Present Tense: Yay or Nay?

Okay, I really need your guys’ opinion on this. Please read the following paragraph.
I followed Marcus into the front room and stopped short. Wow. It was huge. The staircase was like as wide as my bedroom, and the two would-be tall house plants were dwarfed by the towering ceiling. I looked around in wonder. Was this seriously someone’s house?
That is called past tense, and is how the majority of books are written. Now read this paragraph.
I follow Marcus into the front room and stop short. Wow. It’s huge. The staircase is like as wide as my bedroom, and the two would-be tall house plants are dwarfed by the towering ceiling. I look around in wonder. Is this seriously someone’s house?
This is called present tense, and it unusual in published books. In my opinion, though, it’s much more personal and, well … present. It feels as if it’s happening right now. I think it really draws the reader in, as if “I” is, indeed, the reader.
So I need your opinion. Shall I go with the tried and true, which, though not as cool, is more accepted? Or shall I go with the unique, the risky … yeah, you can tell I’m biased. The only thing that prevents me from going with the awesome present is that I’m already committing 2 novel no-no’s with this book. 1, having all three viewpoint characters be first-person (I, me) and 2, it’s gonna be longer than the average novel. So it is really worth it to add to my literary sins and increase the difficulty of getting it published?
Needless to say, I can’t decide. Please comment and give me your honest opinion. I don’t care if you’ve never even considered writing a book. Just tell me which you think would be more desirable – a better book or better chance of it being published and therefore reaching more individuals?

"In the good old days..."

I love elderly people. Seriously, they're amazing. It's almost as if they're a different type of people altogether. Maybe that's just because most of the people I talk with are either my age or my parents.

But old folks? They rock.

This revelation came to me when I joined the Rogue Gold Band, a jazz band in town comprising of a dozen or so elderly musicians - and me. Every Monday as I pack up my trombone into the trunk, I smile as I anticipate all the friendly smiles, corny puns, playful jokes, heartfelt compliments and warm laughter about to surround me. It's a beautiful break of every day life.

It almost seems to me like time slows down when I'm around these folks. They take life slower, and I'm pulled into the ease, pulled away from rushing and stressing. It's a time I dearly need.

Another thing I love about these people is that they've been through so much of life. That alone is really cool to think about - "Wow, she's been married, had kids, had grand-kids" - it sure makes me realize how much of life I have ahead of me. But the stories they have to tell! I think that's why they are often eager to talk. They own an array of beautiful and horrible experiences and are only too happy to share them.

You'd almost think that after so many years of life, these people would be perfect, fully matured and sanctified. But the truth is, they're sometimes unreasonable, overly sensitive, self-absorbed - just like us. It's a sober reminder that our sin nature will only be removed, by the grace of God, when we die. And it gives us all the more reason to be diligent in our pursuing the fruits of the spirit, never assuming we will just "be a better person" when we turn 21, or 25, or 40, or 90. Now, in essense, is the only time we have.

So. Go take a moment, and think about when you will be one of the "old folks". Will you look back on your life, on the days when you had boundless energy, and smile? Or wish you had used it in a wiser way?

Oh, and go talk to an elderly person. I guarantee they will make you smile.  :)

Be Still

I've been afraid to post lately. Afraid of being mediocre, of wasting your time, of making a mistake in something about God.

Yes, I know, it was very vain of me, but it's the truth. So here I am again, hoping to make some sense and somehow help you to glorify God more. That's pretty much my purpose in life. :D I mean, not just through this blog, but... you know.

Anyhow.

My sister and I both have kindles. The other night, my sister says, "Hey guess what? They're making games for kindle. I tried one out and it actually worked!" 

"Cool," says I. Then I thinks, Wait. What?!?

The whole purpose of a kindle is to read. It's like a book, okay. But just in case you don't feel  like reading, you can play a game. Seriously?
What is wrong with this picture? There's nothing wrong with playing games, don't get me wrong, but my point is, it seems as if the culture is doing everything possible to make sure consumers aren't bored. Think about it - iPads, iPhones, tablets, kindles, you name it. Nothing is wrong with those things, but aren't they all designed so that we will never be bored?

In the physical therapy place I go (for my knee) they have magazines in the waiting room. Doesn't seem out of the ordinary, but if you start to think about it... do we really need magazines? We have to sit in a chair for five minutes - akkk!! Quick, give me something to read! I can't just sit there and think.  I must be entertained.

Yeah.

I am guilty of this, okay, I'm not trying to condemn anyone; I just think it's sad that our culture is like this. What if, every time we had to wait, we made a habit of praying? That would be trillions time more useful than reading a junky magazine to "pass the time." One thing I have been working on (but often forgetting) is praying every time my computer locks up or makes me wait. I encourage you to try it.

So yeah. Keep your eyes open, and you'll start to notice this around you. And the next time you have to wait in line, in an office, or wherever, just sit and think. Be still, and know that He is God.

Eyes

So today, as I was eating breakfast (Honey Bunches, actually, the best cereal on earth) I heard a very familiar sound.

"Meeeoooooow."

I looked over and there sits Plie, my sister's cat. She cocks her head, staring at me. Well, you heard me. Let me in! Funny, I thought, how she looks straight at my eyes, even before I looked at hers.

Funny.

Then I started to really wonder. Why do cats look at our eyes – or rather, into our eyes? Is it just because they move... or is it because they know? They know the eyes are "the window to the soul." It's an instinct. An instinct that clearly shows the mark of a Creator.

I'd never really thought about it before, but it is amazing. There is something about our eyes. Something I can't quite put my finger on.

But I like it.
:)

Balance...

I love and hate how practically everything in life is a balance. Not too much, not too little. It's great because not everything has to be absolute, the same for everyone. It's not so great because boy is it hard to keep that balance with some things.

Fiction is edifying; I can't read too much. Talking with old friends is incredibly enriching; I can't forget to make new ones. I need to get enough sleep; I need more time in my day! Writing blog posts and emails is a good thing; I can easily spend way too much time on it. Researching for my book is a fabulous thing; I need to start actually writing as soon as possible. See what I mean?

Anyhow, I've just been thinking about that lately. I suppose I should talk a little about normal life. Let's see...

I'm now the audio engineer and acting director for FI, so I'm really kept busy at shoots. Which is a good thing. Right now we have a week break from filming... let's just say it's very refreshing. :)

Yes, I know, I know, I'm still researching for my book. But I'm really getting places. You would not believe how much I have to invent for this world that we hardly know anything about. Did you know it was around 1500 years from the creation to the flood? With a warm, lush enviornment and lifespans up to 1000 years, just think of what they could've accomplished. Yep, I have to figure all that out.

I just got back from physical therapy... I think I'm progressing. It's just that I still can't straighten my knee in front of me using only my muscle. It's weird and frusterating. But I guess these things take time.

So. Yes. I have no idea what all that had to do with balance... but now that things are random I might as well give you a nice random picture. :D

 

I made this at wordle.net.Awesome site. I used the text of Psalm 36.

Good day!

Ah, Acting

I am currently enjoying the delightful task of portraying the somber Mary Bennet.

June 27 . My Surgery . MPFL Reconstruction

     “But take heart, for I have overcome the world.”
     I was saying Jesus' words to myself as the door opened. I looked up to see a dark haired nurse, clipboard in hand. Somehow I knew she was going to call my name.
     “Ariel Strom?”
     Oh, boy. Here it comes.
     My heart pounded as I stuffed my mp3 player back in my purse. As I tried to stand, my earbud cords kept spilling out. Keep calm, Ariel, I told myself. It's fine. Take your time.
     Finally I got the annoying cords in and zipped up my purse. I smiled at the nurse as she ushered me, Mom, and Dad inside. She told me her name; I was too nervous to remember it.
     “Alright. What's your name and date of birth?” she asked before we got far. I told her, and we moved down the short hall. “And what's Dr. Bents doing for you today?”
     “He's doing surgery on my left knee,” I replied, looking around the hospital-ish interior. It looked pretty calm and clean.
     “Can you be more specific?”
     I smiled. “Yeah. He's making a new tendon for my kneecap – out of my hamstring.”
     “Very good.” She pointed to a little half-room that could be curtained off. “So this is where you'll be.”
     Although there was shelving holding machinery on the back wall, mostly what I noticed was the clean, perfectly white hospital bed. It just looked … relaxing.
     The nurse had me change into a hospital gown and put my things my clothes, purse, and contact case into a bin that was stored beneath my bed.
     “So will I be on this bed the whole time?” I asked the nurse once I was situated, Mom and Dad in chairs beside me.
     “Mm-hm. They'll just wheel it into the operation room.”
     The first thing she did was to take my temperature and ask again which leg it was, which resulted in her marking my left leg with a little circley design. “Just initial that,” she said, giving me the pen. Now that gave me some serious peace of mind, knowing they would operate on the right – I mean, correct – leg.
     It was about then that I noticed that my bed wasn't long enough. It reached about to my ankles. And I'm only, what… five eight? They must not get to many tall people in there.
     Next she asked about allergies and once again what my name was. These questions resulted in two bands which she strapped around my wrist. One had several capital letters –meaningless to me – and one with my name, age, address, etc.. I kinda felt like a newborn baby.

     In the next fifteen, twenty minutes, things just kept being attached to me. I kept count. First it was the legendary arm-squeezer-to-find-blood-pressure-thing which squeezed my left arm to death every five minutes, and then a little thing that clamped to my finger, taking my pulse. Then came three round stickers around my heart. These she promptly hooked cords to which must've led to some machine. I was actually glad to have them, knowing they would be monitoring my heart while I was unconscious. But then … she laid a clear tube on my shoulder. And I knew what was coming next.
     The IV.
     Okay, so I wasn't that nervous. It just kind of creeped me out that it would be in my skin for so long. The nurse tied a blue rubbery thing tight around my arm.
     “Ariel?”
     I looked to my mom. “Hm?”
     “What do you want for supper tonight?”
     I smiled, knowing she was trying to get my mind off my right wrist. “Well, hmm … ”
     “Go ahead and pump your hand,” the nurse ordered. I did, trying to force my mind to supper. It wasn't too hard, considering I was very hungry.
     “Do you want pizza? Or pasta?” Mom tried.
     “Okay, stop,” the nurse said.
     I stopped. “No, how about …  soup!”
     “Come on, vein,” the nurse muttered to my skinny wrist.
     “What kind of soup?”
     I had to think about this. The nurse warned, “I'm gonna whack it a little to get it to stick up.”
     And whack it she did.
     After a little grimacing on my part, I guess she got it to pop up, because she said, “Okay, a little prick here … ”
     Mom came to the rescue. “Didn't we just buy ravioli?”
     “Yeah.” There came the prick, hardly hurting at all. “For ravioli soup.”
     “Oh yeah … ”
     I felt something happening to my wrist but didn't want to look.
     “What kind of sauce was in that?” continued Mom. “I can't remember.”
     “Another little prick...”
     Again, almost nothing, now that my mind was involved in ravioli soup sauce. “It was just like pasta sauce,” I said.
     “Like tomato sauce,” offered Dad.
     Mom nodded. “Oh, okay.”
     “Yeah, with … ” I looked to the ceiling, searching for the word. “Umm, what's the word! With … it's like … arg. Cow?” I tried desperately.
     “Beef?”
     “Hamburger!” I cried.
     The nurse laughed. “Cow? Oh wow. You guys did great distracting her.”
     Yep. I looked down at the IV, which the nurse was now putting piece after piece after piece of tape onto. I kind of smiled, feeling a little ashamed at being worried over such a little thing.

     Time passed. The nurse left after getting my IV done. All three of us were nervous, no one really starting a conversation. Sometimes I would catch Mom or Dad looking at me a certain way – sort of sad and pitying. I guess I must have looked pitiful.
     “It must be weird seeing me like this,” I said finally. “All wired up. You know how you always look at people in the hospital like this, but it's weird that I'm the one in the bed with the IV.”
     I had brought my kindle to read, my mp3 player, and whatever else there was in my purse. But I didn't feel like using any of it. I just wanted to lie there. Although my heart rate was a bit fast, I could sense God there, calming me down.
     We talked a little about my book. Dad had a great idea, so I asked mom to write it down for me – my right first-finger was still in that annoying clamper thing. It felt kind of numb.
     “What time is it?” I asked Dad. The surgery was supposed to start at 10:45, so we had gotten let in by the nurse at about 10.
     “11:07.”
     “Seriously?” I couldn't believe it. “It's already been that long?”
     “I'm glad time's going quickly for you!” Mom inserted.
     I shook my head in amazement. “Wow. I wonder why they're so late.”
      Then someone got a brilliant suggestion – I think it was Mom.
     “Do you want to call Tianna?”
     I smiled. “Yeah!”
     We talked for about a half-an-hour. I told her about all the things attached to me, and she read off a couple of email and texts people had sent for me. In the middle of the call, Dad stood up. I paused Tianna.
     “I have to go, honey,” he said.
     I sighed, but knew he had stayed extra long. Too bad the surgery was so late. He leaned over and I hugged him. “Bye, Daddy. I love you.”
     “Love you.” He stood and smiled. “God bless you.”
     “Thanks.” I watched him leave, then picked up my conversation with Tianna. For probably the twentieth time, I blurted, “I'm so hungry!”
     Tianna voice said, “Me too.” A pause. “I'm fasting and praying for you.”
     My heart melted. Okay, that's melodramatic, but really, it felt like it. “Oh, Tianna!”
     “Well – ” she laughed a little, “I felt bad eating since you couldn't.”
     I love my sister. A lot.
     “Thank you so much! That means a lot to me.”
     That really topped off the overflowing cup-of-love-and-prayers-from-people.

     Finally we said goodbye; the doctor was coming to talk to us.
     “Hey, Ariel,” he said, holding out his right hand.
     I awkwardly gave him my IV and finger-clamped hand, which he shook as if they weren't in the way. I smiled.
     “How‘re you doing?” he asked. I noted his surgeon cap.
     “Pretty good.”
     I don't remember all he said. I think he checked my knee to see the mark and probably checked out my temperature and heart rate. As he left, I felt so thankful that he was doing the surgery himself. I'd been to two check-ups with him and felt completely comfortable with him doing it. Yet another of God's blessings.
     Next I had to use the restroom – after all, they'd been pouring sugar-water into me for an hour and a half! When I got back to my room, the anesthesiologist was already there, talking to Mom.
     “Hi!” he said when he saw me. “I'm Dr. Bob.”
     “Hi,” I answered. He looked kind.
     He got to work explaining to us what he was going to do. “I'll give you a sedator  first, to kinda make you not care as much, and then I'll do some drawing on you.” He looked at Mom. “So she'll have some purple lines on her skin, but they'll come off when she takes a shower.
     Then,” he continued, “I'll put some numbing gel on you and poke around with a needle to find the right nerves to block.” This didn't sound good, but then I knew this part would be the most painful. “So I'm gonna make your tendons twitch, okay, until I find the right place to numb.”
     I raised my eyebrows and giggled a little. It sounded weird.
     “Am I gonna be wheeled into the surgery room right after I get the blocks?” I asked when he was finished explaining everything.
     “Mm-hm.”
     Good. I took a deep breath. Then, before I knew it, it was time.

     The nurse set a little oxygen tube around my face, with tiny things for my nostrils. The air was cold.
     I had waited till the end to take my contacts out, so I could be aware of what was going on around me as long as possible. Now, while Dr. Bob got his stuff set up, I finally took them out. I looked around for a moment, getting used to the enormous blur everything was now.
     Mom came up beside my head. “Good luck, honey,” she whispered. “Remember to say your Bible verses. I'll be praying.” I gave her a smile and she left. My heart kinda jumped; it was really starting now.
     They completely curtained me off, then gave me the sedator. I felt its effect almost immediately. My sight became dizzy, and I felt a little out of it. Weird.
     “Turn on your right side there,” the nurse told me. It felt weird to move being so dizzy. But here's where the sedator came in handy. I could kind of feel him drawing on my skin, and it would have tickled.
     “Okay. A little pressure,” the doctor warned. I tried not to get more nervous.
     Whoah! That was pressure, but it felt so strange I hardly noticed. What on earth was he doing? And then –
     I gave a little gasp. I could feel something … moving in the back of my leg. I realized instantly what it was: my own tendon.
     Eww.
     The creepy jumping continued until he must've found the right place. There was a little more pressure, and then nothing. I was pretty woozy when they asked me to roll back to my back.
     Now I could see the two people bending over me. Well, blobs of color that were supposedly them. Then the pressure came again on the front of my leg. But this time when the tendon jumped on the inside of my leg, I couldn't help it. I squirmed.
     It was one of the most uncomfortable experiences I've ever had. I was infinitely glad my contacts were out so I couldn't see the tendon twitching – feeling it was enough.
     It kept jumping. I kept squirming. Lord, please make it stop! There was nothing more that I wanted in that moment than it just to be over with.
     “That's not the place I want,” came Dr. Bob's voice. “I want the kneecap.”
     Then move it! Please!
     He did. Soon I could feel my kneecap twitching. But that wasn't nearly as bad.
     “That's the place,” he said and numbed right there,. I breathed a big breath. Thank you, God. Thank you that's over.
     I was in an odd state. Very tired, slightly nervous, dizzy, and very ready to be wheeled into that surgery room. I felt a little tinge of happiness, too. It was time. It was really time!
     “Feels weird,” I mumbled to the nurse. “I can sort of feel them getting numb.” In a moment I was ready to be moved. They pulled my bed out of the little curtained space and began wheeling me backwards into the operation room.
     As I came to a stop, someone lifted a mask-type thing over my face. “Think about some place nice and warm,” a voice was saying. “Think about California.”
     I blinked twice at the ceiling. Nothing was happening…

     I was shivering. People were putting blankets over me. I opened my eyes.
     How funny. I'm dreaming I'm at the hospital.
     Then somehow things came clear. Oh, that's right, I'm here because of my knee. Oh yeah, I just had knee surgery –
     It's over!
     I could have cried. It was over. It was done. My knee was fixed. The surgery was over!
     I was still shivering, but I wasn't cold. Especially with three blankets over me. But my body was trembling all over.
     I still had all six things attached to me. I felt kinda woozy. A nurse approached me.
     “How are you feeling?”
     “Uh, pretty good.”
     “Are you ready to have your parents come in?”
     I wasn’t quite … myself, yet. “Not quite yet,” I told her.
     “Okay. Can I get you anything to drink? We have water, juice – ”
     “Water would be good.”
     She nodded and came back soon with an icy cup of water. As I drank it, I adjusted to where I was and said a very thankful prayer to God. My leg felt weird – it was completely numb.
     After a couple mintues, I was ready for Mom and Dad. Soon I saw them coming as colorful blurs.
     “Hi, Ariel!” Dad said. He sounded like he was smiling.
     I smiled weakly. “Hi.”
     “How are you doing, honey?” Mom asked. She sounded concerned.
     My teeth clacked together. “I'm shivering. But I'm not cold.”
     Mom gently rubbed my arm. “Oh yeah. I had that reaction to anesthesia, too. I forgot about it.”
     “It's weird.” Really weird.
     “It'll go away soon.”
     “Oh, let me take your picture.” Dad pulled out his iphone. “Smile!”

     I did.

Love or Love?

I’ve been writing a bit from an angel’s perspective (due to my book) … and it made me realize something. Angels don’t have romance.
Now at first this sounds pretty obvious. After all, there’s only one kind of them where there’s two kinds of us. But hang on a second. First of all, I need to say that what I’m calling “romance” is what most humans call “love.” It includes all that sappy stuff - the heart pounding, breath stopping – basically it’s this feeling that God created for two people who are married (or almost). I could go on about how angry I am at the fact that everyone always assumes love is an emotion that you simply can’t control, and you can’t help it if you stop loving someone, and how real love is an action not a feeling… well it all boils down to the fact that most times the culture says “love” they mean “romance and a little bit of love.”
So there’s love on one hand: feeling, emotions, romance. And then there’s love on the other hand: choice, sacrifice, selflessness. The trouble is that we meld them together. After all, we’re much more inclined to show real love to someone we have special feelings for. we’re attracted to or admire or even feel pity for. They just kind of mush together, which can be really annoying since I think romance is rather silly and way over-glorified (although it does have it's place.)
So there I am at my laptop, trying to put myself in this angel’s place. I realized this might make for an interesting point. Imagine an angel watching God create the universe. Imagine him watching these two humans and trying to figure out this weird emotion between them – something he’s never felt, never seen, never known even existed. Maybe it hadn’t.
I got excited, because here this angel was, who had spent endless hours worshiping God and doubtless loved him… observing love #2 and trying to comprehend it. It was such a clear separation of the two. It was just… very interesting.
So go think about it, okay?