Basically Plot Generators Are Hilarious

The Snow that Flurried like Loving Koalas

A Short Story
by Glinda the Good

Chantal Donaldson looked at the tattered sandwich in her hands and felt sleepy.

She walked over to the window and reflected on her damp surroundings. She had always loved magical Athens with its happy, high hills. It was a place that encouraged her tendency to feel sleepy.

Then she saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of John Fish. John was a loving brute with wobbly elbows and grubby eyebrows.

Chantal gulped. She glanced at her own reflection. She was a wild, adorable, wine drinker with fat elbows and pointy eyebrows. Her friends saw her as a perfect, pong patient. Once, she had even helped a wonderful toddler cross the road.

But not even a wild person who had once helped a wonderful toddler cross the road, was prepared for what John had in store today.

The snow flurried like loving koalas, making Chantal irritable.

As Chantal stepped outside and John came closer, she could see the pleasant glint in his eye.

John glared with all the wrath of 8928 down to earth helpful humming birds. He said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want a pencil."

Chantal looked back, even more irritable and still fingering the tattered sandwich. "John, hands up or I'll shoot," she replied.

They looked at each other with shocked feelings, like two helpful, hissing humming birds jogging at a very callous accident, which had drum and bass music playing in the background and two energetic uncles cooking to the beat.

Chantal studied John's wobbly elbows and grubby eyebrows. Eventually, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," began Chantal in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't hate you John."

John looked lonely, his emotions raw like a grotesque, grated guillotine.

Chantal could actually hear John's emotions shatter into 5436 pieces. Then the loving brute hurried away into the distance.

Not even a glass of wine would calm Chantal's nerves tonight.

Don't Try This At Home, Kids

I have discovered a new "tired"- attempting English homework at 11p while overcoming a cold. I could not remember the word for blood moving through veins (circulation) or that feeling you get when you really miss something (nostalgia). I want to use horrible metaphors, like in those examples of "horrible analogies by sixth graders" or whatever it is. Is this how bad authors do their work? Stay awake until anything seems like a good idea?

Rearrange

They rearranged the trash cans on the third floor, and now one fills the corner where I used to nap. The nook is just the right size, and I can see why they would want it there. But just around the back of this corner is another identical bin. There is no purpose in having both, and yet there it sits, a brown cube in my spot. No longer is this space one for my seclusion, so I move down the hall to the next corner. It's too open, less comfortable. I do not like this change.

I rearranged my cabinet last week, fitting together boxes and cans so that all my food is organized and accessible. Everything is neat, crisp, and precise- except the chip bags. Those just sit atop it all, leftovers that don't seem to belong. This change is one that is useful.

My heart was rearranged when I broke up with my first boyfriend. I learned some things I hadn't known about him, learned that he wasn't who I'd believed. I learned about relationships and about myself. And I kind of still hate this change. Even though it was good for me in the end, I miss the person I thought I knew. But in the end, though it hurt, this change was good.

My stuff was rearranged, when I moved into my apartment. Now I have half a room (though the room itself is twice as large) and half a bathroom (which is better than sharing with my four siblings). The pictures on the wall are neatly placed and offset from one another. I love the angles and the dynamic that creates. The window is smaller and has blinds rather than curtains, and the spiral stairs down to this basement lair seem a bit fragile. But they never fall, and I find that I like this change.

Life was rearranged when I left home and moved to Provo. All of my old friends seemed to drop off the face of the earth, and new ones rushed in to fill that space. Though I still talk to some old friends, and hung out with them over Christmas, they are no longer my core group. These new friends are not the kind thrust together by shared classes. We're all friends because we get along, rather than because it's convenient. I have learned so much about myself and about life, in these short six months. This is a change that I like.

So even though change means I must find a new spot to sit (or move the trash can) I suppose overall that rearranging things is good. It only helps growth.

Getting Past It

"Missing" never really goes away, does it- we just learn to ignore it.

I heard once that hearts never really heal. They just grow scar tissue over open wounds so that we can live with ourselves again. And I think my scar tissue had grown so thick that I forgot a wound lay beneath it. But then the knife fell and opened the gash again, and "missing" bled out into my life. 

I also read once, about how love for those around us can change us. It forges something new out of what we used to be. I thought in the time apart, I had changed enough that the parts of me where "missing" resided had all grown out. But they were still there, well-hidden.

I heard once that souls have no concept of time, which is why missing occurs so easily. The soul doesn't know that they will be back, or how long they have been gone, only that they are not here. And so it mourns their presence, cries out in their absence, until they return.

Coming back to writing this, weeks later, I find my calluses have again thickened, though my heart is still sore. Maybe missing is just a part of who I am. Perhaps it's a part of all of us- after all, life is always changing and growing into something new. And as wonderful as it is, I wish that I got to choose which parts changed and which stayed the same.

Some things I don't miss. Some I regret. But others make my soul ache in a way nothing else can because they are gone and will never be here again, at least not in the same way. These things may not be necessary. They may have had to disappear so I could grow. Yet still I miss them being here.

Who do you miss? What do you wish hadn't ever changed?

There Is More To Me Than This

For my creative writing class, we were assigned an "inventive form" essay- basically a piece in a form not typically considered literary. I got really way too into it (and procrastinated all my other homework), but as it turned out, I'm glad I did. Anyway, here's the video, and hopefully you enjoy it!

Sunday Series: The Narrow Path We Choose

"Standards do not restrict us, but rather guide us down the path to get to where we want to go" -me right now because I couldn't find a good quote

In my mission prep class last semester, we had spiritual thoughts every class. Often they capture my attention. This one, I wanted to write about. Whoever gave the thought managed to compare the plan of salvation/gospel standards to a college major, specifically in neurosurgery. As a student majoring in neurosurgery takes classes, they gradually become more specific. That is, they start out with a wide variety of courses, electives, and Gen Ed requirements. As the years roll by, suddenly they are only taking increasingly more difficult classes on the brain and surgical technique, and they have to intern at a hospital before being able to graduate.

The Plan of Salvation can seem like that sometimes. As we grow, it can appear as if there's more and more standards, and piles of rules. Each step on the path seems narrower. Yet, we have to remember- we are not restricting- we are specializing. As this major becomes harder, we must remember that we chose this path for a good reason, and that it will bring us happiness. We must enjoy our "hard classes" and "internships" as much as we once enjoyed our electives and free time. This is our passion, and our life choice.

And it is less restricting than it might seem. Sure, you can't take certain classes, or may not have room for a lot of "fun," but there is still goodness. The choice is still left to us what to do with our future beyond this life and what to do beyond college. And even within this mortal time, we are allowed to choose our friends, our spouses, our likes and dislikes, how we spend what free time we do have- reading, writing, playing sports, hanging out with friends- and we get to choose whether or not to enjoy it.

That, I think, is the biggest trap of choosing a difficult path. While traveling a hard road, the hardest part can be remembering why we're on it. It can be bumpy, and narrow, and a little scary. It may lack a lot of lanes to choose from, or distant views of mountains and mesas. We may be stuck behind Grandma and Grandpa, who don't know how to drive faster than 35mph. But we chose that road for the way that it ends. And, just as certain as knowing the end, we know there is something about the road itself that pulled us in. We take the paths in life that captivate us, and the trick is to remember that.

The path may seem narrow, but truly, it isn't. It is wider than you believe, and you chose it for a reason. And the more narrow it seems, the closer you are to the end, to the destination- the top of the mountain, where suddenly everything is in full view and we are on top of the world.

Sunday Series: Peace

"Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." (John 14:27)

"Peace: (1) a state of tranquility or quiet...(2) freedom from disquieting or oppressive thoughts or emotions" (Merriam-Webster)

Is there only one kind of peace? The world seems to say there is. When I think of peace, my first thought is stillness and tranquility, quiet and gentle. This is what we are taught. I don't believe, however, that there is only one type of peace for all humanity. I believe peace comes differently to all of us. After all, we are all unique individuals. Our minds interpret it differently

In the scripture above, the Lord is speaking about His peace, which we can receive.He includes only two qualifiers for this peace: that our hearts are not troubled, and that we are not afraid. I find this interesting. Peace can be very different from what the mainstream identifies it as. I believe peace is not just quiet and stillness. It is not just a state of tranquility, though that is still peaceful.

Peace can be movement. It can be bright and energetic. I would define peace as security and confidence, in all that is occurring in your life. Peace is, as the Lord said, not being upset or afraid. My peace often comes when I am busy, but not so busy that it's hard to handle. It comes with energy and strength to make it through each day, as well as happiness and confidence. I find myself standing taller, smiling brighter, and mumbling less when I feel "at peace." I find myself saying "Everything will work out." At these times, I feel safe in the knowledge that the Lord has my back.

We can find the truest peace through the Lord. He will deliver it to us in our times of need, if we are willing to lean on Him. His peace will free us to live our lives as who we are, without worldly concerns holding us down. All we must do is follow the path He has set- a path that is not restricting, that leads to being the best that we can be.

Prayer is key to finding this peace. Without prayer, our need is in vain. We must humble ourselves and ask for His help, and be willing to accept it however it may come. Sometimes help comes from others, and sometimes it is simply strength to keep pushing on. The Lord will give us what we need. Peace is knowing that, and knowing that our Father will take care of us.

We must all find our own peace in Him.