I need to hit pause. I need some breathing room. I find that I have fallen victim to what I have just now decided to call the “Glorious Things Paradox,” which is the concept that “One can only do so many glorious things before he cannot do other ones.” There is only so much that I can allow myself to intend.
So I’m pausing the blog. Indefinitely. I would apologize, but…. actually, I wouldn’t. I’m going to write a novel, finish school and study Latin. I continue consuming time like coffee cake, but I hunger to create, so I’m giving myself the space to do that. Simplify, simplify as they say. (“They” being Thoreau, in this case. Ironic that he said it twice.)
I’m passing this off as a second draft of my last post because 1) I write it with the same heart, though redirected, and 2) because I wrote that last one at 1 in the morn, and the dramatic taste of it gives me a headache. (Kind of like really strong coffee. With sugar. Eh.) “Til death doth steal the pen from our hand” though… That was a good line. :-)
So I’ll see you in a little while, as always! Or maybe a longer time than that. I just don’t know. I think I’ll write, in the meantime, and maybe launch a photo business. I’m not disappearing- you can track me on Facebook or Twitter (that’s /sjskogerboe for both), or if you still want some writing scraps mixed up with photos, look HERE. And I’ll try to get some links up in my About page for you to see what I’m up to.
It’s been a good time, my friends. :-) I could be back later in the year, or when I get a job, or go to college, or get married, or some such nonsense. In the meantime, I would love to think that you’d pray for my book, my photos, and my life, and I will continue to thank God for all of you, the Encouragers, who have made the writing worth writing. God bless you! And you, worship Him for it!
I tapped this out earlier today on my new iPad Air. (Insert joyous dancing here. Aaand… here.) It’s the first thing I really wrote on here, and I haven’t had much practice writing on a tablet yet, so… well… it’s atrocious. (Splelnig errosr evyrwhre. Blech.) But I left it almost entirely unedited, only because 1) it’s stream of consciousness, and it feels weird editing that, and 2) I thought it might be interesting for you, the reader, to see how the raw thought runs rampant around my noggin’.
I wrote for about twenty minutes without stopping, which, though different from my usual sentence-and-stop-and-think-and-coffee-and-sentence style, was my way of testing if this kind of process (i.e. writing on an iPad) is a legitimate possibility. I’m inclined to think that it may be. After all, I wrote all the above text on the iPad (with a little more, ah… delicacy?), and that worked out alright.
Without further ado, and with only enough editing to make it semi-legible, here’s a piece I (hastily, thoughtlessly) titled, “Keep Going.”
i just wanted to type without stopping, to see how many words i could put down in a block of THINK! I GUESS, AND AS LONG AS IT KEEPS COMING ILL WRITE IT DOWN. TODAY was church – just plain old church, nkthing to see here, go on your merry way – but i wonder sometimes if its supposed to be like that at all. Like this at all. Where you just keep going and the words keep coming and the. service passes the hour in the spaN OF AN UNCOMFORTble pew, and youu ponder to yourself at home on the couch, shoukd i really JUST KEEP going? Not with life – yikes. Not trying to be morbid. I mean, that “just keep swimming” thought, nope, mentality that Disney pushes and all the sick people who got better (or healthier) (physically?) (till later?) shout because, MAN, they did it! But i dunno. (I like that those word words.) As long as it keeps coming… Always coming. Never stops coming. Some times writers are dense, cuz we act like we’re waiting for God (or, to the ahteistic/unenlighgened/denying majority, The Universe) to send that infofmation/inspiration our way, as if it isnt already there! As if the devine breath has stilled for a moment, and here we sit in the quiet. Thats our trouble – we invent silence. Or could it be a cure, to save our hands from burning at the keyboard or pad or whathaveyou, for that cool breath that fills us up to bursting, fingers flying, arthritis devoloping, all so loud with clicks and clacks and ticks and cracks, and for better or worse, for quantity or quality, til death doth steal the pen from our hand, and set us to dancing, one way or another.
I cant think of a better way to practicd for living – practice for that endless worship – than to fill to bursting with breath. Stretching is, most likely, the only way to grow. (b Or I read that on the Internet somewhere. *shrugs* *types action words between asterisks* *knows brain is running out* I’ll just find a different notebook.
Ouch. If you are OCD, I apologize for all that. Good grief, if you have anything more than a 5th grade reading level, I apologize.
I just apologize to the world, I guess.
To make it up to you, The World, I’ll try and edit this into something awesome tomorrow. Seriously, though- I’m on it. This is going to happen.
p.s. This reminds me (in a “yikes, editing is really super important and if you don’t do it, the odds are that whatever comes out in the end is going to suck” kind of way,) of a post my pa wrote. >> http://www.jskogerboe.com/2011/04/29/less-noise-more-signal/
Draftily, speedily, and most editorially in your service,
“When I have a little money, I buy books; and if I have any left, I buy food and clothes.” – Erasmus
People keep asking me for good stories to read – especially for their kiddos to really get into – so I wrote up this list. There are other awesome books I could add, but I tried to keep it in the 10 years and up age range. I have a lot of words for books like these, but I think I’ll let them speak for themselves. :-) These are the best stories I’ve ever read.
THE BEST STORIES I’VE EVER READ:
Narnia* by C. S. Lewis
The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien
Charlie Bone* by Jenny Nimmo
Harry Potter* by J.K. Rowling
The Tapestry* by Henry Neff
The Mysterious Benedict Society* by Trenton Lee Stewart
A Series of Unfortunate Events* by Lemony Snicket
The Misadventures of Benjamin Bartholomew Piff* by Jason Lethcoe
Airman by Eoin Colfer
The Olympians* by Rick Riordan
Anything by Brian Jacques, Edward Eager, or Shel Silverstein
The Hunger Games* and Gregor the Overlander* by Suzanne Collins
The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick
Heroes of the Valley by Jonathan Stroud
The Door Within* by Wayne Thomas Batson
Ranger’s Apprentice* by Jon Flanagan
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
The Giver by Lois Lowry
Fablehaven* by Brandon Mull
Maniac Magee by Jerry Spinelli
The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster
Peter and the Starcatchers* by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson
Am I missing anything? What books would you add to this list?
p.s. * stands for series. So look into those babies.
I’m tired of sick. Maybe you’re sick of poems. Sorry – I’m on a bit of a kick. There will be brilliant thoughts here again someday! For now, I’m saving those for my NaNo novel. No pictures today. I’m tired of pictures. This is a prayer about wanting more, inspired by a chest cold, an argument, and a bad case of writer’s block. In absence of a beautiful image, please accept this quote; I am blatantly stealing it from one of my favorite of my dad’s sermons.
“It would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” – C.S. Lewis // The Weight of Glory, and Other Addresses
I’m tired of sick, I’m tired of sick
that’s putting me to sleep.
I’m tired to think, at the end of it
I cannot help but creep
Back to the sick, the tiring sick
the leaves me in the dark.
It hurts because I know the heart
is shaped for difference stark.
Something different – black and white,
as this is colorless fire.
The things I need to want
are not the things that I desire.
I have this wandering wanderlust,
a pinched-nerve hurt for elsewhere
But here, it’s hard, for here the World
will say I’ll never get there.
I’m tired of sick, I’m sick of tired,
but “nothing can I do,”
Is the HOPE, not my complaint,
I offer up to you.
NaNoWriMo is National Novel Writing Month, an event where thousands of writers write 50,000 words (or more) in one month. A novel. Or a good start, anyways. I’m participating this year. And so, in actuality, I don’t really have time to be writing this post. But I am. Because you (Yes, you.) are the best. And because you (Yes, you.) are just that great. Here I shall log my daily “last sentence,” beginning, as today is the second, with yesterday’s. (All these, by the by, are my own personal intellectual property, and thus… do not steal them.) *Note: Intellectual may occasionally be a stretch… I end most writing days at late o’clock at night, when my brain is on the fritz. So, please, just… bear with me.
10.01 “This was how Minerva found him then: shivering slightly from the cold and covered in grime in a spotless attic, pouring over Hephaestus the Grumbler by the light of a dying candle.”
10.02 “Never was a roof more quickly thatched, nor a shed mucked more thoroughly, than on that morning in the cold, with the promise of breakfast, and a story to make it whole.”
10.03 “What is going on?” [Appropriate, I think, for my feelings on the third day of NaNo.]
10.04 “’Thank you,’ he said, quietly, and fled from the room.”
10.05 “Hating the weight of the money in his hand.”
10.07 [<< note: yikes.] “Then the valley opened up once again, and he was overwhelmed by a cloak of heady joy.” [<< note: ROUGH draft. So swallow your snort and hop on off that there seat of scoffers, Ricky.]
10.08 “To see a person as they are is less alarming than believing in their deception.”
10.10 [<< note: O_o] “And then five more words, like bells ringing in his ears: ‘You must not forget again.'”
10.11 “The street was far less frenzied in the evening, the press of bodies having thinned to a more comfortable crowdedness.” [“I am stinking beat. I have a writing headache. This is bad. This is very bad. I feel like I’m shaking a dry paint brush over a canvas, trying to get something to splatter off and look awesome. Today’s sentence was cherry picked out of the last paragraph I wrote. Everything that came after it was garbage. AUGH! AU-UH-AU-OO-AUGH! *chest-thump* *chews pencil* *eats pencil* I’m going to have to do something drastic.” End of transmission.]
10.12 “But the smithy raised a heavy hand for quiet, and when at last it came, spake softly, ‘No longer.'”
10.13 “Thus, despite the predicament you may be finding yourself in, I ask that you wait just a moment more, and allow me to sufficiently elaborate.” [Ha. Story of my (writing) life. p.s. This one was pulled out of the middle of the text too, but only because, well… the last line is stinking awesome, and I want to save it for when you READ THE BOOK. Woot. :-]
12.7 …. Hm. Two things I’m realizing here. For one, November is the eleventh month of the year…. *headdesk* *homeschool* *so, no desk* *just head* Secondly, that did not go at all as planned.
I shorted out. 14,000 words, near as many cups of chai, hours of sitting at a desk, or in a chair, or on the floor. By the end, there were a handful of times when I would sit down to write for two or three hours, and at the end of it, I’d end up with a couple hundred words. A pittance. Ugh. I had a weekend (around the 13th) (of November…) (11.13) where I literally had no time to write for 2 days. And I was… exhilarated. “And at last I see the light” kind of thing. I felt like someone lifted a barbell off my chest.
So rest was what killed me. But I will keep writing, now, and tomorrow, and the next time I hit a block. And the next time I’m disappointed. And so forth. A tortoise, running a better race in the long run. So… onward. :-)