Kaycee's Chronicle

Word Vomit

2012-01-13T19:15:00.000-08:00

So it's been a while since I've composed a blog post on a topic pertaining to writing, and as this was originally intended to be a writing-focused blog, I figured I should remedy this. So I am here to discuss with you a topic that is currently very near and dear to my heart:

Word Vomit.

I swear, this has more to do with writing than my stomach flu a month ago.

One of the biggest points of NaNoWriMo (the challenge that I take part in every November because it appears that I just so enjoy the sensation of failure in epic proportions) is to get people to actually step out and write something that they want to write instead of waiting for some magical moment of inspiration that may never come. If you have a story in your head, sometimes you just gotta take a leap of faith and write the darn thing! Critics say that NaNoWriMo is a negative influence on writers, encouraging lousy planning and poor writing, putting the focus on quantity rather than quality and taking blows at the respect for our art.

And it's true, sometimes my NaNo work is all for the word count, a lot of it becomes more free-flow writing than plot and character development, and just pushing the cursor forward becomes what my sister-in-law and I dubbed in November 2011 as "Word Vomit."

But now that I have shamelessly declared my half of a NaNo Novel as "Rubbish" and banished it to the deepest recesses of my hard drive to be read when I want a good laugh, I have turned to my Paper and Ink Child and, with great anticipation, am closing in on the completion of a First Draft.

And here and there, I am encountering "Word Vomit."

When a series of life circumstances thrust me into the dark abyss of Writer's Block at the end of 2010, I pulled out of it by committing to write at least 500 words a day of something besides journaling. Some of these chunks are actually still in my Paper and Ink Child. They got the story moving again, and without them, this poor baby of mine would surely have died, and the coroner would have written the cause of death: "Failure to Thrive."

I have a prewrite for my novel (a list of scenes that probably makes little sense to anyone besides me) that I've been holding to, and most recently I have found that my instances of "word vomit" occur when I've left my novel to occupy itself for several days to a couple of weeks. I miss it, start dreaming of scenes to come, and finally spew something into the word document that mostly still resembles the prewrite just so I can get to the part that I really want to write.

Through the process, I have come to decide that Word Vomit isn't an all-together negative thing. It gets a novel moving, it creates progress in a first draft. And by the end of the first draft, I'll have a better idea of how the book is supposed to flow, I'll know some of the specifics that I'm missing right now. And then I'll be free to revise the ever-living daylights out of it. When that time comes, I shall be happy to scrub every trace of vomit from the document and fill it with flowery air fresheners to chase away the stench.

Until then, you must excuse me. I need to go chase my cursor into the battle scene that I really want to write right now!

Happy New Year!

2012-01-01T17:12:00.000-08:00

Well, it’s been yet another crazy year! But then, I suppose that time in life between graduating high school and establishing yourself as an adult is full of crazy years. Over all, 2011 was a hard and painful year, and I’m pretty ecstatic to put it behind me.

The year did have some good points though. I turned two decades old this year! I also watched my little brother start high school. I entered into the amazing world of Slam Poetry! Between that any my New Year’s Resolution last year, I conquered the writer’s block that 2010 left me with. That alone makes 2011 worth the trouble. I failed NaNoWriMo again this year, but I came out of it with a new passionate love for my Work In Progress, so even that wasn’t a total loss!

God changed every facet of life as I once knew it this year. I’m not in school for the first time since Kindergarten. I’m working full time for the first time in my life. (I also still love my job like crazy, just for the record!) I moved to go live by myself for the first time in my life—and not only that, but in a different state! Hey, if you’re gonna do something, you might as well do it all the way.

I’ve learned about spiritual warfare this year. I’ve done battle with demons and have enjoyed Christ’s victory over them. Through it all, God started to teach me just how many choices we as human beings face, and how many of those choices boil down to picking between the lies of the world and God’s Truth, and these choices are found from things as big as choosing a life-changing path at the fork in the road to things as small as picking an outfit before going out in the evenings. And sometimes, choosing the Truth isn’t easy, sometimes it doesn’t even feel good. Saying that it’s “best in the long run” grates on my nerves now after this past year, because there were so many times that I couldn’t see the “best in the long run,” and the fluffy idea that the "right choice" would make life better in some distant future that I couldn’t even catch a glimpse of didn’t seem worth the pain right now. But when I look at my life when I was choosing lies and compare it to my life right now—well, John 8:32 makes a whole lot more sense to me now.

I learned a lot in 2011 through all of the trials and tribulations that it brought me. I don’t regret the pain and struggles of 2011, because they helped me fall deeper in love with my Abba Father, my First Love. I’m beginning to trust Him a little more than I did a year ago. Well, okay, a LOT more! But I still have a long way to go. I will learn many new things in 2012, and I’m sure that it will bring hard times of its own. But I am excited to continue pursuing the life God has placed me in and finding the new joys that this year will bring!

Adopted!

2011-10-22T06:31:00.000-07:00

My name is Gracie Lynn, I'm a two-year-old kitty and I have a story to tell! My new mommy says that everyone has a story to tell, so I figured she wouldn't mind too much if I borrowed her blog: she already thinks it's cute when I sit on her fingers while she's trying to type!

I lived in the humane society for a long time. One family adopted me, but then they changed their mind and brought me back. Feeling abandoned and unwanted, the humane society people did this annoying personality test (as if you can peg the kind of cat a kitty is in five to ten of the first minutes with her in a brand new place), and my timid, shy response led them to label me as a "Secret Admirer," a cat who would stay out of sight a lot until I got to know you. Then they put me in this cage that was clean, but small, and lots of people would come press their faces up to the glass to look at me, ooh and ahh, and then walk away without taking me home.

One day, a woman saw me but didn't stop to ooh and ahh. Instead, she ran and returned with another girl, a tall one with long, yellow hair. That girl smiled at me, her hand up against the glass not pointing, but more as though she wanted to pet me. I got up and rubbed against the glass to show her how badly I wanted to be petted. But then, she ran away! I knew she'd be just like the rest! I thought to myself as I crawled back into my box to sleep. I saw her walk by a couple more times holding a strange black circle in her hand, but I ignored her. I couldn't stand to have my heart broken one more time.

About an hour later, one of the humane society ladies came to get me. "Come here, Grace," she said. That was my name at the time: just Grace. She brought me into a room a lot bigger than my cage, but it was full of people! The first woman who had brought the one with yellow hair was there, two other men, a teenage boy, and another woman, all of them watching me and talking about me! The humane society woman left me in that room full of strangers, and I was so scared! That was more attention than I'd had in a long time, and I wasn't sure if I could deal with it! I kept trying to get through the door, I meowed as loud as I could to try to get the woman to come back, but nothing worked. "Come here, Grace," the girl said, reaching toward me. "My name is Kaycee." Out of options, I decided to go ahead and check out this girl with the long, yellow hair, who had now moved down to the floor to see me.

She took me in her lap and petted me, and as I started to fall asleep after such a long day, she started calling me "Gracie Lynn."

The woman came back in and talked to this crowd of people. She must have said something bad, because Kaycee looked up at the older man with wide eyes. They came to a conclusion, but I could tell that she was upset. I sat with the other girl while the one with long hair wrote on a clip board, then Kaycee took me back. Everyone else got up and left, but she was hesitant as I continued to nod off in her lap. "I don't want to leave you!" she kept saying.

She finally did though. For whatever reason, she left me there. But something told me that she loved me anyway.

The next day, the humane society people gave me a bath with some smelly, blue shampoo. Then I caught a cold, probably from being so wet! But after a few days, I was feeling much better. Then that older man came back! They put me in a box and the man took me home! On the way, he had this black device that he held up to the box, and I could hear Kaycee's voice. "Hi, Gracie Lynn!" she said. I stopped meowing and looked at the box, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. "It's okay, Gracie Lynn, I'll see you soon!" she promised.

The man took me into this room where I would be safe from the dogs that roamed the rest of the house. I could still hear them walking on the hard wood floor outside the door, see their noses as they sniffed under the door looking for my scent. I spent a lot of time under the recliner in the room until the people in the house finally took it out. I don't think they appreciated me sharpening my claws on it. I'm still not sure what else you would use such a thing for besides for a hiding place and scratching post.

The first girl who had found me visited me one evening and brought in a laptop. It had a strange, moving picture on it that kind of reminded me of Kaycee, and I could hear her voice coming out of it. I didn't understand how the girl could fit into these strange devices. "Hey there, Gracie Lynn!" she said as if she could see me. "Aww, I miss you, Baby!"

The family visited me often in that room over the next couple of days, and I started to warm up to them. They seemed to like me, and I could only hope that they wouldn't change their minds and take me back.

Then and elderly couple came, and they put me in a wire cat carrier. I could see a lot more out of the cat carrier than I could the box, and they put my special blanket from the humane society in it. At first, I was afraid that this was the day they would take me back, but we were in the car for a much longer time than we had been leaving the humane society. I was starting to wonder if I would ever get out!

Finally, we arrived at this tiny little building. The couple brought me inside where I was greeted excitedly by none other than Kaycee! She was there, and not just in a strange, electronic device again!

She keeps calling me Gracie Lynn. I like my new name, it sounds pretty. Kaycee says that she wanted to give me her name now that she's adopted me, but that her last name sounds funny and "hopefully" won't be the same for the rest of my life. So she gave me her middle name instead. I've been exploring my new home, and besides the sticky bug trap that I got my paw stuck in (I was so scared until Kaycee gently pulled it free, and then I had to lick all of the sticky out of my fur!) it's a pretty cool place! I'm happy to finally have a place I think I can call "home."

A Mother's Conundrum

2011-10-09T18:20:00.000-07:00

I am the proud mother of a novel going through some intensive editing, a WIP that's being a little stubborn but I'm sure will grow out of it... And an evil stepchild of a NaNoWriMo idea that I'm trying to relinquish custody of so I can have a better one.

For those of you who may not know, NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. It takes place from November 1 to November 30, and the goal is to write a novel at least 50,000 words long (we're talking 1,667 words every day for an entire month! It's intense!). You're allowed to prewrite the crap out of your story, but you can't write a word of the actual novel until November 1.

It was a decent idea that I was trying to work with, but I'm just not feeling it. It was kind of forced from the start, and it's just too close to nonfiction for my liking at the moment. Not to mention that my original inspiration grew out of the developmental phase that inspired the idea in the first place (sidenote: I still love my new job!). But at the moment, I'm working with my two other paper-and-ink children, I can't just abandon them, push them away and tell them to wait! You know uncompleted novels, they just don't understand!

But at the same time, November is just a few short weeks away, and if I can get a workable idea going on, I think I have a shot at it this year!

*head, desk*

So, I'm off to sift through some old notebooks and documents coated in technological dust deep in the back files of my hard drive, do several more writing prompts, and hope to have something I can work with soon!

Where God Guides, He Provides!

2011-08-25T15:27:00.001-07:00

My days of unemployment are OVER!!! Praise Jesus!!! I've been in free fall for about a week, but I knew God would catch me!

I had an interview at a place called Apple Tree Children's Center one day, and it went well, but not quite phenomenal. I was given a quick tour of the place, and it seemed just a tad chaotic, smelling strongly of clorox trying valiently to cover up dirty diaper... and failing. I was told that they would be doing interviews all week before making a decision, and my first thought was: "Shoot, competition. I'm SOOOO not getting this job!" I came out of that interview and returned a phone call, and BAM! I had an interview the next day with [company name removed in the interest of not getting sued after reading scary official stuff about confidentiality in employee handbook]!

That interview went even better! It was a tad nerve wracking at first: it was a small office with a desk on either side and a chair in the middle. There was a manager at each desk and me in the chair, and both of them asked questions at the same time. That chair totally felt like a hot seat! All of this in addition to the fact that they asked me to bring a copy of my degree with me... you know, Associate's in Liberal arts? The one that has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with early childhood education? Yeah, that one. A friend told me that that's pretty standard when the degree has nothing to do with the job, which made me feel a little less foolish about it, but still underqualified. But the two were best friends, "work wives," they called it, and since the interview was all about me, I was invited and welcomed into the whole thing until it felt more like a conversation than an interview, and I was almost sad when it was over. They were thoroughly impressed, and they promised to call that afternoon for a second interview this morning.

I went in this morning, and this interview was more like a chance to see how I do with the children and see if I'd be better in the infant room or the toddler room. It was supposed to be a half hour in each room, but they were having a crazy day with tours and a surprise visit from a Higher Up from Chicago, so I was only in the infant room for about fifteen adorable but slightly awkward minutes (the teachers in there were pretty obsorbed in taking care of the dozen babies all over the room), then I ended up being with the toddlers for over an hour. That was the most fun I've had in a long time! I got to know the names of about half of the class and I helped coral toddlers from here to there. I was on the floor with them, replacing shoes ("Everybody needs TWO SHOES!" I said about ten times, tapping the little ones' toes), reading to them, talking about pictures, clapping with them when they fit the blocks together right, and trying to keep them relatively contained as they waited to go outside while one of the teachers counted them.

Then we went outside. There was one little girl who was brand new to the school, and she was used to that time of day being nap time, not play time. So I got to hold this adorable little girl in a pretty yellow dress as she snoozed in my arms. In the interests of the upcoming afternoon naptime, one of the teachers finally came and woke her up to try to get her to play for a little bit. Shortly after that, I had another little girl snuggling with me in my arms. It was later explained to me that she's in a not-so-good home situation. When one of the managers finally came out to get me, she was shocked to find this little girl locked onto my hip, refusing to let go!

I was offered a job on the spot, and I automatically said yes! So allow me to introduce myself: My name is Kaycee, I'm a toddler teacher at [a top secret company that I apparently cannot name in a blog for fear of financial ruin], and I haven't started work yet, but I'm already in love with my class! To celebrate, I went and put some gas in my car and went to Starbucks for a Strawberry Smoothie, because there are actually some paychecks on the horizon!

Settling In and Making Observations

2011-08-23T12:55:00.000-07:00

I filled out a job application today right before I went into an interview. It asked for my current address and my previous address, then for any other addresses that I have lived in the past five years. I was very happy that I officially have my new address memorized! Then it asked how long I've lived there. "4 days," I answered. I put in the address for my parents' house in Nebraska. It asked how long I lived there. "15 years," I answered. The recruiter looked over my application and she said, "So, what brings you to Coralville? It looks like you've been in Nebraska for most of your life!"

Let me tell you about our apartment! It's all hard-wood floor--buckling in places and not totally flat. Except for the bathroom, which has actually a pretty nice linoleum floor, and the corner of the kitchen behind the trash can and stove, where there is about a square foot of space that is peeling black and white checkered linoleum. There are archway type things from the kitchen to the dining room and then from the dining room to the living room. These archways are not straight. The doors aren't quite aligned correctly, all but one of them has some kind of fascinating, quirky problem. And my favorite window in the apartment is the one at the end of the living room... that sits at almost a 45 degree angle. I love the place! It's got character and personality and attitude! (Daddy calls it a dump... He missed the potential!)

But moving in has been going smoothly. The little apartment is starting to feel a little bit more like home, after learning its various quirks and how to deal with them, and some much needed deep cleaning. My rubber gloves and I have become very close friends! My roommate and I are slowly putting everything in its place and finding places for everything, adding our own colors and personal touches to the place, and it's looking pretty good, all things considered! Still waiting on Internet, so I may be blogging and facebooking from Starbucks for a while.

Driving around here is fascinating. There is no shame in tail gating or cutting people off, but I've been warned that cops around here will write tickets for going 1 mph over the speed limit. And parking? Holy cow! I'm hoping that with time I'll learn where I can park, where I can't, and perhaps I'll find a few places where it's free. And you have to check the meters before you start feeding them... Some of them have a 1 hour limit, and if you give it more than that without realizing the limit, it eats your money and won't give it back, but will still expire in one hour. And driving through campus is a nightmare! And seriously, anybody who complains about motorcyclists has never experienced moped drivers in Iowa City. One of them almost took off my driver's side mirror this morning!

On the job front, I had an interview this morning (as mentioned above) that went pretty well, and another tomorrow. I'm desperately hoping to be working by the end of next week, I don't like this unemployment business! I'd rather know when my next paycheck is coming, and while the time off of work has been kinda fun, it isn't quite worth the uncertainty. But where God leads, He provides, so I'm trying to not worry too horribly much about it. Trying. Really hard. *whimper*

I've got a few places to go meet people, I have several names and faces now, so perhaps this "new friend" gig will start progressing soon, too! Church was hard on Sunday, simply because it wasn't MY church. It wasn't home. I missed MY church family. But I really think that the church I visited has the potential to be my new church family

One step at a time, things are moving forward and looking up. Every day feels like a step in the right direction!

Changes

2011-08-07T13:00:00.000-07:00

So the plan was to go to the University of Iowa, get an English degree from the most amazing schools for English majors in the country, meet my future husband, and live happily ever after. It was a great plan.

The best way to make God laugh is to tell him your plans.

Turns out, there is no reciprocity between Iowa and Nebraska as far as tuition goes, and no mercy for the little college girl with big dreams that her parents can't afford. I was $17,600 short for the year and couldn't get a loan--yes, I was willing to go into that kind of debt for this kind of school! I came to this realization last Friday morning, and as if to confirm the impossibility of life at that moment, my car, my Ford Tauris named Arwen who has served me so faithfully for four and a half years, clicked and grinded and breathed her last that afternoon. And thus, for the first time since Kindergarden, I shall be taking a year off of school. I am devistated. I know, I'm wierd. But I'm okay with that.

But I'll be doing something else for the first time since Kindergarden: moving. With or without school, I'm still moving to Iowa, where I shall be living in an apartment for the first time in my life, out on my own for the first time in my life, and working full time for the first time in my life (eww!). However, without classes, I'll have the time to read and write on a scale that I have never been able to achieve before. (I'm working really hard to focus on the bright side right now!) And hey, after finding a new church (since I'm leaving my old one behind in Nebraska... *sob* does a church fit in the trunk of a Cavelier?), the Future Husband plan isn't totally out of the question, right?

I'm stepping into a whole new world... and no, not just because it's Iowa, but that is a pretty large factor. And I have NO CLUE what I'm doing. It's new and it's scary and it's not what I wanted, but you know what? God know's what He's doing. Even though it sure as heck doesn't look like it now. Sometimes I swear he suddenly got really busy and forgot that he was supposed to get me through college, but I know that that's not the kind of God I serve. He has plans to prosper me and not to harm me, plans to give me hope and a future. Christ came that I may have life, and have it to the fullest. And while that's tough to believe as I face full time employment and no school (since when is 40 hours a week to pay the bills "life to the fullest"?), it's something God promised me. Looking back at where I've been, it's the times that I leaned on nothing but belief in Him that I was best off. Every time I tried to trust something else, it only got me in trouble.

So God, I sure hope You know what You're doing! I trust You. Move in a way that I've never seen before!

Mixed Messages

2011-06-22T21:04:00.000-07:00

The Bible tells us that we are Christ's ambassadors to the world (2 Corinthians 5:20), that we are His witnesses (Acts 1:8). Everything that we do should be for His glory (1 Corinthians 10:31).

If you know me at all, then you've heard me complain about my job. I'm a telephone interviewer, I do follow-up surveys for banks. It's a 3-4 minute survey about how the teller/employee treated you on your recent visit, and no matter how dorky some of the questions sound, a bunch of scientists worked really hard to create that survey and the bank is paying my company millions upon millions of dollars for me to ask them. I'm not selling anything at all, and I don't have access to your personal or account information.

However, I'm a faceless person on the phone, and since time is so precious to so many people, I don't even correct people when they think my name is Tracy or Kailey or even Terry instead of Kaycee, so I'm even a nameless person sometimes. I'm a voice at the other end of the phone, and after a long day of facing this stupid world, I'm a bright red emotional punching bag. I get people's sob stories, frustration, and anger hurled at me all night long at work.

My work-friend who sits behind me struggles with this as much as I do, and one time decided to do a little research of his own. He wrote down the numbers for the answering machines that had greetings like "Praise the Lord" and "God Bless" and such in them to try calling them back later instead of just tossing them back into the system for somebody else to try. You know what he found? When he called back and they answered, they were among the nastiest people he spoke to. He's disillusioned toward Christianity because he very rarely sees/hears Christians treat other people with dignity or respect, let alone love.

We are ambassadors and witnesses for Christ, and if EVERYTHING we do is to be for the glory of God. Why aren't we aware of the responsibility that we have? I may be just a faceless voice, I may be asking some boring and slightly redundant questions without a whole lot of emotion (if I get too excited, I get a call tag for "leading the respondent," I dislike speaking with that flat of a tone just as much if not more than you dislike hearing it), and maybe it has been a long day for you, but what if I'm not a believer? What if God sent your number to my terminal because he wanted to use you in my life? What if you blew that chance because you had a hard day at the office and I just didn't mean that much to you because you aren't looking me in the eye?

The cashier at the grocery store with unbearably long lines, the customer service employee for the company you're mad at, the new teller at the bank that you don't know or who made a mistake, the person who calls in the middle of your dinner (my apologies for not committing to memory the dinner schedules of every household in the country), all of those employees that you come in contact with are people whose souls are at stake. How are you representing Christ to those people? Not that you have to preach a salvation sermon to every single person you come in contact with (if you're called to do that, then more power to ya!), but the way you address people, the tone you use, the manner in which you carry yourself, all of it says something about the God you are representing. When you lash out at a faceless person or someone whose only place in your life is to provide some service because it's their job, you are either telling a lost person that God isn't the answer because a life for Christ is all talk but no love, or you are telling a saved person that they are just as alone as they feel half the time.

We serve a God who sent His Son to suffer death for us so we could be holy and blameless in His sight and be free from sin to openly have a personal relationship with Him. After we are saved, we are left here on this earth to be a statement, to be a testimony to God's immense, immeasurable love for us and for the rest of humanity. Is that the message that you're sending, or are you just another angry consumer?

Jesus Pins at Wal Mart

2011-03-12T08:20:00.000-08:00

At least half of my trips to Wal Mart have some component of emotional turmoil. If I'm angry after a long night at work, I go to Wal Mart. If I'm lonely, I go to Wal Mart. If I've tried on five outfits and don't like how I look in any of them, I go to Wal Mart. Any time I'm stressed out, depressed, or overwhelmed, I end up wandering the one place that has clothes, shoes, books, movies, art supplies, and chocolate all at the same time.

After wandering aimlessly for up to two hours (yes, there are easily two hours worth of things to look at in Wal Mart) and about twenty bucks later, it's time to check out. This usually occurs after a substantial amount of stalling. These Wal Mart trips are spent with my eyes down and taking detours that keep to the empty aisles, so the cashier is the only person that I have to face on these escapades.

Some of the cashiers at Wal Mart have lanyards that they use to display various pins. One in particular features a popular image of Christ with the words "Turn On the Light." I still have yet to find a male cashier wearing one of these pins, but the topic of male leadership in the modern church is for another blog post.

I've come to the conclusion that God uses these pins for me the same way a close friend uses hugs, but it's not the pins themselves. The women who wear these pins are almost always beaming with a bright and genuine joy, and they take an obvious interest in every single customer that passes through their lane. Their greeting isn't a muttered "Hi, how are you today?" because that's what they're supposed to say, but rather they really want to know how I am because they are interested in me as a person. They are willing to strike up conversation. They look at me like I'm a person with a life and a soul instead of a customer who needs to fork over x amount of money and get out of the store. Every single time that I walk out of Wal Mart after checking out with one of these women, my head is held higher, my eyes are up, and I can genuinely smile at the greeter on my way out.

I finally commented on the pin a while back while I was grabbing poster board for my Cubbie class. I had entered the store slightly frazzled, trying to make it from work to Cubbies on time while attempting to put aside the distracting thoughts of how alone I was in so many things. This particular cashier's smile got even wider. "I take it you know Him, then?" she asked excitedly. By the time I left, my eyes were up and I was reminded that I wasn't alone.

So this blog post is to the women at Wal Mart who refuse to hide their faith and insist on showing love to even the quiet college student who passes through their aisle. What if we all could show that kind of love to the strangers we encounter?

~ * ~

I've been talking a lot about identity in the past couple posts. Just in case some of you missed the memo, I have taken my ramblings on that topic and actually organized them and started up a separate blog. There was just so much to learn and too much to share that I wanted somewhere more focused to put it all. If you're interested, feel free to check it out here!!! You haven't missed much yet, and I'd be excited if you'd like to join me on my journey!

Learning with my Cubbies

2011-02-24T21:06:00.000-08:00

It really amazes me sometimes how much God can use my Cubbie class to teach me. When I first volunteered to teach the group of preschoolers at my church last year, I imagined that it would be more of a structured baby-sitting session with Bible stories in the hopes that the kids would remember something here and there to really learn what it means when they got older. Well, I learned last year that I was horribly mistaken. These kids could remember not only the stories, and not only could they regurgitate the verses back to us at the end of the night, but they remembered those verses. This year, there are six Cubbies in my class, and two of them have accepted Christ into their hearts this year! Praise Jesus!

But that's not all that I was wrong about when I took on this job. I assumed that I'd be chasing kids around and reading Bible stories that I've known since I was their age, and that would be the end of it. Well, when I broke up with my boyfriend and started seeing my counselor again, one of the first things we talked about was how I don't want to marry a bozo, but rather a Boaz. In the book of Ruth in the Bible, it tells the story of a young woman who lost her husband, but left her native land to stay with her mother-in-law to take care of her. In her mother-in-law's land, Ruth quickly became known as a loving woman of strong character. Boaz, a successful man who loved God and was an upstanding man in his community, took note of her. They fell in love and got married, and from that marriage came the line that would later include King David. On Valentines Day this year, I was fighting to keep busy and distract myself from "Singles Awareness Day," as I faced yet another V-Day Invasion alone. I opened up the Cubbie lesson to prepare to teach, and lo and behold, the story I'd be teaching was Ruth and Boaz.

Another thing that several people in my life have been working on (and encouraging me as I work on as well) has been identity. I've been going through all of these things that God thinks of those who follow Him and trying to grasp what all of it means for just me, and this week's Cubbie lesson was about Heaven. So as I tried to wrap my head around who I am in Christ and what God thinks of me, I was coloring a poster about Heaven with my Cubbies. "What do you think will be in Heaven?" Most of them got pretty excited about beautiful flowers and butterflies, green grass, blue sky, mountains, God and Jesus, and all of the things they thought would be in Heaven, chattering about their drawings so that I would know what the sprawls of color all over the paper were. We talked about how the only way to get to Heaven is through Jesus, because everybody sins, but Jesus died to pay for that sin so that we can spend forever in Heaven with God. The Bible verse was John 14:2: I go to prepare a place for you.

Jesus died for my disrespect, for my vandalism of God's temple, for my carelessness in my romantic relationship, for my apathy, for my disbelief, for my idolatry. Jesus gave His life to pay for all of that because He loved me. And right now, He's in Heaven where the grass is green and the sky is blue and there are flowers and butterflies and mountains, and He's preparing a special place in the house of God just for me.

Identity

2011-02-03T11:03:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot about identity lately. There's a lot to think about there. Who am I? Who is anyone? What makes me different from anyone? You know the saying, "You are unique, just like everyone else." Which side of that contradictory statement triumphs: you are unique, or you are just like everyone else? I refuse to believe that I'm just like everyone else, so then how am I unique? How do you judge who you are? If who you are is not based upon what you do or how you look, then what is it based off of? What you like? What you achieve? What you believe? How much you confuse people with deep questions in a single blog post?

I have an identity in Christ. I'm the daughter of the King of Kings, who created me, has a plan for my life, and loves me so much that He died for me so that I can spend eternity with Him. That's a huge part of my identity, because it's my existence. It's how I was created, what I was created for. But the part that I struggle with is that identity belongs to every single person who has trusted Christ as their Savior and follows Him. That goes for the "just like everyone else" side.

So I went to a girls' night with a couple of ladies from my church, and it turns out I'm definitely not the only one who has been thinking about identity. I mentioned this conflict that I've been having, and one of them commented that God created me with an artistic talent (personally I think I have more passion than talent, but warm fuzzies are always good!), and I use that to His glory, and that is part of my identity.

What if our identity then is what we focus our lives upon? Then who we are isn't what we do necessarily, it's not completely what we accomplish, and it's only what we look like if that's where our focus is. I focus my life on Christ (or try to at least), so part of my identity is the personal relationship that I have with Him as my Savior, my Lord, my Abba. I focus on my writing, so Kaycee the Writer is part of my identity. I focus on school, so Kaycee the Student (who is fixing to graduate with her Associates in Liberal Arts so that she can move on to the University of Iowa! Can I hear a woot woot?) is part of my identity.

I like this answer the best. Because that way, it's not what I do that is who I am. My identity doesn't change if I slip up against God or if I can't get published or if I get a B on a test. But it's not just the things that apply to everyone, either. The "You are unique" side triumphs with this answer. Trust me, I'm unique. There is definitely nobody else out there like me, which is probably a good thing. I'm not just like everybody else. I have my own identity that makes me special, that makes me different from everybody else. What's your identity?

2010

2010-12-30T11:47:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been an interesting year to say the least. I turned 19, I got half of my credits done towards my Associates in Liberal Arts degree, I've been working at my desk job, went on my first date, had my first kiss, went through my first break up... ultimately, it's been the end of life as I know it.

But it's New Years, my favorite holiday. It's a time for reflection, and a spring board for improvement. While I don't quite so much believe in New Years Resolutions, as no one ever sticks with them for more than two weeks tops, it really is a chance to look at life and see where I'm at and where I'd rather be (which, yes, generally occurs in the form of New Years Resolutions. Funny how that works).

Well, I have twelve hours left for reflection, I don't have to know where I am or where I want to be yet, do I? Thus far, I have reading at least one book a month and writing at least 500 words a day. Any other ideas? We'll have to see how much else I can figure out about where I am and where I want to be.

A Beautiful Blue Bible

2010-08-14T20:26:00.000-07:00

My first Bible was a big, bulky, burgundy one that said "Holy Bible" on the front and was about three inches thick. Then there was this new trend in the Christian community of having your name printed on the lower right corner of the front cover of your Bible. So, my parents bought me a sleeker, thinner burgundy Bible with shinier pages and one of those cool ribbon book marks, and they had my name put on it.

Then it came time for High School. Ever since the fifth grade, I wanted to be home schooled. I hated public school: it didn't challenge me, both my peers and my teachers were dumb half the time, but most of all the rebellion that I saw in my older brother's life I contributed to the negative influences of public school. All through Jr. High, my biggest fear was that I wouldn't be strong enough, that public school would get to me, and I'd fall in my faith like him. But by the time High School came around, it was clear to my parents and I that home school wasn't in God's plan for me. After I finished crying over it, I finally decided that if it was God's plan for me to go to public school, then maybe He wouldn't let me slip like my older brother had. But before school started, I got a new Bible. This one was a small blue one that I got specifically to fit in my purse so that I could have it with me at school.

I can't remember if it was my senior or junior year, but I was at a football game marching the half time show when it started to rain. By the time we made it back up to the stands, it was too late. Everything in my purse, my Bible included, had been soaked. So I got a new Bible, about the same size but this one was brown and green and had cool designs on it.

One of the most commonly overlooked beauties in this world is a well-used Bible-- one with a worn spine, the sparkly edges worn off the pages, and rainbows of underlines, highlights, and notes in the margins on many pages. I was looking for something in my Bible today and was surprised to find that it hadn't been underlined yet. Then I flipped through the rest of my Bible and was a little disappointed that it wasn't nearly as colorful inside as I thought it should be. But I found a few things, a couple of verses that I had underlined that had special meaning to me and a few notes that had stories behind why I had written them there. It got me to thinking, so I ran downstairs and pulled out my old blue Bible. It had been a well-worn Bible before the rain at that football game brought it to an early retirement, and half of the notes and underlinings had bled all over multiple pages, but the scripture was still legible and I could make out the majority of my markings.

When I used that blue Bible, I was in a very special place in my relationship with God. It was incredibly intimate, I trusted Him with more than I do now. He was all I had back then, and I liked it that way. Nothing could come between us. I was on fire, I was passionately in love with my Lord and Savior, and every new thing He told me was worthy of a little new color in my Bible.

Things have changed since then. I've struggled with things I never thought I'd struggle with before. I've found myself wasting so much time groping cluelessly in dark corners when all I really needed to do was turn back around to find the open arms of my Abba Father. I've watched people falter in ways I've never thought possible for them, I've come against brick walls erected by the enemy and fortified by the free will that sometimes I wonder why in the world God gave us. And I've discovered that coming back to the intimacy that I had with God from places of such darkness is much easier said than done.

But I am coming back. It's a slow process, and it isn't a fun process. It's a fight, it's a struggle, it's a journey over rough terrain, and while I'm at least traveling in the right direction now I still keep stumbling, scraping my knees, and having to get up again to press on. But I'll be stronger for it in the end, and through it all I truly have learned things about my Creator that I didn't know before. And some day, I'll get back to the intimacy that I miss so much.

So I'm going to go to church tomorrow, and I think I'll bring that poor little rain-smeared blue Bible with me.

While I've Been Away

2010-05-10T08:20:00.000-07:00

What's this? Kaycee lives? No way!!!! That's right Ladies and Gentlemen, kids of all ages, I didn't die. Please quiet your disappointment-- you know you missed me! So where have I been? Glad you asked!

As probably seeped through some of my most "recent" posts, there was some, uh... dissatisfaction in my life... hence things such as the epic rant on parenting. I won't bore you with all of the details of my dark ages, just rest assured that they were dark, I had nothing positive to say, so I didn't say anything at all.

Well, now I have positive things to say!

I have many positive things to say about God's sovereignty. My spiritual walk got pretty dry and felt really pointless there for a while for long, drawn out reasons that took three pages of journaling just to figure out myself, and would therefore take six to explain, so I won't. Praying was awkward, and I was mad at myself because I knew in my head that God doesn't change, so the change in my relationship with Him was me, and I didn't know how to fix it. So circumstances were grim, and I was completely on my own. Hence the dark ages and the dissappearance of Kaycee from the blogging world.

In a night of hopelssness and frustration, I went out on a limb, lived life on the edge, tried something new... I, uh, *coughcough* kinda sorta, umm... postedaprofileoneharmony. There, I said it. Well, as it turned out, God is sovereign. I've known that in my head all my life... I even learned what the word Sovereign means a few years ago. It's one of those facts that children raised in church have pounded into their heads until they can say the words in their sleep... whether they have any idea what it means or not. Well, now I know what it means. It means that God has a plan, and He knew what He was doing all along. Everything I've ever been through in my life has made me into the person I am today. And everything in my dark ages brought me to that night when I broke down and posted that profile.

Which means that God let me become the person that I am now and brought that person that I am now to eHarmony where I then proceeded to meet my boyfriend.

I had a journal that I had been frustratingly scribbling in through my dark ages until I finally decided that no matter how much journaling I did, life would still suck, so I gave up. I journaled in that notebook again the other day, read over what I wrote, and then flipped back through what I had written before. And I am happy to report that life doesn't suck. Life is full of hope and excitement, and even the parts of life that do suck are all a part of God's soveriegn plan to make me into the woman He wants me to be and to place me in the life that He wants me to lead that will glorify Him.

It's good to be back!

Update on my Personal Pact

2010-02-18T21:42:00.000-08:00

At work this evening, somewhere between my 16 ounces of diet coke and two Excedrin, my body decided to revolt against me and is freaking out as if I have over-dosed on Red Bull. (It is not a pretty thing when I OD on Red Bull, trust me, but that has nothing to do with anything aside from the fact that it demonstrates how completely random and whacked-out I am at the moment). Therefore, it is rapidly approaching midnight and I'm still wide awake. What more is there to do but blog? So, I shall update my lovely readers on the status of that Personal Pact that I described to you in my last visit to the blogging world.

Step one was taking care of myself. I know, I know, it doesn't look like it at the moment, but I really am getting better!!!... A little... I went an entire half a week straight of eating like a human, that counts for something, right? And yes ladies and gentlemen, kids of all ages, Kaycee cut her hair. Kaycee cut eleven inches off of her hair. Kaycee was traumatized for three days and almost cried. Kaycee is slowly getting used to it though: she does best when it's curled, because when it's straight, it looks like somebody just hacked it all off and Kaycee finds that disturbing. Kaycee derives joy from speaking in third person, can you tell?

Step two was getting off my lazy bum and doing stuff. I'm on Pleasure Reading Book number 2 and the Dark Warriors are just fixing to kidnap Inierae (who was very excited when I finally named her instead of continuing to call her "[Princess]"). Again, not the entire second step, but we're getting there.

Step three... well, I don't have a car and I work most nights. I'll have to wait on that one.

*deep sigh of satisfaction* Wherever would life be without progress?

Personal Pact

2010-02-03T21:40:00.000-08:00

So I was thinking this evening while taking a shower (don't look at me like that! The shower happens to be an incredibly inspirational place!) about my life, what it is, and what I wish it was. As the scarcity of blog posts may have let on, I've been in a bit of a dark place in my life due to a whole slew of different factors in which I do not care to go into right now, nor do you really want me to, I promise. But I finally arrived at a concrete decision.

The gloves are off. No more little miss sweet and shy. I'm saying good-bye to the long, dark hours of contemplating those factors that no one wishes for me to discuss here and getting lost in bleak and gloomy moods and not enjoying where I am in life but not really seeing anything else. Good-bye. No more. The gloves are off. I'm going to get off my preverbial butt and do something. Okay, a few things. The pact I have made with myself tonight is three-fold.

I'm going to take care of myself. Not that I haven't been taking care of myself... well, as much care as any emotionally-distressed college student working two jobs that only very recently became one (I threw my last paper on Sunday, January 31, 2009, and all the world rejoiced), but I digress. I'm going to eat like a normal, healthy human being: you know, breakfast NOT impulsively purchased from the vending machine, a balanced lunch, and a dinner consisting of a little bit more substance than oreos and/or Ho-Hos. (What? Gallup has a vending machine, not a salad bar!) I'm gonna do a few crunches every day, pull out the weights and actully do my physical therapy stuff for my knee. I'm gonna order more ProActive, and this acne WILL go away. I'm gonna cut my hair... haha, gocha! Just a couple inches, I'm getting sick of sitting on it.

And then I'm going to broaden the horizons of my routine. I'm going to break free from the restraints that have cut out everything but Home, school, and work. I'm gonna read something for fun. I'm gonna write on a regular basis again. I'm gonna get consistent in my daily quiet time with God. I'm gonna start managing my time so I'm not procrastinating homework... quite so bad... I'm gonna finish my poetry scrap book.

Finally, ding dang it, I'm gonna MEET people! I'm gonna figure out what it takes to meet new people! I'm gonna find somewhere to go and I'm gonna talk to strangers and make new friends. Doggonit, I might even come up with some slick line to use when I'm turning down a guy's request for my phone number.

So I'm not creating a brand new and improved Kaycee. I'm bringing the old one back to life. I'm going to make her adjust to what her life has become, and I'm going to teach her how to love it.

Entering Adulthood

2010-01-21T07:33:00.000-08:00

What's this? Kaycee is actually blogging? I thought she disappeared!!!

No, Ladies and Gentlement, Kids of all ages, I'm still here!!!... though without anything truly inspiring or insightful to write about. My life has suddenly become school, work, and family spats. Go life. So, I shall post a blog about a concept that is ever so near and dear to my heart on this, the day before the day before my 19th birthday... Adulthood. I have this idea in my head as to how this is supposed to work, so here it goes.

People are born into this world to parents. Theoretically out of love, now a days more so out of infatuation, drugs, alcohol, self-esteem hang ups, jerk wads, etc., but don't get me started. After all, this is how it's SUPPOSED to work. So people are born to parents. The parents' job is called "parenting." Now don't start in on the sarcastic "oh wow, no duh Ralph," there is a point to that statement. The occupation of Parent cannot be summed up in one word. It's not like it's administrative, janitorial, management, manual labor, there is no category. The parent is to meet the child's physical needs: food, clothes, bed. The parent is to teach the child: speech, potty training, table manners, social skills, responsability, finance management, common sense. The parent is to meet the child's emotional needs: encouragement, appropriate self-expression, love. The end goal of parenting, aside from establishing a life-long bond to span a transition between generations, is to produce a young adult equiped with the necessary skills to move out of the parent's house and create a life for his or her self.

The child will never be "ready" to take on the real world and establish what their own, individual life will be. That would require having already experienced everything prior to that leap of faith out of the parents' home. There simply comes a point when the parent has done his or her job. There is nothing else to teach the child, it is time for the child to learn from different venues. It is not necessarily a crack at poor parenting, it is simply fact. Parents can't teach their children everything that their children will ever learn. Teaching a person is a task to be shared with many people. There comes a time that the child must try to provide for his or her own self. And, most importantly to me at the moment, there comes a time that the child must leave the parents' home simply to establish a separate identity. The point of parenting is to produce an adult, not an extension of the parents' own house. If done correctly, that extension occurs on its own. If forced, that extension will be severed when the child finally does leave. If you try to grow a plant by yanking it upwards and screaming "BE TALLER!" you're going to pull it up by the roots and destroy it.

By locking the door and saying "No, you can't leave, you belong to me!" you are destroying that extension that will occur naturally if you just let me go. It's time to sit back and see what kind of adult you've produced. When that time comes, and the parent can't do that, then the entire point of parenting has been lost, and the world will never know whether the parent succeeded or failed.

Christmas Survival 101

2009-12-11T20:03:00.000-08:00

There are two weeks left until Christmas, so in the interests of emotional preparation, today's blog post is full of strategies as to how to survive a chaotic Christmas. Just as a quick background comment, last Christmas at my parent's house was completely outrageous for reasons that lead into a freakishly long story and, when told, lead into a very angry Kaycee. Just rest assured it wasn't pretty. Then all year long, I swear, at least once a week, there was some reference to Christmas. It never went away. So the goal this Christmas for me is to enjoy it beyond the chaos of my family (who I really do love to death, don't get me wrong; I just want to choke them sometimes).

So, Christmas Survival Strategy 1: Get a phenomenal sister-in-law. The lovely Rianne has had her share of family dysfunction as well, so she is completely understanding of me and my issues. I can vent, I can call, I can show up at her apartment and she'll make my brother let me in, she's amazing.

Christmas Survival Strategy 2: Get Busy. My phenomenal sister-in-law and I decided that this year, as both of us are further discovering our artsy-fartsy sides as we get to know each other more, that we are going to make every body's presents this year. Well, that means both of my brothers, both of my parents, two pairs of grand parents, aunt uncle and cousin, and then each other. Then job stuff happened, and school happened, and we don't see each other as much... we're kinda behind. There will be no time to dwell on the errors of last year, I'll be having too much fun hanging out with Rianne making stuff!

Christmas Survival Strategy 3: Avoid the house. Wait... I already do that. Working two jobs and being a full time student has its perks.

Christmas Survival Strategy 4: KAT 103. KGBI has been playing nothing but Christmas music since 3 AM paper route the day after Thanksgiving.

Christmas Survival Strategy 5: Christmas cookies. I've never done Christmas cookies before, but I've always wanted to try. As my phenomenal sister-in-law has been teaching me how to cook, cookies will most likely happen at her apartment, we will most likely be in a very silly mood, we will most likely laugh a lot, and the experience will produce happy memories to associate with Christmas.

Christmas Survival Strategy 6: Keep track of the honest to goodness reason for Christmas. Contrary to popular belief, Christmas isn't about time with the family. Christmas is about God sending His Son into the world so that He could walk in our shoes, lead a perfect life, and then die as the perfect sacrifice we needed to be able to spend eternity in Heaven. Family just happens on the side. The holiday shouldn't be consumed in the image of what doesn't work in my family, but instead in how much I am loved by a holy God.

So tell your big brother to hurry up and get married, find something productive to consume time, avoid the house, don't drown yourself in Christmas music, make some fond memories, and to use one of those cliches that actually hold a lot of truth, keep Christ in Christmas. Merry Christmas, blogging world!!!

2009-12-07T21:10:00.001-08:00

November has come to an end, and with it, NaNoWriMo (which I epicly failed, but it's okay. It was a learning experience, and now I'm ready for next year!). One might look at this statement and reason, "So now Kaycee has her life back and will actually post a blog every now and then!" Oh ye of too much logic. Thou must open thine eyes to the insanity that is my life.

I'm working two jobs. I never turned in my notice for route because I'm waiting out the first six weeks of my new job where they can can me any minute. Between the two, I work 39 hours a week. I am also a full-time student. I'm also moving out in a little over a month, just so long as we can pull it off.

So you freakishly logical folk who believe that I have more time this month, you were sorely mistaken.

I do, however, have two topics that I could blog about: we have the History project, which is researching the family tree, and we have How To Survive Christmas: A Guide to Protecting Sanity in the Midst of Chaos and Turmoil. So it's up to you: Drop me a line, and cast your vote!!!... and then add some more blog ideas, because two will only last so long!

MUST... POST... BLOG!!!

2009-11-22T19:05:00.000-08:00

Brand new job (that's right ladies and gentlemen, kids of all ages, Kaycee has started her brand new job! Woot!) plus freakishly behind on NaNoWriMo plus stupid stomach issues equals low quantities of blog posts. So, for lack of anything freakishly exciting to discuss, here's the first scene of my NaNo Novel... which is still lacking in a name. All in good time, my friends; all in good time.

Katy’s blue truck’s bed was packed more so with her mom’s things than her own. Her dad and her older brother Cody were tying everything down while her nineteen-year-old brother, Joey, was leaning against the driver’s door. "Don’t miss us too much now," he said.

"Don’t worry, I won’t," she said sarcastically. She added an extra scoff for good measure. For this moment, she would pretend it was true.

"After all," Joey added, "it’s not like we’ll be missing you."

"Uh-huh. How many weeks ‘til harvest?" she asked. "Tell me that one more time once it’s just you three doing the same amount of work."

He chuckled. "Definitely won’t miss you," he teased. "You never made that big of a difference in the work load anyway." She punched him in the arm.

"All set," Cody said, patting the side of the truck. "Easy on the brakes."

Katy nodded. "Will do."

"And don’t let those city guys get away with anything."

"I won’t."

"And don’t make me come up there," he added. "Behave yourself."

That wasn’t something she wanted to promise. "I’ll try." Cody laughed and pulled her into his big chest. When he stepped back, he roughly cleared his throat in a classic attempt to preserve his hard, masculine image. Katy prayed that her own tears would stay at bay, too.

Her mom emerged from the white farmhouse and descended the creaky steps with grace and speed, big black purse over one shoulder and a plastic sack of various things she had forgotten in her other hand. She wore big, rhinestone-studded sunglasses, a cream blouse, flowing black pants, and black designer boots. Her appearance, her dramatic exit of the house, her lack of any backward glance, the pristine black SUV that she was headed for—she didn’t belong here. She had no desire to. It made Katy’s hands ball into fists. "We’ll call when we get there," her mom told her dad as she flung her things into the passenger seat without even meeting his eyes. "Katy, are you ready?"

"In a minute," Katy said, then turned to look at her dad. He was leaning against the back corner of the truck in jeans and a red flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up. This picture belonged in a dictionary next to the word "Farmer."

When he spoke, his voice was rough. "You take care of yourself, Katy Belle." She nodded and knew that she should say something, but knew that her voice would betray her secret tears. But suddenly, her feminine side won over for a moment just long enough for her to run to her dad. His body absorbed the impact and caught her in his arms as she hid her face in his shirt, breathing in his scent of sweat and straw. She never wanted to leave this place.

He kissed the top of her head and pushed away, scooping her white cowboy hat off of the back of the truck and dropping it on her head. He cupped her chin it two callused fingers and lifted her gaze to meet his. "And don’t you ever forget who you are."

"Katy," her mom called, firing up the SUV. "Time to go."

It was a very subtle exhale and drop of his gaze, but Katy caught her father’s frustration, and related. "You’d better go," he said. Katy nodded and a tear spilled from her eye. Her dad quickly dried it with a quick stroke of his thumb. None of that, now. Be a man about it." She smiled. "I love you."

Instead of answering, she just nodded again, straightened out her hat, and adjusted her posture so that she was standing a little taller, her shoulders thrown back. She turned, flinging her braid and feeling it thump o her spine, and swung her tips with her stride. Joey gad the truck door open for her, so she didn’t have to break her step to swing herself up behind the wheel. Joey shut the door. "Don’t crash and die," he said, stepping back.

She stuck her tongue out at him, and then smiled. "Don’t kill the tractor while I’m not here to fix it for you." His argument was lost in the sound of the truck turning over and the radio blaring. Katy shifted into drive and followed the SUV down the long gravel drive, watching her home in the rear view mirror.

The Official Diagnosis

2009-11-10T18:31:00.000-08:00

I can just picture walking into the colorful office of a shrink, plopping down on his couch, and he looks at me over his reading glasses and says, "So, Kaycee, what seems to be your problem?"

"Well I'm not sure, Doc. I was online one night and spontaneously decided to take part in this thing where writers everywhere write a fifty thousand word novel in thirty days. It sounded like fun!

"But then I was working on my psychology homework one evening, and I just couldn't focus, because my character, Brett, has been really shy and hiding in the shadowed corners of my mind, and I can't seem to drag him out to figure out what his story is. I'm about eight thousand words behind now, and the days just keep marching on and I still don't know what his problem is! I'm certain that he's doing it just to torment me. He's going to wait a week or two until it's too late to catch up, watch me fail NaNoWriMo, and laugh.

"So to cope with my frustration, I went to the NaNo forum and went into the Spork room where I grabbed my cyber spork and, instead of prodding Brett out of the shadows with it, I just jumped up and down screaming "WHY ARE THERE ONLY 24 HOURS IN A DAY???!!!" almost hoping that I'd poke my eye out with the spork. And in all this frustration, I didn't have time to finish my psychology chapter on psychological abnormalities.

"What do you think, Doc, am I crazy?"

The shrink will look at me and smile gently, trying to mask the horror in his eyes, and say "Don't worry Kaycee, I know some friends who wear white coats who would love to help you with your problem."

That's right, folks, NaNoWriMo is eating my sanity. Or whatever sanity I had. And you wanna know something?

IT'S A BLAST!!!

A Quiet Art

2009-11-02T19:11:00.001-08:00

I would like to take this opportunity to walk you through the carefully refined steps of a modest art form that has been learned and perfected by high schoolers and college students across the nation:

Procrastination.

First, we have the assignment. A paper, project, or list of problems; the intensity, quantity, or form that it takes on makes small difference. But that assignment looms in the consciousness of the student, flashing in brilliant red lights: "Must Be Done, Must Be Done, Must Be Done." In more dreaded or intense instances, the lights are accompanied with a constant droning noise.

For argument's sake, let's call the assignment, oh, how about Psych chapter 11 and 5.4 homework on logarithmic equations?

Well, I hate math, so I'll procrastinate Psych first. Which is perfect, because I do my psych notes on my computer! Like any art, there are many different forms. Dance can be ballet, hip hop, river dance, or ball room. Visual art can be paint, oil pastel, sculpting, or pottery. Music can be flute, guitar, vocal, or piano. Procrastination can be physical, mental, or cyber. Or, for those students who are versatile in their art, all of the above.

So the lights are on, the sound is droning, but you know? It's been a whole entire four hours since I've been on Facebook, something may have happened while I was away!!! Wow, my status is out of date by four hours, better change it! *gasp* So many things to comment on! (ten minutes later) Hmm, no one has commented on my status yet, maybe if I word it this way... You know? I want to level up on FarmTown, so I'm gonna go plant a whole slew o' Raspberries!!! (For those of you who still remain safe from the evils of FarmTown, Raspberries are ready to harvest in two hours as opposed to 4 hour grapes, 1 day potatoes and wheat, 3 day blueberries and pineapples, or 4 day peppers and cotton.) Oh look, someone commented on my status! I should reply. *POP* Why look, someone wants to chat! Sure, I can multi-task, uh-huh!!! Wow, raspberries are ready to harvest already? Hmm, nothing else to do on Facebook, what a shame. *scroll up and down five more times just to make sure* ... *change status to see if anyone wants to comment on this wording of essentially the same thing* ... *comment on twenty more things*

When the Procrastinator finally gets off of Facebook, there is also e-mail, student e-mail, random e-mail accounts that nobody uses anyway, and on particularly intense episodes of procrastination, the MySpace that hasn't been touched in months (which then also burns the time it takes to remember the pass word). Then there's blogging... reading the blogs you follow, looking at extra blogs on the side, writing a blog on your own blog (Hey, maybe you can write a blog about procrastination!)...

You get the picture.

But in the mean time, while procrastinating via the Internet, the lights are still flashing, the sound is still droning, and half of your attention is still held captive by that(those) foreboding assignment(s).

Which is why I shall sign off of the Internet for now... but you know I'll be back later just to see if that status has gotten any more comments. But I really will sign off. And I will appease the flashing lights and droning sound... You know, that NaNoWriMo story it minimized on my task bar, and writing tends to suck in ALL of my attention...

I'm sorry, College Algebra, but I just don't love you that much. And Psych, you know, patience is a virtue. And Final Projects For Both Psych And Info And Systems Lit Classes, before you turn on your lights and sounds for tomorrow... well... I'll deal with you later. I have more procrastinating to do!!!

Such a Lovely Problem

2009-10-24T14:44:00.001-07:00

It is such a lovely problem... but a problem, none the less. It is one of two problems that occur during that in-between times when a writer is finishing up one novel and starts thinking toward the next. The hideous problem is when the ideas cannot be forced into story, and the fear arises in the back of the writer's head as she stares at the blank page (or, in my case, screen): What if the stories never come again?

Then there is the lovely problem, the one that I struggle with now: too many ideas. I have five novel ideas and one short-story idea (which I started writing but then got slightly stuck, so it's like a deep shadow in the back of my mind that needs the right angle of light before I can finish it), all of which still thus untitled, just nick named.

We have (in no particular order) "The Red-Neck Girl Story," where Katie has to move with her mother away from her father and brothers and the farm that she grew up on to finish High School in the suburbs of a different state.

Next is "The Cinderella Complex," where Emily, Lia, and Bianca all come from dysfunctional families and their journeys to escape those households (one marries out of it via an other's brother and the other two move out together).

Then there's "The Artist Story," in which the "Artists" (who can be musicians, actors/actresses, painters, writers *giggles*) have this power to engage their audiences and captivate them in this incomprehensible, super-natural way, and they use it to show their audiences deeper things of God's glory. But then there are also the "Liars," who have the same ability, only instead of using them to God's glory, they use their gifts to draw attention to selfish human emotions.

And then there is "The Castle Story," in which a married woman with, like, 5 kids moves into a big house that still needs some work, but they turn it into the house that she's always dreamed of. A couple of days after they move though, she finds herself the legal guardian of her teenage, bitter, closed-off niece.

The most recent addition to the mess in my head is "Pain's Child," nine-year-old Abigail who doesn't have the ability to separate the things she hears about on the news or sees happening to others from her own experiences. She's developing an eating disorder, has nightmares, becomes very frightened for no apparent reason, and it's all because she doesn't know how to cope with these things that aren't even happening to her.

The short story was inspired by the country song, "A Long Line of Losers," (which, as of yet, is the story's nick name), about a college student who lives out of hotels during the summer trying to break the cycle of failure that is her family.

And then we arrive at the problem. I sit down to write and suddenly they all break out of the confines of their stories. The Artists and the Cinderellas all line up for battle, Katie and Jessica duke it out, the short-story collegiate and the mom from the Castle Story debate about life goals... luckily everybody feels sorry for Abigail and leaves her alone. But suddenly an epic battle unfolds in my mind, and suddenly all I can do is more editing the snot out of Speechless.

Out of the Dust

2009-10-17T15:35:00.000-07:00

I am taking a moment to take a breather from the ridiculous task of "prettifying" the basement. (Word for word, that is the assignment I was given this morning, I kid you not). So I got all of the books perpendicular to the floor, which always makes me feel better, then looked at the wall with the fire place... and almost cried. The entire wall is stone-- jagged stone that protrudes from the wall. As I was vacuuming up all of the dust and cobwebs, I remembered my older brother and I playing with cars and Lego's and finding ledges for our little pretend people to climb.

Then came time for the mantle. No joke, I would hold the nozzle of the Kirby two inches away and the dust bunnies would crawl. This entire wall and everything on it hasn't been touched since before the basement became Mom and Dad's room, which was six and a half years ago now. I was vacuuming the pictures just to see who was in them. The whole entire task was rather outrageous.

There were baby pictures. There were pictures of grandparents, great grandparents, aunts and uncles. There was a picture of me in my polka-dotted pajamas, blending in with the matching sheets. My big brother when he wasn't quite so big holding baby me. Gramma holding my baby brother. My mom's senior pictures. Smiles, family, happy times, life.

Then I found a box that after vacuuming it I discovered to be blue. It was full of my parents' wedding pictures. My mom was so young, and she was glowing, fingering her bouquet, smiling in every shot. My dad was hardly recognizable: he was thin, all of his hair still jet black, and with this goofy grin on his face that said, "This is exactly where I am supposed to be, and I'd like to see you try to challenge it." Mema and Papa (my dad's parents) were happy-- honestly happy. Two of my great grandmas were in those pictures.

But they were stuffed in an unmarked box and buried under dust bunnies that hadn't been disturbed in six years, and I found them playing Cinderella while my parents and little brother yell at the Huskers upstairs. The mass-cleaning is in preparation for a family reunion tomorrow (which was an impromptu event, Mom just kind of said on Thursday, "By the way, we're having 20 people over on Sunday, hope nobody minds!" not only to my little brother and I but to my father as well). I haven't seen these people in years. I hardly know them, they don't know me, but we're all vacuuming up the dust bunnies and putting on big smiles to see each other and pretend for a day that it matters.

Plastic smiles frustrate me to no end, and I'm claustrophobic and anti-social anyway. I think I'll hide in my office with my psychology homework.

"Speechless"

2009-10-15T17:52:00.000-07:00

Sorry folks, nothing sparkly. (Well, the bathroom is sparkly... again... I swear, I'm never scrubbing that room again if it only takes half a week to be ridiculously messy again. Wait, I've said that before.) As a matter of fact, outside of homework at the moment the only other component of my life is editing my novel, "Speechless."

America has reformed its education system, and now high schoolers have to go to massive boarding schools, or "Youth Education Centers." In these facilities, it is believed that Christians don't allow for anyone else to be right. It is said that Christians don't believe in anyone else having a freedom of religion, so they don't deserve that right themselves. When Christian students are separated from their parents and sent to this school with these brutal ideas and where unbiblical activities run rampant, it seems like a losing battle simply to cling to a faith that everyone tells them is foolish.

Until Jackie arrives. Her older brother Jeff, who has been there for two years now, catches her off the bus to save her Bible from the inspection, and then watches in wonder as his little sister reminds him of the passionate faith that he feels he has lost. His new roommate Matthew arrives and only brings more light into the darkened campus. They inspire the silent Christians on campus to live like they mean it, they bring the Gospel to their new friends, and they stir the stagnant waters until their safety is no longer a certainty. But when they hatch a risky plan to expose what truly happens within the fences of the Thomas Jefferson Youth Education Center, how much are they willing to lose?

The Wonderful World of... Homework.

2009-10-04T14:30:00.000-07:00

I think I was just doomed from the day I was born: my life was simply destined to be dominated by homework. A math test, working on a paper for my computer class, a test and a paper in Psychology... my weekend was eaten before it began.

Unfortunately, the sources for the psychology paper have to be primarily journals. My topic is human creativity as it relates to self-expression. And the school's data bases hate me. Upon the very rare occasion that I actually find something that remotely pertains to my topic, well, it's a journal. Have you ever tried to read one of those, seriously? Eyes bugging, jaw dropping, yawning, must... pay... attention... wait, what language was that? Seriously, you've got these people who live in universities trying to describe creativity in the least creative ways possible. And they aren't even giving me the information that I need.

I got the computer paper to the point to where I can leave it alone for the moment, and studying for the tests won't be difficult, just time-consuming. Psychology is open-note (which is code talk for read the question, find the answer in the notes, move to question 2 and repeat, and still finish an hour early. I love psychology!), and my math teacher is one of the best math teachers on the face of the planet... and coming from me, that's saying quite a bit. Math and I do not get along.

All of this being said, I hope to blog again in the very near future... and it will be something creative, bizarre, off-the-wall, fascinating, entertaining, and sparkly! Why sparkly you ask? Well, I'm not really sure, it just sounded like a good idea at the time. Not to mention that nothing academic is sparkly, so it will be a relief when I finally finish all of this homework!

A Child-like Honesty

2009-09-23T20:35:00.001-07:00

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.

My Lovely World of Editing

2009-09-21T17:07:00.000-07:00

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.

Need to Read!

2009-09-13T18:22:00.000-07:00

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.

Everyone Has a Story

2009-09-01T16:17:00.000-07:00

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.