So sorry for not posting. After suffering through this example of my children's writing, you'll probably be glad for another break.
Chapter 1
Any good story needs a good setting, and a good setting is a very specific thing. A good setting is one with purple-tiered mountains and black-walled caverns; sunrises of rosy grey and sunsets of fire-licked orange; forests of most striking green and seas of most intense blue. Of course the absolute best of stories is set in the absolute best of places -- that place where the air glows with fairy wings, and earth flowers to elfin kisses, and hidden places shimmer by virtue of dwarfish hands. Oh to look up, and see a dragon embrace the clouds! It is to seek, for only eager fingers can reach out and take this beautiful, magnificent world.
But what if one cannot see the purple, or the orange, or the blue? What if for one the air does not glow, and earth does not flower, and hidden places do not shimmer? No fairy, elf, or dwarf does he see. Yet above the dragon still flies. If not a soul sees or hears or feels him, he flies just the same. Such is our story: a story of childish mystery and delight and splendor, but a story where color and form mean naught. But have no fear. The mountains tower, and the caverns wind. The fairy sings, and the elf dances.
And of course the dragon flies. Heaven, how he flies.
So our story begins. From frozen peaks the snow glides downward, and downward, and downward, melting into icy water, which flows into a stream. This stream flows through a cave. A jagged, rocky, and in all ways inhospitable cave. Well, at least it seems. Some have reported a strange scent and a strange warmth, rising from cracks in the floor. After emerging from the cave the stream meets a sea. This sea plunges unfathomably, and chills cruelly. Its wind beats like a lash, and few leave it. On the other side of this sea the stream thrusts back out on its own, as pure and clean as ever, into a rich forest. What can be trusted in a forest? Its wanderers may twist about in search of escape a thousand years. But those whose home is not home, who yearn for relief from what most cling to with desperation, the forest soothes and helps. At the center of this forest is a town.
The town coughs and wheezes with its own stench. Its people breath deeply of this stench, and their lungs relish it, and they push and shove to save more foulness for themselves. Only a few despise the air, and these few are hated. The wicked people easily spot them, because they cannot thrive in the town. Even before birth they are damaged, in some way, because their good spirits need more than what can be supplied in wombs of evil. Something must die, for a good spirit to live. Limbs must shrivel, or ears deaden, or eyes go black.
And so begins our story.
Like my new profile picture? Matty took it!
I'll post some pictures, and if I think of anything to say you can be sure I'll say it!
 On my second ever class with Mr. Wilson, he told us that his birthday was the following week. I said I would make him a cake. When I brought it in he seemed entirely surprised. I said, "I promised to make it!" He replied, "I didn't think you actually would; I don't trust anyone!" If you know Mr. Wilson, you are cracking up right now.  The begginings of fudge. Yum.  A pair of mittens for Maria Stanculescu. Apparently my hands are the same size as those of an average six-twelve year old, because these mittens fit me perfectly!  A pair of fingerless gloves for Tibi Stanculescu, modeled by Matthew. Sophia Stanculescu recieved a hat that I thought came out adorably, but I didn't have a model with the right sized head for a picture. Maybe she'll wear it for me sometime.  Nana's late breakfast yesterday. Fork-beat two or three eggs with a bit of water, two shakes of salt, one shake of pepper, and about a 1/4 tsp. chili powder. Scramble in a heated and lightly oiled pan. Toast two tortillas on the stove and fill with cooked eggs. Place diced tomato and some hot sauce (I used a packet of Taco Bell hot sauce) in heated pan; cook until softened and heated through. Stuff into tortillas along with sliced avocado. Serve with tortilla chips. I may call it "The Kino," although I can hardly think about that book (Steinbeck's "The Pearl"; sorry, I can't figure out how to italicize within a caption) without feeling rather ill...  The dragon I croched for my cousin Bryson's fifth birthday. To be honest, I'm quite proud of it. He took it to kindergartenshow-and-tell and said that his cousin Rara made it!  Marble mini muffin!  "The cherry's abloom in the Northland, the wild, lone cherry tree. The sad, sweet birds, of the Spring-time are singing again to me. They sing of the frozen rivers, piping soft and low, till I think I hear your foosteps dancing, across the snow. Sing! Birds! Sing songs of the Spring-time. Sing high on the cherry tree. Sing of my love in the Northland, as my love once sang to me. Hush! Birds! The cherry in silence, is letting her petals fall, for one whose dancing footsteps, will never come, at all." Beautiful song by Margaret Rose and Armstrong Gibbs entitled "The Cherry Tree."  A pillow doll for my cousin Bennett.  My dad's pipe on my dad's scarf. Love this picture!  OTTO!!! Sorry you had to suffer through that. I'll try to use my brain more in my next post!
This is John Lennon:
This is Sherlock:
Sorry Mr. Wilson, I'm not seeing much resemblance! But since I'm at it...
This is John:
This is Sherlock smiling:
This is John smiling:
This is Sherlock and John: This is Matthew: His build is totally Sherlock, and his coloring is entirely John. Just like Matty to be SO INCREDIBLY COOL!!!!!!!!!!!
The last sentence of my last post was supposed to read, "Also, Matty and I have a coffee date...Night!". But I don't think it came out that way. I did wake up before noon (11:58), and around twelve-thirty Shmoo and I were walking toward downtown Atascadero. Matty was wearing my favorite of his newsie caps (I really don't know what they're called, but 'newsie cap' gets the point across) and using his walking stick. Yep, he has a walking stick. It's handle is a lion made out of German silver (we named him 'Luven,' a spin off the German word for 'lion'), and it has his initials monogramed on it. I know, he really is too cool. He took me to The Bru, which we've now decided is our coffee house. We'll be spending plenty of time there.
So cool bloggers post photographs...so I took some photographs!
 Melt some butter in a pan. Add sliced red onions; cook until softened. Add some corn and green peas; cook a while longer. Add a few spoonfulls of sour cream; mix. Add cooked pasta; cook until heated through. Put in a bowl, sprinkle with parmesan, and grind pepper atop it. Matty and I were listening to "Saint-Saens Piano Concertos 1-5 Klavierkonzerte" while I concocted this dish. It came out quite delicious, so I'll call it 'Pasta Camille" after Camille Saint-Saens. As a side note, when Matty first heard a portion of these concertos on the radio, he declared it the most beautiful music he had ever heard. Needless to say, I would highly reccomend it.  This is my good, long-time friend Corey Solberg modeling his two-by-two rib wool scarf. Obviously, a strip of my nasty carpet look good if it were tied about Corey's neck, but we'll just keep that hushed, and say that my scarf is an exquisite example of the sheer mastery of a fantastic knitter. I love going Dickens with my adjectives!  Corey wondering why in the world he puts up with me. I should study some now. No, it's 12:57 in the afternoon, not the morning! I would never be up at so ridiculous an hour...
First off, Matty wants me to mention that he's playing "Nazi Zombies." That's right: "Nazi Zombies." He's not really into it, but it is a good game for blowing off steam. He has heartburn and is annoyed at a friend, so "Nazi Zombies" it is. He also likes my reactions to human catchphrases, zombie screeches/cacklings, and nasty zombie heads getting blown off to display the proper amount of zombie blood spewing everywhere. One of the characters seems to have a particular distaste of zombie guts on his new shoes. I'll admit, it can be entertaining. ("Headshot: Boom; headshot." "Knee-deep in zombie **** and out of ammo! "Attention all shoppers, we have a special today on: DEATH." "Oh! The power's out. How suspicious." "This is more gory than a Goth party!")
So over this past week I've been building up my dream (that may actually come true) of moving to Seattle to attend Seattle Pacific University. Besides its location (a rainy artistic haven... sounds like Phimie heaven!), SPU seems to offer so much. They're even known for a wonderful writing program! It is a Christian college, so of course I feel the need to defend it, because I don't want to have everyone nagging me about going to a lame Christian college. First of all, not all Christian schools are bad. North County used to be a really good school. It still boasts some really good teachers, office staff, etc. It's sad that Christians are only taken notice of when they're hypocrites. Anyway, I'd like to major in psychology, and do think that a Christian college would best suit that area of study. Not because everything has to be from a "Christian perspective" (believe me, I've got plenty of hang-ups left over from NCCS), but because I don't want to take my entire education "with a grain of salt." The introductory psychology class I'm in at the moment is, so far, enjoyable, but my teacher has to constantly sidestep around anything with depth because depth requires some shred of truth, which it seems modern psychologists laugh at. No one can say "this is good," "this is bad," "this is depressing." A fellow student asked our professor if a sociopath could ever, through therapy, overcome some manipulative tendencies. Professor Barncastle (or, I guess, Colin) answered that at best a true sociopath could only learn to manipulate nicely. He could never really learn to care for other people enough to not want to manipulate them. The student stated that this "was sad." The professor replied "it is what it is." What is that supposed to mean? "It is what it is?" No, it's sad. That a person could never feel genuine affection toward another person is sad. Tragic, actually. But no, it "is what it is." Why? Because nothing means anything, because truth is nonexistent, because the sociopaths may just have the right idea. So then what is the point? Thus, my preference for a Christian college once I reach higher level classes. So all that came from my saying that I want to attend SPU. Nice.
Along with SPU comes living in Seattle. I have found my dream apartment complex: The Station at Othello Park. It is right downtown, nine minutes drive from SPU, literally on the light rail track, beautiful, very Scandinavian in its design, and brand new. The only complaint of its tenants is that the security it too high; somehow I don't think that would be much of an issue. Their lowest advertised price for a two bedroom unit is $1198 a month, and I'm quite positive that price does not include utilities. Of course I'm planning on sharing an apartment, so I'd be paying at least $700 a month. Probably not going to happen. But it is a fantasy, and fantasies by definition must be a bit fantastic. I have found a few other places with good reviews and lower prices, so when I really start looking to move I'll focus there.
So, those are my current dreams (I am of course discounting anything involving Sherlock, but you certainly don't want to hear about that). But, ironically, my dreams of college and independence quite distract me from things like, say, studying and learning to drive. Go on, mock all you like. It is true that I have not yet learned to drive. My parents and I have now made that a priority, so soon enough I shall be on the road! Can't you just see me in my little violet-grey fiesta, wearing my AMAZING red wool trench (Thank you Uncle Jeff and Aunt Jenny!), driving back into Seattle after a weekend at home, "Bridge Over Troubled Water" on the CD player... =D Wow, I resorted to an emoticon! But, alas, fantasies won't help me. I should just, you know, study.
I can't think of a transition, so, just so everyone knows, I am aware that the jump between the previous paragraph and the following paragraph is entirely random.
Actually, that is not entirely true. When I said, "But, alas, fantasies won't help me," I thought of Christine's words in 'Wishing You were Somehow Here Again' ("The Phantom of the Opera"): "Dreaming of you, won't help me do, all that you dreamed I could." Last Easter I watched a portion of a program about an Orthodox monastary. (This was not just because I'm Orthodox, the program happened to be on and I was interested.) An interviewer asked a monk about incessant prayer. He must have said something to the effect of it sounding impossible, because the monk smiled and said, "Just because I am talking to you, do you think I'm not praying?" Firstly, how awesome. That is something to strive for. Secondly, just to prove how obnoxious I am, I'll relate how I am like this monk. At most any point in time I could laugh and say to someone, "Just because I am talking to you, do you think I'm not quoting?"
In these blog posts I've decided, except where it would be entirely unbecoming, to communicate the quotes which pop into my head as I'm writing. After reading a few of these posts a person could knnow quite a bit of the first Sherlock episode, for the all-too-obvious reason that I'm obsessed and it is so wonderfully quotable. I can provide three quotes which I previously resisted: (from 'Matty's Reaction to My Blog') "Occationally he speaks...[to] tell me to shut up (only because I'm not saying anything)." QUOTE: "Shut up. "I didn't say anything." "You're thinking; it's annoying."; (from 'Sorry for the Lack of Posts...') "I should probably swing back on topic now to avoid making a further idiot out of myself." QUOTE: "Why didn't I think of that?" "Because you're an idiot--no, don't be offended by that; practically everyone is." (from earlier in this post, when I mentioned sociopaths... this is a more well-known quote, which is interesting because I entirely disagree with Sherlock) QUOTE: "I'm not a psychopath Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." (It is evident before this line that Sherlock is not a sociopath. Oddly enough, in much of what I have read this line is quoted and taken as an honest desription of his character. It definately describes his character, but only because he says it about himself. He may even think he's speaking correctly. But the first time he speaks to John he says, "Oh, thank you." The tone and facial expression with which he says this show that he is much more used to being rudely addressed (exemplified by Mike Stramfords words to him moments before) and therefore quite surprised that John is actually being cordial. I'm not saying that Sherlock doesn't have difficulty empathizing with other people (another character which he brings to my mind is Danny from Chaim Potok's The Chosen--great book, by the way), but his proclaiming that he is a sociopath shows that he feels he, at least in part, should. I could easily go on like this for a really, really long time... but I will try very hard to stop now.
Last little Sherlock bit, and I won't even mention the show! I saw a Basil Rathbone film (I think the name was "The Scarlet Claw"). Rathbone's Sherlock was well done, I think, but it was difficult to pay attention to him when Watson was such a bumbling idiot. Watson is a whole lot more than a foil to Sherlock, in fact Sherlock is dumbed down when Watson is stupid. That's what makes Sherlock's intelligence so incredible: his most simple deductions blow away a man of what is normally considered above average intelligence. Watson is a doctor; he's pretty darn smart. So I can't get past Watson of the minescule brain. David Burke's Watson (along with Jeremy Brett's Sherlock) have now attained much of my favor. I've decided that "The Priory School" was not done very well. On the other hand, "The Musgrave Ritual" was expertly done. The characters and story were captured beautifully. If most of the films are like "The Musgrave Ritual," I'll agree entirely that Brett was the Sherlock of the books. (Do remember that I'm not allowed to mention my Sherlock.) I also watched another Sherlock adaptation which I watched before I even knew of Sherlock Holmes: "The Great Mouse Detective." It used to be one of my favorite movies, and when as a young child I watched it I truly didn't realize that I was watching Sherlock Holmes. I watched it last night for the first time since I was little, and loved it. Loved the characterizations, the parallels, that "Basil of Baker Street" lived in the walls of 221B... so much fun! Since I've covered every other Sherlock now, I should mention Robert Downey Jr. I liked him. I've read a lot of flak, but the movie was not supposed to follow the books. It took the characters and made a new story. It didn't alter the identity of Sherlock and Watson. Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law played off each other brilliantly. The Irene Adler bit was also enjoyable. But I'm all about characterization, and the characters shone very brightly. Plus the music was amazing. I could listen to "Discombobulate" a thousand times over, and the single violin which plays when the bomb goes off and seriously injures Watson is chilling.
Okay, well, I have more to write about, but it is three in the morning, and I have to get up tomorrow to study psychology, preferably before noon. Also, Matty and I have a coffee date...Night!
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