I love little kids. Just thought I'd throw that out there. I taught Cubbies tonight, and as I was preparing the lesson (and trying to hunt down those little terracotta pots that are a pain to buy in bulk anymore), I started thinking about why.
Preschoolers have no formulated ideas or preconceived notions as to social norms. Society has not yet taught them things like it's weird for a graduated high school student to color, that when somebody stutters it means they're stupid, what people should look like in order to be pretty. They haven't learned to put up a front in order to look cool until they become a completely different person. They question the important things: why God does what He does and how He does it. They don't question the things that should be certain: who they are and that God loves them.
These little kids want to learn and thrive and love and be loved with the purest, Godly love. They are who they are, and it's not something to be questioned or hidden. If they want to jump around like a monkey, then by golly they're going to jump around like a monkey and it doesn't matter what it looks like. If they have a question, they'll ask it, because they want to know and they don't care if they'll look stupid or not. These little kids are so transparent, flawlessly open and honest.
I want to look at people without those preconceived notions. If I don't know something, I want to just ask. And if I want to color, then darn it, I'm going to color! I'm sick of altering what I look like for the people around me until I've lost who I originally was. I want to ask the questions of God that will lead me closer and closer to a pure relationship with Him rather than fester and produce doubt. I'm tired of living in this jungle tangled in the vines of what I have learned growing up from that little-kid-age. I'd rather jump back into that coloring book page of wide meadows with the great, blue sky, with everything open and pure and free.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
My Lovely World of Editing
A first draft is simple, easy. A first draft is when the story leaps out of your mind and onto the page, stepping clumsily and leaving muddy footprints in the hallways, running into walls, falling through railings, that kind of thing. When it is finished, I usually allow myself maybe 30 seconds to ooh and aah at the saved document, I get it printed out and flip through the ream of papers full of my words that hold my story and my characters and my world. Okay, so after the printing it's more like 60 seconds, especially seeing as how I have to do that printing at Kinko's because my printer is lacking in oomph, so I'd darn well better get some pleasure out of blowing twenty bucks.
But once that minute and a half of "Holy cow, it all survived the journey from my head to the paper!!!" it is on to-- cue the ominous music-- editing. I start to see just how much of the story really and truly survived the journey. I have to choreograph its steps, clean up its muddy footprints, scrub down the walls, repair the railings. I have to check the technical stuff-- the story consistencies, the grammar, I have to have my editor cross out half of my commas (I was writing before anyone ever taught me punctuation; all I knew was that, when reading out loud, you make your voice pause at a comma. So if I pause in my head while I'm writing, doesn't it make sense to stick a comma in there? Don't look at me like that, you know that it's only logical!). I have to tear it all apart to make absolutely certain that it is all put together correctly. I have to make sure that it isn't stupid.
Editing is an extremely complex process! Which is why Speechless, my poor ink-and-paper-child, is being edited-- oh, about a third or fourth time now. Dang it, Jeff, can't you just grow up and be a man already? And Alishia, speak up! I can't hear you over Jackie! Not to mention that Speechless is about a reform in American Public High Schools, so there's a bunch of politics and technical stuff that has to be explained without distracting from the story. And I still hate commas.
So, chapter by chapter, sentence by sentence, Speechless is being dismantled once again. Oh well, it's a nice excuse to avoid actually starting the Cinderella story, the Castle story, the Artist story, or the Redneck-girl-moved-away-from-the-farm-and-getting-looked-at-funny-by-the-kids-at-school story that have been running through my head and stealing my consciousness in everything I do. I'll have to pick one to start on eventually, but for now I shall simply edit Speechless.
But once that minute and a half of "Holy cow, it all survived the journey from my head to the paper!!!" it is on to-- cue the ominous music-- editing. I start to see just how much of the story really and truly survived the journey. I have to choreograph its steps, clean up its muddy footprints, scrub down the walls, repair the railings. I have to check the technical stuff-- the story consistencies, the grammar, I have to have my editor cross out half of my commas (I was writing before anyone ever taught me punctuation; all I knew was that, when reading out loud, you make your voice pause at a comma. So if I pause in my head while I'm writing, doesn't it make sense to stick a comma in there? Don't look at me like that, you know that it's only logical!). I have to tear it all apart to make absolutely certain that it is all put together correctly. I have to make sure that it isn't stupid.
Editing is an extremely complex process! Which is why Speechless, my poor ink-and-paper-child, is being edited-- oh, about a third or fourth time now. Dang it, Jeff, can't you just grow up and be a man already? And Alishia, speak up! I can't hear you over Jackie! Not to mention that Speechless is about a reform in American Public High Schools, so there's a bunch of politics and technical stuff that has to be explained without distracting from the story. And I still hate commas.
So, chapter by chapter, sentence by sentence, Speechless is being dismantled once again. Oh well, it's a nice excuse to avoid actually starting the Cinderella story, the Castle story, the Artist story, or the Redneck-girl-moved-away-from-the-farm-and-getting-looked-at-funny-by-the-kids-at-school story that have been running through my head and stealing my consciousness in everything I do. I'll have to pick one to start on eventually, but for now I shall simply edit Speechless.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Need to Read!
A good writer must also be a good reader. It's the same as the principle of "garbage in, garbage out," in a way. To be an effective artist with the written word, one must take in the written word, see how others use their craft. It's like a child listening to others speak in order to learn how the sounds form words, an apprentice watching his master work, or Christians studying the Bible together in order to sharpen each other.
Unfortunately, homework dominates my life. Over the past couple years, I haven't been reading nearly as much as a good writer should. I decided that I was going to read a lot over the summer... but I ended up job searching instead. I got the Twilight series (Stephanie Meyer) read, I get credit for that, right? I also just started Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austin). Next comes Host (Stephanie Meyer), Inkheart (Cornelia Funke), and Black (Ted Dekker), obviously followed by the rest of the series since Ted Dekker tends to have that affect on me. Then I'd like to read some Shakespeare and then get into some more of the classics...
Not to mention that I am considering joining a book club through the local library. Now that I am no longer in high school where I see my friends and close acquaintances every day, I am discovering that I don't socialize enough anymore. It's time for the ever-so-quiet Kaycee to get out there and meet new people; what better way than through a book club?
Any other books that every writer should read? If you come up with one, let me know! Perhaps some day I'll be able to read as much as I need to.
Unfortunately, homework dominates my life. Over the past couple years, I haven't been reading nearly as much as a good writer should. I decided that I was going to read a lot over the summer... but I ended up job searching instead. I got the Twilight series (Stephanie Meyer) read, I get credit for that, right? I also just started Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austin). Next comes Host (Stephanie Meyer), Inkheart (Cornelia Funke), and Black (Ted Dekker), obviously followed by the rest of the series since Ted Dekker tends to have that affect on me. Then I'd like to read some Shakespeare and then get into some more of the classics...
Not to mention that I am considering joining a book club through the local library. Now that I am no longer in high school where I see my friends and close acquaintances every day, I am discovering that I don't socialize enough anymore. It's time for the ever-so-quiet Kaycee to get out there and meet new people; what better way than through a book club?
Any other books that every writer should read? If you come up with one, let me know! Perhaps some day I'll be able to read as much as I need to.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Everyone Has a Story
My name is Kaycee; I am a product of my mother's "creative spelling," a Christian, a writer, and a college student as of this week. As I am but a simple little freshman, I am not yet taking classes that require creative writing (which is code-talk for "give a valid and unignorable excuse to creatively write"). However, like every human being on the face of the planet, I have a story to tell. Hence this blog. Through this blog, I wish to write on a consistent basis and share bits of my story.
Like I said, I am a Christian, and that is the core of my existence. I was saved when I was eight years old because I was raised to think that it was the right thing to do. Then when I was 13 I went to a church retreat. We were in worship one night, and something just shifted into place in my life in a way that is impossible to adequetly describe with words. It was like I was suddenly aware of something that had been there all along, but now that I recognized it, it suddenly meant so much more. That was the first night that I really, truly felt God, and suddenly being a Christian meant so much more than all of the head-knowledge that I had been taught. God has been a huge part of my life ever since that night; He is my most patient and reliable friend and I know that He will never leave me or forsake me, even when I'm dumb enough to walk the other way.
When God created me, He gave me a link to the pencil. Writing for me is very similar to breathing, only if I had to choose between the two I would use every word I possibly could to describe that last breath. I write novels, short stories, poetry, creative essays, letters, journals, and random little paragraphs on the corners of Ravioli boxes (true story!). You will never find me without a writing utensil, and you will rarely find me without a notebook. It is on the rare occasion that you find me without a notebook that I resort to cardboard box flaps, invoices, reciepts, napkins, my hand, etc. Dry erase markers will write on mirrors and windows, and eye- and lip-liner pencils will write on shower walls.
I was raised in a... well, we'll call it an interesting home. There are many ways that I am very blessed: my parents are still married, we have a house, my parents are also Christians, I have a little brother that I love very much (despite the days that he doesn't believe it), and my older brother is now married to a Godly young woman who I am very greatful to be able to call my sister. Like all families, however, we have issues. We then proceed to take those issues and either blow them freakishly out of proportion and become extremely angry over them or sweep them under the rug and pretend they aren't there no matter how out of hand they get. My childhood was full of a lot of anger and not very many coping skills, and it took years before I ever learned that my parents' fights and my brother's behavior (back then) was wrong. I fell into a role of a peace-keeper, a people-pleaser, almost a counselor at times, and we all lost sight of my role as a daughter.
As time passed, we started to recognize problems and seek help. We've grown a lot, we've changed a lot, and we've realized a lot. But the problems didn't really go away or get better, they simply changed. Perhaps some day I'll write a blog to psyco-analyze what my family is now, but that would take a very long time. There is physical chaos, there is very little respect, the "respect" that does exist is a very unhealthy idea of respect, there are no boundaries, there are control issues, and there is emotional baggage that has been stuffed into closets and will not be dealt with within these walls.
Through it all, I have quickly learned to call this house "my parents' house," and the place I call "home" is my church. My church family is my "family that works" as opposed to "my blood-family." On the nights that I am at church late, when I return and knock on my parents' bedroom door to let them know I didn't die on the way back, I will say, "I'm here," rather than "I'm home." These code words will freaquently appear in this blog.
I am now begining college, because in this day and age that's what it takes to do anything of any meaning career-wise. I have every intention of moving out in a few months to better survive college as well as to no longer be trapped in this house anymore. Currently, I am attending a community college and seeking a job, a real job, to replace my newspaper routes. I have been delivering papers for six years now-- I make under minimum wage, but since I'm an independent contractor I'm technically self-employed so I pay twice as much in taxes and, due to my age and the state I live in, I don't get any of the tax breaks or our lovely government's stimulus pakages (which I read the other day that they accidently sent THOUSANDS of those stimulus checks to prison inmates by accident... now why can't they accidently send one to me?). Meanwhile, I work every single day, holidays included, weekends at ridiculous hours, all to be further finantially abused by the newspaper who thinks THEY'RE having a tough time in today's economy. I adore paper route; it's fun, I love interacting with the customers, and I've got a boat load of incredible stories, but it's time to move on.
Once I get my new job, I'm going to move out with a friend from church, finish community college, and then I hope to move on to the University of Iowa to take advantage of it's phenomenal creative writing program, meet my future husband whoever he is, get a master's degree, get married, having kids, and write for the rest of my life (possibly teaching creative writing at the college level between finishing school and writing for the rest of my life if absolutly necessary, depending upon finantial status). This plot is obviously subject to change. I haven't experienced real adulthood yet, I have no clue where my future husband is, and they say that the best way to make God laugh is to tell Him what your plans are. But for now, that's the direction I am headed.
Now you have sufficiently met Kaycee in a nutshell, and I have sufficiently met the Blogging world in a nutshell. Feel free to drop me a line, ask me questions, and share your thoughts. After all, you have a story too! I pray that my story will be of some kind of encouragement, comfort, maybe even inspiration, to you as you read Kaycee's Chronicle.
Like I said, I am a Christian, and that is the core of my existence. I was saved when I was eight years old because I was raised to think that it was the right thing to do. Then when I was 13 I went to a church retreat. We were in worship one night, and something just shifted into place in my life in a way that is impossible to adequetly describe with words. It was like I was suddenly aware of something that had been there all along, but now that I recognized it, it suddenly meant so much more. That was the first night that I really, truly felt God, and suddenly being a Christian meant so much more than all of the head-knowledge that I had been taught. God has been a huge part of my life ever since that night; He is my most patient and reliable friend and I know that He will never leave me or forsake me, even when I'm dumb enough to walk the other way.
When God created me, He gave me a link to the pencil. Writing for me is very similar to breathing, only if I had to choose between the two I would use every word I possibly could to describe that last breath. I write novels, short stories, poetry, creative essays, letters, journals, and random little paragraphs on the corners of Ravioli boxes (true story!). You will never find me without a writing utensil, and you will rarely find me without a notebook. It is on the rare occasion that you find me without a notebook that I resort to cardboard box flaps, invoices, reciepts, napkins, my hand, etc. Dry erase markers will write on mirrors and windows, and eye- and lip-liner pencils will write on shower walls.
I was raised in a... well, we'll call it an interesting home. There are many ways that I am very blessed: my parents are still married, we have a house, my parents are also Christians, I have a little brother that I love very much (despite the days that he doesn't believe it), and my older brother is now married to a Godly young woman who I am very greatful to be able to call my sister. Like all families, however, we have issues. We then proceed to take those issues and either blow them freakishly out of proportion and become extremely angry over them or sweep them under the rug and pretend they aren't there no matter how out of hand they get. My childhood was full of a lot of anger and not very many coping skills, and it took years before I ever learned that my parents' fights and my brother's behavior (back then) was wrong. I fell into a role of a peace-keeper, a people-pleaser, almost a counselor at times, and we all lost sight of my role as a daughter.
As time passed, we started to recognize problems and seek help. We've grown a lot, we've changed a lot, and we've realized a lot. But the problems didn't really go away or get better, they simply changed. Perhaps some day I'll write a blog to psyco-analyze what my family is now, but that would take a very long time. There is physical chaos, there is very little respect, the "respect" that does exist is a very unhealthy idea of respect, there are no boundaries, there are control issues, and there is emotional baggage that has been stuffed into closets and will not be dealt with within these walls.
Through it all, I have quickly learned to call this house "my parents' house," and the place I call "home" is my church. My church family is my "family that works" as opposed to "my blood-family." On the nights that I am at church late, when I return and knock on my parents' bedroom door to let them know I didn't die on the way back, I will say, "I'm here," rather than "I'm home." These code words will freaquently appear in this blog.
I am now begining college, because in this day and age that's what it takes to do anything of any meaning career-wise. I have every intention of moving out in a few months to better survive college as well as to no longer be trapped in this house anymore. Currently, I am attending a community college and seeking a job, a real job, to replace my newspaper routes. I have been delivering papers for six years now-- I make under minimum wage, but since I'm an independent contractor I'm technically self-employed so I pay twice as much in taxes and, due to my age and the state I live in, I don't get any of the tax breaks or our lovely government's stimulus pakages (which I read the other day that they accidently sent THOUSANDS of those stimulus checks to prison inmates by accident... now why can't they accidently send one to me?). Meanwhile, I work every single day, holidays included, weekends at ridiculous hours, all to be further finantially abused by the newspaper who thinks THEY'RE having a tough time in today's economy. I adore paper route; it's fun, I love interacting with the customers, and I've got a boat load of incredible stories, but it's time to move on.
Once I get my new job, I'm going to move out with a friend from church, finish community college, and then I hope to move on to the University of Iowa to take advantage of it's phenomenal creative writing program, meet my future husband whoever he is, get a master's degree, get married, having kids, and write for the rest of my life (possibly teaching creative writing at the college level between finishing school and writing for the rest of my life if absolutly necessary, depending upon finantial status). This plot is obviously subject to change. I haven't experienced real adulthood yet, I have no clue where my future husband is, and they say that the best way to make God laugh is to tell Him what your plans are. But for now, that's the direction I am headed.
Now you have sufficiently met Kaycee in a nutshell, and I have sufficiently met the Blogging world in a nutshell. Feel free to drop me a line, ask me questions, and share your thoughts. After all, you have a story too! I pray that my story will be of some kind of encouragement, comfort, maybe even inspiration, to you as you read Kaycee's Chronicle.
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