Saturday, July 28, 2012

The Dead-Ended Street of Inspiration

A couple of days ago, I was sitting at the dining room table, just kind of diddling around, when I was seized with sudden, uncontrollable, unexplained inspiration. 

Just this image...this scene popped into my head. 

So I hurried to the living room and got on my laptop, opened a Word document, and feverishly began typing. 

The following two pages of complex, incomplete genius ensued:

“In all these years, Kate, I have never interviewed anyone quite like you,”
“Oh. Um…thank you,” Kate said, smiling hopefully.
“Yes. Yes…good gosh, you’re perfect.”
Kate was a little stunned by his words. “Thank you,”
“Good gosh,” he said again, running a hand through his hair, leaving it standing up at assorted odd angles. “I never really believed I’d ever find someone,”
He sounded absolutely miserable about it, but also like he was trying to bring himself to be excited.
“Uh, Sir,” Kate said, starting to feel very self-conscious. “Have I…is something wrong?”
He shook his head in disbelief. “Incredible,” he said. “Absolutely incredible.”
He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “You’re perfect for the job. There’s no use trying to deny it; it would be selfish not to give you the position.”
He slowly pushed his chair back with a loud squeak, and bending down, opened the left-hand bottom drawer of his desk. He stared into it, a mournful expression on his face.
Kate hated that look. It made her want to leap up and wrap the Professor up in an enormous, reassuring hug and make him a million promises, just to bring his smile back. The feeling surprised her, and she placed a hand over her pounding heart, trying to comprehend what was going on inside and out of her.
What was in the drawer?
Suddenly, the professor looked up and addressed her. “Tell me, Kate, are you a selfish person?”
Kate stared at him, looking into his earnest, searching brown eyes. She looked quickly back down at her lap, and thought about his question.  
Was she selfish?
She thought about everyone back home, and all the times all she’d ever wanted was to get away from them. She thought about all the times she’d called herself boring and useless. She thought about her best friend, back in Carney.
She sighed heavily. “I think so,” she replied.
He glanced back down into the drawer, and a sad but contented smile slowly spread across his lips. “Of course. You are perfect, Kate. Perfect.”
Kate looked up at him, her eyes shining with unexpected tears. “Sir?”
He stood, still looking down into the drawer, and Kate got to her feet, looking up at him nervously.
“Come here, Kate,” he said, beckoning with his hand, but never taking his eyes off the drawer.
Slowly, Kate pulled her skirt to one side so it wouldn’t trip her, and walked around the desk to stand beside the professor.
“Look,” he whispered.
Kate’s heart was pounding as she looked down into the drawer, not knowing what to expect, but certain something horrible and wonderful awaited her.
The bottom of the drawer had a thin layer of dust and a few dustbunnies. Nothing else. Except…except for the outline in the dust of something that had been there not too long ago. It looked like the outline of a small person wearing a voluminous dress; a doll.
“It’s empty,” the professor said quietly.
Kate was quiet for a moment. “Where is it now?” she asked gently. She didn’t know what the professor was getting at, but something about his tone seemed to indicate this drawer was sacred, no matter how ordinary or even boring it looked.
“Here,” he said. He suddenly, unexplainably, offered Kate his hand. He looked at her briefly, his eyes gleaming with some unknown, unguarded light.“Will you come with me?”
Kate stared up at Professor Ardent. Her lips parted slightly, about to immediately question him, immediately question everything. She barely knew this man. She barely knew what he was or what he wanted anymore. She felt angry, and affronted and…and…
She closed her mouth, as the weight of his question and the weight of her doubts settled against her heart.
You are perfect, Kate. Perfect.
Slowly, timidly, Kate stretched her hand out and slipped it into the Professor’s. His hand was much larger, and warm and soft. Kate swallowed, and closed her eyes.
“Let’s go,” he whispered.
And he stepped into the drawer, pulling Kate behind him.

If you're wondering, I have no idea where this is going, either. I really don't.

I just had this vision in my mind of two people in an office, and a strange interview coming to a close. Than as I typed, emphasis was put on a drawer. A strange drawer. It was up to me what would be inside it, so first I put a doll in there. No good. So I tried an outline in the dust where a doll had been. Still, no good. What use would there be here for any object, anyway? Finally, I just let the muse do what it wanted. 

Nothing is in the drawer. Not yet, anyway. Oh, now we've disappeared into the drawer together? Cool. 

I could almost say I had nothing to do with this, but I definitely could have coaxed this into being a slightly more logical and coherent piece. I just sort of let my thoughts fly out of my head before I could process them, and in the end I had something cool, but pretty much...pointless.

But this seems a little unfair, doesn't it? I mean, there's obviously SOMETHING there. Obviously Kate has a story. Her family and her past have a story. The best friend back in Carney has a story. Where's Carney, anyway? The mysterious Professor Ardent definitely has a story. And that empty drawer has a story. 

There's a story here.

But... I have no clue what it is. 

The possibilities are endless, and it's unlikely I'll be so spontaneously 'seized' by the perfect words and ideas to help me along the way. 

Oh, no. 

Such inspiration is fleeting; like a hit-and-run maniac. It bangs you over the head with brilliant ideas that are useless without context and--most importantly--PLOT. It than runs off laughing evilly as you nurse a headache and try to cope with the burden of an unfinished masterpiece. 

Cruel thing, inspiration.

Anyway, I've hit a dead-ended street here. My choices are:

1. Backtrack and see what came before the dead-end, and see if the answer lies there.

2. Turn onto a different road.

3. Walk past the DEAD END sign, push my way through the brush, and off-road my way to a story.

4. Consult a passerby on their opinion. This could be someone I know, or I could just start getting to know the characters and let them show me where they're going. 

5. Give up completely and let it be some pointless blob of stuff in my Documents box. 

6. Let it sit until I get more ideas.

7. ?

My, there's a lot of places you can go on a dead-ended street, aren't there?

Tuesday, July 24, 2012


As you may notice, it's gone now. I found out that people couldn't get into my blog because of it, which totally negates it's purpose. Also, I got home and listened to it again, and I realized it isn't really an instrumental. You can hear the singing in the background, which of course completely ruined it for me. Ah well. Such is the fickleness of Clare. 

Monday, July 16, 2012

New Music

Today, I decided I wanted to add a song that is very special to me to my blog. Just the instrumental (maybe it's playing right now) to the song Vanilla Twilight, by Owl City.

Alas, I had only a vague idea of how to do this. But I turned to my good friend Google, and asked:

How do I add music to my blogspot?

If you, too, were wondering how this works, here's the link I found that made everything clear:

It was really easy; all I had to do was choose from a list of sites where one can create a playlist (I admit that I was a sucker and picked Hypster simply because it had the coolest name), make the playlist I wanted (which consists, as you can see, of one whole song!), and embed it on my blog.

Hypster is pretty fun, but I'm busy enough online as it is, so I doubt I'll be playing around with it much. I only wanted this song because it is breathtakingly beautiful.

But it did occur to me that this might cause a problem, in that I do occasionally post a Youtube video (usually a song) on here. Fortunately, the lovely Vanilla Twilight instrumental can be paused at ANY time during your visit to my blog, so feel free to do so if it's getting on your nerves.

It's possible that in a few weeks I'll delete it from my blog and never add music to this thing again. But for now, please enjoy this song that has a lot of positive association for me, and feel free to listen to the full song with the gorgeous lyrics.

Have a lovely day!

Sunday, July 15, 2012

The Biggest Dream


Inspired by this post by my friend Amy :)

A while ago, my priest Fr. Jeremy asked all of us at youth group to say what our dreams were. Just the one, big, important dream we had for our lives.

Some people didn't really know, some people were exuberantly elaborate, and than, it came to me.

I really thought about this, and listening to everyone talk about their 'big' dreams, I realized all my big dreams had been dwarfed by the 'biggest' dream.

"I just really, really, really want to be a saint."

So. That's my dream. But my dream is made up of everything that will help me accomplish it.

All those things are dreams; big dreams.

I dream of being a published author, not really for the sake of fame,  but for the sake of holding a physical, professionally bound copy of my story, and being able to literally pass it on to others. To share a story.

I dream of being a better artist; really getting down with my pencils, my paints and brushes, and working harder with my pliers and wire. Not for money or recognition, really, but just to get all the beauty running around inside me out, where it can be shared with the world.

I dream of being a tissue box designer (not kidding!), because boring tissue boxes are like a crime against humanity. If you need a tissue, you also need some cheering up, and the box is the best place to start.

I dream of traveling throughout the United States, and than the rest of the world. I loved visiting Italy at the beginning of this year, and I want to see places where I have roots; Ireland, Scotland, England, Slovakia...

I dream of becoming really good at dancing, because I love to dance, I just...can't.

I dream of being a great singer, or being able to play music really well, because I feel like those are the things people notice.

I dream of having hair I can brush in the morning and it will be perfectly straight and shiny, but that probably won't ever happen.

I also dream of having a face that has no acne and I don't have to cover it with powder foundation so it doesn't look shiny, but if that never happens, I think I'll be okay.

I dream of possibly going to college to become better at the things I love, so I can spend the rest of my life doing them. Creative writing, art, literature, English.

I have this crazy dream about traveling the country in a camper with my best friend, writing books together. I don't think she's knows about this, but if it would work out, she'd totally be game.

I dream of being comfortable and confident in my own skin, no matter what I'm wearing, how I look, or who I'm with.

I dream of riding in a hot air balloon, even though it would probably terrify me and I'd hate it until it was over.

I dream of riding on a train throughout Alaska, which is something I kind of stole from my Mom :).

I dream of going on a boat somewhere special.

I dream of romance, and love, because my heart was made for love.

I dream of being a wife and mother, because I love the idea of having my own family; of taking care of people, cooking and cleaning for them, and helping them become the people they were meant to be.

The bottom line is, I dream of being a saint because that's what I was made to be. All those other dreams are part of that, and that's why I am aiming for the Biggest Dream.

So all the big ones can fill up the space in between.

Saturday, July 7, 2012

Things get better

I keep coming across these things on my tumblr...

okay this is probably going to sound stupid but i wonder how it feels to be one of those pretty girls who get hundred of notes or likes on pictures of their faces

And all this does one thing for me; it breaks my heart, because they all made me realize something. That's where I was 4 years ago.

And so, I would just love to tell anyone who feels like that:
Things get better. 

It does. You move on from those moments of being lonely and having no friends. You make it past the pain and the sorrow and the isolation.

Things get better.

Maybe it takes a long time, but it happens. 

You meet new people who are way nicer to the ones who ignored you or treated you badly. 

You find people who admire you and love you for qualities that maybe you can't see.

Things get better.

You're not always going to be here. You're not always going to feel like no one understands you, and no one is like you. You're not as alone as you think.

Things get better. 

I promise. 

Friday, July 6, 2012

Snow White story, another excerpt

I've finally gotten my enthusiasm back for this one after watching the new movie Mirror Mirror , so I decided to post something that's already finished from it; the scene in which Snow White's 'prince' brings her 'back to life' with a kiss. 

Check out the two previous posts having to do with this story:


Rumors of the wildest and most startling nature had been flying thick and fast through the village of Rhine, and they all had started in the forest right on the border of Spoon. It wasn’t too far, but an opportunity to see for himself didn’t come for a while.
As he came slowly into the clearing, he understood, and believed.
“So. Its…true, than. She killed her,”
For there, laying on a golden pyre, a glass cover pushed back, lay Snow White.
Her body showed no signs of decay as he drew closer, and the rumors had begun months ago. It did seem fitting that the body of the fairest girl in the land should remain incorrupt.
Finally, Hunter stood right beside Snow White, gazing down at her, resplendent unto death. They should keep her covered…whoever did this. She’s in danger this way.
“This is my fault,” Hunter breathed. “I shouldn’t have just sent you off. I should have taken you…hidden you. I could have done my job. I could’ve kept you safe. I didn’t. And I’m sorry, Snow White. I’m sorry,”
Her face was whiter than ever, like frozen marble, and when he dared reach out and gently touch her hand, it, too, was like ice.
“Dead,” he breathed. “It seems selfish, but…at least I didn’t have to kill you. That would’ve been…so much harder. At least now…hopefully…you have some peace. The Queen never let you have any here.”
He was saddened to the depths of his soul, not so much that Snow White was dead. She had surely been drawn straight into Heaven, pure and deserving. But he was very, very sad that he had never had to courage to take risks and make mistakes. Maybe it would have ended in him losing his head, but it truly would have been better than this guilt. Better than knowing everything he didn’t do. Everything he could have done.
“I can’t make this right. Its too late. But I want you to know Snow White…if you hear my humble prayers…that I loved you. I loved you…not because you were beautiful, but because…because all my life, I waited for you. When I found you…I thought…” he sighed.
“You were a princess. I was your guard. I had to keep you safe, whether I loved you or not. I miss you, Snow White. I miss your laugh and your smile…I just wish I had taken the chance to get to know you. To be sure. To let you know…in spite of the consequences…how I felt about you.”
Deciding, for once in his life, to be bold, he bent down, gazing at her beautiful face, so peaceful and still, and whispered in her ear, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Goodbye.”
He bent further, and kissed her.
Her lips were frigid, but soft. He kissed her softly and firmly, closing his eyes, cherishing this moment, even though it was too late. Its never too late to love. Its just…too late for it to matter.
He kissed her longer than was proper, certainly, but it felt right. It felt…real. True.
He breathed in the scent of her, still vanilla and cherry blossoms, mingled with the intoxicating scent of dried roses.
Finally, he drew away, and opened his eyes.
Snow White’s sparkling violet eyes stared back at him.

Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Independence Day 2012

We live in a day and age where our freedom is threatened in nefarious ways. Let us celebrate today our freedom to live, to practice our faith, and to make the world a better place.