My Dear Reader,
Remember last November when I tried to write a 50,000 word novel for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and failed? Well, tomorrow I'm going to try it again.
I was really disappointed with myself when I didn't get all the way to my goal, but it turned out that I wasn't the only one who didn't finish. A friend of mine from church was in the same position, and she asked me if I'd finish with her. Our plan is to make it to 50,000 words from where we left off, using each other for support and accountability. (Trust me on this one: accountability is key.) I managed to make it to 12,272 words last time, so I've got 37,728 words to go in thirty days. It should be a piece of cake, providing I figure out what the heck is going on in this book I'm writing. It will also be nice to actually have something to do.
So stay tuned as Cecily becomes even more awesome, one word at a time.
Regards, best wishes, and a super short post,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
By the Universe, You Mean God, Right?
My Dear Reader,
It somewhat confuses me that people when people say things like "If you didn't win[,] don't blame me[,] blame the universe," or "Sometimes, the universe brings you the wrong kind of French toast." I mean, since when did the universe become sentient? As far as I'm aware, it's still just a glorified collection of stuff. Some carbon over here, some iron over there, and a whole lot of hydrogen way off yonder. You might as well say, "just blame dirt." Sure, it doesn't sound as nice, but the only real difference is the scale. Let's play with this a little:
Man: Man, is my life awful.
Woman: Oh, I wouldn't worry if I were you. Sooner or later, the dirt will send you something good.
Man: The dirt? You mean like soil?
Woman: It's a metaphor, Dear.
Man: Well, I get that, but it seems to me that you've anthropomorphized seemingly random occurrences in order to soothe me.
Woman: Bollocks.
If you clicked that second link, you are probably wondering right now what I'm doing reading Hillary Clinton blogs, but sufficed to say those guys really know how to write about food. Also, I was always wondering what Rory Gilmore was talking about. But if you read that website, you start to think that these guys aren't all that into God. Especially when they say, "Because they were religious people, don’t you know (Don't click unless you're ready to be offended)." When a person writes a poison-tipped sentence like that, you start to think that they're talking about "the universe" because they think that there's something wrong with talking about God.
I read stuff like that and I think, "Dude. Most people are religious. Like, somewhere around ninety-five percent are. I don't agree with everything that every religious person does, but if you honestly think that calling people 'the religious type' is a distinguishing factor, then that's just because American culture has shamed people into believing that any kind of belief is offensive."
There are a lot of things that I'm ashamed of. For example, there was the the time I lied to my ninth grade biology teacher and told her that I had come on the bus so she wouldn't give me detention for being late. That was a pretty shameful thing to do. It might sound petty, but it's not like I've been personally involved in any grand atrocities. Still, my religion is something that I hope to never be ashamed of. Sure, I've opened my mouth a few times when I shouldn't have, and yeah, when I was a kid I might have shoved my beliefs down a throat or two, but other than that, I can't think of how being religious has led me to do anything shameful. In fact, it's been quite the opposite. If I didn't believe that I was a child of God, and that being who I am means that I have to live a certain way, I'm pretty sure that I would have a lot more shameful things to look back on in my life.*
So, this whole personification of the universe thing just seems a little silly, in the long run. I know that God probably did it, and while ninety-five percent of the world will probably agree with me on that one, one hundred percent can agree that it's definitely not the universe. And in the grand scheme of things, it's my religion and it can practice it openly if I want to.
Regards, best wishes, and courage,
-Cecily Jane
*Oh, and I don't fall for the "you should feel guilty because some guys a thousand years ago took your religion and morphed it into a five-headed beast" thing, either. No way I'm taking the fall for some people who didn't even hurt you personally in an incident that I wasn't involved in. You want to find someone to blame, go ahead and dig up those graves and spit on the skeletons. I'm sure it will solve all of your problems. (How's that for a poison-tipped sentence?)
It somewhat confuses me that people when people say things like "If you didn't win[,] don't blame me[,] blame the universe," or "Sometimes, the universe brings you the wrong kind of French toast." I mean, since when did the universe become sentient? As far as I'm aware, it's still just a glorified collection of stuff. Some carbon over here, some iron over there, and a whole lot of hydrogen way off yonder. You might as well say, "just blame dirt." Sure, it doesn't sound as nice, but the only real difference is the scale. Let's play with this a little:
Man: Man, is my life awful.
Woman: Oh, I wouldn't worry if I were you. Sooner or later, the dirt will send you something good.
Man: The dirt? You mean like soil?
Woman: It's a metaphor, Dear.
Man: Well, I get that, but it seems to me that you've anthropomorphized seemingly random occurrences in order to soothe me.
Woman: Bollocks.
If you clicked that second link, you are probably wondering right now what I'm doing reading Hillary Clinton blogs, but sufficed to say those guys really know how to write about food. Also, I was always wondering what Rory Gilmore was talking about. But if you read that website, you start to think that these guys aren't all that into God. Especially when they say, "Because they were religious people, don’t you know (Don't click unless you're ready to be offended)." When a person writes a poison-tipped sentence like that, you start to think that they're talking about "the universe" because they think that there's something wrong with talking about God.
I read stuff like that and I think, "Dude. Most people are religious. Like, somewhere around ninety-five percent are. I don't agree with everything that every religious person does, but if you honestly think that calling people 'the religious type' is a distinguishing factor, then that's just because American culture has shamed people into believing that any kind of belief is offensive."
There are a lot of things that I'm ashamed of. For example, there was the the time I lied to my ninth grade biology teacher and told her that I had come on the bus so she wouldn't give me detention for being late. That was a pretty shameful thing to do. It might sound petty, but it's not like I've been personally involved in any grand atrocities. Still, my religion is something that I hope to never be ashamed of. Sure, I've opened my mouth a few times when I shouldn't have, and yeah, when I was a kid I might have shoved my beliefs down a throat or two, but other than that, I can't think of how being religious has led me to do anything shameful. In fact, it's been quite the opposite. If I didn't believe that I was a child of God, and that being who I am means that I have to live a certain way, I'm pretty sure that I would have a lot more shameful things to look back on in my life.*
So, this whole personification of the universe thing just seems a little silly, in the long run. I know that God probably did it, and while ninety-five percent of the world will probably agree with me on that one, one hundred percent can agree that it's definitely not the universe. And in the grand scheme of things, it's my religion and it can practice it openly if I want to.
Regards, best wishes, and courage,
-Cecily Jane
*Oh, and I don't fall for the "you should feel guilty because some guys a thousand years ago took your religion and morphed it into a five-headed beast" thing, either. No way I'm taking the fall for some people who didn't even hurt you personally in an incident that I wasn't involved in. You want to find someone to blame, go ahead and dig up those graves and spit on the skeletons. I'm sure it will solve all of your problems. (How's that for a poison-tipped sentence?)
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Bigotry in Television: Target: Mormons
My Dear Reader,
Imagine that one of the bigwigs at one of those big cable networks has a pitch for a new series called Bjudaism. You see, it's all about this fictional religious group of Americans with big, long beards and funny skullcaps who are trying to hide the fact that they sacrifice animals to their god. Oh, and it turns out that they have this weird thing against Germans. Hilarious, right? "I know what you're thinking," the bigwig says to his colleagues, each with a wig of a similar size, "but even though it sounds a lot like that non-fictional religious group, this is a television show, and we'll make sure that the people in the show are just different enough that the network can legally claim that what we're doing is fiction, but close enough to really, really confuse our audience and completely make a mockery of the religious and moral beliefs of an entire people."
Every Mormon (and some of other faiths) reading this knows exactly what I'm talking about, but let me finish my fictional scenario before I talk about the real one. First of all, there is no way that Bjudaism would ever be green-lighted in any country outside of Palestine, because in most places, Judaism, the real deal, is respected and honored by non-Jews. Second of all, if it actually got green-lighted, there would be a world-wide uproar like you've never seen. We're talking riots, here. And though I don't believe in violence, I would personally be very upset about it, even though I'm not Jewish. I would not be alone, especially among my fellow Mormons. Mormons would stand behind the Jews one hundred percent, to be sure, because we firmly believe that all people have the right to worship as they choose, even if they don't worship how we chose. It's actually number eleven out of our thirteen most fundamental beliefs, to be precise.
This same kind of mockery has been made of our faith. It's called Big Love, and it essentially portrays a parody of the Mormon faith, or the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They might as well call it Bmormonism. Like Bjudaism, which would make you believe that Jews still practice animal sacrifice, Big Love would have you believe that Mormons still practice polygamy, something we gave up about the same time Americans gave up slavery. Do people ask you if you're "still" a slave owner? Well, people ask us if we're "still" polygamists, and this doesn't help. The most frustrating thing about being a Mormon in this world is that even though we literally go door to door to explain to people who we are and what we believe, there are only a handful of people out there who actually listen to us, and much fewer that understand us. We are probably the least understood religion of our size in the world.
Speaking of size, there's a reason why I chose to contrast Mormonism with Judaism: we are about equal in numbers at thirteen million each, worldwide. In fact, there are actually more Mormons in America than there are Jews. So I figure if the Jews are a people, the Mormons are, too, and that's how I like to think of the members of my church: my people.
Last Sunday,* Big Love just got worse by completely desecrating one of our most sacred practices: eternal marriage. I used the words "desecrate" and "sacred" carefully, because they accurately describe what's happening here. When something is sacred, it is so important, so special, and so holy that it must be treated a certain way. When it's not treated a certain way, the sacred thing is desecrated, or in other words, it has been defiled. The Lord's name is sacred, so when you use the Lord's name when you aren't talking about the Lord, especially when you use the His name as a curse word, then you have desecrated that name. My name isn't sacred, so if you used it as a curse word, it wouldn't really matter. And honestly, if it would stop you from using the Lord's name as a curse word, go right ahead.
To my people, marriage is one of the most important things in this life, if not the most important thing. It's so important that we believe that marriage can last after death in what we call eternal marriage, and eternal marriage is so scared, so holy that the marriage ceremony has to be conducted in a sacred place. We call these places temples, and we have them all over the world. Temples, and more importantly, what goes on inside them are so important that we Mormons have a special way of treating them to ensure that their sacred nature is preserved, just like we have a special way of treating the Lord's name. One of the most important ways we protect the sacred nature of certain things in the temple is that we don't talk about it unless we're actually inside the temple. This confuses a lot of people, and it leads them to believe that we're doing crazy things in temples, and you would not believe the kinds of things that I've heard. The plain truth is that some things are to be kept private not because they're vile, but because they're personal, like medical records or credit scores. More importantly, they're sacred, and broadcasting temple practices violates the sacred nature of the temple.
Big Love doesn't understand this, or if they do, they must really hate us Mormons, because last Sunday, they tried to recreate the eternal marriage ceremony--something that is so sacred and holy that we believe that God has directed us to keep it inside the holy temple--and broadcast it on national television. It's like taking a yarmulke and throwing it like a Frisbee, except for much, much worse. Actually, it's more like taping sex between a married couple and airing it during morning cartoons: an abomination, and again, I'm choosing my words carefully. This is a desecration of my people's most sacred beliefs, and yet, it's perfectly acceptable because we Mormons are not understood or respected enough to get the same treatment as other religious groups, such as the Jews.
The Mormon Church, or the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, has issued a statement on the matter, which you can find here. I highly encourage you to read it, because in my opinion it is not only appropriate, but also very smart. It essentially requests that we all ignore Big Love, and I very much agree. In fact, the only reason I wrote this post in the first place was to help people understand what was really going on here and why it's such a big deal to Mormons.
If you consider yourself to be a tolerant person, or a respectful person, I hope that I have helped you understand that Big Love espouses values that oppose what you believe in, because it is an act of religious bigotry by not only fostering misunderstanding about a religion, but also by desecrating what it believes to be holy. And because Big Love equals bigotry, I would encourage any tolerant, respectful person, of any religion or creed, to do the tolerant thing and not watch it. Ignore it. Watch something else. That's really what will make it go away. In fact, I would say that not watching Big Love is the American thing to do, and remember, Americans are my people, too.
Regards, best wishes, and true tolerance,
-Cecily Jane
*One thing that I do find funny in all of this is that Big Love airs on Sunday, a day that Mormons generally don't watch television because we believe that it's the Lord's day, you know, Commandment Number Four?
Imagine that one of the bigwigs at one of those big cable networks has a pitch for a new series called Bjudaism. You see, it's all about this fictional religious group of Americans with big, long beards and funny skullcaps who are trying to hide the fact that they sacrifice animals to their god. Oh, and it turns out that they have this weird thing against Germans. Hilarious, right? "I know what you're thinking," the bigwig says to his colleagues, each with a wig of a similar size, "but even though it sounds a lot like that non-fictional religious group, this is a television show, and we'll make sure that the people in the show are just different enough that the network can legally claim that what we're doing is fiction, but close enough to really, really confuse our audience and completely make a mockery of the religious and moral beliefs of an entire people."
Every Mormon (and some of other faiths) reading this knows exactly what I'm talking about, but let me finish my fictional scenario before I talk about the real one. First of all, there is no way that Bjudaism would ever be green-lighted in any country outside of Palestine, because in most places, Judaism, the real deal, is respected and honored by non-Jews. Second of all, if it actually got green-lighted, there would be a world-wide uproar like you've never seen. We're talking riots, here. And though I don't believe in violence, I would personally be very upset about it, even though I'm not Jewish. I would not be alone, especially among my fellow Mormons. Mormons would stand behind the Jews one hundred percent, to be sure, because we firmly believe that all people have the right to worship as they choose, even if they don't worship how we chose. It's actually number eleven out of our thirteen most fundamental beliefs, to be precise.
This same kind of mockery has been made of our faith. It's called Big Love, and it essentially portrays a parody of the Mormon faith, or the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They might as well call it Bmormonism. Like Bjudaism, which would make you believe that Jews still practice animal sacrifice, Big Love would have you believe that Mormons still practice polygamy, something we gave up about the same time Americans gave up slavery. Do people ask you if you're "still" a slave owner? Well, people ask us if we're "still" polygamists, and this doesn't help. The most frustrating thing about being a Mormon in this world is that even though we literally go door to door to explain to people who we are and what we believe, there are only a handful of people out there who actually listen to us, and much fewer that understand us. We are probably the least understood religion of our size in the world.
Speaking of size, there's a reason why I chose to contrast Mormonism with Judaism: we are about equal in numbers at thirteen million each, worldwide. In fact, there are actually more Mormons in America than there are Jews. So I figure if the Jews are a people, the Mormons are, too, and that's how I like to think of the members of my church: my people.
Last Sunday,* Big Love just got worse by completely desecrating one of our most sacred practices: eternal marriage. I used the words "desecrate" and "sacred" carefully, because they accurately describe what's happening here. When something is sacred, it is so important, so special, and so holy that it must be treated a certain way. When it's not treated a certain way, the sacred thing is desecrated, or in other words, it has been defiled. The Lord's name is sacred, so when you use the Lord's name when you aren't talking about the Lord, especially when you use the His name as a curse word, then you have desecrated that name. My name isn't sacred, so if you used it as a curse word, it wouldn't really matter. And honestly, if it would stop you from using the Lord's name as a curse word, go right ahead.
To my people, marriage is one of the most important things in this life, if not the most important thing. It's so important that we believe that marriage can last after death in what we call eternal marriage, and eternal marriage is so scared, so holy that the marriage ceremony has to be conducted in a sacred place. We call these places temples, and we have them all over the world. Temples, and more importantly, what goes on inside them are so important that we Mormons have a special way of treating them to ensure that their sacred nature is preserved, just like we have a special way of treating the Lord's name. One of the most important ways we protect the sacred nature of certain things in the temple is that we don't talk about it unless we're actually inside the temple. This confuses a lot of people, and it leads them to believe that we're doing crazy things in temples, and you would not believe the kinds of things that I've heard. The plain truth is that some things are to be kept private not because they're vile, but because they're personal, like medical records or credit scores. More importantly, they're sacred, and broadcasting temple practices violates the sacred nature of the temple.
Big Love doesn't understand this, or if they do, they must really hate us Mormons, because last Sunday, they tried to recreate the eternal marriage ceremony--something that is so sacred and holy that we believe that God has directed us to keep it inside the holy temple--and broadcast it on national television. It's like taking a yarmulke and throwing it like a Frisbee, except for much, much worse. Actually, it's more like taping sex between a married couple and airing it during morning cartoons: an abomination, and again, I'm choosing my words carefully. This is a desecration of my people's most sacred beliefs, and yet, it's perfectly acceptable because we Mormons are not understood or respected enough to get the same treatment as other religious groups, such as the Jews.
The Mormon Church, or the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, has issued a statement on the matter, which you can find here. I highly encourage you to read it, because in my opinion it is not only appropriate, but also very smart. It essentially requests that we all ignore Big Love, and I very much agree. In fact, the only reason I wrote this post in the first place was to help people understand what was really going on here and why it's such a big deal to Mormons.
If you consider yourself to be a tolerant person, or a respectful person, I hope that I have helped you understand that Big Love espouses values that oppose what you believe in, because it is an act of religious bigotry by not only fostering misunderstanding about a religion, but also by desecrating what it believes to be holy. And because Big Love equals bigotry, I would encourage any tolerant, respectful person, of any religion or creed, to do the tolerant thing and not watch it. Ignore it. Watch something else. That's really what will make it go away. In fact, I would say that not watching Big Love is the American thing to do, and remember, Americans are my people, too.
Regards, best wishes, and true tolerance,
-Cecily Jane
*One thing that I do find funny in all of this is that Big Love airs on Sunday, a day that Mormons generally don't watch television because we believe that it's the Lord's day, you know, Commandment Number Four?
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Congratulations! You Are Now Significantly Less Lame than You Were Yesterday
My Dear Reader,
On the 5th of March, in the year of our Lord two-thousand and nine, Miss Cecily Jane Harris, at the tender age of twenty-three, received a driver's license.
I know.
And just in case you're wondering, I've never had my license revoked or suspended or anything; I just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Yes, I used to be that lame. I'm the second oldest out of the six kids in my family, but I was the second to last to drive legally, beating out Youngest, who is twelve years old. That means that for the past few months I've been living in Oregon, I've had to ask my seventeen-year-old brothers to drive me around. Sure, it was slightly embarrassing, but they were driving me in my Madre's van, which tends to have that effect despite the circumstances.
The hard thing about this whole process is that the longer it took me to go into the DMV office, the more reasons I had to not go in at all. I mean, it's not like I could just put my hair in a pony tail and try to pull off being sixteen. Two weeks ago, I finally mustered up the courage to go in and take my first driving test, and the only way it could have been a bigger disaster was if someone had been injured. In fact, I was so upset about it, that I wrote my drive tester, who I will refer to as DMV Lady, into the story I posted last week, and it was pretty much like that minus the crash. She was already in a bad mood, and she got even more upset when HermanaMayor's small car didn't fit her rather large body very easily. It just went downhill from thee, because the more upset she got, the more nervous I became, and the more nervous I became, I would make mistakes and make her even more upset. Like I said, it was awful.
After a reasonable recovery period, I went back for more, praying that I wouldn't get DMV Lady again, and when I saw her behind the counter, I admit that I started freaking out a little. But this time i was with a friend who brought his lucky pants and joked with the other DMV lady who checked me in. Well, it turned out that The Other DMV Lady was my drive tester that time, probably because DMV Lady saw me and refused to ever be in the car with me ever again. It's kind of nice to know that we share a mutual affection, that DMV Lady and I. Anyway, it turns out that I can drive pretty well when the person in the passenger's seat doesn't think that I'm trying to murder them, and The Other DMV Lady was pleased to inform me that I had passed. She had no way of knowing that passing that test meant overcoming on of the greatest hurdles in my life.
I'm sure that you have at least some idea the kind of stuff I've had to put up with from family and friends in the last seven years, especially since I have three little brothers who relish any chance they have to one-up me--but no more! There is no longer an asterisk next to my name in the Book of Awesomeness, which petty much means that I can move up from spot number twelve to spot number nine, at least. That's right; I am now even more awesome than Barbra Streisand. That's quite an accomplishment, at twenty-three.
Don't tell Miss Streisand, though. She gets it hard enough as it is.
Regards, best wishes, and awesomeness,
-Cecily Jane
On the 5th of March, in the year of our Lord two-thousand and nine, Miss Cecily Jane Harris, at the tender age of twenty-three, received a driver's license.
I know.
And just in case you're wondering, I've never had my license revoked or suspended or anything; I just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Yes, I used to be that lame. I'm the second oldest out of the six kids in my family, but I was the second to last to drive legally, beating out Youngest, who is twelve years old. That means that for the past few months I've been living in Oregon, I've had to ask my seventeen-year-old brothers to drive me around. Sure, it was slightly embarrassing, but they were driving me in my Madre's van, which tends to have that effect despite the circumstances.
The hard thing about this whole process is that the longer it took me to go into the DMV office, the more reasons I had to not go in at all. I mean, it's not like I could just put my hair in a pony tail and try to pull off being sixteen. Two weeks ago, I finally mustered up the courage to go in and take my first driving test, and the only way it could have been a bigger disaster was if someone had been injured. In fact, I was so upset about it, that I wrote my drive tester, who I will refer to as DMV Lady, into the story I posted last week, and it was pretty much like that minus the crash. She was already in a bad mood, and she got even more upset when HermanaMayor's small car didn't fit her rather large body very easily. It just went downhill from thee, because the more upset she got, the more nervous I became, and the more nervous I became, I would make mistakes and make her even more upset. Like I said, it was awful.
After a reasonable recovery period, I went back for more, praying that I wouldn't get DMV Lady again, and when I saw her behind the counter, I admit that I started freaking out a little. But this time i was with a friend who brought his lucky pants and joked with the other DMV lady who checked me in. Well, it turned out that The Other DMV Lady was my drive tester that time, probably because DMV Lady saw me and refused to ever be in the car with me ever again. It's kind of nice to know that we share a mutual affection, that DMV Lady and I. Anyway, it turns out that I can drive pretty well when the person in the passenger's seat doesn't think that I'm trying to murder them, and The Other DMV Lady was pleased to inform me that I had passed. She had no way of knowing that passing that test meant overcoming on of the greatest hurdles in my life.
I'm sure that you have at least some idea the kind of stuff I've had to put up with from family and friends in the last seven years, especially since I have three little brothers who relish any chance they have to one-up me--but no more! There is no longer an asterisk next to my name in the Book of Awesomeness, which petty much means that I can move up from spot number twelve to spot number nine, at least. That's right; I am now even more awesome than Barbra Streisand. That's quite an accomplishment, at twenty-three.
Don't tell Miss Streisand, though. She gets it hard enough as it is.
Regards, best wishes, and awesomeness,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Character Naming 101
My Dear Reader,
If you knew how much time I spend looking at baby name websites, you would probably be very much concerned. Sometimes, I wonder if I think about names more than expecting parents do, and I might. You see, it just so happens that baby name resources are also perfect when you have to name a fictional character, which I do a lot.
I really like to take special care when I match a name to a character, because no matter what Shakespeare says, a name carries meaning. You think something differently about a Hank than you would a Henry, in terms of age, social class, and even personality. A Leonard is older than a Michael. A Susan is more serious as an Ashley, and etc. Perhaps the most fascinating part for me is the meanings and origins of the names, because sometimes a beautiful names will have an ugly meaning, or vice versa, like my name, which means "blind." I sometimes use a name meaning as irony or to decribe the most basic, essential layer of a character's outlook in life, personal mission, or function in the story. You can name your character after a real or fictional person to connect your story to the outside world in a variety of ways. In the end, names are actually very important in a story. Here are some names I find especially interesting at the moment:
If you knew how much time I spend looking at baby name websites, you would probably be very much concerned. Sometimes, I wonder if I think about names more than expecting parents do, and I might. You see, it just so happens that baby name resources are also perfect when you have to name a fictional character, which I do a lot.
I really like to take special care when I match a name to a character, because no matter what Shakespeare says, a name carries meaning. You think something differently about a Hank than you would a Henry, in terms of age, social class, and even personality. A Leonard is older than a Michael. A Susan is more serious as an Ashley, and etc. Perhaps the most fascinating part for me is the meanings and origins of the names, because sometimes a beautiful names will have an ugly meaning, or vice versa, like my name, which means "blind." I sometimes use a name meaning as irony or to decribe the most basic, essential layer of a character's outlook in life, personal mission, or function in the story. You can name your character after a real or fictional person to connect your story to the outside world in a variety of ways. In the end, names are actually very important in a story. Here are some names I find especially interesting at the moment:
- Roland ("famous land," or after this Roland)
- Eloise ("famous warrior")
- Angus ("one strength")
- Sweat
- Vendassi
- Salterthwaite
- Rowberry
- Wipf
- Prentice
- Brazier
I know that it might seem a little trivial to you, Gentle Reader, but names are something that I actually think about a lot. It might have somethingt to do with the fact that my name means "blind son of Harry," which is less than an accurate description, or perhaps the fact that it's a lot easier for me to solve fictional problems than it it to solve the problems in my life. Either way, the next time you see me take my notebook out of my purse and scribble something down, maybe you could suggest a name for me to add to my list.
Regards, best wishes, and roses,
-Cecily JaneFriday, February 27, 2009
Short Story "Blind Date"
My Dear Reader,
I apologize for missing my post last Tuesday. The truth is that I found out about the tragic loss of a friend just before I sat down to write my post and, well, it just didn't work out. I hope that you will instead enjoy a light-heearted story I wrote over the weekend. I often write stories to help me get over things, and this story acted as a kind of therapy to help me through an unrelated (and essentially trivial) circumstance. I'll see you again on Tuesday.
By Cecily Jane
It took him a full five minutes before he mustered the courage to dry his hands on his khaki pants, leaving a thick, dark streak in their wake. He knocked on the door. The sharp yapping of a dog started before Wilbur could bring his knuckles back to the flowers, and it was the kind of barking that came from a dog that would bite.
He was opening the door to the passenger side of his Buick before he knew it. What did she say her name was? He should write it down somewhere, just in case. She had a hard time getting in at first, and had to recline the seat a little to fit. He was relieved to see that she was about as heavy as he was; one less thing that he had to worry about. He usually reclined the seat a little, too. He waited for her to buckle her seatbelt before he started the car and pulled out to the empty street.
“You didn’t put your blinker on,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“Your blinker—you’re supposed to put it on when you merge into traffic.”
“Oh.”
There was silence in the car before Wilbur managed a strained, “So how do you know Cheryl?”
“We used to work together,” she said. Wilbur could see a scowl start to form on her face.”
“So where do you work now?” he said.
“At the DMV.”
“Doing what?”
“Drive tests.”
“Ah,” Wilbur said, making sure that he had turned his headlights on and checking his mirrors an extra time. He could tell by her voice that she really wanted to work just about anywhere else.
“How do you know her?” she finally asked.
“I’m sorry, who?”
“Cheryl.”
Wilbur gulped loudly. “I work with her now.”
“At the capitol?”
“That’s right.”
The wheel was starting to get slippery in Wilbur’s hands, and he hoped that she wouldn’t notice as her eyes periodically darted towards his speedometer. As they went down a hill, he saw her clutch the armrest out of the corner of his eye. He checked his mirrors again.
The stop at the light wasn’t as smooth as Wilbur meant it to be, and he closed his eyes for a second so he wouldn’t see her shake her head at him.
“It’s green,” she said. She hadn’t loosened her grip on the armrest.
“Oh, thanks.”
“So, tell me about yourself,” she more demanded than requested.
“Well, I . . . I . . .” The wheels squeaked a little.
“Are you purposely staying in that van’s blind spot?”
“No, I . . .”
“Slow down! You’re going forty in a construction zone!” she shrieked.
“Um . . .”
“Did you just change lanes in an intersection?”
He let off the gas, but the car kept going faster, and faster, and somehow the steering wheel melted away as he tried to put on the break, but the car was screeching out of control even louder than his date was. And then, though the car was speeding up, time seemed to slow down. He saw the intersection come closer and closer, but he couldn’t do anything about it. They were doing to die.
When the blue Buick collided with the side of the Chevy, Wilbur could hear the scratching of metal against metal. He could smell the burned rubber. He could even feel the impact throw him against his seatbelt. But more than anything, he could hear the incessant screaming that came from the passenger seat. If only he could close his ears.
Wilbur opened his eyes to find himself still on the front porch, holding carnations and sweating like a pig. It had all been in his head—the woman, her job, the crash. Realizing how long he had been holding his breath, Wilbur took a deep breath and hailed a cab.
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Sister Moments: When Your Little Sister Gets Married before You . . .
My Dear Reader,
When your little sister gets married before you do, you have to be a bridesmaid.
And when you have to be a bridesmaid, you have to go buy a dress.
I know what you may be expecting: that I'd be jealous because my younger sister is getting married first. The truth is that I'm not really the jealous type. It's also true that PetiteSoeur is going to marry a guy that I'd very much like to have as a brother-in-law, and while I won't go into the -they're-so-good-for-each-other brand of mush, believe me when I say that I could. And it's an honor to be bridesmaid, of course. I just find the whole process a lot less comfortable than I expected. And I hate buying dresses.
I'm just not cut out for this, I think. It involves two things that I hate most: being told what to wear, and wearing a dress for longer than one hundred and eighty minutes. Oh yeah, and there's the whole "look good for the pictures" aspect of it, which could get pretty ugly. I'm the kind of girl who likes to watch musicals, read Jane Austen, and bake things. I leave all of the other girly things to my sisters, and they generally have no problem picking up the slack. Unfortunately, there's no time for that when a wedding is involved.
I don't want you to think the wrong thing, Gentle Reader: PetiteSoeur isn't any bridezilla, not by a long shot. But when one sister is the bride and the other is the maid of honor, and you are the kind of person who doesn't get pushed around, there tends to be a lot of tongue-biting that goes on, from each side. And when the bride, the maid of honor, and the mother of the bride have conflicting ideas about things, the last place you want to be is in a dressing room, half naked and listening to some overly-fluffy eighties faux-music. Can you die from an overdose of estrogen? I just might.
Of course, I have considered that the problem behind this mess might be my unwillingness to let go of PetiteSoeur, but there's not enough time to worry about that. I have a wedding to be part of. In three months.
Regards, best wishes, and solidarity,
-Cecily Jane
When your little sister gets married before you do, you have to be a bridesmaid.
And when you have to be a bridesmaid, you have to go buy a dress.
I know what you may be expecting: that I'd be jealous because my younger sister is getting married first. The truth is that I'm not really the jealous type. It's also true that PetiteSoeur is going to marry a guy that I'd very much like to have as a brother-in-law, and while I won't go into the -they're-so-good-for-each-other brand of mush, believe me when I say that I could. And it's an honor to be bridesmaid, of course. I just find the whole process a lot less comfortable than I expected. And I hate buying dresses.
I'm just not cut out for this, I think. It involves two things that I hate most: being told what to wear, and wearing a dress for longer than one hundred and eighty minutes. Oh yeah, and there's the whole "look good for the pictures" aspect of it, which could get pretty ugly. I'm the kind of girl who likes to watch musicals, read Jane Austen, and bake things. I leave all of the other girly things to my sisters, and they generally have no problem picking up the slack. Unfortunately, there's no time for that when a wedding is involved.
I don't want you to think the wrong thing, Gentle Reader: PetiteSoeur isn't any bridezilla, not by a long shot. But when one sister is the bride and the other is the maid of honor, and you are the kind of person who doesn't get pushed around, there tends to be a lot of tongue-biting that goes on, from each side. And when the bride, the maid of honor, and the mother of the bride have conflicting ideas about things, the last place you want to be is in a dressing room, half naked and listening to some overly-fluffy eighties faux-music. Can you die from an overdose of estrogen? I just might.
Of course, I have considered that the problem behind this mess might be my unwillingness to let go of PetiteSoeur, but there's not enough time to worry about that. I have a wedding to be part of. In three months.
Regards, best wishes, and solidarity,
-Cecily Jane
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