Musings of a Stranger in a Strange Land

Happy Appreciate a Dragon Day, 2012!!!

2012-01-16T01:28:00.000-08:00

Well folks, it’s that time of the year again! Time to appreciate the dragons in your life—whether they be pets, companions, mentors, or enemies, these reptilian creatures are a valuable part of our life and imaginations. And this year is especially special because 2012, according to the Chinese calendar, is the Year of the Dragon—so not only do our draconic friends get a day in their honor, this year they get 366! (Because it’s also leap year. :) )

History of Appreciate a Dragon Day

Appreciate a Dragon Day is perhaps better known by its ancient name An-Diugh Ùmhlachd Arach, which roughly translates to “the day of honoring dragons,” though the word for ‘honoring’ has interesting connotations of tribute and obedience other than just respect, and it is feminine in form. An-Diugh Ùmhlachd Arach was usually celebrated in mid-January to early February, as this is in the middle of the dragons’ dormant season. In most countries in the northern hemisphere, the winter months are too cold for even a fire-breathing creature, and most dragons will hunker down in a cozy hideaway to wait out the chill. Unfortunately, dragons are such gregarious creatures that these months of isolation can be painfully lonely for them. An-Diugh Ùmhlachd Arach provided a time for the dragons’ friends to stop by and relieve the dragons’ loneliness a bit with gifts and games and singing and laughter. In olden times, this was also a day for the people who lived in areas populated by dragons to bring gifts to their local draco amicus and renew any treaties that may have been made in previous years. Occasionally, the custom was used by unscrupulous dragons to exact a sort of protection toll from the people, but such tyrants rarely lasted long, as both knights wishing to earn their spurs and fellow dragons wanting to keep the peace usually intervened before too much damage had been done.

An-Diugh Ùmhlachd Arach fell out of fashion for nearly a hundred years, as dragon populations in Europe and Asia shrank and many dragons relocated to the unpopulated regions of the world in an attempt to escape folks who thought that the creatures were a threat. However, within the last twenty years or so, dragons have begun moving back into populated lands. In 2004, Mrs. Donita K. Paul—a well-known expert on dragons who discovered an entirely new breed, which she writes about in her excellent books, The DragonKeeper Chronicles—brought An-Diugh Ùmhlachd Arach back into the public eye as “Appreciate a Dragon Day,” to be celebrated on January 16th every year. While many folks have never had the pleasure—and perhaps never will—of meeting one of these creatures, as they still tend to stick to rural areas and keep to themselves, Appreciate a Dragon Day is a growing part of the culture. One can only hope that as dragons reintegrate themselves into modern human society, Appreciate a Dragon Day will regain the prominence it once enjoyed.

How to Celebrate Appreciate a Dragon Day

Observing this celebration is easy and will not harm your pocketbook (most gifts you could buy your dragon friend, he or she would not really be interested in; and what he or she would be interested, you can’t afford.) Dragons enjoy company more than material goods, so take the day off to go and hang out with your draconic pal. You might watch a movie together—Pete’s Dragon is always a favorite, as are George and the Dragon, How to Train Your Dragon, Dragonheart, Mulan, and The Never-Ending Story. (Warning: some dragons enjoy pointing out every error about their kind in such movies, so this activity may require some patience.)
You could also read a book, if your friend doesn’t tend to shoot flame when he or she is excited. Cornelia Funke’s Dragon Rider is an excellent choice, as is the Inheritance cycle by Christopher Paolini, the Dragon Slippers trilogy by Jessica Day George, and—naturally—the DragonKeeper Chronicles, by Donita K. Paul.

If you don’t personally know a dragon, show your appreciation by making a craft or writing a poem or story about these magnificent creatures. You can make a dragon picture using the templates here or here, or there are instructions on:

Origami dragons: here

Stuffed dragons: here or here (I’ve made the one labeled “bean bag dragon”—with my own adaptations—many times. As in, about two dozen.)

Knitted and/or crocheted dragons: crocheted, knitted, or otherwise knitted

Or even a dragon cake!!

And of course, you can always read a book or watch a movie even without a scaly friend.

However you choose to celebrate Appreciate a Dragon Day this year, I encourage you to enjoy this fun and fantastic holiday. Happy Appreciate a Dragon Day, everyone!!

~The Traveler

My New Book Bag

2012-01-13T05:41:00.000-08:00

Having decided that I needed a new, steampunkish bookbag for school (my pink nylon one, which I loved, was starting to look grungy, so...) and having found a swatch of sand-colored courderoy in the free box, I got to work and made this! All sewing was done by hand, all materials are scratch--the clip was cut off another bag and decked out in gears with superglue, the patch was cut off another shirt, the wings came from a pair of too-large earrings etc. Enjoy! And no...I won't be making another for a while. My fingers are raw!

Here's a better image of the whole bag

The patch and a bob hanging on the back--cameo and jewelry findings--all scraps.

This is the clip, which I am very proud of. :)

And here's the whole thing from the back:

Hope you like it! I certainly do... :) Why am I so into steampunk? Well--don't forget about this!!

A Story Worth Telling

2012-01-06T12:04:00.000-08:00

I recently had an anonymous individual attempt to comment on my blog, basically to the effect of “I can’t believe anyone would actually admit to being a conservative, creationist Christian in a public forum” and that it was the height of idiocy to believe such things, let alone admit that I believed them to the general public. Because I moderate my comments, I chose not to publish this one, but I have to admit that it probably didn’t have the effect that the author intended. He or she most likely meant to either a) rile me up into a good debate, or b) shame me into shutting up; but the effect that the comment actually produced was one of somewhat bewildered amusement.

Why should I not admit to my faith in a public forum? Why should I be ashamed of it? Why should I be ashamed to say what I believe and have people associate me with my words? (Note, by the way, that the comment was left anonymously…someone who didn’t want to be associated with their words in a “public forum”…J) Here’s the thing: I have a personal relationship with the God who created the universe, and who has laid out, in pretty clear terms, the things He wants us to know about Himself. Why shouldn’t I share that?

As Christian songwriter Larry Norman wrote,

“When you know a pretty story, you don’t let it go unsaid / You tell it to your children as you tuck them into bed / And when you know a wonderful secret you tell it to your friends / You tell them that a lifetime filled with Jesus is like a street that never ends.” If you were to discover the secret of life (as so many people claim to do every year,) you wouldn’t keep it to yourself, would you? You’d probably get on Oprah and tell the whole world about it, and write a best-selling book and make speaking engagements across country. It would be hard to keep you quiet—you’d be that one guy at the party that won’t let anyone else get a word in edgewise because you have just got to tell them about this!

It’s the same way with Christ, my friends! Not to sound cheesy, or to just reiterate what every other person out there is saying, but it’s the truth: I know the secret to life, the universe and everything (and no, the number 42 has nothing to do with it. J).

And I realize that the message of the cross sounds pretty stupid from the outside looking in. I seem to remember seeing a warning about that at some point—something about the message of the cross being foolishness to those who are perishing, but to those of us who are saved it is the very breath of God. It’s not my job to make the message of Christ pleasing for people who don’t want to hear it—I’m never going to be able to do that anyway. It’s not a “pleasing” gospel—it’s absurdity on a divine scale, and only through the grace of God can someone understand it, and only through the Holy Spirit can one accept it.

My place is simply to not be ashamed. To be bold and to be a light in the world—and yes, that includes the public forum of the Internet. So, in answer to your comment, my very dear Anonymous: Yes. I am very boldly a conservative, creationist Christian. And if you like, I could give you nicely laid out and researched reasons why I am such—in fact, I’ll probably end up giving you more information than you ever wanted. J I’m not afraid to proclaim my faith to the world, nor am I ashamed to be associated with the truth. Jesus said, “So everyone who acknowledges me before men, I also will acknowledge before my Father who is in heaven, but whoever denies me before men, I also will deny before my Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 10:33)

For my part, I’ll just continue to “sing that sweet, sweet song of salvation to every man and every nation—sing that sweet, sweet song of salvation and let the people know that Jesus cares!”

A Christmas Poem

2011-12-25T08:40:00.000-08:00

Across this desert land we came
With laden backs and heavy loads
We didn’t have an easy trip
No simple paths or painless roads
But standing here, outside the house
We share an anxious smile
Will what we find inside be worth the while?

We fear to find the truth
It’s such an odd and crazy thing
The truth: Might we be wrong again somehow?
It seems too ordinary for a king
But no—it’s too late to turn back now
We can’t seem to believe our eyes
How can it be this way?
Divinity in a shell of clay

We hush as the father lets us in
He gives a little knowing nod
The house is just a simple place—
How could this have occurred to God?
The mother holds the child
He opens sleepy eyes
And as we bow in awe we realize

At last, we’ve found the truth
It’s such an odd and crazy thing
The truth: no more counterfeits or lies
It seems too ordinary for a king
But no—it’s too holy for our eyes
As tears of joy come falling down
We shake our heads and pray
Divinity in a shell of clay

We give the child our precious gifts
Smile at how minor they now seem
He laughs and plays with bits of gold
He sneezes at spices fit for kings
The hardships as we traveled
The things we thought we knew
The world is now eclipsed by living Truth

We found it in the child
It’s such an odd and crazy plan
The Child—the Creator and the King
This Child, so tiny and so great
This Child—for whom all creation sings
We weep in wonder, awe and joy
How can it be this way?
Divinity in a shell of clay

Epic Win

2011-11-12T18:59:00.000-08:00

Ok, apologies before I start, because this post is kinda long. :)

Recently, my college did a (fantastic) production of Alexander Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo and that’s what originally started my thinking on this. For those of you living under a very dry and boring rock who don’t know the story of The Count of Monte Cristo, it is the story of Edmond Dantes, who was an average, run-of-the-mill sailor in France just after the deposition of Napoleon Bonaparte. In a horrible series of events, Dantes is accused of a crime he didn’t commit, jailed on false accusations on the day of his wedding, and spends the next fourteen years imprisoned in the Chateau d’If. After escaping, he inherits (from a fellow prisoner) an enormous treasure and begins tracking down the men responsible for his captivity. He masterminds this incredibly intricate plot to wreak his revenge—not in killing his enemies, but by taking away everything they care about and making them suffer as he suffered. Edmond sees himself as “the hammer of God” out to bring God’s justice on these men, but he comes to realize, as his plans fall into place and everything works out exactly as he planned it, that this isn’t actually the right path.

It was fantastic, for me at least, that throughout the entire play, Edmond is asked time and again “Who are you?” and he gives all sorts of different answers—“I am Prisoner 34, I’m Edmond Dantes, I’m the Count of Monte Cristo, I’m the Hammer of God, the Count of Providence,” etc, etc. So he has all these names for himself, but he doesn’t really know who he is, and he can’t figure it out until he learns to forgive.

The show absolutely captured my imagination—I actually went to see it three times out of the four it was performed—and it got me to thinking:

Why is it—what is it—that fascinates us so much about the epic stories that we love? Stories like The Count of Monte Cristo, like The Pirates of the Caribbean, like The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, like The Chronicles of Narnia. Or what about superhero stories? Name just about any superhero story and you’ll have an epic story of epic proportions with epic heroes and epic quests and epic villains…all that jazz. What is it that fascinates us so much? Why is it that we care so much about things that simply aren’t real, and aren’t really even realistic or have any bearing on our everyday life? Why do we care so much that Frodo must take the Ring to Mount Doom and save the world and so on and so forth? Why do we care? What is it about the “epic quest”—the epic story—that captures our attention so much and just draws us in and makes us desire that sort of adventure for ourselves?

I think I’ve mostly narrowed it down to two things:

First, I think we love these epic stories so much because everything is so obvious. J We can tell pretty easily who’s the Good Guy and who’s the Bad Guy. It’s like the old Westerns, where the goodies wore the white hats and the baddies wore the black hats, and the goodies rode white stallions and the baddies rode black stallions, and the baddy had a chewed cigar hanging out of the corner of his mouth and the good guy was all wholesome and ruggedly handsome when he came striding through those saloon doors…We knew who the good guy was. It was obvious.

The Count of Monte Cristo blurs those lines a bit, I’ll admit. Who’s the “good guy” there? Obviously, the protagonist is Dantes, but he’s not really a good guy, per se, since his entire motivation in life is vengeance. But we recognize him as the “hero” because, really, his idea of vengeance is a blown-up idea of justice, which we can see as something good.

But most epics are far more black and white: take The Lord of the Rings for example. Big Fiery Eye = obvious bad guy. The heroes are the brave, noble, milk-and-cookies-adorable hobbits. The hero is the king who lives in secret, hiding in the shadows and waiting for his chance to return. The heroes are the ones who are trying to save the world—it’s obvious.

Take The Chronicles of Narnia. Good guy? Aslan, of course! Bad guy—or in this case, bad girl: Jadis, the White Witch. We’re not going to have any sort of confusion here, the person who keeps the land in eternal ice and snow is probably the bad one.

Or movies: Sher Khan versus Mowgli and his gang. Aladdin versus Jafar. Sleeping Beauty and the good fairies versus Maleficent. Flynn and Repunzel versus Mother Gothel. J These things are pretty plain—we know who to root for and who to boo.

Here’s the problem: we don’t see that in real life. Real life is a whole lot more like the potential moral tangle of The Count of Monte Cristo. It’s kind of…grey. There are places, things, events and people who don’t make sense. We can see people who act like “the villain”—say, an anonymous developer that demolishes the house you lived in as a child—but aren’t really evil: he’s just doing his job. Or people who seem like “heroes” until you find out a bit more about their backstory, or some scandal comes to light. Real life is not black and white. There aren’t Good Guys and Bad Guys, with everyone falling into those strict categories. People in real life are not as diametrically aligned as Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader.

The reason we love epic, larger than life dramas is that things are obvious, and real life isn’t like that—or is it?

On the Grand Scale, it is. We know who the Hero is, and who the villains are. We know the Knight in Shining Armor, the King about to come into his own. We know the dragon, and we know—or at least, I hope we know—who’s side we’re on. We know who’s gonna get his butt kicked in the end. J There may be uncertainty among humans, but there’s not any uncertainty in the Grand Scheme of things.

Second, it’s the idea of something bigger than ourselves, the idea that there is a grand scheme around our lives, even if we may never see it. We feel that there’s got to be something bigger out there, outside of our little existence that makes everything worthwhile. We want to be the hero, and usually we’re not. We want to be part of something important and grandiose and significant…and it seems that it rarely happens that way. In “real life” there aren’t cape-wearing villains and hooded traitors and massive final battles fought in ridiculously implausible locations—the things we associate with “the epic story”. But we want that, don’t we? We long for this experience that is so much bigger than anything we’ve ever seen before in our lives.

I think it goes back to a sort of embedded realization in our very nature, something that God has put there, something that we were created with. It’s part of being made in the image of God. There’s a desire hardwired in our hearts to know something Bigger. We know that it’s there—we wouldn’t love these stories if we didn’t have that natural longing for it. C.S. Lewis talks about how we don’t have any longings that don’t have a natural fulfillment. We hunger, and for that there is food. We thirst, and for that there is drink. We feel a need for purpose, and for that there is work and family and serving God and others. We long for epicness (for lack of a better word) because we know that there’s a fulfillment for that somewhere.

God provides that epic story arc—we may only be side characters, innkeepers or merchants or Random Fellow Traveler Number 15, but there really is a bigger plot. There is an epic quality to creation from beginning to end; from “In the beginning God” to “Surely I am coming soon—Amen! Come quickly Lord Jesus.” There is a story arc through history. God has had a plan from before Creation, before Time, before Eternity began. He is the Author and Perfecter of our faith, the ultimate epic storyteller. And the main character is God. Not you, not me, not the guy at the next table or the girl down the street. What is the chief end of man? To glorify God and enjoy him forever. That’s it. That, my friends, is the epic story of Creation. It’s God and his epic plan. The ultimate battle, the ultimate quest, the ultimate fulfillment of all of history is in God, and here’s a little plot spoiler: He wins. J

And I don’t know about you, but I’m on His side. I’m like one of the backup riders, also in a white hat, watching proudly from the sidelines while the Good Guy goes and kicks some black-hatted tail. I’m part of the epic story of God’s plan, and so are you.

What do you think?

Epic Win -- Preview

2011-10-27T18:36:00.000-07:00

What is an epic to you? Why do you think we love them--and what is it that makes them so amazing?

Well, I have my answers, and I'm working on a blog article, but I want to hear from you first: So tell me,

What is an epic, and what makes it amazing?

~Trav

Twelve Noon

2011-09-27T06:55:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I last posted, hasn't it? Well, in my defense, between schoolwork, work-work, trying to keep up a little bit of a social life and still get enough sleep to keep me from passing out in class, I've been kinda swamped. The idea was to write a bunch of blog entries over the summer and then have them to post whenever I needed one. As you may have guessed...that failed. :P

Look at this! I didn't even post for my birthday (for those who don't know, I finally entered the grown-up numbers. Eek!) That's sad, let me tell you.

Well, this isn't as entertaining as my last post (how could I top that?) but you may find it interesting or enlightening. I came to this college very insecure and bashful, extremely self-conscious and un-outgoing. Over this last summer--well, really over the last two semesters and this summer, but for the sake of this narrative (which I wrote for a class and have condensed here) I smooshed everything into one summer--I learned to shake that a little.

Picture the scene, if you will:

First day of summer.

Twelve noon.

First meal at the caf alone.

I stand at the soda fountain, plate in one hand and a glass of root beer in the other, staring out at the dining area in bemusement. A few familiar faces catch my eye, but there’s a galaxy of difference between familiar and friendly. Not wanting to stand there any longer, looking like a new-caught freshman, I scurry to a four-top in the back of the cafeteria and scarf down my salad and pizza. Happily, I’ve thought to stick a paperback biography of J.R.R. Tolkien in my purse, and I can hide behind its cover.

Still, human company would be better.

~~~

Second day of summer.

Twelve noon.

I don’t even have the friendly weight of a book in my purse to keep me company today. Slowly, I fill my glass – root beer again; I’m a creature of habit – and look out over the cafeteria, searching the faces for someone – anyone – who won’t mind my invading their table.

Julienne. An unintended sigh of relief escapes me, and I hurry to sit down at the round table.

“Hey guys. Mind if I join you? Thanks.” I don’t even wait for an answer before sitting down. My hands are shaking slightly as I say a quick prayer and start in on my turkey sandwich.

I say little during the meal, since Julienne is the only person I know at the table. But the group is nice enough, and their playful banter makes me laugh. Maybe they’ll be here again tomorrow.

Third day of summer.

Twelve noon.

Julienne is nowhere to be seen, but today I am confident. Maybe it’s yesterday’s relative success. Maybe it’s just a realization that if I keep hiding, this summer is going to be an awfully lonely one.

Whatever it is, I fill my glass with root beer in confidence. No standing around like a turkey in the scope of my brother’s rifle today. With determination, I stride up to a half-full table and address a girl I know by face but not by name. (Tessa, maybe. Or perhaps Tiffany?)

“Is this seat free?”

The conversation breaks. Five pairs of semi-unknown eyes look up at me.

“Um…sure,” Tessa-Tiffany says with a sort of half-smile. “It’s all yours.”

Triumphant, I settle into the chair.

“You’re…LoriAnn, right?” Tessa asks. I’m sure it’s Tessa.

“Yep.” I take a nonchalant sip of my root beer and savor the sweet, cool fizziness. No ice, just the way I like it. “And you’re Tessa?”

“Tiffany.” She smiles, and goes back to her cheesecake. She turns to the guy sitting next to her and picks up the conversation I interrupted with my arrival. “...So I told her that I couldn’t care less which way she stacked the stupid boxes…”

I sigh and take a bite of salad, trying to keep from squelching the brief flare of confidence in my chest.

Across the table, the girl who had made her friend laugh the moment before is looking at me. I see her read the words on my tee-shirt. My Villain Can Beat Up Your Villain. It’s a writer thing.

She smiles and rolls her eyes.

The flare flickers, and goes out.

Days four, five, six, seven, eight and nine pass much the same way as day one.

Twelve noon:

Me, root beer in one hand and whatever sorry excuse for food the caf was serving that particular day in the other, hurrying to my lonesome table in the back. Alone, save for my faithful book.

I've had enough of this.

Day ten.

You know the time.

I deliberately failed to bring a book with me for backup today. There will be no hiding in the back today, no cowed and regretful me fleeing a table of malcontents. Today, I am ready to do business with the world.

I carry my plate – and my root beer, of course – to a table occupied by complete strangers.

“Hey,” I say. “Can I sit here?”

“Uh—yeah,” one guy answers. They all look at me in a mixed stare of confusion and something that’s not quite welcoming even if it isn’t outright hostile.

I sit. “I’m LoriAnn,” I announce. “Nice to meetcha.”

The kid next to me nods. “You work at the library, don’t you?”

“Yup,” I reply, starting on my mashed potatoes. “Where do you work?”

“Keeter.” He grimaces. “Hot line.”

“Ooh,” I grin, sipping my root beer. “Know how that feels. I spent the last year at Keeter.”

“Hot line?”

“No – last summer, I worked in the bakery. Then I spent two semesters on pantry line.”

“Did you work with Angie?”

“I love Angie!” I exclaim. “But I usually worked with David.”

A girl across the table groans. “Mr. Weatherman?” she asks. She deepens her voice in an imitation of the supervisor’s. “ ‘Hey guys, I’m gonna go check the weather.’ Like we don’t know he’s going to smoke.”

I roll my eyes. “How about ‘Andele, andele!’ ”

A chorus of groans greets my words. Misery loves company, after all.

We spend the rest of the meal comparing stories of our workstation triumphs and trials – far more of the latter, actually, since the trials are usually funnier than the triumphs. By the time I’ve finished, I know the names and majors of everyone at the table and have an invitation to watch Seven Brides for Seven Brothers in Memorial dorm next weekend.

After the meal, I clear my place with that flare of triumph and new sociability burning bright in my heart. I can do this after all. From now on, no more books, no more hiding – heck, maybe I’ll even get a Sprite one of these days.

So...I learned a lot this summer. Over the following ten weeks, I discovered a positively extroverted quality I hadn’t even known I possessed. At the start of the summer program, I could have counted my on-campus friends on one hand – easily. By the end of the term, I had lost track of how many new people I knew, who would call out my name as I passed and save me a seat at their table. It's funny, but I’ve learned that a friendly face, a bit of common ground, and a witty sense of humor can take one a long, long way when it comes to meeting new people. Change can be good – it’s been good for me.

I decided to stick with the root beer though.

Bite Me, Fuzzy

2011-07-13T12:50:00.000-07:00

I’ve done it.

Seriously, I think I’ve finally cracked the code. I now know how to become a popular, rich, sought-after and imitated published author quicker than you can say, “Bite me, Fuzzy.”

It involves four crucial ingredients:

1. A pretty, but none-too-bright heroine, age 16-19.

2. A darkly-attractive and “gosh-what-gorgeous-eyes-you-might-even-forget-the-blood-in-his-teeth” vampire.

3. A hot-tempered werewolf, equally hot but somehow not quite as amazing as the vampire.

4. And angst. Drama. We-must-save-the-worldness out the wazoo.

You think I’m joking, don’t you. You think I’m just mocking Twilight and its cousins again. Well think again! I’m serious!

Read this synopsis of #9 on the Writer’s Digest’s “10 Notable Debuts” list:

Blood on the Moon; by Jennifer Knight:

“An 18-year-old girl gets caught in the middle of a century-long feud between a werewolf and his vampire best friend.”

See?!?!?!? I told you!! I’m not joking! It’s the key to everything—this stuff is absolutely fool-proof! (Or perhaps proof of fools…hmm.)

Anyone, and I mean anyone can do this. Think yourself up an appropriately misunderstanding-driven plot, drop in your ready-made stock characters as listed above, stir and sprinkle in just a hint of super-deep-sounding symbolism, and serve raw.

Voila! Publishers snatch it up! Readers devour the stuff! It’s like you can’t mess it up!

Here’s mine: (Clears throat)

“Announcing the next best-selling paranormal romance from breakout author L.N. Weldon!

Bite Me, Fuzzy is an exciting new drama of a small-town girl suddenly thrust into a world she struggles to understand. On one side of the epic battle are the GlimmerBloods: the super-intelligent vampire society—and its fascinating prince—who seems willing to protect her. On the other, the FuzzBloods, a manic, hybrid werewolf-vampire clan led by a sad-eyed man with too many secrets. Who is good? Who is evil? And who will survive?

Coming soon to a bookstore near you!”

You think it’ll fly? I’m pretty excited about it. Since I don’t have to worry about actual quality, I figure I can shake up a first draft by dinner time tomorrow and have it ready to send off to the publisher by the weekend. A month from now, it’ll hit the shelves, and a week after that I expect to hear from Studio X offering me a six-movie deal. I’m already thinking about who I might suggest for the cat, and the theme music from the soundtrack is beginning to hum itself through my head.

Yup, there’s no doubt about it, friends. By this time next year, I’ll be making my debut on Leno and Good Morning America! It’s too big to fail, too strong to sink, too perfect to flop.

Watch for me at the top, guys—and roll out that red carpet!!

Yours, very tongue-in-cheek,

~Trav

The Return of the King and Other Stories

2011-06-14T19:39:00.000-07:00

On the rocky shoreline, blurred to dim outlines by the falling dusk and the sweeping fog, an old knight holds the hand of a young page boy.

“Is it over, then?” the boy asks. They watch a boat, laden with several upright figures and one lifeless one, move slowly out onto the water. Already, the sea mist shrouds their forms, turning them ghostly and unreal in the low light.

“Is what over?” The old knight looks down at the boy, whose dirty face is white and tear-streaked. He’s been through a lot this day.

“Everything. Camelot.”

Bedivere dropped to one knee and took the lad by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. There was a sudden ferocity in his manner, and the page suddenly recalled that, a few mere hours ago, this gentle knight was slaying enemies like unto a man possessed by bloodlust. Some of that energy shone now in his eyes, but it was a tempered light—no rage or berserker frenzy here. Nay, this light was pure and truthful, but ardent just the same.

“Nay, lad,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “When England has need of him most, in her darkest hour, our king will return.” He stood and raised his hand in a final salute to the fading bark that bore away the body of his fallen king. “Arthurue Rex! The once and future king!”

It’s a familiar scene. Whether we’ve encountered it in the Arthurian legends, the stories of Lewis and Tolkien, comic books, Disney movies, or merely in our own deep-seated desires to continue the adventures of our favorite heroes, the idea of a “once and future king” rings true somewhere in our beings.

Once a King or Queen of Narnia, always a King or Queen.

…From the ashes a fire shall be woken, / a light from the shadows shall spring, / renewed shall be blade that was broken, / and the crownless again shall be king.

We want it to continue. In our heart of hearts, we don’t want to read the words, “And they lived happily ever after, The End.” And even more so, we don’t want to read the words that Bilbo Baggins proposed for the end of his story: “And he lived happily ever after, to the end of his days.”

We don’t want our heroes to die. We don’t want their stories to come to an end. That’s why the movie industry can make money off of stupid sequels, prequels, and related spin-offs. They know we will go see them, even if we already know that it’s going to be stupid. Because we want to see our heroes again. We want to be reassured that if they could save the day once, they can do it again.

It’s that tightening feeling in your throat at the end of the movie, when the Bad Guy has fallen, and the Good Guy sweeps the Girl into his arms for a tender kiss, while the music swells…You don’t want it to be over. You want more.

One of the greatest promises of all time is this: at the end of Revelation, Jesus says, “Surely, I am coming soon.”

Despite the hype generated by some misguided folks lately, we haven’t reached “The End” yet! We’re still inside the story, building to the climax. When all hope seems lost, and darkness and evil have blanketed the world, the King returns! And, just like any good story, we know how the battle ends, don’t we? The Bad Guy will fall forever, and the King will sweep his Bride off her feet and ride off into the sunset.

And the best part? There is no “The End”. Rather, like the end of C.S. Lewis’ The Last Battle, “…For them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on and on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”

Can you imagine it? Can you feel that same sensation in your throat? That feeling of not being sure whether you are going to laugh or cry, but only knowing that if you don’t do something the excitement and joy and longing are going to burst out of you like a firecracker?

God has ingrained in us this longing for the “Happily Ever After,” when all things are made new and all the wrongs are forever righted by the Once and Forever King. We long for that forever victory—not one that finishes with “The End,” but one that ends with, “And So It Began.” Paul speaks in Romans about how all of creation is groaning, as in the pains of childbirth, awaiting the return of the King. We anxiously await him, and say, along with John, “Amen! Come, Lord Jesus!”

I don’t know about you, but every day I long even more to hear that final trumpet sound and know that, “The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is ended: this is the morning.”

And maybe there will even be some epic music playing from celestial speakers.

Just Really Quick--

2011-05-19T08:27:00.000-07:00

Hey, folks:
If you've been following The Lost Scribes at all, you'll know that we've finally gone live with Chapter One. Sorry I wasn't around to give notice--I've been mostly without internet access for the last two weeks. :) Anyway, it's up and running, so go check it out! And keep an eye on all three of the writers' blogs for behind-the-scenes stuff and some interviews and who knows what else. Should be a fantastic adventure--hop on board!
~Trav

Special Sneak Peak!

2011-05-09T00:00:00.000-07:00

Just for you (and for the readers of Mary and Heather's respective blogs,) here is a sort of "sneak peek" at Falls the Shadow. This is the prologue to the entire story--so pay attention! And look for more soon at The Lost Scribes!

I was too young to remember this city before the wars started. The ones who do remember say it was the greatest city in the world: high education, low crime, good economy. Part of the city—‘The Forgotten Sector’—had already been abandoned during the earlier Technology Boom, when new strides in development made the entire place obsolete. Only the poor, the fugitives, those with nowhere else to go, still lived there.

The rest of the city was a marvel, a crown jewel of human civilization. Imagination and architecture, technology and education, art and science, all came together in the great city: Shandor Rei, the capital of Antolic.

Even though I don’t remember it, that’s how the city was when I left it.

Even if I did remember it, I wouldn’t have recognized it when I came back. Within days of my mother taking me across the border into the neighboring country of Cimarrah, Antolic collapsed into chaos—leading to war.

A scientist experimenting with computer viruses as weapons of war had created a ‘bug’ designed to target Convey-Directs—the single most important source of information and education in the world. C-Ds were a product of the Technology Boom, and over time had come to replace textbooks as the mode of education in schools. By the time the scientist began his virus experiment, C-D technology had developed so far as to have replaced written text itself, transmitting information through a person’s eye and ear directly into their brain.

The theory behind the weapons experiment was that, without education of any kind, the targeted society would crumble, opening the way for complete takeover by an outside force.

It worked. Shandor Rei learned just how accurate the theory was when the virus was released—whether by mistake or design, no one knew—and destroyed every Convey-Direct on the continent.

Within days, riots broke out in the streets. The people stormed Shandor Rei’s municipal buildings, demanding retribution for what had happened. But the government was as helpless as anyone else to counteract the virus, and the scientist responsible for its development had disappeared.

With information relay hampered by the loss of the C-Ds, authorities quickly lost track of the death toll in the melee that followed, with murders, assassinations, and riots claiming dozens of lives every day. The general panic among citizens grew, feeding on itself as passing days brought no sign of the C-Ds being restored to working order. By the time two weeks had passed, scarcely anyone in the Antolican government remained alive, much less in office.

Though Cimarrah had suffered the same crippling loss of the C-Ds as Antolic, her government officials were apparently either more enterprising—or more prepared—than Antolic’s. Shortly after the Antolican government had been completely deposed, Cimarran officials arrived in Shandor Rei with promises of order restored and immediate research begun to reprogram the destroyed C-Ds, provided the riots and violence were stopped.

At first, the citizens complied, and the Cimarran officials established themselves in the place of the fallen Antolican government. But as months passed, no evident progress was made

in restoring the C-Ds. The stirrings of unrest began again among the citizens, finally resulting in another march on the capitol building.

Only this time, the people’s protests were met with government retaliation of unprecedented proportions. Aircraft hovering over the city dropped incendiary bombs on dozens of Shandor Rei’s largest and most essential structures. Buildings burned to skeletons and imploded, spreading flames to other buildings that had escaped the bomb strikes. Bridges collapsed, halting traffic. Transportation tunnels caved in, burying hundreds alive beneath the city streets.

Public outrage withered into embittered desolation following the bombings. The newly established government offered the people no assistance or relief in dealing with the destruction they had unleashed… but there were no more uprisings. They had broken the spirit of Shandor Rei’s people with a single, devastating strike.

Since those days, little has changed. The Cimarran officials who first brought the Antolicans to heel during the Bug Wars have now grown to become The White Tiger—a vast, but practically invisible network of control, espionage, and international political conspiracy.

Shandor Rei remains a shell, a bombed-out, haggard shadow of what she once was. The war’s destruction remains largely unrepaired. Poverty is the new normal in what was once one of the world’s wealthiest cities. And, needless to say, education is largely nonexistent, as no one has yet been able to successfully repair or redesign the C-Ds.

Some have tried—are still trying—to bring back books and written text in education. But books are a rare find any more; the libraries were abandoned with The Forgotten Sector after the Technology Boom. Even if a book does surface, it rarely does any good, since people who can actually read them are as rare as the books themselves. But they’re out there—the books—and people are looking for them. Everyone, from The White Tiger to the resistance groups haunting the Forgotten Sector, wants to find them.

Sooner or later someone will—it’s just a question of who finds them first, and what they do with them when they do.

If I have my way, I’ll be the one who finds them.

Falls the Shadow

2011-05-02T09:13:00.000-07:00

Steampunk (steem-punk), adj., n. a genre of fiction generally set in an alternate, 1800s-era universe, portraying an often dystopian society with Jules Verne/ H.G. Wells-esque technology. Gears and lace in equal proportion. Airships and/or dirigibles in abundance. “Science fiction as written in the days of Jules Verne and H.G. Wells, but with a little extra attitude.”

Imagine a world where traditional learning has been largely abandoned. You need not read or listen in class—all you need to know is directly uploaded to your brain.

And then imagine a computer virus that damaged this system beyond repair.

Who would you side with in a world that teeters on the brink of war and disaster?

The White Tiger: a group of rich and connected foreigners who promise to bring peace to a suddenly unstable world?

Or perhaps the College, headed up by a man known only as the Professor, who works behind the scenes to repair the lost world?

Or, if you can find it, the Library, where all the knowledge rejected by the pre-disaster world has been horded and protected—until now?

Make your choice and join the adventure, coming soon to The Lost Scribes.

Falls the Darkness is a multi-author project, committed to bringing the neglected genre of steampunk under the Christian lens. Keep an eye out here, here, and here for updates!

~The Traveler

Just for Fun

2011-03-24T18:52:00.001-07:00

I had to write this for an American Lit class. Enjoy!

Monday, First of August:

The first of the wheat harvest is nearly ready to bring in. The northern slave quarters had a fire in the nursery last night—no loss, but the building needs a new roof. Marcella asked to attend a “beneficial lecture for ladies” Saturday next. If nothing inopportune occurs, I’ll take her in to town when I take the stud for his shoeing.

Tuesday, Second of August:

Began work on the new nursery roof today. Fine weather—warm, but not as moist as it’s been these last weeks. One of the house slaves was abed with a fever this morning, but no others seem to be affected as of yet. Marcella asked me today how many slaves we owned. I told her five and seventy, but that was a year ago and I know that a few of the female slaves at the Farm have had children since the last count. She thanked me, but has been oddly subdued tonight. Perhaps that abolitionist sister of hers has written again? Reminder: discover source of disquiet tomorrow.

Wednesday, Third of August:

Two more slaves down with a fever. I have ordered them quarantined to slave quarters until healthy again. Determined Marcella’s cause of unrest at dinner—her sister Elizabeth has sent her a packet of letters with a piece by that Angelina Grimke woman. Piece of utter drivel, but Marcella has taken it to her tender heart. I asked her to give it to me to take care of, which she did, and I have locked it in my desk. I’ll burn it at first opportunity.

Thursday, Fourth of August:

News! Marcella has informed me that she is with child! This would help to explain her abnormal concern with what her sister sent, as she is not usually inclined to listen. What joy fills my heart! And yet, fear as well—Marcella is so delicate and small. I can only pray for a safe duration and arrival for the newest member of our family. If it is a boy, we shall call him after my father, Frederick; if it is a girl, we shall name her Alice, for Marcella’s grandmother.

Friday, Fifth of August:

Made a visit to the Farm today, to check on the tobacco crop and the new filly my foreman purchased a week ago Tuesday. All is well, and there are six more children since the last count of the slaves: four males and two females. One slave had twins—two male children. Marcella is to go to her lecture tomorrow, and I will take the new filly in for shoeing along with the stud.

Saturday, Sixth of August:

Marcella came home from her lecture very quiet. I at first put it down to fatigue, but when I pressed her, she admitted that the lecture had been abolitionary in nature! I’m afraid I became quite severe with her and ordered her not to return to such meetings again, or to have society with those whom she knows to be in sympathy with the movement. She agreed, but she also said something that made me quite nervous. “James,” she asked me, “What is the difference between my baby and the baby of one of the women on the Farm?” I had no answer for her, but hope to allay her fears soon. I will speak with the minister at church tomorrow.

Sunday, Seventh of August:

Spoke with the minister today. He pointed out to me Noah’s decree to his sinful son Cain that his descendents would be slaves, as well as the words of the Apostle Paul regarding slaves and masters. Much of what he said seemed right to my ears, but when I looked outside his office window, I saw the daughter of a parishioner playing in the dirt with her mother’s slave girl. I admit that there was a pang of doubt in my breast—what, besides skin color, paints a difference in these two girls? Much to think on.

(Here, there is a gap of nearly seven months in James’ journal, with a few sporadic entries at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the like. From these short, disconnected entries, one can piece together a few things about these missing months. First, that Marcella’s pregnancy seemed to be going well; and second, that the fever that began with the house slaves quickly spread to the rest of the slaves and then to the Farm as well, though James and Marcella and a few of their closest servants seemed to be immune. Also, James cannot completely rid himself of this notion that there may not be as much difference between white and slave as he had thought. We pick up the narrative on the seventeenth of February: the night that Marcella goes into labor—early.)

Friday, Seventeenth of February:

Marcella began her labor pains early this afternoon, and I sent one of the slaves to fetch the midwife quickly. The baby is early, Mrs. George tells me. She seems concerned, but I have no fear. Marcella is healthy and strong for her small size. She and our child will be well. I am assured of it.

Saturday, Eighteenth of February:

Marcella is still in labor. The fears that I have pushed back for so long—ever since she first told me that she was with child—grow ever stronger in my mind. I pace the parlor helplessly, hearing her groans from upstairs and utterly unable to do anything to aid her in her suffering. How I wish I could go to her! Surely this is far too long for a child to taking in coming. How could I bear to lose her?

Sunday, Nineteenth of February:

Peace at last. Alice Grace Marcella arrived near ten of the clock this morning, bright and pink as a rosebud and screaming fit to make my ears burst. Marcella is weak by happy, and she holds our daughter in her arms this very moment, as I sit at her desk and write this chronicle.

Monday, Nineteenth of February:

There has been a death in the slave quarters. One of the young female slaves had gone out to work this morning in the stable and was kicked in the stomach by the stud. She was with child and the trauma caused her to go into early labor. She died around noon, she and the child within. My mind can’t help but go over and over the events in my mind, the look on the woman’s face as she died. How is she any different than my own Marcella, who labored so long to bring Alice into the world? How is my sweet Alice any different than that unborn slave child—save for the tint of her skin? I find myself rereading that letter from Angelina Grimke—I never did burn it, for whatever reason. Why am I so tortured by something that my fellowmen seem to find so obvious and so within the laws of nature?

Tuesday, Twentieth of February:

Marcella is ill. Alice is still healthy, but Marcella is weak and feverish. I can only pray.

Sunday, Twenty-Sixth of February:

Sorrow cloaks my heart like a funeral pall. My dear, bright Marcella has passed on to glory, gathered in to the Lord’s arms like a long lost child. Baby Alice sleeps, completely unaware that she is now motherless. Marcella’s last whisper to me before she slipped away was, “Do not let her grow up among slaves.” One could take that to mean that she wanted to me to keep Alice away from the slave quarters, but I know the truth. Marcella has long hated what she calls “that peculiar institution”. She would have me free the slaves, and my heart cannot abide disregarding her last wish. Oh, Marcella—you were always my sweeter half, my conscience, my heart made visible! How shall I live without your pure heart keeping mine on the paths of righteousness?

Friday, Second of March:

It is done. I signed the last of the manumission papers today, and have arranged for safe passage north for all who desire it. Several of my former slaves are going to remain with me and Alice, to care for her and to help me run the Farm—but as paid workers, not as wrongly owned slaves. Angelina Grimke’s letter lies on my desk beneath a framed portrait of Marcella and my Bible, which is becoming more dog-eared every day. The neighbors will talk, I know. I will be a subject of mockery and pity in my community, and there will even perhaps be those who think I have done wrongly. But I know in my heart that this is right. I will not have my daughter grow up with her innocence smeared with the stains of slavery.

Marcella would be glad.

In Memoriam

2011-02-08T07:14:00.001-08:00

For those of us interested in the worlds of quality childrens' literature, today is a sad day. This past weekend, we lost one of our most loved authors: Brian Jacques, the well-known author of the Redwall series.

Mr. Jacques died last Saturday after an unexpected heart attack at age 71. To my knowledge, and after about twenty minutes of searching, I can't determine what his religious beliefs were, though he's listed as a Roman Catholic on Wikipedia.

Jacques, for those of you who don't know, was the formidable author of more than 20 books in the Redwall series; a world of talking mice, hares, squirrels, shrews and "vermin" (that would be the rats, ferrets, stoats and the like). Full of riddles, quests and adventures, these tales shaped many of my early stories, I will admit--though not any that will ever see the light of day.

Brian Jacques was born in Liverpool on June 15, 1939 and grew up in the area around the Liverpool docks. He led the life of a modern day fairy-tale Jack—out to seek his fortune in whatever adventure he came across; working as a merchant seaman, a railroad worker, a truck driver, folk singer, and a radio host. He originally wrote the Redwall stories for the children at Liverpool’s Royal Wavertree School for the Blind, where he would tell the amazingly rich-textured tales of Redwall and act out the different accents for each animal and describe the food and the landscape and the food and the creatures and—yes, the food.

I remember discovering the book Martin the Warrior about four years ago during the summer reading program at my local library. I picked it up and thought that the mouse on the cover, so bravely brandishing a sword, looked a bit like Reepicheep from C.S. Lewis’ Prince Caspian and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Intrigued, I read the book—and was hooked. Redwall was the place I wanted to be—right up there with Mr. Tumnus’ cave, Cair Paravel, The Shire and Rohan. I would have given anything to have met Martin and his brave friends.

Actually, I probably became a little bit obsessed with Redwall at the time. To the point that—well, have any of you read the books? And do you remember the otter’s hot-root soup? And did you know that there’s a Redwall cookbook? You can see where I’m going with this. I wanted to make that soup so badly that I actually got the library to buy the cookbook (since I couldn’t afford it). Then I painstakingly hand-copied every recipe into a composition notebook and proudly made my hot-root soup (with chicken rather than shrimp)!

As a writer, I loved reading his descriptions. As a reader, I loved turning the page and finding out just what would happen next. And as a child, I was in love with the world of Mossflower woods, Salamandastron, and the many dusty passageways, glimmering heroes, and grimy villains that Brian Jacques painted across my imagination.

It’s sad to me that he—as far as I can see—was not a Christian. I’ll be honest—it gives me something of a sick pang in my stomach. And it gives new life to the verse in Matthew 16, where Jesus tells us that it does no good for someone to gain the whole world, and yet lose his soul.

Brian Jacques was a good man and a great author. Among those of us who care for such things, he will be greatly mourned and missed.

When asked what he hoped for about his legacy, Mr. Jacques was quoted as saying, “When my grandchildren are as old as I am, that people will still find my books in bookstores and libraries. I couldn’t ask for more than that. Good children’s literature is the most enduring of popular literature. I hope my work will endure.”

Well, Mr. Jacques, I’m pretty sure it will.

An Arbitrary Musing

2011-01-23T12:20:00.000-08:00

Meandering streams of dialog

Against the flow of reason

Shouting erupts from every outlet

Silence from those who are wise

Must it always come down to this?

Every day, more ways to spread news of violence

Deceit, shame…almost nothing good. But

In spite of all this, we still view and listen

All day, every day.

Happy Appreciate a Dragon Day, 2011!!

2011-01-16T05:18:00.000-08:00

In honer of National Appreciate a Dragon Day, 2011, I would like to share some of my favorite dragon pictures! Enjoy, and be sure to tell your favorite dragon just how much you appreciate them today! A nice gift or two (forget the old fashioned maiden in white, the in-gift this year is Garlic-Crusted Roast Sheep) wouldn't be amiss either. Happy Appreciate a Dragon Day, all!

~Trav

Dragons of all ages love this holiday!

This artist does amazing portraits, if any of your draconic friends are interested.

Sharing activities is fun, but supervision is needed where flames are concerned--our reptilian friends can be a bit...overeager.

Be watching for dragons at all times, and you might catch sight of a scene like this one!

A wonderful image of a working partnership.

Contrary to popular belief, or at least, archaic belief, dragons are extremely intelligent creatures and love to accumulate knowledge as much or more than gold.

Refreshing Reality

2011-01-13T09:51:00.001-08:00

So…it’s been a while since I’ve given this blog a real update. The last few things I’ve posted haven’t even been real blog entries. In fact, I don’t think I’ve done a real blog in nearly six months.

So I thought I’d give it a shot.

I found a quote the other day by G.K. Chesterton. He said, regarding fairy tales, that “these tales say that apples were golden only to refresh the forgotten moment when we found that they were green. They make rivers run with wine only to make us remember for one wild moment that they run with water.”

I really, really like that quote. In fact, I’ve made a little poster out of it and one of my many “found photos” that I come across—a digital painting of a cave in a desert, with sparkling blue water in the shadows—to hang over my desk. I love to think about that concept: that the magical nature of fairy tales and fantasy stories is merely a way to make us see reality with new eyes. Another quote, this one from a Michael Dirda in an article he wrote for the Washington Post back in 2002, says that “in most instances, fantasy ultimately returns us to our own now re-enchanted world, reminding us that it is neither prosaic nor meaningless and that how we live and what we do truly matters.”

I guess it’s kind of like the idea of meeting Aslan in Narnia. Remember, at the end of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (both the book and the movie—off topic a bit, aren’t you glad that the movie-makers seemed to have mostly learned their lesson after the Prince Caspian fiasco? Dawn Treader was so much better.), where Lucy gets upset that she won’t be coming back to Narnia, and she tells Aslan that “It’s not Narnia, you know—it’s you! We won’t see you there.”

And Aslan tells her that he’s in our world too, she’ll just have to learn to know him by “another name”. (Again, off topic—I WAS SOOOOO THRILLED that that line made it into the movie. Like, so thrilled that I started to cry. LOL)

I think fantasy and fairy tales and make believe serve a couple of different purposes, but that they should never be “escapist” in the manner that so many people claim they are: just a way to avoid dealing with real life. They should be a…a sort of mirror, or window, in which we can see reality in a different way, so that when we return to reality, we are surprised anew with the freshness of real life. It’s like when you wear a pair of sunglasses—especially the colored ones—for a while. Or if you stare at something of one color for a long time. When you look away, or take off the glasses, the rest of the world has a sudden new vibrancy—if you’ve been staring at blue for a long time, the rest of the world is suddenly infused with red.

Fantasy and fairy tales stretch our imagination with images of dragons and mighty warriors and quests and evil lords so that when we land back in our world, we can be surprised anew with the realities of good friends, or favorite foods, or just the simple fact that it’s a beautiful day outside and we can feel the wind at our back and the sun on our face.

What do you think?

~Trav.

"Junior Librarian" Just a random story

2010-12-04T11:50:00.000-08:00

Thought some of you might enjoy this...Have fun!

I stared around the vast room in awed fascination, my eyes as big as saucers and my mouth gaping amazedly. I had never seen so many books in one place—actually, I had never seen so many books period. The nearest I had ever come to seeing a real library was the three-book collection of Matthias, our village teacher back home. Now this place…not only was this a real library, this was the library.

Seventy years ago, when the invaders had attacked my home planet of New Ireland, nearly all of the books had been moved here, to the Grand Library, for safekeeping. After the war was over, most of our technology was gone, along with the people who knew how to make it. Only the books remained, and it would be years before we again could understand all that they had to tell us. Some people had thought that Earth would come to our rescue, but after nearly ten years of silence, we gave up on that hope. Perhaps they had been attacked by the rebels too—perhaps they had even lost. There was no way of knowing, and thus were the books kept here, in the Grand Library, as a safeguard against more destruction.

And now I was here. Even more, I was here to stay. I was the chosen one from my village this year, the one elected to join the ever-needed ranks of Librarians who kept the Library in order. My new uniform, an ankle-length dress of plain white cotton, swished delightfully over my leather-clad feet, and I rubbed a pleat between my fingers in excitement.

“Lisa!” My head jerked around at the sound of my name, and I bobbed a quick curtsey to Mrs. Becker, my mentor. She gave me a reproving look and motioned. “Come one, lass. You’re eyes are about to pop out of your head with all that staring.”

Flushing, I hurried after her as she led me deeper and deeper into the Library, her brisk footsteps swishing softly over the stone floor.

“Here.” Mrs. Becker stopped abruptly in front of a large shelf full of books. Pulling one from its place, she opened the cover and showed me the cataloging information on the inside. “This is what you’ll need to do,” she explained. “Take this binder—“ she handed me a thick, leather-bound book half-filled with blank pages. “—and start writing down these books’ information inside. Later, I’ll show you how to file it correctly, but for now we just need to have the information written down somewhere. Do you think you can handle that?”

I nodded eagerly, my eyes fastened on the thick tome in her hand. Mrs. Becker gave me an approving nod, and pulled a pencil from behind her ear. “Here,” she added, holding out the writing instrument. “Use this until we can trust you with a pen and ink.”

Then she left me there, with a daunting pile of books and a half-empty binder. I took a step back from the shelf and looked up at the top rack, high above my head. Suddenly I wasn’t so eager. However, I was determined to do my job well, so I looked around for a ladder. One leaned against another shelf nearby, so I moved it and climbed up, up, up, to the top layer of books. Settling myself somewhat-comfortably against the wooden shelf, I began my work.

Watership Down, Richard Adams; Treasury of Children’s Poetry, Various Authors; United States History, second edition, Timothy Keesee; The Secret of the Old Clock, Carolyn Keene; The Silmarillion, JRR Tolkien…each book became a neat penciled entry in my binder, and I made my way through the first shelf in little under an hour.

Taking a break to stretch my cramping fingers and rub my cricked neck, I sighed in contentment. Yes indeed…this was what I wanted to do in life. Soon, perhaps, I would graduate from the snow-white uniform of a novice to the creamy-white of an official Junior Librarian. And maybe someday, if I worked hard enough and lived long enough, I could wear the dark-chocolate robes of a Master Librarian. Hey—I could dream, couldn’t I?

A sudden noise made me look down. Below me, a boy in white crept stealthily through the stacks, his head darting back and forth like a watchful bird’s.

“Hey,” I said, surprised. “What are you doing?”

He jerked to a stop and looked up at me with a profoundly guilty look on his thin face. “Nothing.” He said sullenly.

Unsure of what to do, I glanced over the tops of the nearby shelves, hoping to see a higher-level Librarian. No one was in sight.

“Are you a new novice too?” I asked the boy, looking back down. He had to crane his neck to see me.

“Yes.” He sounded nervous.

“What are you doing?” I asked again, sincerely curious. The thought crossed my mind that the stacks would be a great place to play hide-and-seek. “Are you hiding from someone?”

The boy’s expression turned panicky. “No!” he exclaimed. “I’m just…just looking for a book.” He bent over, as if looking on the lower shelves. “See—just looking.”

“Which book?”

He glared up at me. “You’re really nosy, you know that?” he accused.

“Sorry,” I apologized. “I’m Lisa. Who are you?”

“Galen.”

“Nice to meet you Galen.” I stuck the pencil behind my ear, attempting to look calm and composed like Mrs. Becker. “Who’s your mentor?”

“Look—I’m kinda in a hurry,” Galen said. “So if you’ve finished your interrogation?”

I blinked. “Oh…sorry.” Touchy kid, I thought. Where I come from, it’s called being friendly, not an interrogation.

He waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind.” With a final, sneaky glance up at me, Galen hurried away, his footsteps loud in the absorbent silence of the Library.

“Well,” I said to myself, turning reluctantly back to my job. “That was interesting.”

And that was only my first day in the Library.

A NaNoWriMo "Pep Talk" by Lemony Snicket

2010-11-27T14:17:00.000-08:00

OK, so this is not by me, but I found it in my email inbox today, and wanted to share it with the rest of you--those of you who are participating in NaNo will appreciate it the most, but most of you have probably already gotten it. Those of you who aren't...well, you'll probably still get a kick out of it.
So without further ado, Lemony Snicket's "Pep Talk" (if one can call it that...lol)

Dear Cohort,

Struggling with your novel? Paralyzed by the fear that it's nowhere near good enough? Feeling caught in a trap of your own devising? You should probably give up.

For one thing, writing is a dying form. One reads of this every day. Every magazine and newspaper, every hardcover and paperback, every website and most walls near the freeway trumpet the news that nobody reads anymore, and everyone has read these statements and felt their powerful effects. The authors of all those articles and editorials, all those manifestos and essays, all those exclamations and eulogies - what would they say if they knew you were writing something? They would urge you, in bold-faced print, to stop.

Clearly, the future is moving us proudly and zippily away from the written word, so writing a novel is actually interfering with the natural progress of modern society. It is old-fashioned and fuddy-duddy, a relic of a time when people took artistic expression seriously and found solace in a good story told well. We are in the process of disentangling ourselves from that kind of peace of mind, so it is rude for you to hinder the world by insisting on adhering to the beloved paradigms of the past. It is like sitting in a gondola, listening to the water carry you across the water, while everyone else is zooming over you in jetpacks, belching smoke into the sky. Stop it, is what the jet-packers would say to you. Stop it this instant, you in that beautiful craft of intricately-carved wood that is giving you such a pleasant journey.

Besides, there are already plenty of novels. There is no need for a new one. One could devote one's entire life to reading the work of Henry James, for instance, and never touch another novel by any other author, and never be hungry for anything else, the way one could live on nothing but multivitamin tablets and pureed root vegetables and never find oneself craving wild mushroom soup or linguini with clam sauce or a plain roasted chicken with lemon-zested dandelion greens or strong black coffee or a perfectly ripe peach or chips and salsa or caramel ice cream on top of poppyseed cake or smoked salmon with capers or aged goat cheese or a gin gimlet or some other startling item sprung from the imagination of some unknown cook. In fact, think of the world of literature as an enormous meal, and your novel as some small piddling ingredient - the drawn butter, for example, served next to a large, boiled lobster. Who wants that? If it were brought to the table, surely most people would ask that it be removed post-haste.

Even if you insisted on finishing your novel, what for? Novels sit unpublished, or published but unsold, or sold but unread, or read but unreread, lonely on shelves and in drawers and under the legs of wobbly tables. They are like seashells on the beach. Not enough people marvel over them. They pick them up and put them down. Even your friends and associates will never appreciate your novel the way you want them to. In fact, there are likely just a handful of readers out in the world who are perfect for your book, who will take it to heart and feel its mighty ripples throughout their lives, and you will likely never meet them, at least under the proper circumstances. So who cares? Think of that secret favorite book of yours - not the one you tell people you like best, but that book so good that you refuse to share it with people because they'd never understand it. Perhaps it's not even a whole book, just a tiny portion that you'll never forget as long as you live. Nobody knows you feel this way about that tiny portion of literature, so what does it matter? The author of that small bright thing, that treasured whisper deep in your heart, never should have bothered.

Of course, it may well be that you are writing not for some perfect reader someplace, but for yourself, and that is the biggest folly of them all, because it will not work. You will not be happy all of the time. Unlike most things that most people make, your novel will not be perfect. It may well be considerably less than one-fourth perfect, and this will frustrate you and sadden you. This is why you should stop. Most people are not writing novels which is why there is so little frustration and sadness in the world, particularly as we zoom on past the novel in our smoky jet packs soon to be equipped with pureed food. The next time you find yourself in a group of people, stop and think to yourself, probably no one here is writing a novel. This is why everyone is so content, here at this bus stop or in line at the supermarket or standing around this baggage carousel or sitting around in this doctor's waiting room or in seventh grade or in Johannesburg. Give up your n ovel, and join the crowd. Think of all the things you could do with your time instead of participating in a noble and storied art form. There are things in your cupboards that likely need to be moved around.

In short, quit. Writing a novel is a tiny candle in a dark, swirling world. It brings light and warmth and hope to the lucky few who, against insufferable odds and despite a juggernaut of irritations, find themselves in the right place to hold it. Blow it out, so our eyes will not be drawn to its power. Extinguish it so we can get some sleep. I plan to quit writing novels myself, sometime in the next hundred years.

--Lemony Snicket

Hope you liked that--LOL!

~Traveler

Toy Story 3: For the Six-Year-Old inside you...Not the Six-Year-Old Beside You.

2010-11-13T12:51:00.001-08:00

Finally, after months of waiting in impatient eagerness, I got the chance to see the long-awaited Toy Story 3 last night.

I was floored.

To be honest, I was a bit skeptical when I first heard that there was to be a TS3, but I looked forward to it anyway. Then, once it came out and I started hearing so many wonderful things...well, my eagerness just grew. And yesterday, I finally got the chance to watch it for myself.

I laughed, I cried (no joke), I had an uncontrolable urge to grin through the whole thing...It is a GOOD movie, to say the very least.

Now, I'm not going to give anything away, because I know my family will see this and they haven't watched the movie yet. However, I will say things:

1) This is obviously a movie that was made for those of us who grew up with the first two Toy Story films in the nineties. It's a great movie, but the obvious bent is toward those who grew up watching these characters and are now off to college ourselves, or even older. That's not a bad thing. In fact, that's possibly my favorite part. Or, one of my favorites anyway. It's nice to know that some people out there don't think it silly for nearly-twenty-somethings to still be in love with talking, animate toys.

2) That said, the age-aim of the film gives it a bit of an older tinge that might actually scare younger kids. I know when that monkey came on, I was freaked out like crazy. Enough said, but those of you who have seen it will know what I mean. It's a bittersweet movie too, not the usual light fare of Disney and Pixar.

3) That's my last point: this movie will make you cry. I don't care if you're seven or seventy. You will cry. It's a good thing.

This whole movie is a good thing. I can't get my mind or my words around just how much I loved it yet--I'm still digesting, I guess! LOL But I highly reccomend Toy Story 3 to anyone--just be a bit careful. As my title says, this movie is more aimed to the six-year-old inside the twenty-something than the six-year-old sitting next to you on the couch.

Now excuse me, I need to go geek out about this movie with a friend. :)

~Trav

The Adventures of Martha: Escape Artist Caterpillar

2010-11-07T07:28:00.001-08:00

So yesterday, I found a wooly bear caterpillar on the walk, and picked it up. In a mood to be silly, I took it home with me, put it in the pocket of my jacket, and sat down at the computer in the lounge to updated Facebook and work on my NaNoWriMo novel.
Forty-five minutes later, I thoght to check my pocket.
Martha was no longer there.
I'm panicking, picking up my chair to look underneath and shaking out the sleeves of my jacket and telling the friend that I'm chatting with online, "Martha's gone! Martha's gone!"
I have a sudden fear that she might be inside my clothes, so I sit down to type "What if she's inside my pant leg", but I only get as far as, "what if she's--" when I feel a prickle on my ankle.
Reaching down, I grab at it, and there she is, looking quite pleased with herself and quite put out with me, the one who spoiled her escape.
"Not going to get very far going that way," I inform her, grabbing a Dixie cup to keep her in.
About an hour later, I went to bed, but in my tired state of mind...(cue dramatic music) I left Martha behind.
In the dark of the night, in the shadows within the dorm lounge, something stirred.
Meanwhile, I had a very good night's sleep, thanks to daylight savings time, and got up for breakfast the next morning with no mishaps.
After breakfast, returning to the dorm with friends, I suddenly wondered where I had left Martha, and if my roommate would freak out if she found a wooly bear caterpillar in a Dixie cup on my desk. Reaching the front door of the dorm, I looked down to see a wooly bear caterpillar in the process of inching its way out under the door.
"Look at that," I joked to my friend Emily. "It's one of Martha's cousins. Either that, or Martha's making a break for it!"
We laughed, and I scooped up the caterpillar, thinking to give Martha some company.
Entering the dorm, I looked into the lounge.
"Um, isn't that the cup you had Martha in?" Emily asked.
I glanced inside, and sure enough, there was my Dixie cup, tipped over on its side and (cue more dramatic music) empty.
I looked down at the caterpillar in my hand.
I looked up at the cup.
Down at the caterpillar.
Up at my friend.
"Oh." I said. "So I have an escape artist for a caterpillar."
The creature raised itself up and looked at me, for all the world as if she were saying "Duh."

Anyone have the number for Houdini? I think he's lost his pet.

Updating (and pictures!)

2010-11-01T09:08:00.000-07:00

I know, I know I know...it's been a looooooong time since I updated this blog. Sorry people. For those of you who know me in RL, I've at least been talking with you on the phone or by Facebook or email--though the email bit has fallen down a bit too. My school life has been going well, but it's insanely crazy. So I don't have a whole lot of time to be online, except for a few minutes here and there to update my Facebook profile or something. (Yes, I'm addicted. Thank you Aunt Tory, who insisted that I get an account...LOL)

Anyway, a lot has happened since I last got on here. My beloved Apricot Pie almost died, but was saved at the last moment by a knight in cyber armor;

I've made some amazing friends here on campus that put up with me and make my days wonderful (Go Goober Family!!!)

I've started NaNoWriMo for the second time (well, in truth it's the third, but the first time I got a total of three pages written in the entire month. Fail. Epic fail.) and am looking forward to doing a lot with that.

I'm not really sure what else to write...I seem to have lost the blogging vibe, having not posted in so long. I really will try to get on here more often--But in a way this has really fallen to the depths of my To-Do list. So...no promises.

I love ya'll though, and those of you who have my number are welcome to call me anytime!Later!

~Traveler

Oh, PS: Here's a picture of those two guys up there, David and Nate, on stage with a martial artist who's swinging a sword at a cucumber on Nate's stomach. He sliced the thing into three bits without making a dent in Nate--needless to say, the guys were stoked. LOL

The Clicking Point

2010-08-30T12:36:00.000-07:00

OK, I have a question for my readers:
When you pick up a book, and open it to the first page, have you ever noticed that little feeling I like to call the Clicking Point? It's that spot where you "fall into" the book--that place where you settle in with a satisfied sigh to enjoy the story.

The Clicking Point is the place where you begin to care--about the story, the characters, or the events.

It comes differently with every book. Sometimes it's in the first line: There once was a boy named Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. Or, That fool of a fairy Lucinda did not intend to lay a curse on me.
Sometimes it takes the first paragraph or so. And sometimes you don't pass the Clicking Point until you've read a chapter or more.
Try this: pick up a book--any book. It can be one you've read before and adored, or a brand new one you've never touched. Start reading it and see if you can spot the Clicking Point.
Tell me your thoughts! (I gotta go to class, or this post would be longer. LOL--toodles!)
~Trav

Update

2010-08-11T12:26:00.000-07:00

OK, time to get this blog back up and running. To those of you who entered my last story contest, you should have gotten a message from me--I sent my oh-so-valuable prize to all of you, since I couldn't fairly choose a winner. Anyway.
Update on my life, if you care:
Freshmen Orientation here at school starts Friday (GAH!) and classes soon after. The 24th, I believe. I've sort of met my new roommate, who won't get here until Friday (we chatted on the phone for an hour or so), and am settling into my new dorm.
Writing is going slowly. For those of you who follow Apricot Pie, you know I've been working on a sci-fi story called "Flyer", but that's about all I've touched in weeks, because my computer crashed and I lost my Microsoft Word program. Not good. But I should be getting it back soon, and will be back into the writing groove--unless school ruins me completely.
Gosh, this is turning out to be a bit of a gloomy post...maybe I should write when I'm not as tired or something. LOL
Anyway, despite how the tone of this thing might lead you to believe, I'm having a blast here and can't wait to start meeting teachers and classmates and such. Good luck to all of you who are in the same boat--we'll keep each other updated, ok?
~Trav

The Time Has Come To Vote!!!

2010-07-07T10:28:00.000-07:00

EDIT: the voting poll to your left there does not seem to be working properly. Keep trying it, and leave a comment if that doesn't work, but if we don't have a clear winner by the end of the month, I'll think about simply giving the prize to all who entered.
Think about, I said. This is a valuable prize--It cannot be taken lightly!
LOL
~Trav

Visit the official forum of The Traveler's Library, and vote for your favorite story! Don't forget that the winner will be awarded with the PRIZE: THE WONDERFUL, BEST-YOU-EVER-TASTED OATMEAL COOKIES. So who shall it be? Kestrel, with her eerie sci-fi-flavored tale? Caeli, with her trademark humor? Falchion's amusing tale of espionage, ninjas and cookies? Heather's nearly-true story? Or Oriana Lassar's last moment tale of regret and redemption?
The choice is in your hands my friends--choose wisely!!!
~Traveler

WARNING

2010-06-29T20:03:00.000-07:00

The deadline is almost here for my story contest, and my friends--I only have two entries this time! (Possibly three if I break down and submit my own again) If you will leave a comment promising to write me one, I'm willing to extend the deadline by a week--but I need more people! Don't forget that there's a prize on the line this time...PLEASE WRITE!!!

EDIT: the deadline is officially extended to July 7th. Get those stories in, people!

The Tale of Ander Collins comes to an end!

2010-06-04T18:10:00.000-07:00

I FINISHED DRAFT ONE!!! lol--draft two needs SOOOOOO much work, but I'm thrilled to have just typed the favorite words of any author, "The End" at the bottom of my manuscript. Celebrate with me! And go read my story! lol (I'm not hyper or happy or anything...)
~Trav

June/July Contest

2010-06-01T13:15:00.000-07:00

Ok, story writers! Here is my next (somewhat delayed) contest. This one will be for the month of June, and voting will be during July. We’re doing another picture inspiration—see it below.

Tell me what’s happening in this picture. Is she confronting him about something? Is he a butler? Is she a salesperson? His mother? This could be from the viewpoint of either of these two characters, or from the viewpoint of someone seeing this scene—say, a grandchild, or the woman’s pet poodle. Since both characters are older, this will be something of a challenge for you (maybe we can get some grown-ups to join, hm? lol). Have fun, and remember to send ALL submissions to travstorycontest@gmail.com. A full copy of the rules can be found here, or you can ask for a copy through the same email. (WARNING: any and all submissions sent to any other address will be discarded.. Resubmission to the correct address will be required before approval.)
To the winner goes the spoils: a recipe for the MOST AMAZING oatmeal cookies you will ever have the pleasure of tasting. Chocolate, pecan bits, oatmeal, all in a sweet gooey batter...My friends, this is worth your best efforts. LOL--seriously, they're that good. We serve them at the bakery to guests who stay the night, but you can't get them any other way.
Well, except to win this contest!
~Trav

Raw as they come...

2010-05-28T19:49:00.000-07:00

Well, maybe not as bad as I was my first day, but I still feel pretty raw around here--I'm finally able to walk and/or bike around campus without a map in hand, and I can now say that I've been to the library (writing friends: yes, I know it is a terrible sin to have waited so long before entering the hallowed halls of the library, but I get off at 2:30 and the summer hours have the library closing at 3:30. When you have other errands to run, some things slip. I will try to behave better in the future. LOL) and have my laptop hooked up to the WiFi. (Which I am loving...I'm writing this from my dorm, actually.) My work station, the bakery, is AMAZING, and I'm really getting to like the people I work with.
In other news, I had a great time tonight because my aunt and uncle surprised me with a "kidnapping" to the Landing for the evening. We had ice cream (double dark chocolate with Butterfinger bits for me--and now I feel slightly ill...) and listened to someone playing panpipes. I wanted a set so bad, but there was no price tag. If you have to ask, it's too expensive.
Oh, and the uniform was a cool thing too: I walked into the store and found that there was only ONE pair of the pants I needed. Leave it to God--they fit perfectly. Is he awesome or what?
I had about a hundred other things I wanted to write, but they'll have to wait--like the character descriptions I'm working up for the fascinating people in the kitchen (Chef Louis, the funny, nonstop talker; Chef Chase, who's just cool; Nancy and Brenda, my supervisers, who are each wonderful in their own way; and Chef Walt, who would make a great Puddleglum/Gandalf/something more cheerful sort of character...) and the fact that I'm working on THE LAST CHAPTER of "The Tale of Ander Collins".
But that will have to wait, because it's past my bedtime. :)
Goodnight, all--and keep praying for me!
~Trav

Day One

2010-05-24T20:00:00.000-07:00

Sooo...today marks my first full day on campus as a working college student. I'm working in the bakery, which is great (today I made fondant flowers for the tops of cupcakes and I chopped veggies. LOL--really fun) and the girls in my station (as well as the superviser) seem really nice. One of them has already offered to help me with my mathamatics when school starts, seeing as math and I REALLY don't get along. Orientation was long and way too much info, but I took notes and the RAs and people keep telling us to ask any questions.
Tomorrow I have to go and buy my uniform for the kitchen (black slacks and a white tee)...like you people really care about all this! LOL.
Anyway, this is just a general send out to all my friends and reletives telling you that I love you, miss you, and am doing fine (so far) and PLEASE keep praying for me. I haven't quite let myself realize yet that this is FOR REAL, and there is sooooooooo much for me to learn and figure out.
Anyway, that's just a quick check in. Love y'all, and I'll write more later.
Toodles,
~Trav

A Check-in

2010-05-02T16:20:00.000-07:00

Hey, guys! Just checking in with an update: the final order for last month's contest was:
Me (YEAH!! I promise I didn't rig it...lol)
Kestral
Caeli
Faerie
Ashley

Congrats to everyone, and I'll (maybe) get the next contest up soon. I'm on vacation right now--writing this from outside of Washington DC!!! Totally awesome; we've done the Smithsonian (Air and Space as well as the American History museums), the Mall, and today we went out to Mount Vernon. I am so excited about all this...the drive home will be a bear, though. However, we're stopping in Cincinnati on the way back, at the Answers in Genesis Creation Museum. Can't wait!
However, after we get back, I have a grand total of two weeks to pack everything and move into the dorms at College of the Ozarks, because I got accepted into the summer work program! This is totally cool, because it means that I get to work off nearly my entire college cost! Wish me luck--it's going to be interesting. :)
Anyway, I just wanted to check in and say that, because of all this, I may not do a contest next month--that is, this month. It is May, isn't it? LOL. But I'll hopefully start back up June or July. Watch for more notices coming up.
See you later--I have journal entries to go write! (Maybe I'll post some pictures later...)

~Traveler

March/April Contest

2010-04-05T13:09:00.000-07:00

Hey, all! The time has come to vote for your favorite stories again--you can go read them at http://travelers-library.forumotion.com/index.htm, and then come to vote for the one you like best! This month's contestants are Caeli, Ashley, FaerieWatcher, GalaKestral and myself, Trav. Have fun!

~Trav

How to Become a "Follower"

2010-03-31T15:41:00.000-07:00

I’ve noticed that I seem to have quite a few “followers” lately; new people that have stumbled onto my blog, and were interested enough to click the “follow” button. My first reaction was one of satisfaction, thinking “Yeah! Somebody’s actually reading this!”
But lately, I’ve been thinking. I claim to be a “follower” of Jesus Christ—a Christian. And one of the big parts of being a Christian is following the commands of Christ. One of the biggest commands that He gave—right before He left Earth—was the “go and make disciples of all nations”. To my mind, I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t give the good news of Christ to everyone who reads this—especially as we approach the Easter season. I mean, what better time to tell you, right?
So let me lay it out, from the beginning, in as unfussy language as I can.
In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth. That’s not a religious tradition from before we knew about evolution; that is a fact. God said, and there it was—no billions of years, no cosmic egg, and certainly no aliens conducting a science experiment.
When God created this Earth, everything was perfect. I don’t just mean nice—I mean perfect. Imagine the best utopia ever, and it even topped that.
But we messed up. We deliberately looked at the tempting shininess of sin, glanced over what our perfect and holy God told us, and chose the sin. We thumbed our nose at God, and all of Creation paid the price. Ever since, we’ve been living in a world where death, decay, perversion and injustice rule. And we have only ourselves to blame.
God is perfect. God is so above perfection that it boggles the mind to think about. He is so holy and sacred and righteous that He cannot abide sin. It’s an affront to His nature, and it must be eradicated.
Well, that poses a problem for us, right? I mean, face it: we are sinful. I am sinful, you are sinful…Don’t believe me? Here, then: think about this.
Good people would keep the Ten Commandments, right? You know—do not kill, do not steal, do not bear false witness against your neighbor; that sort of thing.
Have you ever killed someone?
Well, of course not, Trav! Who do you think I am?
Jesus said that if you hate your brother in your heart, it’s the same as murder: Have you ever hated someone?
Um…well, yeah…
OK, let’s move on. Have you ever stolen anything—even something really small and insignificant?
Well, yeah. Everyone has…
Ok—what about the false witness part? Have you ever lied?
Um…probably…
Then by your own admission, you are a lying, thieving murderer! Certainly not good enough to get into Heaven with God.
Now that’s a bit harsh…I mean, I do a lot of good things too—that’s got to count for something, right?
Not at all. See, God doesn’t weigh your good against your bad and see which one comes out heavier. One single act of wrongdoing is enough to separate you from His holiness for eternity. The very first time you did something wrong, it was all over. No second chances.
And this, my friends, is why you must listen to this good news: you have no chance otherwise! You are doomed to spend eternity separated from God in that place that most of us don’t like to talk about: Hell. Sorry, but it’s a real place, set aside for a real Satan and His followers.
But here’s the beauty of the whole thing!
For God so loved the world, He gave His only Son, that whoever would believe in Him would have eternal life! Not eternal death—eternal life!
God knew that there was nothing we could do to fix things between ourselves and Him. No amount of sacrifices, no amount of good deeds, no amount of confessions or rites or ceremonies could bring us into a right relationship with Him.
So He did it for us.
He didn’t have to—he would have been within His rights to just let us die in our sin and face the punishment for it, and He would have been no less God for doing so. But in His love and mercy, He put on flesh and came to live the perfect life that we could never live.
Jesus lived a perfect life. He never lied or cheated or stole or dishonored God in any way. And they killed Him for it.
That is, to be perfectly honest…We killed him. You and I are the guilty party here. People always want to pin Jesus’ death on the Jews, or on the Romans, but it was really our fault. He was dying in our place, for our sins.
He took the punishment I deserved—He paid the full price for every single bad thing I’ve ever done or said and ever will do or say. He died for me.
And it didn’t stop there.
That would have been enough, you’d think—that He paid for all my sins; that He took my punishment, my sentence, my penalty. But He did more: He even conquered death itself.
Three days after He was murdered, three days after He took upon himself all of my dirt and filth and wrongness…He rose again.
Now, I know that’s somewhat religious language. What in the world is that supposed to mean, Trav? Well, to put it bluntly, He didn’t stay dead.
He died—He didn’t just swoon or pass out, or anything like that. He actually died, but you can’t forget here that He was still God.
Death couldn’t hold Him! He came back to life on that third day, and He was seen by hundreds of people. Jesus, in one fell blow, defeated sin and death and Hell. He saved my life, He saved my soul, and He is able to do the same for anyone else.
This all sounds a bit outrageous by today’s “rational” standards, doesn’t it? God coming to Earth and walking among man? Dying? And don’t forget the coming back to life part—it sounds more like the plot of some fairy tale than actual fact. But that’s exactly what it is: fact.
He came for you. He died for you. And He conquered death, for you. The Bible says that “if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you will be saved…for everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.” If God makes Himself known to you, and you realize just what He’s done; and you believe that His grace applies to you, you will become part of His family. And nothing—absolutely nothing—can take you away from Him.
Please, if you have questions; if I haven’t explained this well or if you want to know more, leave a comment. I would be thrilled to answer any questions.
This Easter, look past the bunny rabbits and the egg hunts and the candy baskets, and find out the real explanation behind the holiday. Find out about the God who is utterly perfect beyond anything you can imagine, but who chose to show mercy to sin-fouled people like us. You will never make better use of your time, I can guarantee it.
~Trav

Book Quiz

2010-03-20T13:57:00.001-07:00

Several friends have done this recently, and I thought it looked like fun: so here's my Book Quiz (Don't forget about the short story contest, though! Information can be found in the next post down.)

Top 3 authors:

1. J.R.R. Tolkien

2. Gail Carson Levine

3. Gerald Morris (Not to be confused with Gilbert Morris)

Top 3 male characters:

1. Sam, from The Lord of the Rings (Tolkien)

2. Nick Polchak, from the Bug Man novels (Tim Downs)

3. Sir Gawain and/or Terence, from Gerald Morris’ Squire Tales series

Top 3 female characters:

1. Firebird, from the Firebird trilogy (Kathy Tyres)

2. Isi (aka Ani), from Goose Girl (Shannon Hale)

3. Beauty (aka Honor), from Beauty (Robin McKinley)

Top 30 fiction books in no particular order:

22. North! Or Be Eaten by Andrew Peterson

1. The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien

2. Head Game, Tim Downs

3. Kiss, Ted Dekker

4. Rover, Mel Odom

5. Slathbog’s Gold, M.L. Forman

6. The Island and the Ring, Laura C. Stevenson

9. Princess of the Midnight Ball, Jessica Day George

10. Beauty, Robin McKinley

11. Ella Enchanted, Gail Carson Levine

12. Heidi

13. Firebird, Kathy Tyers

14. Fairest, Gail Carson Levine

7. Goose Girl, Shannon Hale
8. Dragon Slippers, Jessica Day George

15. The Chronicles of Narnia, C.S. Lewis

16. Mascot, Peter David

17. Dream Voyagers, T. Davis Bunn

18. In the Hall of the Dragon King, Steven Lawhead

19. The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien

20. Dragon and Thief, Timothy Zahn

21. Dragon Spell, Donita K. Paul

23. Beyond the Summerland, L.B. Graham

24. The Great and Terrible Quest,

25. Giver of Roses, Kathleen Morgan

26. Hero Second Class, Mitchell Bonds

27. Alcatraz vs. the Evil Librarians, Brandon Sanderson

28. Danger in the Shadows, Dee Henderson

29. Plague Maker, Tim Downs

30. Patricia Amble Mysteries,

Top 3 books most recently read:

1. Burn, Ted Dekker

2. 100 Cupboards, N.D. Wilson

3. Intervention, Terri Blackstock

Worst 3 books ever read:

1. Not the End of the World

2. Ender’s Game, Orson Scott Card

3. Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

Top 5 scenes from any book:

1. When Ella breaks the curse in Ella Enchanted

2. When Sam thinks Frodo is dead, and then realizes that he isn’t and goes to save him in The Lord of the Rings

3. When Kirby reappears in Head Game

4. The first chapter of Hero, Second Class, where the hero narrates for himself, and the villain bursts through the door with a swell of minor key music.

5. When Heidi reunites with her grandfather after being in Frankfurt in Heidi

The book(s) that made me cry the most:

1. The Last Battle, C.S. Lewis (when all the old characters come back)

2. The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien (at the Gray Havens)

3. All My Holy Mountain, L.B. Graham (just about the entire last half of the book)

4. Island of the Blue Dolphins, Scott O’Dell (when Karana leaves the island)

5. White, Ted Dekker (at the end, when Elyon creates the Circle)

The book(s) that made me laugh the most:

1. Hero, Second Class, Mitchell Bonds

2. The Alcatraz series, Brandon Sanderson

3. The Wingfeather Saga, Andrew Peterson

4. Once Upon a Marigold, Jean Ferris

5. Anything by Gerald Morris

The book(s) that made me feel the best at the end:

1. Beauty, Robin McKinley

2. The Island and the Ring, Laura Stevenson

3. Mascot, Peter David

4. The Secret Garden, Francis Hodges Burnett

5. Head Game, Tim Downs

Contemporary or Historical?

1. Either, so long as it’s not super-romance. Give me a good action adventure over a romance any day, any period.

Science Fiction, Fantasy, or Horror?

1. Fantasy by far, but I like sci-fi too, if it’s not too “hard-core”—i.e. Star Wars as opposed to Richard Heinlein, though I loved his Citizen of the Galaxy. Horror doesn’t even make my list by a margin…well, with the possible exception of Peretti’s Monster, or some of Dekker’s darker stuff.

Hardback or Trade Paperback or Mass Market Paperback?

1. Hardback or regular paperback. The little four-by-five inch ones are just too hard to read comfortably, especially if they’re thick. But hey, a book’s a book, right?

Barnes & Noble or Amazon?

Barnes and Noble—you can’t pick up a book and flip through it on Amazon. Well, they have that “look inside” thing, but only if you’ve got an account there and everything. Nah, I’ll take the “real” bookstore, thanks.

Bookmark or Dog-ear?

Neither. I hate it when people bend up book pages, and I can never find a bookmark. So I either memorize the page number or *gasp* leave it open, spine up. (Yes, I know I’m a bad girl…)

Alphabetize by author, alphabetize by title, or organize not at all?

By genre first (historical, classics, mystery, sci-fi, ect…), then by size (biggest to smallest) and the books that are the same size get organized by author.

Star Wars or Star Trek?

Never read a Star Trek book, and I’ve only read the Star Wars books written by Kathy Tyers. But I like Star Wars better, in general.

Keep, Throw Away, or Sell?

You can’t throw a book away!!!! I think, in my entire life, I’ve thrown away maybe three books. If I like it, or if I have quite a few books in a series, I keep them, even if I’ve outgrown them (like the Mandy series or the Saddle Club). And I’ve sold/traded in quite a few, but I just get more to replace them, so I don’t think that counts.

Keep dust-jacket or toss it?

Keep it.

Read with dustjacket or remove it?

Remove it. Yes, I know that’s silly, but the hardcover can take more abuse than the pretty cover.

Little Women or Anne of Green Gables?

Anne of Green Gables. I love her perspective, especially in the second book.

Short story or novel?

Both!

Stop reading when tired or at chapter breaks?

Um…when I can’t keep my eyes open. I’ll be like, “Ok, it’s late—I’ll finish this chapter and be done,” and then I suddenly realize that it’s been another hour and I’ve read another five chapters.

“It was a dark and stormy night” or “Once upon a time”?

Once upon a time. Can’t go wrong with the fairy tales.

Tear Jerker or Belly Laugh?

Both…but in their proper time. And happy-tears are better than sad ones. Like the ones you get at the end of The Return of the King, when everyone is cheering for the hobbits; rather than the ones you get when Ginger dies in Black Beauty.

Charlotte, Emily, or Anne Brontë?

Eh…not really any of the above. I started Jane Eyre once, and decided within the first five chapters that all the characters were insane and I didn’t want to read about them.

Buy or Borrow?

Either, but I like to borrow from the library best. Don’t have to pay for it that way! LOL

Buying choice: Book Reviews, Recommendation, or Browse?

Eh…browsing, I guess. I usually don’t buy anything unless it’s an author I already love—if I see a book that looks interesting, I get it from the library first.

Collection (short stories by the same author) or Anthology (short stories by different authors)?

Both, but I like continuous novels better.

Crane or Conrad?

Nope.

Standalone or Series?

Both, unless of course there’s a cliffhanger and no sequel!!

Tidy ending or Cliffhanger?

…Um, convincing endings. Not too neat and tidy, but all tied up. And I hate cliffhangers unless I can get the next book right away.

Morning reading, afternoon reading, or nighttime reading?

Nighttime, 99.9% of the time.

Favorite genre series?

The Once Upon a Time series—fairy tale retellings. That counts as a genre, right? Some of them aren’t even fantasy; there’s a retelling of Rumplestiltskin that’s set in 1840’s-ish New York.

New or used?

Hey, a book’s a book! Who cares how old or new it is? The words are the same!

Favorite book of which nobody else has heard?

Ooh…I have a bunch of those: The Great and Terrible Quest, The Island and the Ring, Mrs. Frisby and the rats of NIMH (which isn’t as obscure as the other two, but still…) Hero Second Class…there are too many good books out there! LOL

March Short Story Contest!

2010-03-01T13:34:00.000-08:00

Congrats to all who participated in my last contest, especially our winners, GalaKestral and Caeli! (If you submitted a story, please email me at travstorycontest@gmail.com. I should have kept all of your emails so that I could send you your certificates, but I wasn't thinking ahead.) Here's the prompt for the March contest:

The story must be 5,000 words or less, and include all of the following:

The beginning line: Alex (It can be boy or girl) was running.
A short-order chef named Jean
A supposedly imaginary object
A lawer joke
And the phrase "You get what you pay for" used somewhere--anywhere--in the story.

Enjoy, and have fun. Official rules are posted on my forum and submissions can be sent in starting March first.
See ya,
~Trav

A better explanation...

2010-02-25T14:58:00.000-08:00

OK, so I said I’d write more “later”, and I guess it’s “later” now.

I’m going to college! LOL—that probably seems so mundane to some people, but to me it’s huge. I submitted my application ages ago, I’d done the whole interview thing, and I’ve been waiting to know for sure one way or the other.

Then, I was sitting at the computer at the library (because the library has high-speed internet, as opposed to the dial-up at home, so I do almost all my online stuff there) and Dad comes up behind me.

“Finish that and come with me,” he says.

I’m thinking Uh-oh, what have I done now? So I close out my computer and follow him out the front door.

“Am I in trouble?” I ask.

He turns around and looks at me. “Yeah, you’re in trouble,” he says, waving an envelope in front of my face. “I told you to get a job!” (Explanation: I haven’t gotten a job yet, which I need to do, and we had just had that conversation the day before.)

I spot the college logo on the corner of the envelope and look at the little window where it shows my address.

Congratulations, LoriAnn! It says. (Um, yeah—big surprise, my legal name is not Trav, short for “The Traveler. LOL)

I’ll admit I did a bit of a little squealy thing here. ‘Nuf said. J

So there it is: this fall, I’ll be a college freshman (God willing and the creeks don’t rise…). Part of me is super-thrilled, and part of me—that part in the pit of my stomach—is completely freaked out. To all my Christian friends out there, please be praying for me. I’m now going to be figuring out how to pay for the first semester (though the college I’m going to has an amazing work-through program, so I’ll pay for my tuition as I go) and how to sign up for classes and figure out…everything.

I’ll keep this blog updated—that’s a warning to anyone who isn’t interested. LOL

See ya’ll,

~Trav

Accepted!!

2010-02-23T13:04:00.000-08:00

Don't have much time, but I just wanted to post that

I GOT ACCEPTED TO THE COLLEGE THAT I REALLY REALLY WANTED!!!

LOL, I know that sounds a bit...um, hyper, and yes, I am hyper at the moment. :)
Write more later, but just to let you know that I'm super happy! LOL
~Trav

A Few Opening Thoughts

2010-02-15T10:47:00.000-08:00

OK, who caught the spectacular opening ceremonies of the Olympics in Vancouver the other night? Was that sweet or what?!? The whales and the dancers and the snow and the mountains and the look on Shaun White’s face when the snowboarders and skiers came flying out of the ceiling...Absolutely priceless.

I love the Olympics. Especially the Winter Games, because figure skating is, in my humble opinion, one of the most beautiful things on the planet. People like Tara Lipinski, Katerina Witt and Michelle Kwan are my heroes.

And one of my favorite parts of any Olympic Games are the opening ceremonies. I get goose bumps remembering the “Fire and Ice” themed ceremonies of Winter Games ’02; and the fantastically choreographed spectacular of Beijing two years ago was unforgettable. And Saturday night…well, let it simply be said that the display put on by our northern neighbor was breathtaking to say the least.

I mean, admit it—who didn’t gasp the first time the floor showed its true nature? Remember? When the ice flows broke apart? Wow.

And who didn’t start tapping their feet to the beat with all the tap dancers and fiddlers?

And who didn’t sigh in envy when that boy flew above the audience during the prairie segment? Come on, my friend—you know you were thinking it: Man, I wish that was me…LOL

And granted, there were a few bits that were…less than wonderful; such as the weird, nonsensical and just-plain-disturbing “Hallelujah” song. Ick.

Or that horrifying moment when you realized that the fourth pillar of the Olympic Cauldron wasn’t going to rise? Don’t tell me you didn’t gasp and cover your face thinking It was perfect! Oh, those poor mechanics! After all, you know who’s gonna get the blame for that…Still, I thought it was amazing—and it’s the mishaps like that, I think, that really make things memorable. I mean, no one is going to forget these opening ceremonies—this will be something to tell our kids about years from now:

“Yeah…you think this is cool. I remember the 2010 Winter Olympics, when we first saw this kind of technology. It was amazing.”

And…on a more somber note, let’s not forget the Georgian luge athlete, who tragically lost his life in an accident that morning. I’ll admit that my eyes stung a bit when the Georgian team marched in—I can’t imagine what they’re going though. We’ll keep them—and his family, even more—in our prayers.

Then…thought number two, real quick:

Isn’t it funny how we can watch something like the Olympics, something that defines multinationality, and be so utterly proud to be an American? I mean—it’s ridiculous, we had nothing to do with these athletes becoming who and what they are. But still, something in you says “Yeah—this is our team.”

Anyway…enjoy the Games, folks.

Go USA!!!

~Trav

Open Mouth, Insert (Left) Foot

2010-02-11T10:26:00.001-08:00

I’m sure that everyone—sports fan or no—has heard by now of the big brouhaha over Focus on the Family’s commercial during the Super Bowl on Sunday. Leftist women’s choice activists were up in arms ever since the commercial plans were announced—they’ve called Focus on the Family more names than are fit to print, most of them angry and venomous. They’re an organization of hate, I heard one woman spit; nothing good comes out of them.

Funny thing was, no one had seen the commercial. No one had even seen the script. Everyone knew that it would feature Tim Tebow and his mother, who had refused an abortion when pregnant with Tim, though the doctors suggested that the birth could be difficult and possibly harmful to her. The theme of the commercial was simply “A Celebration of Life”—oh, but were those pro-choicers hot or what?

Bet they’re a bit embarrassed now.

The commercial, so debated and speculated on and drug-through-the-mud over the last few weeks, was a simple bit with Mrs. Tebow, talking about how she’s worried about Tim over the years; worried about losing him. Then he comes in at the end, tackles Mom, and helps her up, asking if she’s still worried about him. Cutesy, sweet, and relatively benign.

Oh yeah—and there’s a shot at the end, a note that you can learn more at such-and-such a link. Read the whole story is how they put it, I think.

I liked it. I, personally, wanted a bit more of an “in your face” thing, but (LOL) that’s just how I am. And, honestly? I think that this was far more effective, plus it had the poetic justice of being so much not what the freak-out-lefties were wigging out about…lol. A victory, imho.

So, I just have a word of advice for all you far-left feminists out there. First, open mouth and insert a foot or two. You made beautiful fools of yourselves. Enjoy!

Second—why is it that you claim to support “choice”, but you are so adamantly opposed to Mrs. Tebow’s choice to save her baby? Or Focus on the Family’s choice to make the commercial? Or CBS’s choice to air the thing? Why is abortion the only “choice” you like?

Call it what it is—it’s pro-abortion. Pro-death. Not pro-choice.

Bleh—and there I go with the gloom and doom again. All I really wanted to say was thanks Focus, thanks Tebows, thanks CBS, and LOL lefties. :D

See ya’ll!

~Trav

Time To Vote!

2010-01-30T12:11:00.000-08:00

IMPORTANT EDIT: Due to a mishap when I was typing, plus a submission that was submitted in time, but not posted in time, I had to recreate the poll over to your right. Please vote again, and I apologise for the mistake.
~Trav

Most of you know about this already, but just real quick--let me reiterate. This is a short story contest that I posted about in the blog-before-last (LOL) and the deadline is Sunday. I doubt I'll get online again before then, so I went ahead and posted this now--please vote for your favorite stories! They can be found at:

http://travelers-library.forumotion.com/your-first-forum-f1/?sid=71dcece5b333f005e7567d309dc07ee7

Read, enjoy, and have fun. Hey--at be on the lookout for the next contest, starting March first!

~Trav

Another Camp Blog

2010-01-06T11:40:00.000-08:00

You may remember that during the summer of 2009, I went to a youth camp for a week, and came back promising a series of blog posts about it. Well, I kinda fell down on the job, but I did write them--I just never posted them.
So I'm going to remedy that: here is the next entry in my Camp Blog series, "Community is Crucial"

My last Camp Blog mentioned how I had finally found some other girls who thought along the same lines as I do, were interested in the same things, etc. I wrote how thankful I was that God had brought me together with like-minded people. And I don’t want to sound…overly preacher’s kid or anything, but I have to say that the best word for that experience would be fellowship.

Have you ever thought about that? Every Sunday, you go to church (at least, I hope you do) and sit down in a room with a bunch of other people who are worshiping same God, in spirit and in truth. That’s an amazing connection, and one that I think a lot of people either miss out on or ignore, for a variety of reasons.

Mostly, they aren’t looking for it. We get so caught up in our own little worlds, where our own worries and plans are all that matter – and then we think we can go to church and be together with God’s people and feel all warm and fuzzy inside…sorry, it doesn’t work like that. You have to be committed to fellowship, be willing to cultivate it and nurture it and watch it grow – it doesn’t just magically happen if you expose yourself to “church stuff” for an hour on Sunday morning.

Guys, this has got to change. It makes me sad to go to our church on Sunday mornings, and while the people are friendly and nice, and everyone’s happy…there’s no real connection. And it leaks into the worship too – everyone just kind of sits there with this look on their face like; “I don’t know/like this song. These notes are too high. My foot itches. Look at Suzy Brown – how does she think she can get away with wearing that color? I wonder what’s for lunch…”

Hate to break it to you, folks, but that ain’t worship. That ain’t community.

Christians are built for community. We were made to be together, to learn from each other and build each other up. That’s why Paul said:

“Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” (Hebrews 10:23-25)

Teens of my generation – this is my challenge to you. Next Sunday, walk into your church thinking of it as a family reunion. A practice for Heaven, if you will. Really worship, and challenge the adults around you to do the same. Don’t think they’ll listen? Doesn’t matter:

“Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity.” (1 Timothy 4:12)

Let that be our battle cry – our encouragement to wake up the church and make God real in our lives. Learn from those in the church who are – like it or not – older and wiser than you. Get the church off her feet and let’s charge the battleground of our culture. It’s our duty and privilege, and we are extremely lucky that God saw fit to place us in a community of like-minded Christians to work with.

What’cha waiting for? See you on the other side!

~Trav

Story Contest

2010-01-01T11:50:00.000-08:00

Hey, all!

I have a new challange for you: a story writing contest! You may remember a while back, that I had a poll up for voting on three short stories written by myself, my sister, and a forum aquaintence of ours. Well, now you can get in on it too.

I'm going to (hopefully) start having a bi-monthly story contest here on my blog. Each one will be on a certain topic or theme, or will be based on a picture, a poem, a phrase...you get the idea. Here are the rules:

The Traveler’s Short Story Contest Official Rules:

1) Each entry must reflect the challenge posted on The Traveler’s Blog, whether it be a picture to write about, or a phrase or character to include…one way or another, the story must be coherent with the challenge.

2) Stories are to be no longer than 5,000 words. They can be as short as you want, but 5,000 is the top limit.

3)Stories must be “rated” PG or better: no vile language, no “adult” content, no over-described violence or gore, etc. Now, I’m not saying that you can’t have a battle, or a murder mystery or anything, but if you choose to do so, please write it in a sensitive way. Anyone can write gory-horror—it takes a good author to write with consideration for the sensibilities of others.

4)Stories cannot be posted without approval. I will delete any stories that have not been posted by myself, no matter how good they are. Please email all stories to travstorycontest@gmail.com.

5)I reserve the right to reject any entries that do not follow the guidelines of the contest, or that I otherwise deem inappropriate—for example, I don’t wish to see stories about vampires or zombies, or stories featuring occult elements—but if I reject a story for any reason, I will send you an email explaining exactly why it was rejected. I promise to not just leave you hanging!

6)Above all, let it simply be known that I am a Christian, with Judeo-Christian values. Whether or not you share those values is up to you, but figure that as a general rule, those are the standards for these writing contests. If you think that an element in your story may be a bit outside those principles, please go ahead and edit. I’m not forcing my beliefs on anyone, but I would prefer not to have to reject a whole lot of stories for a badly worded sentence or an overly risqué scene.

7) Nothing you send in is copyrighted in anyway, except by you. If you want, put something like "Copyrighted to Jane Doe, June 24, 2010" at the bottom.

8)Have fun!

Here's the first picture: tell me what's going on!

(picture by Greg Call)

Send your entries to:

lanor@home-schooled.com

Writing Sisters

2009-12-01T11:16:00.000-08:00

So…National Novel Writing Month 2009 is over. And I feel like: a) I wish I could do it all over again next month, and b) next November can’t take long enough coming around.
I finished my story!

Clocking in a 52,099 words, including “The End”, my tale consists of 26 chapters, 202 pages, and 227,797 characters. Not bad for a month’s work, wouldn’t you agree? I don’t think I’ve ever written in such a…runaway, insanely, rabid way. And I have to say that I’m not a little bit tired.

Let me brag on someone else, though.

My sister, known to some of you as Caeli, and to some as Kay, also finished NaNo this year—on her first try. It took me three years to do this, and she knocks it out in year one. Totally not fair.
And as if that weren’t enough, she wrote almost the entire 50,000+ word monster by hand. As in, with a real pen on real paper. No wimpy word processor for her. She wrote a novel, in a month, longhand.

*Self-satisfied sigh* Guess she takes after her big sister…LOL. No, actually, I tried to do NaNo longhand in both ’07 and ’08. Talk about your belly flop—I think the most words I managed to rack up was somewhere around 800. Not particularly impressive. But Cae managed it beautifully.

We should probably both apologize and adoringly thank our family for this month…I don’t know how many lunch time conversations became overrun with discussions on which character should do what; or how many times Mom or Dad came into the room to find us pacing in circles around each other, bouncing rapid-fire ideas off each others’ heads.

You know the old movie White Christmas, with Bing Crosby and Danny Kay? Yeah, of course you do. It is that time of year, after all…Well, if you know much of the movie by heart like our family does, you’ll know that when Bing and Danny meet the two sisters who are to become the love interests for the movie, the girls are on stage as a singing act, performing a song called

“Sisters”.

Sisters, sisters
There were never such devoted sisters
Never had to have a chaperone
No sir!
I’m here to keep my eye on her
Sharing, caring
Every little thing that we are wearing
When a certain gentleman arrived from Rome
She wore the dress,
And I stayed home
All kinds of weather
We stick together
The same in the rain or sun
Two different faces
But in tight places
We act and think as one
Lord help the mister
Who comes between me and my sister
And Lord help the sister
Who comes between me and my man!

Just for the record, Cae hates that song. I sing it to annoy her. But really, I think it’s pretty fitting.
So I was wondering if I could rewrite that song to be even more fitting, especially after NaNo…And here’s what I came up with:

Sisters, sisters
There were never such devoted sisters
Never had to have a chaperone
No sir!
I’m here to keep my eye on her
Thinking, fighting
How to do the stories that we’re writing
When a certain idea arrives for both
We have to toss a coin to see
Who needs it most
All kinds of writing
When plots aren’t biting
When stories flow like rain
Two different faces
But in tight places
We write and think the same (ah-huh…)
Lord help the mister
Who comes between me and my sister
And Lord help the sister
Who comes between me and my pen!

OK…that was pretty sorry. But it’s been a long month…I’m just a little wrote out. LOL
Anyway, this was just a post to brag on myself and my longhand dynamo sister (who’s going to strangle me for posting this…). We finished NaNoWriMo 2009! Cheers and hugs all around, pass the tissue, open the Ginger Ale…all that good stuff.
Happy NaNo, everyone—see you next year.
~Trav

Some NaNo pics

2009-11-06T14:28:00.001-08:00

As you may or may not know, November is officially National Novel Writing Month, otherwise known as NaNoWriMo. The idea behind NaNoWriMo is to finish a 50,000 word novel in 30 days—just writing for fun, quantity, not necessarily quality. The cool thing is though, that once you just start writing and stop second guessing every other phrase, the stuff that comes out can be great! Of course, it can be utter rubbish too, but that’s part of the fun.
Anyway, this is my third year attempting NaNoWriMo, and the first year I have a computer to attempt it on. Hopefully, I’ll be able to cross the finish line with a few hundred words to spare, now that I don’t have to try it all longhand. Anyway, you can find more information, if you’re interested, at http://www.nanowrimo.org/. Look me up if you join—I’m Elyn W. Marsh if you search under authors.
So yesterday, my sister came to my room and asked if I had any pictures she might use as inspirational material for her story (she’s doing NaNo as well). I have about 300 landscape photos in my computer from a clip art program, so we looked through it for a while and found her a few things to use. In the process, I also found a few photos that I thought worked well for NaNo, and I decided to post them here for you to enjoy as well.
However, a disclaimer before you view them: To my fellow NaNo-ers, I am not responsible for any time lost while you read my blog. If you fall behind in your word count as a result of my post, that’s your fault. LOL
Anywho, here they are. Enjoy!
~Trav

Daddy’s busy, honey—yes, it’s “that NaNo thing”…

And it’s only day six…

A common NaNo facial expression:

4,345…4,346…4,347…

Hey—I’m homeschooled

Have you started your NaNo yet?

Happy Reformation Day!!

2009-10-31T11:06:00.000-07:00

Hey, World.

Yes, I know that most people don't realize that this day, the 31st of October, is actually the celebration of the day that Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenburg, Germany.

It was 492 years ago today that this momentous event took place.As for Halloween - *spits*. Forget about it. An Americanized, modernized celebration of the ancient druid holy-day of Samhain? Why bother?

Actually, if you've read my blog for very long, you may have realized that I posted almost exactly this same post last year. I'm just updating it a bit, because I wanted to post something about Reformation Day, but...ahem. I forgot. LOL

Anyway, I thought I'd also include the rapier-witted conversation (LOL) that I have with many people this time of year. So, here's how it goes:

Person: "Happy Halloween!"

Me: "Actually, sir, I do not celebrate the pagan holiday of Halloween. I find it and it's trappings distasteful and don't believe that any self-repecting Christian should acknowlege it. However, I and my family DO celebrate Reformation Day, the day in 1517 when Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to the church door in Wittenburg, thus beginning the Protestant Reformation in Germany.
"So, though Halloween is an evil and perverted celebration of pagan beliefs, I do celebrate on this day in honor of Martin Luther, and I will take that candy bar. Toodles!"

LOL, hope you enjoyed my rant,

~Trav

PS: for a good artical on Luther's Theses, check out this link. It's pretty good, for a secular website. See ya 'round!

Creation--Not Chaos

2009-10-16T13:02:00.000-07:00

A while back, some of you may recall my posting called “A New View of the Universe”. It included some amazing pictures of galaxies and stars, along with some scale representations of the planets in our solar system along side the sun, which was along side some larger stars…you get the idea. The point was to show just how big the universe is, and how small we are in comparison—and yet God says that he measures it with the breadth of His hand.
Recently, someone who goes by “Travis” posted a comment on that post. He (or she, but I’m just assuming he) said, quote:

This just proves how random the universe is and how much we dont matter. There should be trillions and trillions of other planets with intelgent life.

Do you really think God killed him self on each of them?

Look at these pictures your evolved bacterea on a pebble.

Instead of replying to the comment in the comments to that post, I decided this was a big enough issue that I wanted to devote an entire blog post to it.
So, Travis, let me address your words:

First of all, I’m curious as to how you find chaos and randomness in any of those pictures. The universe, specifically galaxies and stars in this case, follow very rigid rules. Gravity. Centrifugal force. The laws of thermodynamics. And a lot of things that I don’t understand because science is not my forte. But the point is that the rules exist.

Everything—from the smallest nano-cell in your DNA, to the largest galaxy out there—follows these rules. They operate on a regulated system that baffles leading scientists in its complexity. There is no room for chaos in such complex systems as the blood-clotting mechanism, the process of photosynthesis, or the pupal transformation of a caterpillar to a butterfly. “Random” simply doesn’t cut it.

Second, your comment about “trillions and trillions of other planets with intelgent[sic] life”. First of all, as a high school teacher once said—it’s hard enough to find intelligent life here on earth. What makes you think it’s anywhere else? LOL.

To be serious though, I doubt you’ve been watching the Science Channel lately. If you had been, you would have seen them stating—over and over again—how they’re this close to finding an Earth-like planet. They study the light from stars eclipsed by orbiting planets, and calculate the size, shape, and distance from the star using mathematical principles that hurt my brain to contemplate. However, as one scientist stated, they’ve “been surprised every time.” He went on to say that it’s possible that “Earth is a cosmic freak. No one believes that, but we all fear it.”

I personally think that they may be right. Earth is a cosmic freak—rather, not a freak, but a hand-made creation specifically designed with a Plan in mind. I would love to think that there may be other “earths” out there—what fan of sci-fi wouldn’t? But I’d be willing to bet that the most “life” we’ll ever find will be of the bacterial sort, if that. God created life that is able to survive in the most hostile places on Earth—I suppose he could have created it to live on a planet a zillion light years away. But intelligent life? Nah.

Precisely because of your next sentence. No, I don’t think that the Christ event happened on any planet or world but ours. When Jesus was on the cross, he said “It is finished.” As in, done. Completed. Mission accomplished.
He didn’t say—“Ok, I’m done here, next destination, the Planet Zurlog!” No; it is finished, and all is well. No alien races that need salvation, no far off worlds requiring a Messiah. The work of the Cross was complete, with no need for a sequel.

As for being, as you so eloquently put it: evolved bacterea [sic] on a pebble, I can only sigh. What will it take before people finally start to see the fallacies of a theory that has been “rewritten” several times since its conception? Darwin didn’t even know about atoms or radiometric dating, and yet evolutionary scientists try to force the “evidence” to fit their preconceived notions.
They even believe in miracles to save their theory. Like the dinosaur that was being excavated, and when they accidentally dropped one of the leg bones, it busted open. Wonder of wonders, what do they find? Soft tissue. Un-fossilized cells. The thing has been dead and buried for 60 billion+ years, and it’s somehow managed to escape being completely fossilized. It’s a miracle.

I could say a lot more right now, but this has already been long enough. However, please feel free to leave comments, and I’ll respond to the best of my abilities.

Very sincerely,
~Trav

Please Vote!

2009-10-01T08:07:00.001-07:00

Hey all!

As you may or may not know, I often get onto an internet discussion board at http://www.bindingoftheblade.com/.

Recently, several of us got together and wrote a few stories in a Writer's Challenge, with the rule that each story must contain:

a) the opening line The storm leered down at the small party, delighting in their powerlessness against it.

b) A dog (or acceptably dog-like creature)

c) A character named Bart

d) A suitcase filled with old clothes

e)The phrase: Too much all at once would arouse suspicion

f) Someone with red hair

It had to be no longer than 4000 words long, and had to end with the line: The sky was clear, the wind was crisp, and the future was thiers for the taking!

Guilt trip: Seven people entered, but only three made it to the September 31st deadline. Here are the entrents:

Caeli
Falchion

Shadowfax

Sulare

Silent_Chaos
Mindarin
Oriana Lassar
And of course, your's truely: the Traveler

However, only myself, Caeli, and Falchion completed the Challange.

Here are the links to our stories. Please read them, and then vote at the poll that I will create as soon as I finish posting this. Have fun, we hope you enjoy, and if you know one of the people who entered, but didn't finish, give them a big guilt trip for me. LOL - Just kidding.

Caeli's story: here

Falchion's story: here

My story: here

~Trav

New Book Review Blog

2009-09-28T11:17:00.001-07:00

Hey, all:
Just for your information, I now have a separate blog solely for book reviews. You can find it by going to my profile and clicking the link to the "Book Brownie Blog", or just by clicking here.
See ya over there, hope you enjoy!

Heaven

2009-09-11T11:00:00.000-07:00

I promised I’d write this, and events of the last week or so have conspired to inspire me, so here we go. Sorry in advance for it being so long – there’s just so much to say!
Personally, I cannot wait for Heaven. There are some nights when I just lie in bed and imagine – and yes, as I write that, the song starts playing in my mind “I can only imagine…” (Though, not to go off on a tangent or anything, but you really ought to check out this vid, by Tim Hawkins. Very LOL).

But I love to just think – just picture in my mind what it’s going to be like – and the best part is, that no matter how great I am at imagining it, it’s going to a zillion and twelve times better in real life. Which – do remember, it’s going to be real life. I think a lot of people picture heaven as this kinda misty, floaty place where we all sit around in white robes on clouds and pick at harps all day. No way! Here’s how I picture things:

First off – let me clarify. When I talk about Heaven, what I really mean is the “new Earth” that God is going to create from the ruins of the old one, like it talks about in Revelation 21. Randy Alcorn has a great book out called, simply Heaven, and I strongly suggest picking it up to read. Take everything with a grain of salt – and a heavy dose of checking against the Word – but you couldn’t ask for a better, more biblical picture of Heaven then what Singer gives.

But here’s how I picture it:

The colors will be more vivid than anything you’ve ever seen on the old Earth. The greens will be like liquid emerald, and the reds deeper than a priceless ruby. The sky will be of such a rich and bright blue, unclouded by pollution, and full of the light that shines from the Throne.
Everyone there will be Christian – just think about it! Forget the stuff about “all roads leading to God” and all that nonsense…but that’s a debate for another time. For right now, it’s simply amazing to think that one day, there will be no more crime, because there will be no more criminals! No more sin! No more wrong at all.

Now, that doesn’t mean we won’t disagree on things in Heaven. I know we’ll all agree on the basics – Christ and Him crucified, ect – but I’ll bet that the theologians will spend eternity puzzling out the fine points in friendly debate. Can’t you just picture John Calvin and Martin Luther and others, sitting around a pizza while they expound on the greatness of God? (And yes, there will be pizza in Heaven. Why not? I’m sure there are Christians who know the recipe!)
And I don’t think we’ll ever stop learning, either. Some people have this idea that we’ll get to Heaven, and suddenly know everything; but I don’t agree. Honestly, can you think how dull it would be to no longer have any questions? To have no more to learn, to explore, or to discover? Bleh! I think that in Heaven, there will be vast centers of art and science and learning – grand libraries filled with millions of books – hey, we’ll have eternity to write, right?

I can just picture it – huge, open-air cities with wide, tree-lined avenues; and the buildings all of white stone and gold trim. The streets – of course – will be paved with gold (“pure gold, as transparent as glass” – and science has discovered that chemically pure gold really is transparent, just check out an astronaut’s helmet visor. They’re coated with a layer of pure gold.) I kinda picture it like the paintings done byJames Gurney for his book Dinotopia – only, maybe with a few less lizards about! LOL

There will be dinosaurs there, though, I think. And every other creature God created and called good. Lions and tigers and…you know the drill. From dinosaurs to cats, elephants to do-dos. And maybe even some we don’t have here on the old Earth – who knows what our vastly creative Creator might invent to delight us in our new home? He loves to amaze His children – I wouldn’t even be surprised if there was a dragon or two, or a unicorn, or some other creature out of ancient myth.

I don’t believe in people turning into angels when they get to heaven – that’s completely unbiblical and ridiculous. But wouldn’t it be cool to become friends with an angel? I’d love to ask them all about their perspective on events that played out before their eyes here on the old Earth. Maybe get Gabriel’s point of view on his message to Mary; or the unnamed angels who visited the shepherds in the field. Can you imagine their joy at proclaiming the Messiah’s birth?
And speaking of talking to folks, I can’t wait to sit down with some of the heroes of the faith – people like Abraham and Joseph and Ruth and Esther; Paul and John and Luke; David Livingstone, Gladys Alyward, and Amy Carmichael – and ask them to tell me their stories.
Just this last week, my parents took the whole family “home” to the big city, where the church they grew up in was having a big reunion. We got together with my parents’ old youth group, and sat around for a few hours reliving their days as teenagers. “Remember when we TP-ed the youth minister’s house?” “Remember what we did at camp that year?” “Do you remember? Do you remember?” It made me think of the scene in C.S. Lewis’ Prince Caspian, where the four Pevensie children return to their old treasure chamber at Caer Parivel; and start reminiscing about their old days in Narnia.

And it also make me think about Heaven – the greatest reunion ever! Maybe something more along the lines of the final scenes in Lewis’ The Last Battle, where all the old heroes of the past are reunited, and old friends find each other again.

And every day, we’ll walk by the side of our Lord, and pay homage in the Great Throne Room, crying with the angels “Holy, holy, holy! Is the Lord God Almighty!!” Can you imagine a greater song of praise?

It gives me a weird feeling in my stomach – like every surprise, and every heartbreak, and every gorgeous wonder all wrapped up in one. Of all the happy endings ever told, the ones that made you want to laugh and cry and sigh with wonder all at once – this will be the best ending ever.

And guess what? This one will never end!

See you there!

~Trav

Dual Citizen

2009-08-28T13:24:00.000-07:00

This past week, Dad and I had the opportunity to attend a patriotic rally/informational meeting on the dangers of radical Islamic thought.

However, while that by itself would make a great blog entry, there was something else entirely that kept bouncing around my head the whole time we were there.
The fervor of the speaker as she detailed the history of militant Islam, and her own experiences with it; and the energy with which she and her colleagues asked for our support and help, was inspiring.

And depressing.

They pressed on us the need for more activists and local groups, spreading the word about the danger that true Islam poses. They were insistent that a grassroots organization could lead the way to a new era of security for the American way of life; that we needed to eagerly give the support due our American troops; and that we had to fight against the rigorous brainwashing that spews out of the liberal media, and even our public schools. They were excited about their mission, wanting to bring us along with them.

And the thought kept coming to me – wouldn’t it be great if the church was like this? I mean – America is a great place to live, don’t get me wrong. I personally believe that (despite its many problems) my country is still the greatest, most amazing, free and beautiful country on the face of the planet.

Still, as a Christian, my first love and first allegiance is to that “better country” that I look forward to immigrating to one day. Not an earthly government or kingdom, but a heavenly one. As great, wonderful and amazing as America is (I even type this wearing a shirt that proudly bears an image of Old Glory, with the words “God Shed His Grace on Thee”), that new country is even better.

Shouldn’t I be as adamantly excited as these speakers, telling people about that country? People all over the world have for generations dreamed of becoming Americans, of claiming this country as their own. They’ve had relatives and friends who have visited or immigrated here, and they’ve heard the stories. The arrivals at Ellis Island, back when it was in its glory days, came expecting streets paved with gold, houses as big as those of the landlords back home, and plentiful food for everyone. Their dreams were a little over-the-top, as we all know – but America was still far better than the countries they had come from.

So they sent letters back to their loved ones – “Come to America! There is work here, there are good people, and there is freedom and peace and the chance to make a better life!”

People came by the thousands.

Meanwhile, we Christians know of an even better address, where the streets really are paved with gold, and Jesus Himself has gone to prepare it for us, and the Feast of the Lamb awaits …But we keep quiet about it. We think we might be ridiculed for believing in some “pie in the sky”. We’re afraid to show any kind of passion or excitement.

Or if we do, that’s even worse! Ever heard the saying “so heavenly minded, they’re of no earthly good”? Friends, that’s not possible! If someone is truly focused on Heaven and the beauty and richness of it, they won’t be able to help telling others.

“Guess where I’m going! I’ve heard some wonderful tales about the place – can’t wait to get there…”

Now, the original purpose of this blog was going to be on being excited to recruit other people to our cause, to our family of families. But…I think I like where it went even better.
In fact, I’m going to sign off with that note – I can’t wait to get there – and then I’m going to go work on a post completely about Heaven. Trust me; it’s going to be so much more than clouds, robes, and harps all day…you’ll never believe what God’s got in store.

Get excited, fellow Heavenians! Or Heavenites, or whatever you want to say. You’re ambassadors, recruiting officers, messengers. Don’t slack off now – remember the dreams of those soon-to-be-Americans, and the dreams of those in the world even today, who long for this better country, with the freedoms we take so for granted.

Remember that we have an even better one waiting – and if America is this great, think about how much better Heaven’s going to be!
~Trav

Others Like Me

2009-08-20T15:03:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me knows that I would rather be in my room, alone, reading a book or writing; then I would be hanging out with people, making conversation or generally being social. This isn’t because I’m particularly antisocial, it’s just…people make me nervous. I’m often not quite sure what to say, and when I say it, sometimes it comes out all wrong. I would far rather write long and boring blog entries (Dad says the last one was still too long…) or letters to friends. At least in writing, you can stop and think about what you’re going to say, and you won’t stutter over the words, or mispronounce things...
Anyway, besides my natural introvertedness, I also rarely find people who like to converse on the same subjects I do; or who generally want to talk to me at all.
So it was an enormous blessing at camp this year, to get there and realize that pretty much my entire small group (the senior-high girls) was made up of this rare species of girl. We talked books, movies, and music; debated the merits of this or that; had long, warm-but-not-heated discussions about Heaven and God and other things…it was amazing!
This isn’t going to be a long blog (yes, I know I said that last time. Forgive me.) but I just wanted to say, to those of you out there who may wonder if you’re entirely alone – there are others. You may not know them, but there really are people out there who are like you. And in His time, God will bring you together with them – with me, this is the second time this has happened this summer. Maybe God’s changing me to be more outgoing and friendly; maybe He’s just finally bringing people my way. But whatever He’s doing – He’s got a plan, and I can guarantee you that it’s the best one ever.
So don’t give up – if God’s actually made a few other human beings who are just as odd as me (no offense – lol), you can bet He’s done it with you too.
That’s all – toodles!

~Trav

Read Green

2009-08-04T12:03:00.000-07:00

Lessons from the Lows

2009-07-22T10:04:00.000-07:00

So, here it is: my first “serious” blog about camp. And Dad told me that my last post was too long, so I’ll try to make this short and sweet.

One of the activities I told you about was the high and low ropes’ courses. I wrote about a couple of the challenges in my previous post, so I won’t be redundant and do it all again. You can go back and read that post again, if you need to.

The lesson of the low ropes, though, was pretty simple – even if the course itself wasn’t. (I tell you, I have never in my life been that sweaty.) The lesson was this:

Teamwork is important – no, vital – to the life of a Christian. When we were trying to get from one platform to another, we had to rely on teamwork to figure out how to get across, and how to not fall off. When we were going through the “spider web” net, we had to rely on teamwork to decide who went through what hole, and who went in what order, and – of course – we had to rely on each other, and trust each other to get through. (Be sure, it takes trust for an adult group-leader to put herself in the hands of a bunch of high-schoolers and let herself be maneuvered through a two-foot-space high above our shoulders. Ms. Pam rocks…)

It took teamwork to cross the “mohawk” trail (the balance-on-the-wires challenge) and it took trust that the “spotters” in front of, and behind you could catch you if you started to fall.
In the church, it takes teamwork to get things done. Right now, our church is getting ready for VBS, and let me tell you – it takes teamwork to get everything together and running smoothly.
Something else about teamwork – it needs leaders. I’ve always thought of myself as a leader, but on the low ropes’ course? Not so much. It was the people who knew what they were doing, and how to do it best that turned out to be our leaders. Lesson learned: don’t lead unless you know what needs to be done.

Jesus said “Let them alone; they are blind guides. And if the blind lead the blind, both will fall into a pit." (Mat 15:14 ESV)

Now, this is a little out of context – he was talking about the Pharisees, who claimed to lead the people of Israel, but were really just hypocritical “guides” who didn’t know where they were going either.

But the principle still applies. If one blind man leads another, and the seeing man just watches from the sidelines…it’s not going to be pretty. If the inexperienced, the unknowledgeable, the amateurs try to lead the way, while those with experience stand in the wings, not a whole lot is going to get done. Let those people who have sight – learning, wisdom, knowledge – lead. If that’s you – than you lead!

Now, one more modifier.

While our leaders – for example, say Keisha, Tom, and Mike – knew what they were doing, and led well and ably; they were also perfectly willing to listen to other people’s ideas. They didn’t just turn up their noses and say “Humph. We know how this works. You just hush and watch a master.” No, they listened. They were prepared to let untried novices (like yours truly) interject ideas and comments, and were agreeable to putting them into action.

In “real life” this means that leaders don’t always know what’s best. They need to be ready to take input – sometimes very good input – from those who don’t really have a clue, but just might have a good suggestion.

Anyway, that’s my lessons from the low ropes. This was supposed to be a blog on both the low ropes and the high ropes; but I kind of got carried away. We’ll save the high ropes for another day, alright?

Oh, and btw: I hope to be getting some camp pics from my aunt soon. When I do, I’ll try and post some of them here.
‘Til later,

~Trav

Camp Rocks!

2009-07-14T14:19:00.000-07:00

I just got back from a totally amazing extended weekend camp. It was so cool, I hardly know where to start, but I really want to blog about it. However, this is just going to be a quick overview. I hope to do a more in-depth blog or two about what I learned later. So here goes:
We left on Thursday, from my uncle’s church. (“We” is I, my brother Nathanael, and my cousins Michael and Rachel.) We drove for about three hours to the camp, filling three church vans with youth and leaders, and doing everything from telling scary stories and scaring gas station attendants, to singing old camp songs and laughing our heads off the whole way. J
When we got there, it was dark, so we couldn’t really see much; but the cabins were super nice and clean, and we all got settled in for the night fairy easily.
The next day, the fun started.
8:30am was breakfast – which, btw, this camp had the best food I’ve ever had at a camp. No bouncy chicken nuggets or damp sandwiches – this was food. Anyway, after brekkers came our morning worship – “Good morning, Lord!” One of the older leaders gave a devotional, we sang a few praise songs, and went to our private quiet times. After that, we joined up with our age group (we were divided into jr. high girls, sr. high girls, jr. high boys and sr. high boys, just FYI) for “small groups”.
After small groups, it was time for lunch, (make sure you get the GermX!) and more great food.
Ah-ah…and that’s when things got interesting. Float trip! I was partnered with my cousin Rachel, which kinda worked and kinda didn’t. Rachel sort of knew what she was supposed to do, and I had the muscles to do it…but not the knowledge. So instead of a straight canoe ride down the river, we had a ziggy-zaggy, go-that-way, watch-out-for-that-tree!!!! Kind of ride. LOL. By the end of the trip, I was so sore…but it was worth it. Definitely a blast.
When we returned from the float trip, we had dinner, and then another small group meeting before evening worship; and then as our last thing for the day, we had a game time called “Night Glow”. Basically, this was when we got to run around outside doing things like playing “capture the flag” with glow sticks, or playing “I Have Never” inside when it rained, or playing a game that has no title but involved candles and water outside (LOL – we love fire…).
Pretty much, that was our general schedule for the weekend, except that on day two, we had a low-ropes course instead of the float trip, and on day three it was a high ropes course.
The low ropes course was a lesson in teamwork. We had to – as a group – overcome obstacles like a “spider web” of rope that you had to get your teammates through the holes…you’ve probably done something like this. You know; you have to get through either without touching the sides (or in our case, without knocking off a forked stick balanced on the top) and once someone has gone through, that hole is “dead”, and you can’t use it again.
Another test involved three small platforms on the ground, where you had to get your entire group onto the first one, and then using two 2x4s, one about two foot long and the other seven feet or so, get everyone across the second, smaller platform and onto the last one. *Gasp* Yes. I know that was a run-on sentence. Sorry. LOL.
Then there were two that were cables stretched between trees that you had to either balance on as a line of linked people or walk across leaning on another person as the space between you got wider and wider. Sorry if that isn’t making sense – I’m tired. If you need clarification, leave a comment, I’ll explain better later.
Anyway, that was the low ropes course.
The high ropes course involved a high rock wall to climb, a log to walk across thirty feet in the air (!!!) and a zip line. Very cool – again, I’ll have to do a special blog about the zip line and stuff. This was on Sunday, after a really amazing morning worship service.
Then today, Monday, we came home. L I’m sad and happy at the same time – yes, I’m glad to be home, but at the same time, I wish camp could have lasted longer. Not only was it awesomely fun, it was also a major spiritual high – constantly learning, thinking about Christ, and worshiping with fellow believers.
Ooh – let me tell you one story, and then I’ll sign off for now. This almost made me cry.
One of the days, during worship, my uncle was teaching. He asked us to bow our heads and close our eyes, and raise our hands if we knew for sure that we had a relationship with Christ. After a second of absolute silence, except for a rustle here and there, he spoke again, and his voice was a little excited and emotional at the same time. He said; “Look up, and look around, guys. Every single one of you has your hand in the air.”
Everyone looks around, and it was like “Wow. We really are in this together.”
So cool.
Anyway, toodles for now. I’ll post more serious stuff later, but for now, just know that it was an amazing time, and I sincerely hope that it has really made a permanent difference in the lives of all of us who were there.
Bye!

~Trav

Summer Thoughts

2009-07-06T10:17:00.000-07:00

Note: I wrote this a week or so ago, and it's not so hot anymore. My point is the same though, so I thought I'd go ahead and post it. Happy 4th, by the way. I'll put a "Fourth of July" poem at the end too.

I am really not a big fan of summer. Let’s just put it that way.
Actually, it might be more accurate to say that I detest summer – at least around here.
Don’t get me wrong – I love swimming and fireworks and barbecue and chasing lightning bugs after dark, but it’s just so hot.
And where I live, it’s wet too. Not just rain; but a thick, sticky humidity that clogs up your lungs and makes moving seem like trying to swim through syrup. The hottest part of the day can be like a sauna, and in an old country house without air-conditioning…bleh.
Well, I guess I shouldn't say that. We have a window unit downstairs to cool things off there – in fact, I’m typing this right now sitting not ten feet from it, and it’s blowing a gracious gift of coolness all over the room. But the thing is, my bedroom is upstairs. On the west side of the house. You know that old saying “rise in the east, set in the west”? Yeah – so I get the afternoon sun.
I lay there at night in my bed, my face stuck into the small pocket of moving air generated by my fan in the window, staring up at the stars through a thick layer of haze, and I wonder: if I ever get married, what are the chances of my talking my husband into moving to Wisconsin? Or better yet – Alaska.
But I’m not writing this just to whine – I actually had a point to this blog.
Psalm 74:17 says: “You have fixed all the boundaries of the earth; you have made summer and winter.”
Summer – much as I may dislike it, and even the oppressive humidity and heat – is a creation of God.
Have you ever noticed, that when it’s cold, we long for the summer, (or at least the spring) and when it’s hot, we wish for the winter? We humans are such fickle things – the grass is always greener and all that. But God has a time, plan and purpose for everything. The well known passage in Ecclesiastes tells us:

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace.”
I might add: “a time for heat, and a time for coolness, a time to sweat and a time to freeze”!
But God knows what we need and when we need it, He does “great and unsearchable things”, and “sends the rain on the earth”, the snowstorms across the countryside, the hurricanes through the seas, and the heat into my bedroom. God knows what He’s doing, and even in such insignificant-seeming things as the heat of the summer, He has a plan that He’s ultimately working out.
I may detest the summer, and I’d still like to live somewhere that rarely gets above 80 on a hot day, but it’s great to know that my God cares enough to work even in the small things – like the fact that our house does have cool air downstairs, and that there’s this really great thing called Kool-aid that you can freeze and make amazing Popsicles out of. And if we can trust Him in the small things, shouldn’t we be able to trust him with the bigger ones too?
Now…where’s that Alaskan guide-book..?

~Trav

The Smell of Patriotism
7-5-07

Plumes of fiery feathers
Play upon the night air
With cracklings
And muffled roars
And shouted booms
They sing their song
They only last a few seconds
Then pass into memory’s
Blurred oblivion
Bits of cold, soft stuff
Fall from the sky
Like pieces of a star’s pillow
They land, dead and pale
On my upturned face
Moments ago, they were fire
Living, breathing, shining
Now they lay peacefully
On the palm of my hand
In my hair
On my clothes
Only a dim reminder
Of their former glory
And as a blanket
Of thick smoke covers
The whole land
I think that the smell
Of ashes and powder and sparks
Is the most patriotic smell
That there could be.

Ryan Watters and the King's Sword

2009-06-26T14:14:00.000-07:00

Not too long back, I won a copy of Eric Reinhold's book "Ryan Watters and the King's Sword". I read it eagerly, as it's the only author-signed book I own (and if that's not cool, I don't know what is...).
I liked it, glad to say; though it was a bit on the "cliche" side of Christian fantasy.
So here's the story.
Ryan is a normal kid in a small town (which actually exists, believe it or not) with normal kid problems - including a certain bully. Then one night, an angel visits Ryan and gives him several powerful objects, and commissions him on a quest to find the King's Sword. This sets off a wonderfuly colorful adventure that includes talking animals, other worlds, strangly colored water, and the said bully.
Now, all that said, it is a fun book, and worth the read. I did find it to be - like I said - just a little cliche: the talking animals were nothing special, (though they were good characters) and the story was pretty predictable.
The spiritual side of the story - the battle between good and evil, as the bully and his demonic boss infiltrate this fantasy world and bring dissatisfaction and chaos - is probably the best part of it, because - well, I won't say, as it would just spoil the story for you. lol
I would reccomend "The King's Sword" for kids - probably about twelve and under, though I enjoyed it well enough to read it twice myself.
Anyway, that's my quickie review - hopefully the next time I post something, I'll have something besides a review to write about!
~Trav

The Rivers Run Dry

2009-05-27T14:13:00.000-07:00

Special Agent Raleigh Harmon is good at her job; forensic geology investigation for the FBI. In The Rivers Run Dry, the second installation in a budding series about Raleigh’s adventures, (written by author Sibella Giorello,) she has just been transferred to Seattle from Richmond as the result of some serious politicking at the end of book one: The Stones Cry Out.
As one of the few females on her new team, Raleigh finds herself struggling: the new workplace and living-space, the strains of caring for an ailing mother, and the half-bullying of a confusing colleague all add up to a tough transition.
Then a young college girl goes missing while hiking in the woods, and a ransom note is sent to her worried – and worryingly rich – parents. Raleigh vows to find the girl, relying on her background in geology and her training as an FBI agent to uncover the truth. By the way, just as a slight “spoiler”, the end truth is so unexpected that I’d be willing to bet my signed Rebecca St. James CD that you won’t guess “whodunit” until at least chapter twenty eight. Hint: just ignore that annoying character named Claire. She’s right, but you’ll never “get it” listening to her random rambling.
OK, so enough of the spoiling the book for you. You came here for a review, not a Cliff’s Notes version.
At any rate, The Rivers Run Dry balances on a very thin edge between good reading and...otherwise. Not that it's bad – it’s a great story – but it’s…different somehow. Slow, but not really. Shallow characters at times, but for all the right reasons, you still care about them and cheer them on wholeheartedly. A good mystery, but hard to follow at times.
Part of this, I think, is that you don’t “hear” Raleigh’s thoughts all the time. Sometimes you do, but when it comes to the important stuff – like why this clue pertains to this one – it’s like the window slams shut.
Overall, though, the religious ambiguity in Raleigh’s life is the only thing that really bothered me. She’s a Christian, but church and a personal life with God seem to play a pretty small part. Even that I could handle, but Raleigh’s mother – who seems to suffer from some kind of manic depression or mild dementia – dabbles in all sorts of “spiritual” cloudiness. From ultra-conservative communes to charismatic churches to New Age garbage, the woman looks to be seeking, and though Raleigh seems to know the answers, she acts content to let her mother wander willy-nilly over the religious landscape. I would hope that Mrs. Giorello sheds some brighter light on this subject in the future.
Personally, I enjoyed The Rivers Run Dry. Before reading it for Thomas Nelson, I picked up a copy of The Stones Cry Out, so I’d know what was going on. And let me say, The Rivers Run Dry is twice as compelling and fascinating as its predecessor. The Stones Cry Out was good, but I definitely liked The Rivers Run Dry better.
This is a book to check out – here’s a link to Thomas Nelson’s website: (click here). And I’ll be waiting eagerly for Raleigh Book three, (The Clouds Roll Away) set to hit the shelves March of 2010.

~Trav

"Potaotes" could have used a little more butter...

2009-05-14T11:16:00.000-07:00

Recently, our family watched the new-ish movie entitled Faith like Potatoes. I had seen the previews, and was looking forward to a good movie in the vein of Saving Sara Cain, The Ultimate Gift, or Fireproof.
I was left feeling pretty disappointed.
Potatoes is the based-on-a-true-story movie about a man named Angus Buchan and his family, white (Scottish) farmers in South Africa. It follows their adventures and triumphs over a period of a few years; including Angus’ turn from a raging man with both anger-issues and a small drinking problem, to a man of faith who wants to tell the good news about Christ to everyone he meets. The movie’s title comes from this part where Angus wanted to plant potatoes in his fields, instead of the usual maize or beans—despite the fact that there is currently a drought, and that the fertilizer alone for such a crop was extraordinarily expensive. He wants to plant the potatoes to prove something to the people around him—for those who have faith, God works miracles; and our faith should be like a potato itself: solid and tangible and obvious.
And while the movie had a pretty good message (that faith like a potato can move mountains,) and the acting was pretty well done, Potatoes failed badly on one major issue: Clarity.
First, the biggest part of the film’s lack of understandability was the cast. While, as I said, they were decent actors, their diction was horrendous and nearly mumbled at times. This was not helped by the fact that they all had thick Scottish/British/Australian accents; they all spoke very quickly and seldom enunciated. Believe it or not, it was a relief when they began to speak in Zulu (the language of the local African tribes): There were subtitles then!
Secondly, Potatoes had problems with flow. The film is supposed to be about the idea of this man planting a crop of potatoes in the middle of a dry spell, as an act of faith. That was the primary focus of the previews and advertising—not to mention the very name of the movie. However, of the approximately two hour film, only about the last fifteen minutes even mentioned potatoes! Oops—let me correct that: earlier in the movie, there is one scene where two characters comment that potatoes would be a very expensive and potentially time-wasting crop.
That’s it.
The rest of the hour and forty-five minutes consist of barely-connected scenes from this farming family’s life: moving from one farm to a new one, going to church, planting, building a house…but all in a very disjointed fashion. Only the thinnest of storylines connect the scenes; and the scarcity of an actual, solid plot makes for a jerky, yet somehow slow story.
Granted, this is based on a true story, so it’s almost more of a documentary than a feature film. Still, if you only see the last twenty minutes of Potatoes, you’ll probably get the main gist of the story, not to mention the most interesting part.
It seems to me that the tale they had to tell was good, and could have made a compelling movie. If they had only given the script to someone with a bit more story-telling talent, it could have lived up to my expectations. As it was, there were far too many long scenes of uninspired (unintelligible) conversation, and too many scenes of short, meaningless action. This is not, and could never be an action movie; but a better, more plot-driving script and a few more…energetic scenes would have not gone amiss.
It was especially annoying to me that they seemed to set it up—several times—for an “action” scene: for example, there are quite a few bits where the main characters are worrying about white farmers being attacked by angry natives. Radio news in the background; or conversations with other characters all seem to be leading up to something…but it never comes. This kind of unfulfilled foreboding was irritating, and could have been resolved in only one scene—perhaps of Angus and his wife talking about how they worry, but they’re sure God will see them through. That’s all it would have taken.
Really, the only “action” in Potatoes is when something drastic goes wrong—a fire gets out of control, or a woman gets hit by lightning, or the pre-Christian Angus gets into a knock-down, drag-out fight. The exceptions, such as a polo game played by some of the characters; are very quick and choppy, with no real resolution. They almost seem distracted—and are certainly distracting.
And so often, we come in after the action. The tractor crashes; we only see it busted on the side of the road. (This, by the way, right after one of those seemingly-foreboding scenes, where two small children are playing on the tractor. You think, Uh-oh. The kids trashed Dad’s machine, only to find out that, no, it was the hired hands.) Or the house is to be built—we only get one scene of them plastering the sides of the house with mud.
There is, however, one scene that would qualify as “action”, but personally I could have done without it. WARNING: spoiler ahead.
Angus, his hired-hand/friend Simeon and two small children are driving along the road in the tractor. (It’s been fixed by this time, obviously.) The little boy slips, falls, and is crushed under the machine’s gigantic wheels. What follows includes copious amounts of blood, the death of the little boy, and much agonized weeping. All true to life, no doubt, but it all happens very suddenly, and was violent enough that we had to send my little brother out of the room.
I could go on about my disappointment with Potatoes, but to be honest, I’m feeling guilty already. I have no doubt that Potatoes was a noble effort and took a lot of hard work and time to create. If anyone who was involved in the making of this movie reads this, please do not take my article as a personal attack, or even an attack against the movie itself. I was simply expecting something entirely different, and was very disappointed by what I saw.
As a final comment, I think Potatoes had great potential, but was not given the chance to become all it could be, and could have significantly benefited from a large dose of clarity in all aspects. If the film is Potatoes, then I would recommend an unhealthy helping of butter and salt to the filmmakers for future works.
Now, for some reason, I’m craving mashed potatoes. Hey Mom, where’s the vegetable peeler?
~Trav

A Short Fan Fiction

2009-05-05T11:01:00.000-07:00

So, I was looking for something to post...and I found this. I think I've mentioned before that I'm a big fan of L.B. Graham's "Binding of the Blade" series, and a while back, I wrote this fan fiction, about one of the main characters, for a writing contest.
Anyway, hope you enjoy - oh, but if you haven't read BotB, and plan to, you may not want to read this. Spoilers are included. ;)
Have fun!
~Trav

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Benjiah was late.
The shadows of dusk were already darkening the streets of Amaan Sul as he raced toward the palace. “Mom’s gonna kill me,” he panted to himself.
It wasn’t really his fault, though – how was he supposed to know that clumsy Creen would choose today to break his arm playing spatball? And it would have been rude – not to mention unprincely – to just leave his friend while he was having it set. Yes, that would be the way he told it to his mother. Wylla wouldn’t be able to argue with a prince aiding a friend.
Benjiah dodged around a strolling matron and her maid, narrowly missing an old man on the other side of the street.
Besides, his musings continued, seeing a bone set was very educational. First the healer had put Creen to sleep with a drink of a nasty-looking green brew, then he carefully-but-firmly grasped the broken arm and –
“Oomph!” Benjiah, distracted, collided with something in his path, and fell to the pavement. The something – or someone he realized with dismay – fell down as well.
“Bungling oaf!” a sharp voice exclaimed. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”
Benjiah sat up, grunting at the pain in his skinned elbows. He was about to offer a pointed retort when he saw whom he had smashed into.
It was a girl, dressed in an outlandish outfit that made Benjiah blink, even in the dim light. She wore a vivid teal blouse and a lavender skirt that would have usually flowed gracefully as she walked, but now was tangled around her feet. On her feet was a pair of tooled-leather boots dyed a darker shade of purple. Benjiah averted his eyes, but not before catching a glimpse of the girl’s preposterous stockings – green with stripes of darker green.
She brushed her shortly-cropped, auburn hair out of her face and glared at Benjiah. He couldn’t help but notice her eyes, which were bright green and very, very pretty.
“Well?” she demanded.
Benjiah, startled, clambered to his feet. The girl glared up at him even harder than before, if that were possible. “Well?!?” she repeated, louder.
He couldn’t think of anything to say. “Uh…I…”
She huffed impatiently and, grabbing his arm, hauled herself to her feet. Benjiah stumbled and fell to the ground – again.
The girl put her hands on her hips and looked smugly down. “That’ll teach you to knock over innocent girls in the street and not even offer to help them up,” she said primly.
Benjiah stammered an apology, which the strange girl ignored.
“You know, you look awfully familiar…” she mused, cocking her head at him. “Who are you?”
Benjiah collected his wits enough to answer. “I’m Benjiah Andira.”
The oddly-dressed girl took a tiny step back. “The prince? Joriam Andira’s son?” she seemed incredulous.
Benjiah nodded and pushed himself to his feet, dusting off the back of his breeches.
The girl let out a cynical laugh. “Why, you could be my –“ she interrupted herself and stuck out her hand for him to shake. “I’m Arina Gilion. Figure that one out.”
Then she was gone, pulling out of his grasp lightly and disappearing around a street corner.
Benjiah just stood, looking after her, and rubbed his hand.
Then suddenly, he realized just how dark it had become and shook his head as if to clear it. Darting away toward home, he wryly realized that his excuse for being late had just been rendered useless. Now he was later than ever.
Mom’s gonna kill me.

************************************************

Wylla didn’t exactly kill him, but the tongue lashing Benjiah got for being so tardy mad him almost wish she had. Wylla was a skilled speaker, as befitted a queen of Enthanin. However, when her large vocabulary and flawless sentence structure was put to use scolding her twelve-year-old son, it made anyone else unfortunate enough to be in the room burn with embarrassment and squirm uncomfortably – even if he or she wasn’t actually the object of Her Majesty’s wrath.
By the time his mother was finished with him; Benjiah had apologized six times, vowed never again to be so late without sending word, and had been divested of his dinner.
With a hungry sigh, he gave Wylla a perfunctory kiss goodnight and left the dining room, the smell of roasted fowl and fresh bread wafting tauntingly after him. He climbed the stairs to his bedchamber in a disappointed slump, falling into his large bed glumly.
Lying there, he gazed up at the stone ceiling, tracing its many cricks and cracks with his eyes. His thoughts drifted, and he thought of the strange girl in the streets. Who was she?
“I’m Arina Gilion. Figure that one out.”
He voice echoed in his head. Gilion…where had he heard that name before? Perhaps one of Mother’s friends? It wasn’t someone in Amaan Sul, he knew that much. After all, the girl hadn’t recognized him, so she probably wasn’t a resident of the city.
Outside Amaan Sul then…who did he know? Who did his mother know?
The girl – Arina – had mentioned his father. “Joriam Andira’s son?” she had asked. Perhaps she had known his father? No. Benjiah discarded that thought immediately. Arina looked to be even younger than him. She couldn’t have known Joriam, unless she was at least sixteen or so.
But perhaps there was still a connection there…Gilion, Gilion…Where had he heard that name? By the mountain, it was irritating.
Wylla would wash his mouth out with soap if she heard him saying things like “by the mountain”. Benjiah remembered one time when his grandfather Monias had come to visit, and –
Grandfather Monias! That was it!
Grandfather lived in Dal Harat, where Benjiah’s father had also lived. Now he remembered! Grandfather Monias had been visiting Wylla and sharing news of Dal Harat and those who lived there.
“Aleta has had her second child,” he had said “A healthy baby boy. His sister is thrilled.”
“What did Aleta name him?” Wylla had asked
“Barlon, after his father,” Monias answered. “Though I half expected ‘Joriam’.” He laughed. “I can still see Joriam’s face some nights, hiding in the barn with the cows rather than face Aleta’s attentions.” He sighed “I was surprised when she married so soon after his death.”
Wylla looked into the fire they sat beside in the large palace library. Benjiah sat at her feet, listening to the adults’ conversation contentedly. His mother shook her head. “I too, Father,” she said with just a touch of sadness in her voice. “But it was for the best, and Barlon Gilion is a good man, from what I remember.”
Now Benjiah sat up straight in his bed, grinning in satisfaction. Arina Gilion, daughter of Barlon and Aleta Gilion.
But what had she started to say?
“Why, you could have been my –“ Brother? Yes, that was probably it. If even half the stories about Aleta’s pursuit of Joriam were true…Benjiah was distracted for a moment by the thought of how his life might have been different if his father had married Aleta instead of Wylla. Might Joriam still be alive?
Benjiah shoved the thought away. It was pointless to dwell on such thoughts.
Instead, he remembered Arina’s bright green eyes.

*******************************************

Over the next few weeks, it became apparent to everyone around the young prince – except himself – that Benjiah was smitten, and badly.
As things turned out, Aleta and Barlon were actually there in Amaan Sul to visit Wylla, and so Benjiah ended up saw quite of his object of fascination.
In fact, Wylla soon became worried that his “infatuation” had started to go too far. At first, she and her brothers, Pedraan and Pedraal, had chucked behind their hands at the besotted boy. But as he began to grow more and more obsessed with impressing Arina and catching her attention, Wylla realized that something would have to be done.
“He’s taking this a bit too far,” she confided to her brothers one evening. “He hardly says anything at the dinner table anymore, unless Arina is there; and then he babbles incessantly. Did you see him earlier this afternoon?”
The twins shook their heads. “No,” Pedraal answered “What did he do this time?”
Wylla tried to look annoyed, but couldn’t stop an amused smile from crossing her face. “He took charcoal out of the fireplace and painted a mustache on his upper lip. He thought it would make him look older.”
Pedraan began to laugh, unable to hold back his glee. “I remember Pedraal doing that once,” he chuckled, slapping his brother on the back. “Do you recall that red-headed lass from Tol Emuna, Wylla?” he asked “Her father was the ambassador and she came with him once on a visit.”
Pedraal just sat back in his seat complacently. “Well, we shouldn’t confine the discussion to my exploits, brother,” he said confidently “Why, I recollect a certain merchant’s daughter and a midnight serenade –“
Wylla waved her hand to get her sibling’s attention. They stopped laughing instantly, snuffing their guffaws in a pair of impolite snorts.
“Ahem. Yes, sister dear?” they said in near-unison.
She sighed. Boys.
“I would just like it if you would take Benjiah out and distract him for a few hours tomorrow.” She said. “Preferably outside the city.”
The twins nodded. “Sure,” Pedraal shrugged. “We can take him out hunting or something. He’ll like that.”
Wylla smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”
She left the room, fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) missing the impish look that passed between her brothers.

************************************

Benjiah was lazing in his bed, playing idly with a set of stone chessmen, when his uncles entered his chamber.
“Hello, Benjiah,” Pedraal said, just a trifle too sweetly. Pedraan nudged him.
But Benjiah didn’t notice. “Hi.”
“Want to go riding with us?” Pedraan asked.
Benjiah looked up. “Sure,” he said eagerly. “I’d like to.”
He slipped off the bed and hurriedly put on his boots. “Where are we going?”
The twins looked at each other, looked back at Benjiah, and shrugged. “Who cares?” Pedraal waved the question away. “We just want to get outside for some air.”
Benjiah followed his uncles out of the palace and into the stables, where they saddled a trio of horses, and set off, leaving the city just as most of the people were waking up.
It was a beautiful spring morning, just warm enough that they could shed their cloaks and just cool enough that the horses never sweated. Benjiah closed his eyes and let the wind blow through his blond hair; though his mother would probably complain about his tangles later.
“Hey, there’s a nice spot to stop a while,” he heard Pedraal call out. He opened his eyes to see a small copse of trees shading a deep bit of creek. He recognized the spot as a popular swimming hole in the summer months, but as of yet, the water was still too cold with melted snow to swim in. The three riders reined their horses to a halt outside the copse and tied them to an outlying tree. Dismounting, Benjiah ducked into the almost room-like space created by the tightly-growing trees and sat down on a large, flat rock inside. His uncles, large as they were, had to bend double to enter, but once inside, they too sat on the rock and sighed contentedly.
“What a gorgeous day,” Pedraal exclaimed, sniffing in the fresh spring air. He winked at Benjiah “Almost as pretty as that little Gilion lass you’re courting.”
Benjiah flushed. “I’m not courting anyone!” he protested.
Pedraan shook his head. “That’s not what word around the castle is,” he said. “Just about everyone knows that she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”
“That’s not true!” Benjiah objected, his face growing hotter at the thought of everyone knowing his “secret” feelings.
The twins glanced at each other meaningfully. “All right, whatever you say,” Pedraan shrugged.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the water flow by and hearing the birds sing their springly songs. Finally, Benjiah had to ask. “Does everyone really think that?” he queried miserably.
His uncles nodded solemnly.
Benjiah sighed with all the feeling in his wiry, twelve-year-old body. “What should I do?”
Pedraan and Pedraal let twin smiles appear on their faces. That was just the question they had been waiting for.

*********************************************

The Gilions were to leave the very next morning, to return to Dal Harat. Wylla couldn’t help confessing that she would be relieved when they were gone. While Aleta had doubtless calmed down a bit from her younger days, she was still blunt and, quite frankly, tactless in her conversation. Her husband, Barlon, and three-year-old son by the same name where both quiet and sturdy, but her daughter Arina…Wylla sighed. She could easily see that Arina was probably an exact copy of Aleta at that age. And with Benjiah’s infatuation of the admittedly pretty girl…Yes, it would be a relief when the Gilions were on their way to Dal Harat, carrying messages and gifts for friends and family there, and out of her hair for another year or two.
Wylla sat in front of her mirror, brushing her long, black locks in preparation for dinner. She smiled at her reflection. Joriam used to love her hair, she remembered. He would play with it for hours, if she let him, tugging it when she wasn’t expecting him and wrapping it around his fingers. Wylla sighed. There were days when she missed Joriam so much. Then she thought of Benjiah. Her son looked so much like his father.
Wylla frowned. I wonder if Joriam ever had a crush like Benjiah’s, she thought, somewhat jealously. Then she laughed. What a silly, vain thought.
A knock on her bedroom door pulled her from her musings. “Dinner will be served in a few minutes, m’lady,” a servant called.
Wylla stood and laid the hairbrush aside on her dresser. Straightening her dark red gown, she left the room and headed downstairs to the dining hall, praying that Benjiah’s outing with his uncles would have sobered him up before tonight.
It wasn’t until she was about to enter the dining room when she suddenly saw the irony of hoping that Pedraal and Pedraan had sobered anyone up. Oh, well. It was too late now.
Wylla took her place at the long table and nodded a greeting to everyone present. Benjiah, her brothers, and the Gilion family all nodded back, and waited for her to be seated. As soon as she was, they took their own seats.
Most of the meal passed uneventfully. The rich stew and crusty bread her cooks had prepared brought compliments and exclamations of delight, but other than that, there was not much conversation. To Wylla’s relief, Benjiah was quiet and reserved throughout the meal, even though he was seated directly across from Arina. However; Wylla noted that he seemed on edge and fidgety…she could only hope that he and his uncles hadn’t contrived some prank or hoax as a send-off for their guests. But as the meal progressed, and nothing happened, Wylla relaxed. Perhaps Benjiah was just nervous being in the company of a girl he was so infatuated with.
Then, just before the dessert course, Pedraan tapped his glass with a knife. The gentle ringing tone caught the attention of the diners, and they quieted. “I believe,” the twin said gravely, “that our young prince has something to say.”
Wylla held back a groan. What have they put him up to? She wondered, shooting her best, Royally-stern stare at her brothers.
They ignored her, and Benjiah stood. Looking solemnly around the table, he began what seemed to Wylla like a memorized speech.
“It has come to my attention,” he said stiffly, “that a rumor is spreading; a rumor about me. This rumor states that I have become enamored with you, Ms. Gilion.” He nodded to Arina. Now Wylla was certain that he was reciting something memorized – the Benjiah she knew didn’t even know the word “enamored”, let alone how to use it. She glared at Pedraan and Pedraal, thinking oh, what have you done this time? Her brothers looked back innocently. Too innocently.
“Therefore,” Benjiah continued, “I have composed a poem that states my feelings truly, and – with your permission, Ms. Gilion – I shall perform it.”
Arina looked confused and a trifle embarrassed, but she nodded to Benjiah.
Benjiah cleared his throat, and Wylla closed her eyes.
“A lady I met in the street
Who wore purple boots on her feet
Came to visit my home
‘Neath Amaan Sul’s dome
And the gossips all started to bleat.
This lady whose face is so fair
Whose ears stick out from her hair
Shall not be forgot
But for me she is not
Despite what gossipers swear.
So, dear lady whose heart I don’t hold
Don’t think me incredibly bold
I think you’re just fine
And the pleasure’s been mine
And that is my poem, all told.”
The young prince sat down heavily in his chair, shooting glances at his uncles, who smiled approvingly. He was too nervous to look at his mother or at Arina.
All was silent in the dining hall for the space of perhaps a minute, save for the cooing of tiny Barlon.
Then Arina began to clap. Her parents, smiling broadly, applauded as well. Wylla and the twins joined in, and soon the whole room was filled with the echo of their approval. Aleta spoke up, her blunt voice sounding clearly above the noise.
“Well, that was very good, young Benjiah. And I’m certainly glad you’ve gotten over your thing for Arina. You’d never catch me doing anything that silly.”
The applause halted, and everyone stared at her. Aleta actually blushed, staring down at her plate. “Well…not much, anyway.”
They all laughed, and Benjiah breathed a sigh of relief, silently thanking his uncles for their help with his poem. Wylla just shook her head and smiled.
She leaned over to Pedraal, who sat on her left, and said in a low voice; “Just between us, brother, you don’t have much of a future in poetry.”
Pedraal looked askance. “Me?” he protested incredulously “What makes you think I had anything to do with this?”
Pedraan elbowed him. “You didn’t, brother, except for that sorry line about her ears sticking out of her hair.”
Pedraal coughed. “Pass the bread, dear sister, if you would,” he said quickly.
Benjiah finally worked up the nerve to look at Arina.
Her bright green eyes flashed merrily and she kicked him lightly under the table, saying softly:
“A Prince who once wrote a poem
For a visiting girl in his home,
Acted rather sweet
And even if he did cheat,
It still was quite nicely done.”

THE END

Check this out!

2009-05-01T13:39:00.001-07:00

Click here for one of the coolest things I've ever seen:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7EYAUazLI9k

~Trav

The Tale of Ander Collins

2009-04-10T13:21:00.001-07:00

If you've been reading my blog long, you'll recall that I posted some pictures not terribly long ago, inspired by a story I was working on about a boy named Ander, a dragon named Thraluic, and some other random characters.
So I just thought you might be interested to know that I am currently rewriting the story (entitled "The Tale of Ander Collins" for now) and posting a chapter about every other week at www.apricotpie.com/loriann
Just FYI. Have fun, and I hope you enjoy.
~Trav

Simply Rachel: A review of 'Rachel’s Tears'

2009-03-28T14:07:00.000-07:00

A personal confession before I start this: I’m not a real big fan of non-fiction books, unless they have big glossy pages covered in brightly colored pictures and how-to instructions. Any day of the week, I would much rather read a novel that a biography or a “true-story” type of book. Thus, I am perhaps not the best person to critique a non-fiction book like Rachel’s Tears. With fiction, I know I can comment on the plot, or the character development, or the suspense/romance/adventure/creativity/whatever. With this…well, let’s just jump in and see how it goes.

Rachel’s Tears was first published in 2000, a year after the horrific day of April 20th, 1999; when two troubled teen boys attacked their peers at Columbine High School in Littleton Colorado. The book is actually a 10-year anniversary edition of the book, which was written by Beth Nimmo and Darrell Scott, the parents of Rachel Joy Scott, a teen who died tragically that day.

I think that one can come to know Rachel pretty well though the pages of Rachel’s Tears. I’d like to think I did – though of course, a book written by loving parents and friends doesn’t – can’t – portray whole person. The temptation is to idealize Rachel, to put her up on some sort of a pedestal with a plaque saying “Here she is, the girl who died for her faith. Be like her.” Naturally, we know that Rachel had her problems too – after all, who doesn’t wake up with bad hair in the morning, or get grouchy around 10pm, or hog all the good, crispy fries in the carton? As a fallen people, we live fallen lives – it’s simply a fact.

In Rachel’s Tears, I think her parents gave in to this temptation a little bit – not so much in what they did say, but in what they left out. In fact, they made a point of writing numerous times that they weren’t trying to make Rachel out to be some kind of saint, and that she wasn’t perfect. But the book focuses so predominantly on Rachel’s good side that it leans a bit in the saint-making direction anyway.

Now, that being said; the Rachel I came to know in the pages of this book (filled with entries from her prayer journal; notes to and from friends; and poems she had written) seems like someone I might enjoy being around. Yes, I know she probably had flaws that the book never touches on, but the depth and sincerity of her talks with God are amazing. She was a girl passionately on fire for God, with a deep awareness of her need for him, and her need to share the Truth with others.

Repeatedly, the point is made that Rachel never preached at people – that she would never “beat people over the head” with the gospel, and that she was more interested in “walking her talk” than with just going through the outward motions. Rachel lived solely for God, and she lost friends and opportunities – and eventually her life – because of it.

It was challenging for me to read about Rachel’s faith, so obvious and plain to the people around her. Despite never “preaching”; the accounts of her friends, and the journal entries she left behind show that Rachel was very blunt about her faith. She was honest with people, and wanted them to be honest with her. She told people, very frankly, about exactly who Christ was to her, and how he was working in her life.

I think the best word I can use to describe both Rachel’s Tears and the teen herself is ‘simple’. Not that she was shallow or two-dimensional, but that she had one main purpose in life, and that the drive to fulfill that goal shone through in everything. Most people wear a mask of conformity and “tolerance” on the outside, and then wonder why the faith they think they have inside never shows outside the walls of a church. Rachel was turned inside-out for God, and her desire to glorify and serve him was extremely evident in her life.

As an inspirational read, this book is exceptional – there were several passages that nearly made me cry. (Again, though, we have to be careful not to turn Rachel Scott into some perfect role model. She was a person you could do well to imitate, but then, she was imitating another, and He would be an even better choice.)

Rachel’s Tears was a challenge to me, to be more dedicated to God and to the spreading of his gospel. Maybe it can be for you too – after all, as Rachel’s brief life showed, we have no guarantee of tomorrow. Why not live in the fullest service to God that we can now, before tomorrow doesn’t come, or comes without us?

I give Rachel’s Tears a four out of five stars: * * * *

~Trav

Relevant Links:
Download Sample Chapters
Thomas Nelson Product Page
Browse Other Reviews

A New View of the Universe

2009-03-21T13:29:00.000-07:00

My dad recently showed this to me, so I thought I'd share. This is totally mind-boggling:

This is a scale model of the five smallest planets in our system: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, and Pluto.

Now here are the four larger planets added in: Uranus, Neptune, Saturn and Jupiter.

Here are the planets next to our sun - all correctly sized.

Then here is our sun - Sol - next to some of the smaller stars in our galaxy.

And then those stars beside some other well-known, bright stars. (at this scale, the sun is one pixel large)

Now here is the view from the Hubble Telescope: Those spots? Not stars - those are galaxies, filled with billions of stars the size of Antares and the rest up there. Now check out this close up of one of those 'dark' spots in the above pick:

And then, here's the kicker:

Is that amazing or what? We have such a cool, huge, amazing God, who says that he knows each of those stars by name, and measures the universe with the span of his hand. And yet he cared enough to be born as an infinitesimally small baby to save you and me.

Now that's worth thinking about.

~Trav

Some Art

2009-03-11T12:37:00.000-07:00

I don't have anything important to write at this moment in time - like I ever do, right? - but I thought I'd post a few of my drawings. These aren't the best renderings, because I just took pictures of the originals with my cell phone camera, and it doesn't turn out all that well. But enjoy anyway. Sorry they're so dark.

~Trav

A Seperation Agreement Proposal

2009-03-04T11:48:00.000-08:00

I just read this, posted by Sulmandir on http://www.bindingoftheblade.com/. This is the funniest thing I have read in a good long time. Enjoy!

"To: All American liberals, leftists, social progressives, socialists, Marxists, and Obama supporters, et al.
From: John J. Wall - a Conservative American

Dear Liberals, Leftists, and Socialists: We've stuck together since the late 1950's, but the latest election process and your bailout stimulus plan has made me realize that I want a divorce.

Although we've tolerated each other for many years for the sake of future generations, the sad truth is that the relationship between conservatives and liberals has run its course. Our two ideological sides of America can not and will not ever agree on what is right. Therefore let's just end it on friendly terms. You go your way, and I'll go mine. We can smile, chalk it up to irreconcilable differences, shake hands, and go our own way. But to do that, we'll need a "Separation Agreement." I have drawn one up. I hope you agree with it.

SEPARATION AGREEMENT PROPOSAL
I propose that our two groups - Conservatives and Liberals - equitably divide up the country by land-mass, each of us taking approximately 50% of the total square miles.
I'll co ncede that this is the most difficult part of the separation agreement, but I'm sure our two sides can come to terms. After that's done, the rest should be relatively easy!

Our respective representatives can effortlessly divide other assets since both sides have such distinct and disparate tastes.

For example, us conservatives don't like redistributive taxes, so you can keep them! They're all yours!

You are also welcome to take the liberal judges, the ACLU, the affirmative action crowd, the NAACP, and the National Organization of Women. We don't want any of them.

We also don't want Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid. You can have them.

Since you hate guns and war, we'll take the firearms, the cops, the NRA, and the military, that you hate so much.

Along with Pelosi and Reid, you can also have Oprah, Michael Moore, Stone (Oliver and Sharon), and Rosie O'Donnell (You are, however, responsible for finding a bio-diesel vehicle big enough to move all of them).

We'll take the capitalism, greedy corporations, pharmaceutical companies, Wal-Mart, McDonald's, and Wall Street.

You can have your beloved homeboys, hippies, and illegal aliens.

We'll take the hot Alaskan hockey moms, greedy CEO's, and rednecks.

We'll take the Bibles. You can have all the copies of "Mein Kampf."

We'll take Fox News. You can have NBC, CNN, MSNBC, CBS, ABC and Hollywood. You can also have National Public Television.

We get Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity. You get have Al Franken and Keith Oberman.

You can make nice and kiss up with Iran and Palestine. We'll retain the right to invade and hammer the brains out of any country that threatens us.

You can have the peaceniks, and war protesters. When our allies or our way of life are under assault, we'll help provide them security.

We'll keep our Judeo-Christian values.
You are welcome to Islam, Scientology, Humanism, and Shirley McClain.

You can also have the U.N. but we will no longer be paying the bill.

We get the Hummers, SUVs, pickup trucks, motorhomes, oversized luxury cars, power boats, Harley Davidsons, and private airplanes.

You can have all of the 4-cylinder and hybrid vehicles. You get the mopeds. You can also have all the kayaks and canoes.

You can give every one of your people healthcare, if you can find any practicing doctors.

We'll continue to believe healthcare is a luxury and not a right.

We'll keep "God Bless America" and the National Anthem. You can have "Imagine", "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing", "KumBaYa", and "We Are the World".

We'll practice trickle down economics, and you can give trickle up poverty your best shot.

And by the way . . . since it often so offends you, we'll keep our history, our name, and our flag.

Getting a little tense??? Would you agree to this? I'll bet you ANWAR which one of us will need whose help in 15 years.

Sincerely, John J. Wall - a Conservative American
P.S. Also, please take Barbara Streisand, Jane Fonda, and Alec Baldwin. We don't want them either."

Thanks, Sul. This is priceless. lol

~Trav

To the World

2009-02-23T12:56:00.000-08:00

Back in September of last year, a mere six months ago, I posted this:

Monday, September 8, 2008

I See You!
Ok, for the three people out there besides my grandmother who read this, I just got a cool new little gadget thingy added to my blog. If you scroll down all the way to the bottom, you'll see a little map-lookin' doodad with one or two tiny red squares. Those show me (and the rest of ya'll) where people who log onto this page are. So at the moment, it only has one, because I'm the only one here. Hopefully, by Christmas, there'll be at least two. LOLAnyway, just wanted to point that out and thank Dad for showing me where to get the thing in the first place. If you check out his blog, you'll see that he has the same thing, but his has alot more people than mine ever will - he's even got someone from Canada and another person from Australia! He's a popular person. LOL
Toodles,
~Trav

And now, if you look down at that little "gadgety thingy", you'll see that I have people from all over the world, from the US to Germany, to the Philippines to the Netherlands. Hi, all y'all!
Frankly, it's just a little strange to see that people in all those places have seen my blog - maybe just because you did a google-search on something and it happened to pop up. (sorry if it wasn't what you were looking for. lol)
Anyway, Hi, out there, and if you happen to stay, I hope you like it. See ya - seriously!
~Trav

At long last..."Kiss", by Ted Dekker and Erin Healy

2009-02-10T12:22:00.000-08:00

Well, I finally got on the ball and typed this up. Enjoy!

What is memory worth? What is the point of pain? Would it be worth losing the memory of the experience to forget the pain?
“What do you really want?” Shauna McAllister is asked in the opening chapter of Dekker and Healy’s book, Kiss.
“To forget,” she answers. “I want to forget every single, stinging moment that was inflicted on me by people who were supposed to love me. I want someone to take these memories away from me.”
Be careful what you wish for, Shauna, because in your case, you’re about to get it. Only hours after Shauna says those fateful words, her world is twisted into knots by a car crash that leaves her brother Rudy severely brain-damaged, and Shauna herself in a coma.
Six weeks later, she awakens in the hospital. To her shock – and the pleasant surprise of some unsavory characters – she finds herself with a six-month hole in her memory; every event, every thought, every moment from the last half-year is gone. As she recovers, trying to pick up the pieces of a life she no longer remembers, Shauna becomes uneasy. Little things – discrepancies in accounts of her accident, and threatening text-messages from an unknown caller, not to mention a boyfriend who seems determined to remake her – gradually convince her that not all is as it seems, and much is as it shouldn’t be. Who can be trusted? Who is out to kill her? (Believe you me; there are plenty of the latter) And why do they want her dead – what does she know, but can’t remember?
When Shauna develops an unheard-of ability, things get even more gnarled and complicated, as she attempts to sift through the lies surrounding herself, her accident, and her past.
Unfortunately, that’s about all I can tell you without spoiling the book. If you’ve ever read anything by Dekker, you’ll know how he always manages to keep you guessing up until about the last five chapters or so. Certainly no exception, Kiss is extremely fast-paced; while the twists and plot-hooks are unexpected, but never unbelievable.
Kiss also served to redeem Thomas Nelson publishers a bit in my eyes. If you read my first review (House of Dark Shadows, Liparulo ), you’ll recall that I expressed my disappointment with a so-called Christian publishing house producing a novel so lacking in faith-based elements. (My dad, also a TN Book Review Blogger, has expressed his own frustration at this.) Not the case with Kiss.
From the first chapter, God plays a large role in Shauna’s story, reminding her that – unlike the other people in her life – His love has never abandoned her, and that pain, or memories that bring pain, are not necessarily evil.
”Remember that you were once slaves in Egypt” (Deuteronomy 16:12) a friend of Shauna’s tells her.
Confused, Shauna asks if that means that one should stay focused on the darkest seasons of your life? “How could that possibly do any good?”
“He wants you to remember who delivered you from that time, Shauna.” Her friend explains. “That’s the point of holding on to memory: delivery, not darkness.”
Delivery, not darkness. Perspective, not pain. This is the message of Kiss, one we all need to hear.
Kiss is definitely a book to be read – all in one sitting, if possible – by anyone who enjoys a good speculative/suspense fiction story. The roaring adventure of Shauna’s quest to find the truth is one not to be missed, and one to be devoured again and again.
Bravo, Mr. Dekker! Bravo, Ms. Healy! Keep us the great work, and we’ll be looking forward to the second installment in this saga – Burn, coming January of 2010.
Meanwhile, reader, go find Kiss at your local bookstore – and enjoy!
~Trav

Apricot Pie

2009-01-30T15:34:00.000-08:00

OK, so a good friend of mine recommended this site. It's a host site for home-schoolers and home-school grads where they can post stuff they write; poems, stories, essays, etc. I've posted some things on there, and the really cool part is that other members can comment on your posts and tell you what they like and don't like, etc. If you're interested, here's the link to my page, and tell any home-schoolers you know about this place. Tis very cool.
~Trav

PS: my Dekker/Healy review is coming soon. Stay tuned!
~T

My Take on Obama

2009-01-20T14:27:00.000-08:00

I don't have much time, but I thought it would be appropriate to commemorate this occasion on my blog. First, let me say that I am not a fan of Obama's. I don't like him, his policies, or his promises.
That being said, let me add that the office of the President of our United States is a position that deserves respect, whether the man in the Oval Office does or not. And also, though I certainly don't care for Obama, I still think it's cool that the very first African-American president of the USA was elected during my lifetime. It's something to tell the grandkids, anyway...lol
Well, I have to get off, but let me just tell the world that I will be praying for my new President...and at the next elections (unless something changes) I will be voting against him.:)
~Trav

Happy Dragon Day!!!

2009-01-16T10:21:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again, time to go out and show your appreciation for your favorite dragon! National Appreciate a Dragon Day (today, Jan 16th) is the perfect occasion to tell our draconian friends how much we care, though we often seem to take them for granted. So get off your computer, bundle up against the cold and take some cookies to your local dragon - maybe he'll even let you warm up in his lair, if you mix in enough chocolate chips in the dough!!
Happy Dragon Day, everyone, and hopefully I'll have something more serious next time. lol

Dragon Cheek
9-29-07

If I believed in Dragons-
Which I don’t
~~Yes you do.
I’d say they were very stubborn
~~Yes, we are.
They’re always insisting
Persisting, resisting
~~Indeed
At lease, they would, I think
If they were real.
~~We are!
There’s a fake one on my bookshelf
And sometimes I think-
~~Ohh…that’s where that burning smell is coming from…
Oh, hush. You aren’t real.
But sometimes I think-
~~We are too!
No, dragons aren’t real, you see,
Only the products of an overactive imagination-
~~Not a problem of yours
That I don’t believe in.
~~You do too.
Do not, but if I did, I’d think that dragons
~~That’s me!
Are very cheeky.
~~Hmph.
As I was saying – Ahem.
I sometimes think that my pretend dragon-
~~Hmph.
- Winks at me. Though I’m sure –
~~Are you?
Stop interrupting! Yes, I’m sure that
It’s all in my head
~~There’s certainly room enough.
Dragons would be sarcastic too –
~~Ohh, feel the burn!
If they existed.
~~Betcha can’t prove that we don’t.
I shall! First of all…that is…
Studies show that…
~~We’re waiting.
What I mean to say is that…
Um.
Hmm.
I suppose that maybe;
~~Yes???
Maybe…you see, there is no proof
In either direction…so;
~~Your point?
So, perhaps, just perhaps you understand,
But perhaps dragons…
~~You seem so certain.
Might be…real.
~~I can’t hear you.
Fine!
So dragons are real.
It’s hard to argue the nonexistence-
~~Ohh, big word.
Of something that argues back
And insults you the whole time
~~So to restate the obvious?
Dragons are real.
~~Well, duh.

~Trav

Book Review Blogger update - Coming Soon...

2009-01-13T09:32:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been a while, but I'm finally going to get my second book to review for Thomas Nelson Publishers: "Kiss" by Ted Dekker and Erin Healy.

Here's the blurb from TN's site:

"Sometimes dying with the truth is better than living with a lie.
After a car accident puts Shauna McAllister in a coma and wipes out six months of her memory, she returns to her childhood home to recover, but her arrival is fraught with confusion. Her estranged father, a senator bidding on the White House, and her abusive stepmother blame Shauna for the tragedy, which has left her beloved brother severely brain damaged.
Leaning on Wayne Spade, a forgotten but hopeful lover who stays by her side, Shauna tries to sort out what happened that night by jarring her memory to life. Instead, she acquires a mysterious mental ability that will either lead her to truth or get her killed by the people trying to hide it. In this blind game of cat and mouse that stares even the darkest memories in the face, Shauna is sure of only one thing: if she remembers, she dies."

Yup yup - keep watching, folks. Review coming soon!

~Trav

A Poem, for a change

2009-01-09T10:38:00.000-08:00

OK, I was just looking for something to post. Here's a poem of mine, hope you like it.

Behind, Inside a Star

Some autumn night
When you cannot sleep
Reach out your window
And knock on a star
If it opens
(Which it might)
You may well see anything
An irate fairy you woke up
A strangely empty silver cup
A flower made of sealing wax
The brush your sister never packs
A penguin on a golden throne
A dragon you could call your own
A bowl of lumpy, cold oatmeal
Half a curly apple-peel
A science project gone awry
A game you may not ever try
The sock you lost a week ago
Someone saying “Told you so!”
A mountain with a cap of cloud
The cat that never once “meowed”
A book without a single word
The wrong song with the perfect bird
You could find anything at all
But then again, you might see
Nothing.

~Trav

"Encounter"

2009-01-05T13:51:00.000-08:00

Just to let ya'll know, my poem "Encounter" can now be seen at MindFlights. First poem of the new year!!!

Happy New Year!!!!!

2008-12-31T10:30:00.001-08:00

I know, I didn't get on here for Christmas (Merry Christmas, late) But I wanted to wish the world a Happy New Year.
Go 2009!!!!