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?

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.