unique happens when I read a story I not only wish I could have written, but also encapsulates the kind of writing I think I actually could do.  That was a muddle of a sentence.  What I mean is, as much as I loved THG, and as much as I would love to write something that awesome one day, it just doesn't feel like me.  Plain Kate feels like me, like what I think my voice could be.  And it's so cool and inspiring to read, and it fills me with confidence.  Or, if nothing else, encouragement.  I want to write this kind of book.

The last time I felt this way, for anyone who's interested, was after I read Lips Touch: Three Times, by Laini Taylor.  My semi-embarrassing review (which she actually read, and then thanked me for, if you can believe that-- I know, I about peed my pants) can be found right here.  And, hey, now that I think about it, guess how I found out about Plain Kate?  Laini Taylor.  Talk about full circle.

And, no, of course I'm not jumping up and down like a hyper kitty over the upcoming release of Laini's next book, Daughter of Smoke and Bone.  Of course not.  Silly you for even thinking that.

So, yes.  It's been a good day.

my funny motivations.

I guess I don't really mean ha-ha funny, here.  Sorry to disappoint the hopefuls.  I'm having a slight woe-is-me fest.  I'm not really sad about anything.  I just feel different.  I feel... unlike other people.  I have always, always felt this way.

In pondering this on the way home from work yesterday, my mind wandered to a story idea I've been toying with for the past month or so.  It's one of those sigh-inducing flights of fancy that may never see the light of day, but it sends me into mental giggles and I can't let it go.  And as I was rattling off all these imaginary things to myself, about imaginary people and imaginary events, I realized:  This sounds so weird.  I am a complete nut.  Because, it is (I am?).  It really very much is.  What makes it stranger is that it's not fantasy.  If I wrote this thing, it would be a contemporary story about some kids in a state of hyper-creative madness.  It wouldn't involve drugs, but it might make you feel like you'd been taking some (pure speculation, there, but one of my recurring ideas does involve a gigantic, pink afro wig) (maybe it would involve drugs).  I don't want to talk about it too much.  I only mention it because it got me to thinking:

Why do I like all the weird stuff?  I mean, has anyone seen The Science of Sleep?  A Life Less Ordinary?  Happy Accidents?  i heart huckabees?  These are some of my favorite movies, but I can't watch them with other people because it weirds them out.  Namely, my adoring and wonderful husband. He abounds in excellent qualities, but he'll pass on the weird movies, thank you.  So why do I love them so much?

I don't gravitate toward inherently weird music, but it's not very much like the stuff other people listen to.  My best friend from high school recently burned me a copy of Florence + The Machine, and I like it well enough, but I literally sighed with relief when I took that out and put The Wild Band of Snee back in.  The Wild Band of Snee, people.  It's a real thing (so, I do gravitate toward weird music, apparently).  Which, now that I think about it, is what instigated the story-daydream mentioned above.

But, you know what?  I love these things about myself.  So, I'm taking back the woe-is-me, and replacing it with heck-yes-is-me.  And, dangitall, I just realized how very Velvet Box-y I am being right now.  Not feeling like anyone understands me.  Being proud of it, anyway.  What was this post supposed to be about again?

Oh, right, how I feel so different.  I've established that I love this about myself.  But it does bring about some challenges.  Like, I don't really care about publishing anything right now, which probably makes every other writer out there think me defective, or "not a real writer."  Maybe I am defective.  But I am a writer (noun: one who writes stuff, i.e. me).  Is it so bad just to be writing because I enjoy it?  And, for the most part, the stuff that I write is so off-the-wall, I doubt it would really "sell."  So, what do I do?  Give up?

Psh.  Of course not.  This is what makes it fun.  If I want to write a crazy adventure set in an implausible world, I'm going to (and, uh, I am).  Does it have anything to do with all those hot paranormal creatures everyone's so a-gaga over?  Nope.  Is it romantic and kissy?  Not yet, and possibly not ever.  But who cares?!  It's fun and scary and intriguing (I like to think these things about my own work, but I could be entirely wrong, of course).  I'm having a good time.  And I have a few potential (or more than potential- yay!) crit partners who will hopefully enjoy it and be blessed by it and help me make it the fullest it can be, and then you know what?  You know what my greatest desire for this story would be (my w.i.p., not the crazy pink afro one)?  To write it out by hand in a series of gorgeous journals, along with illustrations by my grandmother, tuck them into an attic, and watch some grandchild discover them when I'm old.  This is my ultimate fantasy right now.

That makes me weird, right?  I still would love to be an author.  I've dreamed of it since I was ten.  Granted, I've also dreamed of being an actress, singing in a band, and running away to Greece.  But my passion is not in the title "author."  It's in the act of writing.

So that's what I'm going to do.  I read something today about how different people define success.  Success for me would be giving glory to God through this gift he gave me-- the gift of enjoying creativity.  If His plan involves more after that, wonderful.  If not, I'll keep writing the weird stuff and tuck them away in attics to my heart's desire.  And it'll be awesome.

So, friends, tell me.  What makes you weird?

so, you know my favorite book?

... and my favorite opening to any book, ever?
Give me one good reason why I shouldn't order this bag right. now.

I Capture the Castle Canvas Shopper

Didn't think so.  :)

While we're at it, I'll take all of these mugs, as well:

Someone likes being left alone, it would seem.

My poor husband.

a cool thing.

I bet you all are loving the fact that I've had three days off in a row, and can't seem to stay away from blogger.  Ha.

So, remember how I was going to read all those books?  And then I was afraid that I wouldn't?  Well, surprisingly, I still read six books in February.  Six!  And I've already read (that is, finished) one for March.  And all this reading has really had me itching to write, which is a good thing.  But the funny part is that my draft is taking all the punches.  I've been reading the Midnighters series by Scott Westerfeld (awesome), which is in third person omniscient, and even though what I'm writing has always been third person limited (I mean, always), I recently can't help but to hop from brain to brain.  And it's FUN.  But, just like when I wrote in some completely unrelated tumult after reading the Gregor books, I'll probably end up changing it back before I move on.

But should I?  Because the new viewpoints actually seem to work.  It's coming a LOT more naturally to me.  So maybe I shouldn't change it back quite yet.  Has this happened to anyone else?

In other news, here's the cool thing I wanted to share with you:  me without makeup!  [Oh, wait, that's me every day.]  Along with the treat of seeing my face (and sweet headphones), check out this cool mug for sale at the Blount County Library (my favorite place, you know):

[**Note the orange.  Note that I am not actually a huge Tennessee fan.  Note that orange was one of my favorite colors long before I lived in this state.  Note that in Delirium, liking orange was considered "freakish."  Yee-haw!**]

Of course, why take actual pictures when I could use Photobooth (as always)?  So, um... you can't read it.  It says: "Read Grow Learn Imagine [drawings of: dude reading a book, guy playing guitar, Shakespeare's face, a gardening tool (meh?), black bear, lily, and the front of the building] at the Blount County Public Library."  Happy dance!  And it came with a free cup of tea, so yeah.

Hope everyone is having a lovely Thursday!  And don't forget to support your local library.  :)

finally, some thoughts about writing.

Step #1.  Go to the library.  Check.

Step #2.  Locate nook.  If occupied, locate next available nook (there are several to choose from, here).  Check.

Step #3.  Drink white chocolate/macadamia nut latte.  Double check.

Step #4.  Disconnect from the internet.  Um... no check.

Step #5.  Write with abandon.  For the first time in two weeks, check.

Step #6.  Have an interesting thought.  Take a break to blog about it.  Unfortunate check.

This is usually how it goes for me.  My brain gets so excited, thoughts start going out all over the place.  It's the opposite of how I focus on something.  I remember learning that women can concentrate on or notice multiple things at a time, like they have millions of antennae coming out of their brains.  On the other hand, men generally only concentrate on one thing at a time, like they just have one big tube on their forehead that sucks up the information right in front of them.  Well, if this is the defining quality of gender, then I am a very confused girl.  I have remarkably few detail-receptors gathering information from all around me.  I have the man-tube.  I am a horrible multi-tasker.  Reading more than one book at a time feels like a thrill ride.  I don't really know what's going on around me, especially if I am particularly absorbed in something else.

But writing today was different, somehow.  I mean, the man-tube (the more I type that, the more awkward it sounds) is definitely in action.  I can't STAND ambient noise, especially in the form of children.  I am either going to be a horrible mother one of these days, or realize how horrible I was before becoming one.  Probably both.  I usually can't stand to listen to music, either, though today I did.  I think I have two qualifications for that:  it must be instrumental only, and it must be relatively unfamiliar, lest I get annoyed.  Also (okay, three qualifications), if one song works, I have to play it over and over again until the mood changes, and then find another song.  If there's not a song that fits the mood of what I'm writing, I can't listen to anything.  Boy, am I picky.  In six months of drafting (has it been that long?), I've only listened to music about twice, so that proves it.  But it really worked today, so that was... sort of fun.  And really weird.

Who am I, all of a sudden?

And then I started thinking about things.  So, I have a completely unrelated question for all you writerly-types out there:  What the heck makes boys cry?  I mean, I was about in tears writing just now, and so it seemed super-natural (not to be confused with supernatural) for my character to cry, as well.  But... but... he's a boy, and boys don't cry, right?  Do boys cry?  Over being reunited with their family?  Is that something that would make a boy cry?  Wouldn't I get mad if I read this from someone else and the boy didn't cry?  Or would I get annoyed that he did?  [If you can't guess, I married a very non-emotional boy.  We make a bizarre pair.]  OH MY GOSH!  WHAT MAKES BOYS CRY?!?!

According to the majority of my Google-image findings,
the only boys who cry are under 12,
impoverished, or artistically rendered.
With one possible exception:

This came with the explanation, "Stock photo,"
meaning it was likely staged (thus, artistically rendered).
You can't even see his face.  Is this a real thing?
Or only an idea perpetuated by
 emotional women trying to write male characters?

Think back to high school, Julie.  What made boys cry then?  You had enough guy friends to see it happen.  Hmm.  Death?  Accepting Christ?  Yes, those things.

Anything else?

Someone help me before I turn this into more of a crisis than it is.

Step #7:  Publish post, get over the thought, and go back to previous writing.  Hopeful check.

a daisy in a velvet box.

I finally read Vessels & Flowers.  I'd been wanting to for a long, long time.
And you know what?  I really liked it.  :)

After much deliberation, I am fairly certain that I am a Daisy.  But without needing to deliberate at all, I am hands-down a Velvet Box.  And I wish the first thing that came up for "velvet box" on Google Search wasn't an adult superstore in Texas.  Sigh.

I read the whole thing in one night, which wasn't too hard to do.  I was so intrigued by the different Vessels (Vase, Basket, Pitcher, Velvet Box [me!] and Golden Pouch), and then by the Flowers (Tulip, Iris, Rose [me?], Orchid, Dogwood [me?], Daisy [me?... me.] and Pansy), I couldn't put it down.  I even read while in the bathtub, which is difficult to do.  Especially when the cat comes and sits on your chest.  In the bathtub.  I couldn't make this stuff up.

Sidenote:  I don't know what it is with Oliver wanting to sit on my chest while I'm reading.  Only while I'm reading!  He loves to do this so much, he'll even brave a tub full of hot water for it.  I'm entertaining the idea that he wants to read books, too.  I wonder if there have been studies done about this.  
Prediction:  There haven't.
Link:  Prediction confirmed.  He must just be jealous.
Sidenote out.

So, anyway, Vessels & Flowers.  In case you've never ever heard of this book before, it was written by two women, Sally Pickard (a Daisy in a Velvet Box, like me) and Brenda Dulmage (a Daisy in a Basket), who are passionate about helping Christian women understand themselves better, and thus solve issues in their lives.  A true Daisy quality, now that I think about it (but I promise, not everyone is a Daisy).  It confirmed my personality as a part of who God designed me to be, and that thrills me.  It also encourages me to be better (that elusive better we all want), and I highly recommend it.  To everyone.  Especially if you're a woman who loves the Lord.

To learn more about it, go here.

So, this was kind of a weird post.  I'd go into more detail about my experience with the book, but then I would be telling you everything, and this is something you should do for yourself.  The Daisy is an encourager and a motivator, so go forth!  Read Vessels & Flowers, you beautiful women of God!  And then tell me which ones you are, so we can learn more and understand each other better.  :)

P.s.  If only I were a Pansy in a Velvet Box.  Not because I want to be or feel that I am a comforter, but because then finding these photos would have really made me cry:

Edited to add:  Hello, I didn't even explain what a Vessel or a Flower was.  I must have been tired when I wrote this.  The Vessel is your temperament, based on whether you are an extrovert or an introvert, and differing characteristics within each.  The Flower is your function, the way you relate to other people.  There.  That makes more sense.