I didn't do it intentionally. Honest!
Things like Christmas, family vacation, pre-planned blogposts, and a sore arm had gotten in the way. All of the sudden it had been... well, way too long.
It hadn't felt like it had been a long time otherwise I would have taken care of it long before I flopped down on a king size log bed with a purple pen and my Writer's Notebook.
Yup, I was rusty. It hurt. And I silently cursed myself for smacking my forearm on whatever I was clumsy enough to crash into.
But I loved it.
It felt so good to be back, to be doing something I loved. It was a deep breath of rich air. It was calming and refreshing.
I pushed through the pain of the pen's movement across the page. I slowly shook the dust from the dictionary stored in my corner of my brain. I smiled as I saw the influence of other writers and as the piece took a different direction than I anticipated.
It was good. It was home.
Home is watching my fingers bleed purple ink.
Home is the opening chords of a familiar song.
Home is digging into the Word when you've gotten busy, lazy, and unintentional.
Home is freedom and fresh air. Comfort, love, and uncontainable joy.
Home is sleeping between your own sheets after a long vacation. Home is hugs waiting for you at the door and milk in the fridge.
While the physical location of home is changing once again, the emotional feeling of home follows me wherever I go.
For this I am grateful.
I am also grateful for grace. For hobbies, no, for ways of life, that return after having been abandoned.
<>< Katie
Showing posts with label Writer's Notebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writer's Notebook. Show all posts
Friday, January 6, 2012
Sunday, October 24, 2010
The Signs of Womanhood
I have a huge Wal-mart list, but I haven't had time to go. Instead, I made a quick stop at the grocery store for the vitals. Three two-gallon jugs of water, a 12 oz bag of milk chocolate chips, and a bottle of Tylenol.
Since you can't go out in public here without seeing someone you know, I ran into one of my professors.
"That makes so much sense," she said after a quick glance at the items in my hand. "On so many levels."
Busted.
I laughed it off. There was no way she'd believe the water was a weekly purchase, the Tylenol because I finally ran out of the nasty store-brand pain reliever I bought in the spring, and the chocolate chips were not for eating.
Well, they were. Sort of.
Last week Kristin posted a microwave recipe for peanut butter cups, and I wanted to try them. So, I did the logical thing. I printed the recipe and glued it in my Writer's Notebook, then saved a digital copy just in case. It was in that moment that I realized I am officially one step closer to adulthood.
I don't cook. Ok, I can make a coveted cheese dip. That's about it. Until now. Now I can make peanut butter cups, too. What more does a person need, right?
<>< Katie
PS: If you're going to try the recipe, don't cut the muffin papers in half (at least I didn't) and let them thaw between the second cooling and eating or be prepared for a little someone (aka my roommate Jennifer) to make a mess of peanut butter.
Since you can't go out in public here without seeing someone you know, I ran into one of my professors.
"That makes so much sense," she said after a quick glance at the items in my hand. "On so many levels."
Busted.
I laughed it off. There was no way she'd believe the water was a weekly purchase, the Tylenol because I finally ran out of the nasty store-brand pain reliever I bought in the spring, and the chocolate chips were not for eating.
Well, they were. Sort of.
Last week Kristin posted a microwave recipe for peanut butter cups, and I wanted to try them. So, I did the logical thing. I printed the recipe and glued it in my Writer's Notebook, then saved a digital copy just in case. It was in that moment that I realized I am officially one step closer to adulthood.
I don't cook. Ok, I can make a coveted cheese dip. That's about it. Until now. Now I can make peanut butter cups, too. What more does a person need, right?
<>< Katie
PS: If you're going to try the recipe, don't cut the muffin papers in half (at least I didn't) and let them thaw between the second cooling and eating or be prepared for a little someone (aka my roommate Jennifer) to make a mess of peanut butter.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Reunited
A long time ago I said if you all were nice to me I would post some fiction. I haven't forgotten that promise but I have not fulfilled it either. Until now. Ta-da! It's just a first draft (well, second if you count the version in my Writer's Notebook). Inspired by a couple I saw for ten seconds while people watching in the airport. <>< K
Juggling a cranky toddler in one arm and an overfull diaper bag with the other, Samantha slowly made her way down the airport concourse.
"Sam."
His booming voice made her insides swell with excitement. Had it really only been four days? She felt like she had been gone for four years. Even though she had not yet found Brad in the crowd, she knew they were close because Alexi squirmed more with every step Samantha took. Finally Samantha saw him. His big white smile, deep blue eyes, and shaggy brown hair. She could get lost staring at him.
Alexi flew out of Samantha's arms and fell into her father's chest. Samantha watched as Brad nuzzled his face into Alexi's hair. If ever there had been a doubt regarding this father's love for his daughter, this moment eliminated it.
"Hey, Beautiful," he said to Samantha. He stepped forward and kiss her on the forehead. With his free arm he wrapped her into him. Letting the diaper bag fall to the ground, she gripped his back with both hands and breathed in his scent. She loved being held firmly in his embrace.
Alexi let out a giggle and leaped backwards, almost throwing herself to the ground. Brad let go of his wife and shifted his attention back to the baby. He entertained Alexi while Samantha claimed their stroller and large suitcase with a heavy tag, again she questioned if the trip had truly only been four days. She reassembled the stroller and threw the diaper bag into the seat. There would be no removing Alexi from her daddy's arms anytime in the near future; they both would protest if Samantha tried.
"Ready?"
Samantha nodded. She pushed the stroller with her left hand and pulled the suitcase with her right. The three of them headed out the door. Samantha was ready to get home. Ready to relax on her own couch, cuddle with her husband, and let him take care of the baby. She didn't think he'd mind.
As they stepped into crosswalk, Brad switched Alexi to his right arm and reached for the suitcase with his left hand. Samantha let him take the weight, but she did not remove her hand. She wrapped her pinky around his and held on as they walked to the car.
Juggling a cranky toddler in one arm and an overfull diaper bag with the other, Samantha slowly made her way down the airport concourse.
"Sam."
His booming voice made her insides swell with excitement. Had it really only been four days? She felt like she had been gone for four years. Even though she had not yet found Brad in the crowd, she knew they were close because Alexi squirmed more with every step Samantha took. Finally Samantha saw him. His big white smile, deep blue eyes, and shaggy brown hair. She could get lost staring at him.
Alexi flew out of Samantha's arms and fell into her father's chest. Samantha watched as Brad nuzzled his face into Alexi's hair. If ever there had been a doubt regarding this father's love for his daughter, this moment eliminated it.
"Hey, Beautiful," he said to Samantha. He stepped forward and kiss her on the forehead. With his free arm he wrapped her into him. Letting the diaper bag fall to the ground, she gripped his back with both hands and breathed in his scent. She loved being held firmly in his embrace.
Alexi let out a giggle and leaped backwards, almost throwing herself to the ground. Brad let go of his wife and shifted his attention back to the baby. He entertained Alexi while Samantha claimed their stroller and large suitcase with a heavy tag, again she questioned if the trip had truly only been four days. She reassembled the stroller and threw the diaper bag into the seat. There would be no removing Alexi from her daddy's arms anytime in the near future; they both would protest if Samantha tried.
"Ready?"
Samantha nodded. She pushed the stroller with her left hand and pulled the suitcase with her right. The three of them headed out the door. Samantha was ready to get home. Ready to relax on her own couch, cuddle with her husband, and let him take care of the baby. She didn't think he'd mind.
As they stepped into crosswalk, Brad switched Alexi to his right arm and reached for the suitcase with his left hand. Samantha let him take the weight, but she did not remove her hand. She wrapped her pinky around his and held on as they walked to the car.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Never Alone
She sat on the futon with both of her legs curled underneath her. The purple polar fleece blanket draped over her held the textbook she wasn't reading. Just out of reach was her chocolate milk in a glass made of glass. On the table in front of her sat the computer with broken internet, Nalgene with one last shluck of iodized lake water, and her Writer's Notebook.
The music was playing louder than necessary but she wasn't listening until the familiar chords sounded once again. She'd already heard that song once that day well as several times in the last week. It seemed to be appearing everywhere as if it were haunting her. Perhaps there was something in it she desperately needed to hear.
"Never Alone" by BarlowGirl
I waited for You, today
But You didn't show.
No, no, no.
I needed You, today,
so where did You go?
You told me to call.
Said You'd be here.
And though I haven't seen You,
are You still there?
I cry out with no reply,
and I can't feel You by my side,
so I'll hold tight to what I know:
You're here,
and I'm never alone.
And though I cannot see You,
and I can't explain why.
Such a deep, deep reassurance
You've placed in my life.
Oh, oh.
We cannot separate.
You're part of me.
And though You're invisible
I'll trust the unseen.
I cry out with no reply,
and I can't feel You by my side, so
I'll hold tight to what I know:
You're here,
and I'm never alone.
We cannot separate.
You're part of me.
And though You're invisible
I'll trust the unseen.
As she listens, she remembers learning to sign the song. The corresponding facial expressions of desperation and confusion seemed to come so easily. Now they seem easier. What was once a loud proclamation of, "I'll hold tight to what I know: You're here, and I'm never alone" is now whispered gently. Yet it still holds true. Even when it is difficult to say, it holds true!
Her right hand flies through the air in a reverse candy cane. The left meets in an imaginary bouquet of flowers and pulsates for emphasis.
GOD TRUST +
"God I trust You," she says.
The music was playing louder than necessary but she wasn't listening until the familiar chords sounded once again. She'd already heard that song once that day well as several times in the last week. It seemed to be appearing everywhere as if it were haunting her. Perhaps there was something in it she desperately needed to hear.
"Never Alone" by BarlowGirl
I waited for You, today
But You didn't show.
No, no, no.
I needed You, today,
so where did You go?
You told me to call.
Said You'd be here.
And though I haven't seen You,
are You still there?
I cry out with no reply,
and I can't feel You by my side,
so I'll hold tight to what I know:
You're here,
and I'm never alone.
And though I cannot see You,
and I can't explain why.
Such a deep, deep reassurance
You've placed in my life.
Oh, oh.
We cannot separate.
You're part of me.
And though You're invisible
I'll trust the unseen.
I cry out with no reply,
and I can't feel You by my side, so
I'll hold tight to what I know:
You're here,
and I'm never alone.
We cannot separate.
You're part of me.
And though You're invisible
I'll trust the unseen.
As she listens, she remembers learning to sign the song. The corresponding facial expressions of desperation and confusion seemed to come so easily. Now they seem easier. What was once a loud proclamation of, "I'll hold tight to what I know: You're here, and I'm never alone" is now whispered gently. Yet it still holds true. Even when it is difficult to say, it holds true!
Her right hand flies through the air in a reverse candy cane. The left meets in an imaginary bouquet of flowers and pulsates for emphasis.
GOD TRUST +
"God I trust You," she says.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
God is an Earthquake
God is an earthquake.
Sometimes He bursts in with trembling force destroying anything and everything. With one simple movement He flips your life up-side down. Just like detrimental earthquakes get all of the press, unexpected life changes get all of the attention. Yes, God uses those.
He also uses earthquakes like the ones I experienced in Guatemala.
I was sitting on the bottom bunk journaling when the bed began to shake. At first, I didn't think anything of it. Heather must have woken up and kicked the unstable bed frame. Then I looked at Heather, still fast asleep. I looked across the room at Mandi who was looking back at me. Her eyes held the same questions mine did: what is going on?
Together we both looked at the huge water jug. The water sloshing told us it was not just a bed frame problem. We were experiencing an earthquake. So small it could have gone unnoticed.
Sometimes God's signs and His words are so small they may go unnoticed. So subtle you might pass them by.
I just wanted to take a moment and encourage you to seek in the big earthquakes; hear His booming voice. But also realize that sometime God whispers. Don't let the whisper, the little earthquake, pass you by.
With love,
<>< Katie
Sometimes He bursts in with trembling force destroying anything and everything. With one simple movement He flips your life up-side down. Just like detrimental earthquakes get all of the press, unexpected life changes get all of the attention. Yes, God uses those.
He also uses earthquakes like the ones I experienced in Guatemala.
I was sitting on the bottom bunk journaling when the bed began to shake. At first, I didn't think anything of it. Heather must have woken up and kicked the unstable bed frame. Then I looked at Heather, still fast asleep. I looked across the room at Mandi who was looking back at me. Her eyes held the same questions mine did: what is going on?
Together we both looked at the huge water jug. The water sloshing told us it was not just a bed frame problem. We were experiencing an earthquake. So small it could have gone unnoticed.
Sometimes God's signs and His words are so small they may go unnoticed. So subtle you might pass them by.
I just wanted to take a moment and encourage you to seek in the big earthquakes; hear His booming voice. But also realize that sometime God whispers. Don't let the whisper, the little earthquake, pass you by.
With love,
<>< Katie
Friday, May 21, 2010
An Afternoon at Starbucks
A few weeks ago I confided in you all that I have this secret goal to one day become a coffee shop-dwelling writer. I talked about how my first shot at that goal didn't go so well since I chose a small, local coffee shop where professors hold office hours and my friends dwell. I didn't give up, and on Wednesday I took a second stab at that goal.
"Hey, do you guys know of any good coffee shops in the area?" I asked after an enlightening, entertaining lunch discussing world politics and the best way to remove snot from one's nose (yes, really).
"Come over to church and use our coffee shop; that's why we have it," Bob suggested. Then he laughed, "No, you wouldn't get any work done; you'd just talk." I pretended to be mad at him, but we both knew it was the truth.
"Barnes and Noble has a coffee shop. As does Borders," Jessica provided. No good. I'd spend more than the $3 I had in my wallet.
"Or there's a Starbucks across the street," Emily offered.
I was looking for a small, local coffee shop, but Starbucks would have to do. I ventured across the street, walked into Starbucks with my purple purse, purple computer bag, and purple tumbler, and took a seat at the first table I saw with an outlet. There I sat. My water warm (it sat in the car during lunch). My coffee cold (I only bought it so I didn't feel like I was loitering). My battery dead (it was fine Monday, but by Tuesday it wouldn't hold a charge). My pen sticky, my notebook out, and my inspiration missing. I had been afraid of that. I wasn't too worried. I had plenty of stories to write. Since the novel's hit a stand-still I've explored short stories. As I've sure you've all noticed, I don't do "short" but, boy, do I love "stories." If none of those would suffice, I had plenty of old material to play with. I've never written "Major Parking Lot Incident" or I could tell the stories behind some of the weird items I'm finding as I clean my bedroom. That wasn't necessary. I did several hours of "picking" and POV focusing before finally calling it a day.
One thing I started in March was what I think I'm going to call the "inspiration box" (Unless someone else has a more clever title). Anytime I read a good prompt, quote, exercise, or idea it goes in a gold box I saved from this past Christmas. Most of these come from a writer's blog but some come from class and others from others. I'd love to hear, how do you find inspiration? What do you write when words don't come? Also, can you work in a coffee shop or do you spend too much time people watching? I've had that problem, too.
Oh, and how about a quick quote from Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.
"And as I worked on the novel, as my character did what he wanted and ruined my story, it reminded me of life in certain ways. I mean, as I sat there in my office feeling like God making my worlds, and as my characters fought to have their way, their senseless, selfish ways of nonstory, I could identify with them... I was also that character, fighting God and I could see God sitting at His computer, staring blankly at His screen as I asked Him to write in some money and some sex and some comfort." (Pg 85-86)
<>< Katie
"Hey, do you guys know of any good coffee shops in the area?" I asked after an enlightening, entertaining lunch discussing world politics and the best way to remove snot from one's nose (yes, really).
"Come over to church and use our coffee shop; that's why we have it," Bob suggested. Then he laughed, "No, you wouldn't get any work done; you'd just talk." I pretended to be mad at him, but we both knew it was the truth.
"Barnes and Noble has a coffee shop. As does Borders," Jessica provided. No good. I'd spend more than the $3 I had in my wallet.
"Or there's a Starbucks across the street," Emily offered.
I was looking for a small, local coffee shop, but Starbucks would have to do. I ventured across the street, walked into Starbucks with my purple purse, purple computer bag, and purple tumbler, and took a seat at the first table I saw with an outlet. There I sat. My water warm (it sat in the car during lunch). My coffee cold (I only bought it so I didn't feel like I was loitering). My battery dead (it was fine Monday, but by Tuesday it wouldn't hold a charge). My pen sticky, my notebook out, and my inspiration missing. I had been afraid of that. I wasn't too worried. I had plenty of stories to write. Since the novel's hit a stand-still I've explored short stories. As I've sure you've all noticed, I don't do "short" but, boy, do I love "stories." If none of those would suffice, I had plenty of old material to play with. I've never written "Major Parking Lot Incident" or I could tell the stories behind some of the weird items I'm finding as I clean my bedroom. That wasn't necessary. I did several hours of "picking" and POV focusing before finally calling it a day.
One thing I started in March was what I think I'm going to call the "inspiration box" (Unless someone else has a more clever title). Anytime I read a good prompt, quote, exercise, or idea it goes in a gold box I saved from this past Christmas. Most of these come from a writer's blog but some come from class and others from others. I'd love to hear, how do you find inspiration? What do you write when words don't come? Also, can you work in a coffee shop or do you spend too much time people watching? I've had that problem, too.
Oh, and how about a quick quote from Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.
"And as I worked on the novel, as my character did what he wanted and ruined my story, it reminded me of life in certain ways. I mean, as I sat there in my office feeling like God making my worlds, and as my characters fought to have their way, their senseless, selfish ways of nonstory, I could identify with them... I was also that character, fighting God and I could see God sitting at His computer, staring blankly at His screen as I asked Him to write in some money and some sex and some comfort." (Pg 85-86)
<>< Katie
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Movie Review: Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium
It's not a big secret: I collect quotes. Silly quotes, serious quote, life-changing quotes, awkward quotes, words of wisdom, and down right ridiculous... They're written everywhere: in the middle of notes of class, on post-it notes littering my room, in the margins of books, in my email, on my hand, on my blog... They really should all be in my Writer's Notebook, but they aren't. Instead I have them all saved in a powerpoint attached with photos for your (my?) viewing pleasure. Well, "had" might be a better choice of words; the powerpoint disappeared with my thumb drive. I've come up with many of them like "the plotline of Acts looks like an EKG" (you would, Natalie) and "I wish my name ended in an 'A'" (Melissa). Unfortunately, some other quotes have been lost forever. To combat this tragic loss, I am slowly rebuilding my quotes collection. Here is the latest addition:
"I've been introduced many times in my life and that was the most... recent." - Mark
"All stories, even our favorites, must come to an end. This allows for new stories to begin."
The other day Andy, Elizabeth, and I (all of us at least 20) popped in Mr. Magorium and were completely enthralled. Sure, the movie is aimed at kids but it's great for parents, too. It's shallow enough for a child to play but deep enough for an elephant to drown (a professor once said that about the Gospel of John).
Basic plot summary: legendary owner of a magical toy store dies and his heir has to decide if she wants to continue the tradition or close up shop.
Except it's a whole lot deeper than that. This movie includes themes like peacefully accepting death, making the most life, and beliving in oneself. Honestly, a movie that begins with a great quote about stories can hardly be bad. "All stories, even our favorites, must come to an end. This allows for new stories to begin." Wow.
I don't give a lot of movie recommendations, but I highly recommend you go watch this movie.
<>< Katie
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Part II: The Writer's Notebook
This is Part II of the "Katie's a Nerd" blog series. See Part I here.
"Why do you have a Day Book?" Roxy asked me yesterday as I tried to scribble down a few more notes for my blog prior to the start class.
"I'm a writer," I told her. I could tell from the confused look on her face that my answer was not satisfactory. From her terminology, I also knew which professor she had for her English general requirement classes therefore had a place to start with the explanation that would consume my remaining writing time.
A Day Book is a catch-all often used for classes. It includes homework, class exercises, free writing, notes, thoughts, ideas, and often handouts (thank you, glue stick). A Writer's Notebook is basically the same thing with a more intimidating name, less focus on classwork, and a little bit less glue. It's really easy to separate our English students by concentration and favorite professor based on the term used for the notebook clutched to their chest.
I wasn't a Writer's Notebook/ Day Book girl. The term didn't intimidate me, the lack of organization did. I love the organization of having separate places for different things and had a system. One binder for class, the PowerPoint for quotes, Word for story thoughts, the blog for God moments, and a small journal for the day's events. The thoughts of having all of those things combined together in one composition book concerned me. Imagine the mess! Then I glanced around my room and noticed the plethora of post-it notes strewn everywhere and decided something needed to change.
Enter my Writer's Notebook. I gave in and bought a composition book only because I finally found some that were college ruled! (Thanks, Office Depot). It lives in my back pack and is almost always with me. Whether I reach for it over a loose leaf sheet of paper is something I'm still working on, but I am improving. It is also the first thing I pack when I'm traveling. The first drafts of many of these blogs are hidden within its pages sitting side-by-side with thoughts that have yet to make an appearance in blog-world. It also contains great quotes and conversations, rough scenes from my novel, and sometimes my rants that cannot stay contained inside of me. For organization, I've tried to color-code my writing in pencil, black pen, and purple pen, but sometimes I forget which color means what. Sure, I still have a post-its everywhere, but I'm learning to enjoy the chaos of my Writer's Notebook.
This also leads to bedlam when the Writer's Notebook vanishes.
"OH MY GOSH!! I lost my Day Book," Keith ran into the caf screaming. Panic stuck. I guess he even sent text messages telling people to pray for him because it was like part of his life and been ripped from him.
"It'd be like if someone stole our blogs!" He said hitting me in the arm trying to put this catastrophe in perspective for me. I already understood, but there was no cutting him off. "Can you imagine if someone stole our blogs!"
"Katie's life would be over," Nikki teased. Maybe I'll hide her Writer's Notebook for a few hours and see how she likes it!
If you don't have a Writer's Notebook/ Day Book, get one. (And don't lose it, Keith). It doesn't have to be a college-ruled composition book. It can be a 10cent notebook Wal-mart sells right before school starts but know your spine will probably get messed up. It can be a fancy leather-bound book that's soft to the fingers but know those get expensive after one or two. Adapt these ideas (that I've already adapted once) and find something that works for you. But get a Writer's Notebook. Non-writers, I won't laugh (too hard) at you if you call yours a "Day Book."
Oh, and don't use a blog to catch your thoughts. I know, I'm writing to myself here. The chances of me accidentally destroying my blog is greater than losing my Writer's Notebook. I eat computers. Paper doesn't taste as good.
Remember those stories we talked about yesterday? Go break in your Writer's Notebook with some of them. :-)
Have you found Writers' Notebooks/ Day Books work for you? Are they practical for your life? Please let me know!
<>< Katie
PS: Happy birthday, Emily. :-)
"Why do you have a Day Book?" Roxy asked me yesterday as I tried to scribble down a few more notes for my blog prior to the start class.
"I'm a writer," I told her. I could tell from the confused look on her face that my answer was not satisfactory. From her terminology, I also knew which professor she had for her English general requirement classes therefore had a place to start with the explanation that would consume my remaining writing time.
A Day Book is a catch-all often used for classes. It includes homework, class exercises, free writing, notes, thoughts, ideas, and often handouts (thank you, glue stick). A Writer's Notebook is basically the same thing with a more intimidating name, less focus on classwork, and a little bit less glue. It's really easy to separate our English students by concentration and favorite professor based on the term used for the notebook clutched to their chest.
I wasn't a Writer's Notebook/ Day Book girl. The term didn't intimidate me, the lack of organization did. I love the organization of having separate places for different things and had a system. One binder for class, the PowerPoint for quotes, Word for story thoughts, the blog for God moments, and a small journal for the day's events. The thoughts of having all of those things combined together in one composition book concerned me. Imagine the mess! Then I glanced around my room and noticed the plethora of post-it notes strewn everywhere and decided something needed to change.
Enter my Writer's Notebook. I gave in and bought a composition book only because I finally found some that were college ruled! (Thanks, Office Depot). It lives in my back pack and is almost always with me. Whether I reach for it over a loose leaf sheet of paper is something I'm still working on, but I am improving. It is also the first thing I pack when I'm traveling. The first drafts of many of these blogs are hidden within its pages sitting side-by-side with thoughts that have yet to make an appearance in blog-world. It also contains great quotes and conversations, rough scenes from my novel, and sometimes my rants that cannot stay contained inside of me. For organization, I've tried to color-code my writing in pencil, black pen, and purple pen, but sometimes I forget which color means what. Sure, I still have a post-its everywhere, but I'm learning to enjoy the chaos of my Writer's Notebook.
This also leads to bedlam when the Writer's Notebook vanishes.
"OH MY GOSH!! I lost my Day Book," Keith ran into the caf screaming. Panic stuck. I guess he even sent text messages telling people to pray for him because it was like part of his life and been ripped from him.
"It'd be like if someone stole our blogs!" He said hitting me in the arm trying to put this catastrophe in perspective for me. I already understood, but there was no cutting him off. "Can you imagine if someone stole our blogs!"
"Katie's life would be over," Nikki teased. Maybe I'll hide her Writer's Notebook for a few hours and see how she likes it!
If you don't have a Writer's Notebook/ Day Book, get one. (And don't lose it, Keith). It doesn't have to be a college-ruled composition book. It can be a 10cent notebook Wal-mart sells right before school starts but know your spine will probably get messed up. It can be a fancy leather-bound book that's soft to the fingers but know those get expensive after one or two. Adapt these ideas (that I've already adapted once) and find something that works for you. But get a Writer's Notebook. Non-writers, I won't laugh (too hard) at you if you call yours a "Day Book."
Oh, and don't use a blog to catch your thoughts. I know, I'm writing to myself here. The chances of me accidentally destroying my blog is greater than losing my Writer's Notebook. I eat computers. Paper doesn't taste as good.
Remember those stories we talked about yesterday? Go break in your Writer's Notebook with some of them. :-)
Have you found Writers' Notebooks/ Day Books work for you? Are they practical for your life? Please let me know!
<>< Katie
PS: Happy birthday, Emily. :-)
Monday, February 15, 2010
Part I: Story Telling
This is Part I of a two-part blog series. Part II will be posted tomorrow.
"How many of you like to tell stories?" A professor asked one morning. Every hand in the room shot up. Of course, this is a creative writing class.
"How many of you like to hear stories?" Again, every hand went up.
"How many of you like to hear your parents or grandparents tell stories?" A bit hesitantly, the hands raised themselves into the air.
"Only the first time," Chelsea whispered to me. A little bit of laughter erupted from our side of the classroom. She'd voiced my exact thoughts. Only once do I really need to hear about how you walked to school everyday through the snow. Yes, I realize it was up-hill both ways.
However, there are some stories I don't mind hearing over and over again. Toddler Dad being brought home by the school girls because he had lost his clothes somewhere in the neighborhood (I like to think this was a recurring story and therefore truly happened as often as Dad tells it). Or how Mom's boyfriend took a flip off of the roof into a snowbank and a passer-by thought it was Grandpa.
I am blessed to have four grandparents and two parents, all healthy. Unfortunately, they're 900 miles away not telling me stories as we sit around and chat. Sometimes I miss that. Somedays I miss dinner being interrupted by a "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time our family cow followed me to school?" Yes, you have, only every day since I was old enough to remember but please tell it again!
As a writer, you never know when these stories are going to come in handy. Maybe they're the substance you need for a good poem, a great situation to plug into your novel, an amusing blog post, or even something to write about when you're suffering from writer's block. Recording and rewriting these stories in your Writer's Notebook is an excellent exercise.
What's a Writer's Notebook? That's tomorrow. See you then!
Go write about your family's classics,
<>< Katie
"How many of you like to tell stories?" A professor asked one morning. Every hand in the room shot up. Of course, this is a creative writing class.
"How many of you like to hear stories?" Again, every hand went up.
"How many of you like to hear your parents or grandparents tell stories?" A bit hesitantly, the hands raised themselves into the air.
"Only the first time," Chelsea whispered to me. A little bit of laughter erupted from our side of the classroom. She'd voiced my exact thoughts. Only once do I really need to hear about how you walked to school everyday through the snow. Yes, I realize it was up-hill both ways.
However, there are some stories I don't mind hearing over and over again. Toddler Dad being brought home by the school girls because he had lost his clothes somewhere in the neighborhood (I like to think this was a recurring story and therefore truly happened as often as Dad tells it). Or how Mom's boyfriend took a flip off of the roof into a snowbank and a passer-by thought it was Grandpa.
I am blessed to have four grandparents and two parents, all healthy. Unfortunately, they're 900 miles away not telling me stories as we sit around and chat. Sometimes I miss that. Somedays I miss dinner being interrupted by a "Hey, did I ever tell you about the time our family cow followed me to school?" Yes, you have, only every day since I was old enough to remember but please tell it again!
As a writer, you never know when these stories are going to come in handy. Maybe they're the substance you need for a good poem, a great situation to plug into your novel, an amusing blog post, or even something to write about when you're suffering from writer's block. Recording and rewriting these stories in your Writer's Notebook is an excellent exercise.
What's a Writer's Notebook? That's tomorrow. See you then!
Go write about your family's classics,
<>< Katie
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