Funerals are depressing, even if you didn't know the person well. I've been to several funerals over the years, but never more than one in one year. Today I attended the memorial service of a very dear friend's father. Honestly, today was a day of mixed and varied emotions. On one hand, I was very sad, bordering on depressed. But on the other, I spent a very enjoyable time this evening with my boyfriend and a silly group of people playing board games. To be completely and utterly honest, I'm not sure what I thought of today...

My thoughts have been turned toward death and life lately. Life is so short. We never know when we're going to take our last breath, or whether or not we'll still have our friends and family in a few days, a few hours, or even a few minutes.

It's a little terrifying. The only reason I'm not freaking out about humanity's mortality is because I know that, even though someone may be taken from us here on Earth, I'll see them again in Heaven.

I leave you now, readers (Is any body out there?), to work on the story I am writing with a friend. I'll see you next time I post.

- Aimee

Sometimes, life just gets you down. I knew this. I knew this quite well. In fact, I was experiencing the truth of those words in those minutes, as I stared at a blinking screen, watching images flashing by too quickly for me to fully comprehend. The television volume was way down, in order to allow me the freedom of reading without being interrupted, but I had long since given up on reading. The words refused to make sense. I found myself reading the same paragraph again and again because I had forgotten what I'd read. It was one of those days where I just wanted the world to leave me alone.

Unfortunately, the world refused to do any such thing.

The phone rang, but I ignored it. I didn't want to talk to anyone, and if someone desperately needed to talk to me (there wasn't much chance of that) then they would call again. I vowed to let the machine get it no matter what.

Instead, I found myself drawn to the phone as it began ringing a second time. I rested my book face-down on the couch, saving the page that I had read and re-read several times, and hefted myself to my feet. The television flashed in the background, a commercial screaming quietly at me to buy a chia pet for my kids this Christmas. I didn't have kids. I didn't want kids. I ignored the screaming chia pet ad and paced toward the phone.

It continued ringing.

For a moment I stared at it. The complexity of caller ID was lost on me. My phone was mounted on the wall, with a cord that only allowed for minimal movement. I reached for it, and slowly lifted it to my ear.

"Hello?"

Words can't describe the terror I felt as I listened, and heard nothing. My heart-beat increased; I could no longer hear the television over the sound of my heart. My breath caught in my throat. Darkness threatened to overwhelm me. I found myself dropping the phone, and then, my knees buckled. I fell, one thought flickering through my mind before unconsciousness swallowed me. I had left the oven on, preheating for the frozen pizza I'd meant to eat for dinner.


It was dark when I woke. Groggily, I stood, and then bent over again, holding my head in both hands as a wave of pain swept over me. The edges of my vision blurred, and for a moment I feared I was going to faint again. My consciousness held, barely. For a moment I forgot my terror. I looked around, seeing the oven, at the desired temperature, hearing the television, now running through a re-run of a kid's show that I'd never found particularly appealing. And then I saw the phone. I had neglected to hang it up, and I now remembered why.

He had called me again.

My heart jumped into my throat, and I staggered against the kitchen counter, feeling weak at the knees. "Oh my god..." I whispered. What was I supposed to do now?

This is just something I wrote a couple months ago. I figured any readers I have may be getting bored with my lack of posts, so, here you have a post!

On a subject I have not brought up in a long time: I am in the process of re-writing my mystery short story. I took the characters, moved the time-line up a few decades to the present, and made it a less serious mystery. Now all I have to do is figure out a way for my character to solve the mystery, and I'll have my short story! I'm really counting on winning at least third place, for the cash prize I'll get. Even if I do only get third place, I'll win enough money to help pay for (you'll never guess) plane tickets! This Christmas I am going to fly far away with my boyfriend in order to spend the holiday with his family. So please wish me luck as I enter the Erle Stanley Gardner mystery short story contest!

- Aimee

I'm writing this post while sitting on the couch with my brothers and watching TV. I remember a time when kids' shows were cool, educational, and genuinely amusing. Now there are shows like Chowder, Flapjack, Hannah Montana and Spongebob. None of the modern kids' shows are good any more. They teach kids things like 'It's okay to date when you're twelve', 'you can break up with your "boyfriend" for a stupid reason and not even worry about it because none of your actions affect anyone but you' and 'it's okay to run around like a maniac making tons of noise and annoying everyone'. What sort of lessons are those to teach kids?

Sorry about the mini rant. Kids' shows really just bother me.

Now, I have a question for my readers. (I do have readers, right?) My question is this: Where you do get your inspiration, your ideas? What, or who, is your muse?

Personally, I get my inspiration from the most random of places. For instance, I once wrote an entire short story from a scene I had running through my head at one in the morning. I couldn't get the description of a dragon out of my head; the words ran around and around in my head, describing a scene of beauty and terror, and I couldn't sleep, so I wrote it down. The next day, I wrote a short story, and it is one of the pieces of writing I am most proud of, to this day.

Other times, someone around me will say a single word, or a phrase, and I'll get an entire story out of it. I get my inspiration from things like movies, songs, TV shows, books, and the people around me.

So where do you, readers, find your inspiration?

- Aimee

I know, I know... I need to start updating regularly again. Even if it's just once a week or something, at least I'll be updating regularly.

My writing has taken a turn for the worst. There are so many stories in my head, but I can't seem to find the words for any of them. My fantasy novel has ground to a halt, right after my main couple just defined their feelings for each other. The story I'm working on with a friend has also come to a stop, because she's busy working on her own book and I have no idea what to write without her. I'm tempted to start writing something new, but I know I'll just get distracted and stop halfway through.

What to do?

For now, I guess I'll just tell you about the really random, surprise adventure I went on the other day with my boyfriend. He picked me up at nine in the morning on Monday, but I had no idea where we were going. It wasn't until I saw a sign that said 'Big Bear Lake' that I guessed our destination. It was a really nice day, despite the rather sickening ride up, and then back down. We ate breakfast/lunch at a really cute restaurant. We both got omelets, and they were delicious. Then we just wandered around town, looking at shops and stuff.

I'll see if I can post another short story soon.

- Aimee

Triumphant return

A lot has happened since the last time I posted. I am not even going to try to tell you all everything that happened. All I'm going to tell you is that yesterday I did the assessment test at the college I am going to attend this Fall and actually tested pretty well, considering I have done nothing at all school related in months. After the test I went to the beach with my mother and younger siblings, we stayed for an hour, I got lightly sunburned, and then as soon as I got home my boyfriend picked me up and we hung out the rest of the day.

And that was my day yesterday. I also wrote a short story, which I am now going to share with you.

Untitled

Aimee --

She stood on the empty shore, the ocean splashing around her ankles. The water was rough today; the sky was overcast and moody looking. The water moved in rough waves. She had to stand side-on to the ocean in order to keep her feet as the waves swirled around her, threatening to knock her down and sweep her out into the deeps. But with each wave that swept past her, crawling its way up the shore as far as it could before failing and being drawn back into the sea, her resolve wavered. Would being swept away really be such a bad thing?
She could retrace the path as easily as though it were mapped out before her, the path that had led her to this moment. Her mind wandered, lingering on every memory that led to today: The wedding the year before; the accident; the funeral; the tears. She could see each memory vividly in her mind’s eye, as though they were pictures playing out before her on the great screen that was the overcast sky.
As she stood on the empty shore, reminiscing about the past year, the water continued its rough back and forth motion across the sand, hissing and roaring like a living beast. She could hear nothing above the noise, nothing over the pounding of her heart.
A bolt of lightning flashed across the clouds, lighting up the world in a blinding light for a split second before fading away. Seconds later the thunder sounded, low, and rumbling from a distance. The wind picked up, whirling furiously around her, adding to the din. Her hair whipped about her face; the ocean’s movements became wilder and wilder with each passing moment.
She could almost hear, in the deep moaning of the wind, his voice. A single tear slowly traveled down her cheek, tracing a path across the flawless skin. She hated to hear his voice again, for she knew it was only in her imagination.
He was never coming back.
She stood on the empty shore, the ocean splashing around her knees. The water was rough today. With every wave, it drew her inevitably deeper and deeper into the water, threatening to pull her into the depths.
But would that really be such a bad thing?

So, again, it's been a couple days since I last updated. I'm not going to say a whole lot today, because I have a really random, really painful head ache. Over the last few days I have done several things.

One: Celebrated Independence Day with family and friends

Two: Spent as much time as possible with my boyfriend and his family, because they're awesome

Three: Failed my behind the wheel driver's test and

Four: Eaten a very small amount of food in the last few days, which is actually probably the reason behind my head ache. That and the huge amount of stress that I've been under for several weeks, and the fact that my neck has been killing me ever since I slept on it funny last week.

I did manage to write some more yesterday, with the help of my co-writer. We managed to write at least eight hundred words yesterday, got over a case of writer's block I'd been suffering from for a week, and planned out the next few chapters of the story. I'm really looking forward to seeing how this book turns out.

Oh, one last thing. I managed to find a literary agent who looks like she'd be the perfect person to represent my book, so I sent in a query letter. I'm still waiting on results, but it's been a week, so hopefully, if things to well, I'll be getting an interested response to my query in the next few weeks. Wish me luck on that.

- Aimee

It's been a couple days since I last updated.

Summer really is not a season that encourages writing. Firstly, it's almost always too hot! Except for today. The weather is being moody, and it's been chilly for the last two days. Secondly, there is far too much to do in the summer. Who could possibly want to be cooped up inside writing when they could be outside, enjoying the sun and summer activities? I have yet to venture to the beach this year; I'm not much of a beach person anyway. But when you're with some of your favorite people, the beach is pretty cool. Maybe I'll end up going there soon, and then you can hear about my adventures.

Last time I went to the beach, I came back with a story to tell. A very good friend of mine accompanied us to the beach, and then proceeded to wander off on his own, taking pictures, and generally just enjoying himself, by himself. The next time I saw him, he cut the perfect 'castaway' image: white t-shirt under an open, blue button down shirt, jeans rolled up to his knees. It was a perfect image, and I just had to write the story. I never finished it, but maybe you'd like to read what I did end up writing down.

Castaway

By Aimee --

Learning to survive had indeed proved difficult. Although, really, when he thought about it, Laurence had to admit that he had anticipated more trouble finding sustenance. Since his first day on the tiny island he had had little difficulty locating various good things to eat. He could recall quite clearly the first day, the day he had begun his new life as Laurence the castaway. That day remained crystal clear in his memory, although a few details from the night preceding it were foggy at best.
He had woken up, stretched flat on his back on a pristine beach. Why he was there he could not have said, but as his head was aching fit to burst, he assumed it was for no good reason. From the general wooden debris scattered across the sand he deduced that he had been in a shipwreck. The memory of his incident escaped him for the moment, however. Had he been able to concentrate around the pounding ache in his skull, he might have been able to recall the event. As it was, for a few moments after awaking, he simply remained where he was, lying on his back and gazing up into the sky.
“I must be a terribly deep sleeper…” He had murmured to himself after striving to remember waking up the night before. He could call to mind only a memory of getting into bed the previous night, but after that, nothing. Nada. No memory that could possibly have explained the reason behind his awakening on an empty beach.
Eventually he had gotten to his feet and, staggering slightly as his head pounded, explored the shore a bit in each direction. The only reward he received for his efforts was a bit of shade from a single palm tree.
Not one to enjoy being alone, Laurence had taken to speaking aloud to himself. Over time he had developed Anthony, an alter-ego of sorts, merely in order to have someone to converse with in order to pass the time.

Since that first day, he had spent as much time as possible erecting shelter and searching for food. And now, here he was, standing several miles inland, contemplating a patch of mushrooms he had just discovered, and discussing them with Anthony.

- Aimee

I just had a revelation.

I just realized that paramedics and EMT's, the people who get to you before you even get to the hospital, are real people. It just occurred to me that I personally know a few of them. They're real people with real jobs, who deal with a lot of crap, especially on holidays like this.

So, instead of my usual chatter, I am going to make a heartfelt plea.

Please, pray today. But don't just pray for the idiots out there who are going to do stupid stuff and get hurt today. Pray for the people who have to deal with those idiots; the people who are working today because they know they're going to end up saving someone's life. Pray for them, and don't ever forget: the people riding in ambulances aren't just obscure people you're never likely to meet again. In fact, everyone you ever see, at a party, walking down the street, in the elevator, they're all people, who have problems and thoughts and ideas just like you. And, some of them may end up the most important people (or person) in your life.

- Aimee

Once upon a time, in a distant, magical land, where things were not like they are here, a child was born. She was born under the sign of the hunter, which meant she was destined for greatness.

There are so many words in my head, I don't know what to do with them all. So many stories, entire worlds even, lurk inside my head, just waiting for me to write them down, for me to use my words to form them. Sometimes, it's a nice thing. Other times, it's a curse. At times, I can't sleep for the words spinning round and round in my mind. Sometimes, I can't even figure out what I'm thinking, because my thoughts are rushing from story to story, from thought to thought.

Believe me, the life of a writer is difficult, and usually lonely. To be a writer is to be misunderstood.

- Aimee

"Life is a never ending, downward spiral."

Suppose for a moment, dear reader, that you lie in an open field, gazing up at the star-strewn heavens, mind blank, muscles relaxed, the entire world at peace around you. A light breeze stirs the long grass; the faint scent of jasmine lingers in the soft summer air. Above, the stars twinkle merrily at you. An old rhyme springs to mind.

"Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight..."

Slowly, your eyes drift closed, your lips silently form the words as your wish sails away into the night.

Have you been imagining, reader?

If you have, then I commend you! I, too, found myself in the place described for a few brief moments. That is the beauty of words. For brief moments we can find ourselves transported away from our mundane lives. That, dear reader, is why I love writing.

Thank you for taking a little time out of your day to journey with me.

- Aimee