Synopsis

Mistress Spring and Lady Autumn are trying to act as mediators between Master Summer and Lord Winter. Seeking someone to tip the scales in favor of peace, they bring Jack to the land between the seasons. However, in their brief absence, Lord Winter has acted, and stolen the Orb of Father Sky from the Summer temple, placing it atop the tallest tree in Summer's domain, which now burns with blue flames and never dies.
The off-season aspects (Rayne, August, and Lord Fall) meet Spring, Autumn and Jack to tell them what has happened. When Autumn storms off to confront Winter, she is turned into a statue of a gargoyle. The group heads straight for the Autumnal lands to find out what has happened to the Scepter of Mother Nature.
By the side of a lake they find a newly raised barn. Jack, catching a peek of the Scepter inside, rushes in to retrieve it. But as he crosses the nightingale floor, a gigantic horse clomps in and throws him into it's back before making a break for the deepest part of the lake.
While Lord Fall rescues Jack from the Kelpie, Rayne sneaks into the now empty barn and gets back the Scepter of Mother Nature. Lady Autumn is restored and she calls a living gargoyle to stand guard over the Autumnal temple where the puts the Scepter in it's rightful place.
They set off for Spring's domain to try and protect the Crown of Grandmother Moon before Lord Winter can get to it. During this journey, Rayne and August give Jack two gifts. The Helmet of Spring which grants the wearer invisibility for as long as they can bear to wear it, and the Coat of Summer, which will protect the wearer from fire for brief periods of time.
As the group reaches the Spring temple they catch their first glimpse of Lord Winter since returning to the land between the seasons. However they cannot catch him before he calls a winged creature to bear him away. He's stolen the Crown of Grandmother Moon and Mistress Spring reverts into a statue of a Sphinx.
They search the Spring lands for a while and happen upon a newly created hill. The thing is steep and very high, but at the very crest there is a pedestal where the Crown of Grandmother Moon* is waiting. However, it's more sinister than it seems because when Lord Fall, Lady Autumn and August try to climb it the three are each whisked away by the same winged creature that took Lord Winter--A giant barn owl.
When Rayne refuses to try, Jack puts on the Helmet of Spring and climbs up the hill safely, but the helmet is so heavy that he throws it off when he gets the crown and he to is carried off. He's dropped in the middle of the Forests of winter where the others are. Some time after, Spring and Rayne find them and they move to the Summer lands.
When faced with the burning tree which is the prison for the Orb of Father Sky under which stands a carved marble Phoenix, the seasons, as well as the off-season aspects decide that it must be Jack who gets the Orb.
After a night's thought Jack climbs the tree in the Coat of Summer, though he is protected he has a hard time breathing and he starts to feel the heat from the flames through the coat. Undeterred he climbs until he reaches the Orb and climbs back down. By the time he is safe, the coat is in ruins, but Summer is restored.
Thanking him for all he's done, Summer and the other seasons go off to face Lord Winter together. Jack comes along and watches as the four seasons battle.
In the end though, Lord Winter, and his own off season aspect Lady Yule, are killed and the three other seasons evolve to take his place. A new Spring and off season aspect appear and the other's become something else.
Lady Yule, who was previously Lady Autumn, and August who was previously Mistress Spring take Jack back to his world and thank him for all he had done to keep their world in order.

The time has come,
the writer said,
to wax poetic more.

For haiku now,
and song quite new;
for writing we adore.

Yet on this note
may we all write
what shakes us to the core.

Bloggers come and
Bloggers go,
So few remain the same.

Traffic flow
and updates
'Thanks' for those who came.

Faithless readers
Listen up
I won't say this again.

Eye Rhyme
Slant rhyme
And rhyme true.

All enemies mine,
frustrate me
yet what can I do?

For you know,
faithless readers,
I write all this for you.

Days and weeks
And months hence
Hear from me no more.

I hope these
humble blogging post
shook you to the core.

What's influenced me?
Reading, writing, critiques, flames, flattery and sheer force of will.
That is to say that no ONE thing has helped me as a writer. It's a combination of influences. I read and I take in descriptions I like, phrases that make me think. I learn new words from books and end up falling in love with characters.
I write. If nothing else, I write. I write a lot. Just going by the age-old adage 'Practice make perfect' I should be making millions from my books by now. I'm not, but I am a much better writer than I was six years ago.
Critiques also help. That is to say, actual critiques. A good well balanced critique will show me what I'm already good and and kindly point out my faults. This gets me rolling on the right path, I think, to improvement.
Flames-yes, dreaded flames-have helped my writing more than I can ever now. While they hurt, they do show you your faults, though they do blow them out of proportion if I do say so myself. So to appease the flaming Gods I would work on those faults.
Flattery has a way of making me write more, I don't know about others. It's something that made me want to maintain the level at which I was writing.
The rest was all me. Doing what I had to to make myself like my work.

Earlier... "Right now I'm at a happy medium, floating on cruse control and enjoying it while I can. It's odd, I hit a low yesterday but now I'm fine. The hole is filling with water slowly and I'm content to float along in it until I reach the high ground again. I like that image actually. Like Ascension only...wet? Odd I know."

Today: ( Read more... )

However this is all relative. I'm frustrated with life...again. The water's stopped filling my little hole and I'm stuck here now. Too tired to swim. Trying not to go under. Limbs feeling like lead, weak and tired. Maybe I do want to go under. I don't need air, I don't need life. Maybe I do want to drown here. But I know that's not real. Just a tired daydream. I fear. The devil whispering in my ear bidding me to do what's stupid. So I struggle in the water and wait. For more rain? For the sun? I wait. For salvation? No...I wait for change is all. Not any one change, just...change. I'm in limbo, so I do what I can and I wait.

Maybe that's my problem, I wait for change. I always say that waiting on the world to change is the wrong approach. Hello, my name is Pot. World--I mean Kettle, you're black. But there's that devil in my ear. The one that makes me cry at night. The one that held the razor I cut with. That devil is whispering about how I can't make a difference, how I can't make the change.

I'm only....What am I? I'm a girl. I'm a little girl who wants to be all grown up. But I still need nap times. I still need dolls and toys. I need myblankie and snack times. I want to get up early on Saturday mornings and watch Bugs Bunny in my Pjs . I don't want responsibilities. I'm just a little girl. Can I just pick and choose the adult things I can have and leave the rest to someone else?

No. I can't.

I think there is a checklist for adulthood. Lets see how I rank.
Job, check.
Debt, check.
Paying Rent, Check.
Caring for self, half check.
Meaningful relationship, nope.
Apartment/house, nope.
Bills, not really.
Car, no.
Licence, no.
Ability to write checks, check.
Ability to buy wants and needs, check.
Seems I'm not quite there.

But I'm not five anymore. I grew up so fast, and yet so slow. There are shining moments in my childhood that may as well have lasted years, but were only moments. Precious moments. Forgive me if I wax poetic.

Things like summers spent at the pool or the Easter egg hunts staged there every year. The year I scraped my knee so bad that it bled and bled and bled just so I could reach that egg stuck in the crook of two branches on a tree. Taking pride that my eggs yielded more candy that Kaylee and Rachel's Eggs combined.

Spending days playing with the neighborhood kids. Shrieking with glee as I played in a tree house. Putting Arthur to sleep in my arms by stroking his nose. Thunder storms and a feline's comforting gesture. Not backing down from a fight. Riding horses at summer camp. Swimming in the pool at the Y.

My first kiss. My first crush. My first love. First Communion, first confession. Dancing at a wedding. Beginning high school. Drama Class. Kissing Jake. Meeting Neesha. When did I grow up. Somewhere in the middle of all this.

When I wasn't looking I started turning into an adult. Which is good...every one grows up... I just...feel like I missed some stuff. A feeling I've never been able to shake, though my childhood was much more stable, even much more happy, than most. What is it I missed?

Everyone tells me it's bullshit when I say he's too good for me. I'm told I'm just being agnsty. They don't know the demons in my head. They don't have to see him at wits end because I constantly push the limits waiting for them to break. I get to watch him and hear him take me back again and again. This is why I cry when he says he loves me. It's why I feel down every time a new guy turns my head. I feel like I'm single, but I know I'm taken.
Why can't I just admit that though I love him I can't do distance anymore.

I can't play this game.

April 19, 1995 – Oklahoma City Bombing…I was a child, I was scared and I didn’t understand.

April 20, 1999 – Columbine…I do not remember where I was, what I was doing or how I heard. I remember people being scared, very scared and the sting of loss. I cannot remember substance, only vague impressions. There was a deep sadness that stayed there for a long time.

September 11, 2001 – The Twin Towers…I was sitting in Religion class, a bittersweet irony there, at St. Michaels Catholic School in Gastonia. The Principal came over the loud speaker and had a prayer for those in the World Trade Center, the class was confused. Our teacher had two students go to the library (The only place in school with a TV hooked up for actual television) and had us switch over to our science lessons. When they came back the rest of us were making a mad-dash for the library.

I watched the second tower fall. It was like something imploded inside me. I felt empty. Scared. Terrified and confused we sat and watched the news, the clip repeating over and over for the rest of the class period. And Our break between classes, and half of math class. The younger grades (Grade 4 and down) weren’t told and were are eventually put in the library with an educational video.

The world moved on. Classes, everything was a blur from there. Golf match was cancelled. Went home, curled up and leaned against my mother as we watched the news. Life was sad. Disparing. We felt we lacked hope.

April 16, 2007 – Virginia Tech…I hadn’t watched the news before work. I slept as long as I could. Everything was fine until I went up to pass out trays to patients. I heard whispers of it. School shooting. I shrugged it off, chalked it up to my imagination. I’d read an old article on Columbine a few days before.

Then it was in the kitchen with me. A maintenance worker named a number of victims. I asked where. “Virginia Tech”.

I froze. My first thought of my friend Thomas who went there. Then the few other’s I knew by face from SOLAR. My insides imploded again. Empty, scared. I couldn’t get out of work and I couldn’t check facts. As I delivered the trays for dinner I gleaned what I could from glaces at the TVs that stood in the waiting rooms when I passed by.
Three days until Thomas talked to me. I’d been going crazy the entire time. He and I had grown so far apart, but I couldn’t bear the thought of him dieing.

~*~

It seems like such a bad dream some times but this is so real there are so many nation and world changing events that have happened in our lives already. So many for us who are so young. The world is turning into the big scary monster from our fairy stories and it’s going to get to us all and all we can do is watch and wait. So much waiting.

You feel useless, you try your best but still you get swept up in the surprise and anger. You get carried away and soon you don’t know what to feel anymore.

A bomb threat at my former High School days after Virginia Tech. I cried.

Is there nothing we can do?

We are in Seattle, we are opening the bar.
I'm terrified.
For more info read Pher's journal.

I really didn't think I did the creepy-anorexic thing all that well, but apparently I'm wrong.

I passed out at work today. It was no big deal, I’ve been doing that a lot lately, but not usually at work. My boss got upset though. She was all ‘are you okay, do you want to go to the Hospital? Are you hurt?’ and I really just shrugged it off. She asked me when the last time I ate was.
I said that I’d had lunch a little bit ago. A Lie. But I’m used to it now.
I’ve not lost much yet. Just enough so that my work pants aren’t too totally tight anymore. That’s good, by next paycheck I should be able to buy a size ten. That’s heaven compared to these humongous twelves I’m waddling around in. I’m such a cow.
And one meal every two days isn’t so bad, I mean. Last night I had dinner. A salad with fat free dressing on the side and a big glass of water. That’s good, right? I really couldn’t bring myself to actually eat the dressing though. I felt like such a pig. But the salad was good, I guess. It was kinda big, though, so I only ate half. I felt guilty—ya know?
Then tomorrow I’m gonna have lunch. Maybe a boiled chicken breast, with a little bit of salt. Nothing too heavy, I don’t want to GAIN anything. Then maybe breakfast the next time I eat. Something simple, like a banana. Fruits are good, right?
My boss is still freaking out a bit. She says I should take a few days off. Maybe I will. I could hit the gym all day and work on the treadmill and bikes. I’ve really been slacking off. I’m such a lardo, too lazy to do anything. Yeah, that’s a good idea. Hit the gym all day. I think I’ll put off that lunch a few more days.
I don’t need to eat.

Dearest future hubby,

I'm insecure. I'm insecure, self-conscious, insane, and downright odd. I'm needy, I'm cuddly, I'm stubborn and I hate being wrong. I will argue with you to a point beyond reason. I will stay mad at you because I just want to be mad. I will whimper, whine, and sigh when you're mad at me. I will poke you, kiss you, tickle you, and give you back rubs on whatever whim takes me. I will be upset if you're not ticklish.

I'm cynical when it comes to love, but I'm also a hopeless romantic. I will seem cold at first; I guard my heart, I've given it away too freely in the past. I'm paranoid and it can sometimes be hard to gain my trust. I'll love you, though; more that I've ever loved before, I'll love you. I'm passionate; passionate in the bedroom, passionate about the people I love and passionate about writing, art, and acting.

I'm a writer and I will ask you some of the weirdest questions you'll ever hear. I don't think when I write, the only thing running across my mind is the letter that make up whatever word I'm typing in that moment. I can get to be very wordy. I love words, I like the flow of other languages but I'm not good a writing and/or reading them. I like to read. I could spend a fortune in Barns & Noble. One of my greatest aspirations in life to to be published and stocked on the shelves of Barns & Noble.

I have issues. I'm a former cutter. I'm prone to depression, prone to insomnia and prone to bite your head of if I'm in 'a mood'. I fish for compliments, I get upset over stupid things and I will push your buttons. I'm fickle; I'll say no to something one minute and then end up doing it the next.

I love animals. I want nothing more that to be surrounded by animals;big dogs, scruffy old cats, lizards, rats and snakes. I like fishing but i hate the thought of hunting; though, I do like venison, dear skins and antlers. Just don't make me kill the thing and I'm happy.

I don't believe in the greater good of the human race. I believe in faeries. I'm whimsical, I'm serious, and I'm never in one mood for long.

I can cook well enough but i hate doing dishes and cleaning up. I like period movies, role playing and wearing corsets. I randomly use different voices and/or accents. I'd sleep until noon if i could. I like to stay in my pajamas all day and I'd die if i didn't get my daily dose of caffeine. I hog the the computer, i hog the covers and hog the remote.

I can be bossy; I think other people my age, with very few exceptions, are stupid and immature. I think people other than me, with only a few more exceptions, are stupid and immature. I do not take well to people who are not as smart as I. I don't take well to people who cannot handle a little (or a lot) of silliness and/or craziness in their lives. I think kids today are growing up too fast. We don't realize until it is too late what a gem childhood was. I miss just being a kid.

I love children but the thought of actually being a parent scared me beyond reason. I like to play with little kids but a girl can only handle so much. I'd rather be the doting aunt. I love my family to death, I'd have to live close to them or at least talk to them on a regular (daily) basis. I love my friends, you better like them do because I will be inviting them over a lot. Friends are like a second family to me, a family of my choosing. Just as crazy as my own family, and with all the little quirks that makes them endearing, but these are people I choose to spend my time with.

I'm petrified of driving, I'm scared of spiders and bugs, but i can be found to play with bugs on occasion. I usually kill spiders or have someone kill them for me. The only spiders I let live are the ones sold in the pet stores (or peoples' pets) and the tiny ones that you can hardly tell are spiders.

I'm irrational, I'm irresponsible, I'm horrible with spelling and grammar. My mind skips between subjects with little notice. I rant, a lot. I'm a review whore, I'm an attention whore, but I like going unnoticed in certain places (school for example). I flirt. I flirt with many guys for many different reasons. Flirting is one of the few social skills I've perfected. I dress for attention, I dress for comfort, and I dress very outlandishly, always.

I have an army of guys at my disposal should you every try to hurt me. I'd never let you hurt me, but if you did I would return the favor only much worse. Like my mother always says ' I've got cast iron cookware and I know how to use it.'

I'm not perfect, I'm not quiet, I'm not sweet, and I'm not demure. I'm not glamorous though I will pretend to be on occasion. I'm not girly. I have a softer side; I cry, a lot, but I can be a cold hard bitch sometimes. I'm not high maintenance for the most part but I do have my moments.

I'm a tomboy, I like to play rough and tumble, I'd join a friendly game of tackle football (If the rules were clearly explained to me). I like playing no rules basket ball; I cannot shoot to save my life, but I'm good at catching rebounds though. I'm not a sporty girl, thought I do like watching some on TV. I like to watch Ice Skating, the Olympics, lumber jack tournaments and dance competitions. I like to watch TV, but there are a few shows I absolutely hate to miss; Medium, CSI, and a myriad of shows i liked that were unfortunately canceled.

No matter how often you tell me I'm pretty, beautiful, sexy or gorgeous, I still won't believe you. But I could always use that ego boost. Most likely, I will ask you many times why you are so good to me, and why you love me; because I'm insecure in love. I never get why it is that people like me. I don't like the way I look. I'm fat. I only see my faults; I have a weird nose, my hair already hosts grays even though I'm only eighteen. I rarely know what I want but I always know what I need.

I'm usually shy with people I don't know, or with large groups. I don't like being surrounded by people. I hate walking in crowds, the idea of people i don't know bumping into me makes me want to throw up. I can't breath easily when surrounded by people, yet I like being social.

I'm a paradox; a contradiction of terms. I'm an oxymoron in the flesh. I've always had a thing for the impossible. Since I was sixteen I've always said that my dream guy was a goth-emo-redneck-native American with long hair, a lean, muscular body and and Irish accent. If you meet him, let me know.

I like listening. I can lose myself in music, or in someones voice. I like tone and expressions. I like the inflection people use when talking about themselves and telling stories. I like talking too, I think a well-crafted lie can produce interesting results. I joke a lot, I'm sarcastic, and I never really know when to quit.

I think that I've come to the end of what has been a most interesting letter to write. I don't expect to have a reply to this. So until we meet, I'll remain the same as i ever was; a girl wistfully wishing for love.

Fondly your future wife,

Dominique Dzioba

So here's a light overview of how this weekend went.

After work and a trip to the bank on Friday, I went home and changed into more comfortable jeans. Pherring came over and met my dad and my brother Alex. We went to a Greek and Italian restaurant for dinner and then spent some time in the arcade next door(DDR FTW!).

Saturday Peter picked me up for lunch, we ate at Hooters of Hickory. That was amusing. The food wasn't good :p. We hung out in Hickory just hanging around for a while, then went back to my house to play a game of monopoly with two of my best friends. After the game Pherring and I went to dinner at a Thai restaurant that I'd been wanting to try. That was wonderful. We went to Barnes and Noble afterward and he bought me Hamlet, Stiff and a wonderfully tasty triple chocolate chunk cookie ^.^.

Today we went to China Garden Buffet for lunch, I learned Pherring can't use Chopsticks...I can. We then went to Office Max, Pherring bought me miniature pens, they're cute. We went to the mall, I bought some stuff, he bought me a keychain. We stopped at Home Depot and had to pick up something for my dad. It took forever to find someone to help us. My dad made me hand the phone to the guy so that he'd get the right part(Later found out it was the wrong part:( ). Stopped at Petsmart to look at aminals, it was fun, I want a frog. Went to see Charlotte's Web, which was very well done. Stopped to get gas and realized that after gas money we barely had enough money for food so we ate a Jack in the Box.
All in all, I wiped out all the cash Pherring had. He wasn't as amused about that as I was.

He's on his way home now and we're both sad.

All in all my family and my friends all liked him, which is fairly rare. I had a wonderful time and life will be hell now that I've gotten to see him.

Distance relationships FTL.

Writing Is
By: D L Dzioba
Ask any non-writer and they wont understand the question ‘what is writing’. You’ll confuse them. As any writer and you’ll get a hundred bits of a hundred different answers jammed into one very confused sentence. The most simple fact you’ll ever learn is that writing simply is.
Writing is an expression of feels, phantasms, desires, fears, accomplishments and failures. It’s something into which writers pour their heart, soul, time, effort and money into. It’s a craft and it’s a gift. You can be competent but not talented, talented but not competent. It’s a high wire that nobody can cross perfectly. But we still cross it.
Writing is therapy. We come home from a long hard day, get on the computer and pour our angst out on livejournal, Xanga, whatever blog catches your fancy. We write in diaries and journals, we write e-mails and letters. There is a calming effect that comes along with letting our mind wander out onto the page. It makes us feel in control.
Writing is painful. You can admit things on paper, find bits of your soul you’d thought you lost when you write. You bring up the past and memories you’d forgotten. Things that are horrible and wonderful and depressing. You relive emotions from your life, but you also live the emotions of the characters you control. You cry over the death of a character, they’re no more than a name on a page and yet they are real to you.
Writing is an escape. You free yourself by delving into the whiteness of the page and filling it with those little black marks you’ve come to love. You find love, you feel complete when you can mold the world to your whim. Once you dive back into your chair you’re surprised to find the real world intact, you’d forgotten about it. About the worries, the aches and pains the sorrows, joy and whatever else.
Writing simply is.

Have you ever heard voices? Just when you're on the cusp of sleep? You hear someone talking to you, and you respond, but they ask you to repeat yourself so you do, only this time you say it out loud and you wake yourself up....

The whole Ashley Treatment thing gave me a bad night last night. My mind was running wild with objections, worst-case scenarios and what have you and the only reason I slept at all was because I was exhausted.
Here are my views.
I find it perfectly HORRIBLE. I can not find in my mind a justification for doing that to a human being. It is against my moral and ethical standards to even THINK of such a thing.
I know the reasoning, it makes sense in a very logical way but I cannot abide doing that to your own child.
My worst problem with it is that it can snowball. That this ‘treatment’ if we can call it that, will be used for this and that and used so frequently it becomes common. So frequently someone slips by the system and does it just to keep their child little. Children that suffer from autism, mental retardation and any other learning/functioning disability will all stay children and I find that a VERY scary thought.

Here and there he found survivors—old women and men, too frail to be useful on farms and in kitchens, and children too young to be anything other than an inconvenience. He sent everyone to visit with the old woman, Vivian, who was already taking care of Houri. In the back of the blacksmith’s house he found a small child hiding in a closet, her cheeks stained with tears. She clung to him as he took her away.
The next house was again empty but Galun suddenly had a wary feeling in his gut. There was one more house before he reached his own, and just beyond his was Houri's. Galun shivered to think of his family; his grandmother sitting terrified in bed, unable to move her withered legs. Houri’s family was no better off; he was almost certain they would have taken Nilcreban, he was strong and would make a good worker. He knew her mother would be taken and sold and used; the thought broke his heart.
Galun took a breath and walked into the house before his. It wasn’t terribly dark, the windows let in some dim light through thin muslin curtains. The living room was empty and as Galun walked inside he heard somebody whimpering. Rushing toward the sound he came to one of the two bedrooms where a youth lay awkwardly on his bed.
The sheets, his clothing and hands were drenched and he was holding a wound on his right side. As Galun came in he jolted up but fell back again groaning loudly. The boy couldn't have been older than thirteen but he had a look of hopelessness, as if he knew nobody would come to help him. Galun rushed to the boy's side and picked him up. Blood was still running from the wound thickly, soaking through Galun's shirt as he ran down the road, bringing the boy in past many of the other survivors.
Vivian clicked her tongue and began working at once, pushing Galun out of the way and shouting for one of the older women to bring her cloth and a bowl of hot water. Galun was pushed from the bedroom where he had set the boy in to the kitchen. Galun looked around in the absolutely quiet chaos. The other survivors milled around there and the living room; the elderly taking care of the children and nobody speaking so much as a whisper. Houri was sitting at the kitchen table by herself watching her tea steep.
Vivian peeked out of the bedroom door for a moment, “Zebell! Get me some of that green unguent, the one that stops cuts from bleeding.” She paused when she saw Galun still standing there watching Houri. “Have you finished searching the houses? There could be some worse of than this one! Go.”
“Yes ma’am.” Galun said thickly before heading for the door. His face burned scarlet for a moment.
He was halfway down the street before Houri’s footsteps made him turn around. She looked at him with an expression that could shatter ice. Her eyes narrowed as he looked up at him, she gave off an air of ineffable strength. There was no point in arguing, and wordlessly, Galun followed.
Houri only grunted in reply and walked into the nearest house. Galun followed her, looking the place over carefully while Houri rushed through. This house was one of the many empty ones, the entire thing in disarray as if there had been a struggle to get the elves out. Houri stomped back out and went into the next house silently.
When she emerged and elderly elf followed sheepishly in her dressing gown. Houri gave him a half-hearted hug and he set off for Vivian’s house, his bare feet getting dusty on the road. Another three houses and they found two more dead elves and a small child. It was a baby and Houri couldn’t bring herself to look at it. Galun carefully took the little child and carried it back to Vivian who handed it off to another elf while she bustled around her kitchen boiling bandages and looking through many jars of unguents and potions.
When Galun got back to Houri she’d already sent another child running for Vivan. She was now standing outside of her own home. It was one of the largest in the village, built by her father and brother during the years before the raids. There were tears running down her eyes as she stared at the shattered doorframe. Galun’s heart raced as she stopped beside her.
“We’ll go in together, all right?” He whispered, putting an arm around Houri’s shoulders and hugging her closer to him.

ohmygoshiwannacry

In fact, I already have. Christmas eve I cried because I knew that Gerald had been shipped out sometime around the twelvth. Then I logged into myspace today and I found this comment from him.

"hey, i will miss you while i am in japan. I will see you when i get back in 2009
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR "

He got to come home for the week of Christmas.

I need to remember that I can screen comments.

That is right ladies and gentleman, I am an intellectual snob. You know what? I'm proud of that fact. I've got high standards for myself and everyone around me. What does this have to do with you, my faithless blog readers? Everything. I can tell you right now I've the most respect for you people right here. Most of you are writers that I would love to have enough skill to match yours.



That being said, I must say that I hate writers. With a fiery, burning passion I hate most writers. I do not mean the ones I befriend, you are some of the select few that actually show any amount of respect for the English language. I cannot stand writers who refuse to respect the rues of the language which they speak and write.



Being online is no excuse for laziness. Check you spelling, don't use chat-speak, and follow some damn form of grammar. I get so annoyed with these people. These --pretend writers-- they claim intelligence and refuse to show any. And God forbid I mention something. That makes me arrogant.



Well then I'm proud to be arrogant, because it means I'm not some petty pretend writer claiming to be something I'm not.



I'm proud of the language I speak, I'm proud of the language I write it. All writers should be proud, and follow the rules. Those that can get away with breaking the rules are the exception, not the standard.

The people in statements are assholes.