Friday, July 30, 2010

New Blog -

Okay, this is officially my last post for Bottom of my 'art. I have a new blog called The White Honeysuckle and I plan to keep it updated. go to:
Hope to see you there!

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

If you want to follow a more interesting blog... meaning, one that actually posts, check out my brother's:

My writing has been much too lengthy to post here, so I'm afraid it will remain rather vacant.

Friday, February 15, 2008

My last RE from FAT year: Beware

Reflection Essay

June 1, 2007

Word Count: 362

What is Adventure and do we need Adventure in our lives?

Adventure is sought out by many people; some seek it as a necessary aspect of their lives, while others are set in their ways and fear change. It is a sense of expectation as change occurs, as the future unravels before one’s eyes. Huck Finn lives out his own personal adventure: “He moves with the wind, goes where he pleases, and in doing so, has what so many people romanticize about” (Sarah’s Book of Wisdom and Wittitry, 1049). Strangely enough, the common idea of adventure is glossed and shiny. The rough edges have been smoothed, and the onlooker may be safe while experiencing second hand the actions of others. When one is actually immersed in one’s own adventure, the out look is very different. It is not so glamorous. It can be painful. It can cause any manner of negative or positive emotion. In the example of Huck Finn, one may see a boy floating down a river, surrounded by all forms of adventure. He believes that he needs it in his life to keep from being strangled and suffocated by society.

Is adventure truly a necessary component to the lives of citizens and the like? It seems to be an unavoidable occurrence, in the normal lives of normal people, who have normal jobs with normal cats as pets. Even flying monkeys have adventures. Frogs probably do as well. Some people hibernate throughout their entire lives, and thus never have any adventures ever; unless they are in their dreams. They are pathetic. Peter, the boy with the last name Pan, was a great advocate of the adventurous rights movement. One could say that he was a radical: “Especially adventures within which one kills pirates and wild animals” he said to me one summer day on the sweet little province of the land which will never be. To such people, such as the one mentioned before, as in, fore mentioned, adventure is that which cannot be done without, or else death will ensue due to the stagnation of the blood. The blood will become stagnant when inactivity sets in, like a bee trapped in the flower from which it was… eating?

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Tea Cup Bri: An Epic Journey

Okay, all of the color coating died when I copied and pasted this into a blog post. Christina M. Brian D. and I wrote this a sentence at a time, switching back and forth, and I am not going to bother going through the entire thing again in order to show who wrote what. A pity, but ah well. Life goes on ^_^

Once upon a time a little Brian, the size of a tea cup, was imagining what it would be like to live under the sea. First he began to wonder what faerie would give him such great powers. Would it be Undine, the killer of hapless princes? Or Tinker Bell, the jealous sprite who gains her power from the almighty Taco Bell? Undoubtedly, Undine wouldn’t kill a teacup sized boy, so with great ire and spite, he journeyed off to the secret river in which Undine dwells. But first he punched the vending machine which spitefully dispensed a sprite. Of course you must know that this was no ordinary sprite…but a sprite with the map to the secret river, because naturally, most cans of sprite carry strange maps, but very few lead to the secret river. After acquiring the freakishly awesome can Brian then headed into the sunset. The next morning, he was very tired from the lack of sleep (naturally, when you go into the sunset, you don’t get much sleep). Nevertheless he continued on his way. His first encounter was with a smelly, one-eyed, bearded yak worshiper, who looked at him and said, “O boyus! Dost thou burpum? Or perhaps belcha?” Scared out if his mind by the disgustingly, disturbing and what seemed to be creature-ish looking appendage hanging out of the ghastly creature’s mouth, He asked, “Are you a ghoul?” There was only one way to find out, so he grabbed a big stick and lobbed it at her head, “Woe ist mea!” cried the smelly, one eyed, bearded yak worshiper. “How in the world can I tell you if I’m one of *whispers* them, if you bludgeon me! Just ask nicely and maybe I won’t kill you yet with a proposal of marriage. However, you must ask the right question, lest ye die.’ With a deceptive gleam in his eye, he gradually lowered down on one knee, picked up a stick, and said, “Will you marry me?” As she rushed forward with glee, he knocked her cold with a hefty swing. “Apparently she really is a one-eyed, bearded yak worshiper.” Brian then wandered off to the conveniently placed watering hole, where he saw the peaceful looking Simba and through to himself, “Finally, someone nice!” Little did he know what was about to take place. The peaceful, fuzzy and cuddly exterior hid a heart of passionate and desperate evil. His fa├žade was ripped apart as he roared awake and pounced. Brian only just managed to roll aside and crawl into a gopher hole. Shivering with fear and dripping with slobber he frantically ventured deeper into the dark and dreary black abyss. Suddenly, he thought, “ew, slobber! Where did this come from? I’ll have none of it!” And with that, the slobber vanished! At the sudden vaporization of the disgusting saliva, Brian gasped. What happened? Did he have his own personal powers? Or was it just his imagination? In fact it was neither! While escaping from the ferocious Simba he didn’t notice the snoring gopher blowing nasty morning breath his way, and acting as a very effective hair dryer. He sighed with disappointment and moved on. He thought to himself, “How will I ever get out of this hole?” When all of a sudden he remembered the sprite can in his hand. He opened it with a pop, and out came a little faerie that shoved a little piece of paper up his nose and vanished with an explosion of carbonated fizz. Feeling a bit exhausted from his journey so far, he decided to sit down and drink the sprite. Afterwards, he picked his nose and out came the map. It was kind of really disgusting and revolting, so he wiped the bogies onto the gopher, who just snored and rolled over. Slowly and cautiously, Brian crawled out of the hole and back to Simba’s watering hole. Upon his resurfacing, he promptly shouted, “hakuna mattata!” and simba declared, “No worries, bro!” With that, Brian continued on his journey. By now the sun had risen and was blasting evil words at him saying “I shan’t let you continue on your journey!” Rather distraught, Brian shouted back a challenge, and then ran like the wind. Luckily for him, the sun and the wind were in an argument, so the North East South West wind ran with him and blew him to a dark forest, on the edge of which stood a sign which read, “WARNING: car exhaust is hazardous to health” He thought to himself, “If I’m ever big enough to have health, I’ll remember that.” With that he walked into the forest. Soon he found a big mushroom to sit on, and he pulled out the map. Gleaming with delight, he saw that he was not too far from his destination. However, Brian had to first to cross Lickety Split No Bananas Lava Lava highway! WITH NO TOOTSIE ROLLS!! If only he could cross safely, but without tootsie rolls that would be terribly difficult. But wait! He was too little to have health, so why worry? Thus, he began to think of a candy that he could use to get across the dreaded highway. “There are skittles, starbursts, M&Ms…GUMMY WORMS AND BEARS!” He thought to himself, “I can throw the bears at the speeding cars and run across!” So he began to throw the gummy bears at the cars with all his might. But because he was so small, his gummy bears were naturally proportionate to his body size, so they did not stop the cars. However, they did form a sort of gummy pathway across Lickity Split No Bananas Lava Lava highway! He cautiously stepped across and was not stuck in the goo even once. When across, he heard the gurgling and chuckling of a river. “Yes!” He thought, “I’m almost to the river of Undine… but how shall I ever see the way to the river in this dark and dreary forest?” Hastily searching his mind, he remembered the sprite can and thought, “I can use it as a reflector.” So he held out the can and smiled from ear to ear so that the shine from his teeth reflected on the can and lit the way! Slowly, he crept through the ghastly forest, making his way closer and closer to the gurgling and chuckling. Suddenly, a melodic voice called out, and he saw a beautiful lady coming out of the water and gesturing to him welcomingly. “Ah, little squirrel, come drink of my waters.” Quoth she. Spellbound, he slowly yet cautiously walked towards the lady but was taken aback when he saw a majestic crocodile come out of the water. With an Australian accent, he said, “What a beauty! How shall I know which one is Undine? I know, I’ll decide this the logical way. Bubble gum, bubble gum in a dish, how many pieces do you wish?“ The majestic crocodile responded, “Four!” in his grunt like speech. The lady called out angrily, “This is certainly not logical!” Brian paused, “ah, you are rather very full of a little much of wisdom, you must be Undine!” The crocodile licked his chops, and walked towards Brian, but Undine sent him away. Pleased to have found the true Undine, he went over to her and began to speak when wall of a sudden his main objective vanished from his mind. Quite embarrassed, he said to her, “dear Undine, my deepest apologies! I have traveled for so long and through so many perils, that I have forgotten my whole purpose in coming! Oh my, the dangers I have faced! First the vending machine, then the yak worshiper, then the watering hole and Simba, then the gopher’s hole, without Winnie the Pooh, mind you, then the sun and the wind, then Lickity Split No Bananas Lava Lava Highway, then the forest, and now you!” He sighed an exasperated sigh and looked like he was about to cry. Undine shook her head and looked on poor little Brian and said, “Now what is the moral of this story?” He answered, “Never go on a journey that is longer than your wish!”

Thursday, August 16, 2007

New Blog

Hello dears, I am proud to announce that I have a new blog. It is shared between the self proclaimed Muses: Lizzy, Heather and I. We someday want to join all of our talents into one place, where we can build good community and comfortable studying grounds. I find it to be very exciting, because it reminds me of the part in "A Severe Mercy," where the Vanaukens are living in Oxford, and live in the studio, where their friends come over every evening or so to discuss, chat, and fellowship together. So, in our blog we will be brainstorming about this little dream of ours. Tis ever so lovely.

Ah, also, sorry about the rather ugly/ewwie/undeignified/dull state of my blog. I am messing with template, color, and I must find a good pic.


Wednesday, August 08, 2007


I got a lovely lappy!! Its name is Ada Rose, and it has pretty buttons... and is shiny. and new. and happy. it has little specialness, and yayness..... whee!

-The Sarah

Post-It Note Originated Story

  • Once upon a time, a thoughtful little boy gazed deeply into the night sky and upon the face of the moon. The longer he looked, the more he wondered. So the boy eventually asked; “Dear Moon, how did you become so beautiful and grand?” The wonderful lady who is the moon liked the look of the boy, as he stood with his hands deep in his pockets, frank curiosity on his face, and awe in his eyes. Carefully pulling her long dark tresses over her shoulder, she lent down to whisper her secret to him. As she did so, an angry gale nearly knocked the boy down into the deep grasses, urgently cutting its winding path. It whipped away her words and hurled them into the dark. They flew so far that they caught in the deep blue net above their heads and twinkled there. The moon helped steady the boy on his feet as the wind passed, and slowly looked up to see her words shining unintelligibly in the heavens. The boy desperately hoped that she would repeat that precious phrase, but she did not. She grew pale as the sun cast a fiery glance over the horizon and stood straight again. The boy attempted to grasp her hand as she receded back to her place of watchfulness, but he found that it faded to the point of vanishing. Her pale face flickered when the greater light overtook her and her stars winked out. The boy stood and watched the sun take her place in the heavens, then turned and walked home. He never uttered one word about the meeting to anyone, but wondered evermore.
  • Monday, June 04, 2007

    At the Scene of the Battle

    Straining with nervous tension, two armies faced each other at the opposite ends of a low valley. Breaths of cool morning air played with the banners and flags, which flew bravely, snapping this way and that with vigor. The wind touched the hard faces of the men with a gentle caress, but could not divert these grim statues. The sickening panic of fear threatened to rise within each, but no betrayal of such was expressed. Stone faces such as these, were hardened by pride.
    The line to the east had a decided advantage, for the sun rose behind then, dazzling the eyes of their enemies. The standards that this army held aloft bore the image of a black griffin on a field of red. The riders in the company of the griffin were mounted upon great chargers, which pawed eagerly at the earth. The archers waited with an arrow fitted to the string. The lines were straight and ready to rush forward upon the issuing of one sound. The birds sang. A horse whinnied impatiently. Even the sound of a small honey bee reached their ears, which were straining for the signal. They waited… waited. It came. Suddenly, the tension broke as they flooded down to the fierce blaring of a trumpet. A war cry arose in every throat, as they rode either to victory or the grave.
    Galloping recklessly before the company of the griffin was a young rider. His armor reflected the glory of the sun, and his horse looked like a storm cloud about to burst forth in wrath, a dark and brooding grey. If any of his comrades had seen his face as he rode ahead, they would have been shocked by his fierce demeanor, covered by an injured pride, blood thirsty for revenge. His face was overshadowed by hate. Sweat beaded up on his brow, which was furrowed with ghastly determination. Any fear that he must have felt before that final plunge was left far behind, as he thundered down the slope. Taking over the empty place of fear, surged an unrelenting fire if spirit. It pushed away dear hope as well as dark despair; nothing stood between him and his goal: the death of traitors.
    As the waves of men broke upon each other, the battle began. Mingled with the sounds of men shouting out, horses screamed shrilly into the clear air, and steel clashed against steel. Glistening in the sun, the young man’s sword did its work with terrifying finesse. He charged so ruthlessly into the fray that he broke out again on the opposite side. As he checked his steed and turned back to the fight, an arrow sang. The charger screamed with chilling agony, as the fatal dart lodged deep into its side. Stumbling and flailing about, the prideful animal fell upon the turf. The rider leapt free from its back and found his footing upon solid ground, while the world swam about him. He paused. Stampeding through the valley of swords had not left him entirely unscathed. A burning cut on his cheek dribbled down, and hot blood was seeping into his sleeve from a stroke just below the shoulder. With burning coals glowing deep in his dark eyes, he brought his hand slowly to wipe his cheek. He looked at it a moment. Turning his eyes to the fight, he smeared the red liquid fire in the other side of his face, and fingered what was left on his hand. A deep bellowing voice caused his hand to lower, and his eyes to search for a friendly face. A comrade, who had also been dethroned from his steed, staggered to him with a crushed, barely serviceable foot, which undoubtedly was brought about by the fall of his heavy animal. The bite of pain that coursed up his leg spurred on a heavy, yet eager attitude. The young man wiped his bloodied hand and they met. The man rumbled with the morbid chuckle of an old soldier ready to meet his death, and stood tall.
    “For our beautiful land we fight; for the King!”
    “For the King, for our land, and for our dear ones – be they still living – we fight!”
    With the greatest cry that their hoarse voices could muster, the two men, tightly grasping their swords, returned to the battle with a vengeance.