Alive: A Vlog

For years when I was younger, I maintained a vlog series on Youtube called Nerdy Vlogs. It was where I shared stories I wrote, and literature I admired. It's been quite some time since I posted there; I abandoned it for this blog, which I've done way better at updating regularly :) 
Well, tonight I recorded another nerdy vlog of a short story I wrote, and wanted to share. Please watch :)


P.S. Sorry for the poor webcam quality, annoying time stamp, and editing jumps!

All the best, 
Grace Elizabeth.

At long last, writing:

The coffee staining the edges of the mug in her hand is the same color as her eyes, and just as bitter.
Dark, reflective, caffeinating. She says her words with emphasis when she speaks.

"poignant." "exploitative." "sublime."

It was a peep show every time she opened her mouth, a quick little glimpse into the dark of her. There was nothing to really do except sit there across from her, and watch. Pretend earnestly to not be endlessly dull and maybe have some secrets of my own. But my sleeves hold no tricks. Nothing at all except a scratchy white washing instructions tag and my every effing emotion.

And I'm sure she's noticed, but she keeps talking.

"prerogative." "chagrin." "ruminate."

My foot taps the stool base with such ferocity that the bitter drinks on the table ripple- and my mind cuts to that scene in Jurassic Park. I saw it with my idiot cousin in middle school. Right when the bad guy gets eaten as gruesomely as PG13 movie standards would allow, he had the sudden inclination to wretch on my new white Chucks. I still remember that sharp rotten popcorn stick.

I notice now that she's stopped talking and I try to snap my face back into a normal expression. I glance up and catalog everything about her I can before she is done taking that sip. Her bleeding fingernails. Tiny wrists. Rosey red arm bumps.

And suddently, I want to scream.
"Run!", I want to say.

"Run. This life is not the one you want. The raptors are coming.
The effing t-rex and stegosauruses are on their way and they will devour you. And there will be nothing PG13 about it."

But I don't say that, or anything. I sit and I listen to her finish the story she's telling. Something about her mom collecting anthropomorphic vegetable figurines. I try to time my laugh with hers, but I can tell it was a little off. I watch as her eye corners crinkle up, and for just a moment, I think I see the surface of those dark roasted eyes ripple.

----------------------------------------------------

Coffee and dinos, what more could you want :)

Hope you've all been well readers, and had a lovely day of lovin'.

Ours was interrupted slightly by college classes and work, but we'll be sure to have a V-Day repeat this weekend. Speaking of school, it's been occupying a whole lot of my face, so I'm sorry about that. Blogging might be slightly more sparse for a little bit. Hope you guys can be patient with me. 

All the best!

Grace Elizabeth.

Chronologic

Working with the elderly, I've found my mind has become a little preoccupied with the notion of time. How little of it we get, and how, in the blink of an eye it will all be over.



photo credit.



The thing about time

though, is you can't stop it. Not in the happiest moments- no strength or will or wish wish wishing on stars or the feet of rabbits or the V-shaped bones of fowl can stop that tick tocking time.

And you can't speed it up. No matter how hard you try to close your eyes and clench your teeth to meet time in the dark and bellow and wail and beat your fists it will tick it's even tempered tock one second after another and it will pay no care to your pain or joy- endurance, jubilance, or rib rocking heart shredding ache. Tick tock tick.

You can break all of the watches you want. You can terrorized timepieces to extinction, but don't get too upset when you still see that sun rolling across the sky, a white hot bully reminder that your life- this time- it's not your own.

No money can buy it off. No power of humans, strength, or reason can even affect it in the slightest- can cause is the lightest of missteps, the tiniest of pauses. Tick tock tick.

So let's enjoy it while we have it, so we can't miss it when we don't.

This is why I choose to live madly; to love madly.

I am keenly aware of how little time we have to do it.

On Earth, at least.

Have a beautiful day, readers.

All the best,

Grace Elizabeth.

"Wild

and free, you've got no place to be."

Matt and Kim- Spare Change

While Calvin was away at his Kempo class yesterday, I got a chance to write and draw, sip iced coffee and listen to Matt and Kim on headphones while people-watching up a storm, heh.

It was nice. No laying in Yeti's arms in a comfy bed watching Netflix nice, but nice all the same.

Some time alone can be good. Or so they say, right? Oh codependence, you cruel mistress. :P

But eventually we were together again and

this little furry friend of ours wanted to say hello. :)

And I hope you have a good day,

because the truth is, you are unthinkably beautiful.

All the best,

Grace Elizabeth.

Asthma Attack

The inspiration for my all time favorite word came from a vignette I read a couple of years ago. I actually did a vlog about it on my old youtube channel, but since I can't exactly watch 30 youtube videos here at work to determine which it was, I'll just type it in.

This is one of the first pieces I remember reading that gave me that ache shiver in my bones. I want to be a writer SO badly, and reading things like this reinforce that desire so much it hurts a little.

ASTHMA ATTACK by Etgar Keret

When you have an asthma attack, you can’t breathe. When you can’t breathe, you can hardly talk. To make a sentence all you get is the air in your lungs. Which isn’t much. Three to six words, if that. You learn the value of words. You rummage through the jumble in your head. Choose the crucial ones—those cost you too. Let healthy people toss out whatever comes to mind, the way you throw out the garbage. When an asthmatic says “I love you,” and when an asthmatic says “I love you madly,” there’s a difference. The difference of a word. A word’s a lot. It could be stop, or inhaler. It could even be ambulance.

--------------

*shiver*

Ah! So good it's ridiculous D: Anyway, as a result, for years my favorite word has been:

This word is a reminder to me to live passionately. To pursue all things- madly.

It is one of my strongest beliefs that if what you are living for does not make your bones shiver and ache, then it's not worth your time.

One that note, readers, have a beautiful day.

You Found Me

Hello everyone! I've just been floored at all of the giveaway entries so far, keep 'em coming in! :D The giveaway ends tonight!

Also, welcome new readers and followers! If you've come here from The Dainty Squid-- isn't Kaylah freaking beautiful?! :D I'm so happy to be a sponsor of hers this month!

I got a little bit of creative writing done this week that I wanted to share with you as well as some instagram pictures from this past lovely three day weekend :)

----

It was in the yellow glow dark that you found me.

The dark that keeps all but your eye whites shadowed. All but the brow crease side smirk was swallowed in the monster belly of dark, and you found me there.

Like a cat owner who finds his beloved feline in a dark alley long after dusk. That ferral moment where you're calling to it and it's looking at you like you've never met and it's wild cat ancestors are staring at you through those glowing yellows with all of their age and ferocity.

"I found you.",

you said.

And that yellow glow kept glowing and the eye whites shining and my brow creased and your mouth smirked in the beast belly shadow.

----

The exact moment that I realized we'd make it is when you saw the console and dash and cup holders of my car covered in grey sticky chewed bubble gum. Sickly sweet and red cheeked. You said it didn't bother you and you chuckled and got in with your lanky legs in your too tight jeans and whipped your beautiful hair fringe

and I honestly didn't stand a chance.

Sure, I hate that you listen to Notorious B.I.G on loud while I'm sleeping, and maybe sometimes your stories make no sense to me, but you told me to give you a chance too see how much you could love me, and it's been sticky sweet ever since.

----

Soon, we'll need glasses. Our teeth with rot and break and decompose. Our skin will melt off of our very bones and our shiny clean youth will be all but unrecognizable.

So I'll write down our memories on square sheets of paper and fold them into cranes and boats, and sail them away. I'll pray they'll come back to us when we need them,

and that the hard ones find a rough patch of sea or breeze and sail away entirely.

----

I hope you have a beautiful day readers,

worthy of  remembering.

Bookstore Date

One of my favorite places just to go and relax and read and write and hold hands, is our local Barnes and Noble/ Starbucks. What a dang great idea of someone to combine them! The Yeti skipped his Kempo class last night just to take me out, and it was so lovely :)

As I was getting ready, I realized that the color scheme of my outfit exactly matched the colors in this beautiful painting we have hanging in our bedroom. It was painted by an elderly Russian patient of ours here at the office who wanted to find a way to thank us- I loved it so much I was allowed to take it home :) The painting is entitled Desert Memories, and he explained to us that those white structures in the middle panel were maybe ghosts or remnants of the past in some way- he wasn't really sure why he put them there.

While we were shopping, I bought a new journal (of course) and an amazing book called "Geek Love" by Katherine Dunn. I buy a new journal almost every time I go to B&N because I am constantly in search of a replacement for my High School writing jounal. For whatever reason I've never found on as good as it was, but I hope the one I bought last night will be it :) It's leather bound with beautiful but simple stitching as cover decoration, with a colorful braided string to tie around and keep it closed. It also has natural, unlined thin paper- my favorite! :)

To be honest, I was turned away by the title and techno looking cover of "Geek Love", but Calvin read the back to me anyway- and holy cow am I glad! I took it as a cliche nerdy love story, but as it turns out, 'Geek' here is referring to a person in a sideshow act that bites the heads off chickens! The book is about a family of circus 'freaks' bred by their father as attractions for his failing circus. It's been wicked great so far- thanks for the find, Yeti!!

It's got my heart all firey and racing lately that books are going 'out of style'. Ebooks are only 5% of the book buying market right now, but already they've put bohemoth Borders out of business! In all honesty, this terrifies me. Books are beautiful in every way; their weight, crisp pages, fresh ink smell. These are not things I want to live without in any distant future! Please support your local bookstores, it's up to us bibliophiles to keep them alive! Ever since Borders passed away, I've been boycotting Ebooks. Yes- they are convenient, and you can download and read new books while you are in your PJs or on the toilet or at your cousin's wedding- but is that convenience really worth it? Our children never getting to experience that fresh excitment of cracking open a brand new book they've been wanting to read, or never knowing the satisfaction of looking upon their library of adventures and tales and friends on their shelf?

I won't be a part of physical, real, sturdy literature fading away into the past like those white ghost structures. I hope you'll help me.

Have a beautiful day, readers.

Safe and Sound.

They were just kids really, when they fell in love.

He was just a boy who painted his skin with the squished juice of lightning bugs and wore his sheet like a cape, tied tight around his neck.

She wanted to be braver and act older, like her sister, and have boys trip falling over her feet like drunk blind men. But she was too afraid. Afraid of falling too hard, and getting hurt, and the thunderstorm outside her window.

So she sat on window sills and rooftops and lived through the pages of books, safe and sound.

When they met, their eyes ran into each other's for a second, maybe less.
From then, they wrote to each other. Letters full of their future plans and hopes and beliefs and feelings on topics, but never for each other. She read them over and over before replying carefully and articulately; safe and soundly.

He read hers, in a dark basement with eyes watching even when there were none, and replied slowly and carefully, with dictionary words and exaggerated truths.

Three years later, their eyes trip stumbled on to each other's again, but this time they wouldn't let go.

When she told him they couldn't be together because she was too afraid, of falling too hard, and getting hurt, and the storm outside her window, he told her,

"Don't be afraid, I'll catch you if you fall. I'm painted with the juice of lightning, the thunderstorm won't hurt you."

All writing (C) Grace McConnell. Image Source.

Dandelion Wine

Hello Readers! I hope your Wednesday goes well, and if not, then quickly :) Today I wanted to feature a book I'm reading, which is actually one of my favorite books in the known universe, called Dandelion Wine, by Ray Bradbury.

Ray Bradbury is my very favorite science fiction writer. He also wrote Fahrenheit 451, and The Illustrated Man, which are another two of my favorites. I love Dandelion Wine for completely different reasons than those though. This book is warm and dewy and just perfect for summer reading. To prove it, here is an excerpt.

(If you don't read it, I won't feel bad heh. Sci-fi is not for everyone, and there will be an outfit post coming soon :)

 Chapter One
It was a quiet morning, the town covered over with darkness and at ease in bed. Summer gathered in the weather, the wind had the proper touch, the breathing of the world was long and warm and slow. You had only to rise, lean from your window, and know that this indeed was the first real time of freedom and living, this was the first morning of summer.


Douglas Spaulding, twelve, freshly wakened, let summer idle him on its early-morning stream. Lying in his third-story cupola bedroom, he felt the tall power it gave him, riding high in the June wind, the grandest tower in town. At night, when the trees washed together, he flashed his gaze like a beacon from this lighthouse in all directions over swarming seas of elm and oak and maple. Now . . .


"Boy," whispered Douglas.


A whole summer ahead to cross off the calendar, day by day. Like the goddess Siva in the travel books, he saw his hands jump everywhere, pluck sour apples, peaches, and midnight plums. He would be clothed in trees and bushes and rivers. He would freeze, gladly, in the hoarfrosted icehouse door. He would bake, happily, with ten thousand chickens, in Grandma's kitchen.


But now-a familiar task awaited him.


One night each week he was allowed to leave his father, his mother, and his younger brother Tom asleep in their small house next door and run here, up the dark spiral stairs to his grandparents' cupola, and in this sorcerer's tower sleep with thunders and visions, to wake before the crystal jingle of milk bottles and perform his ritual magic. He stood at the open window in the dark, took a deep breath and exhaled.


The street lights, like candles on a black cake, went out. He exhaled again and again and the stars began to vanish.


Douglas smiled. He pointed a finger.


There, and there. Now over here, and here . . .


Yellow squares were cut in the dim morning earth as house lights winked slowly on. A sprinkle of windows came suddenly alight miles off in dawn country.


"Everyone yawn. Everyone up."


The great house stirred below.


"Grandpa, get your teeth from the water glass!" He waited a decent interval. "Grandma and Great-grandma, fry hot cakes!"


The warm scent of fried batter rose in the drafty halls to stir the boarders, the aunts, the uncles, the visiting cousins, in their rooms.


"Street where all the Old People live, wake up! Miss Helen Loomis, Colonel Freeleigh, Miss Bentley! Cough, get up, take pills, move around! Mr. Jonas, hitch up your horse, get your junk wagon out and around!"


The bleak mansions across the town ravine opened baleful dragon eyes. Soon, in the morning avenues below, two old women would glide their electric Green Machine, waving at all the dogs. "Mr. Tridden, run to the carbarn!" Soon, scattering hot blue sparks above it, the town trolley would sail the rivering brick streets.


"Ready John Huff, Charlie Woodman?" whispered Douglas to the Street of Children. "Ready!" to baseballssponged deep in wet lawns, to rope swings hung empty in trees.


"Mom, Dad, Tom, wake up."


Clock alarms tinkled faintly. The courthouse clock boomed. Birds leaped from trees like a net thrown by his hand, singing. Douglas, conducting an orchestra, pointed to the eastern sky.


The sun began to rise.


He folded his arms and smiled a magician's smile. Yes, sir, he thought, everyone jumps, everyone runs when I yell. It'll be a fine season.


He gave the town a last snap of his fingers.


Doors slammed open; people stepped out.


Summer 1928 began.

{The foregoing is excerpted from Dandelion Wine By Ray Bradbury. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced without written permission from HarperCollins Publishers, 10 East 53rd Street, New York, NY 10022}

I think that is just stinking lovely :) How completely it captures the invincibility and magic of being a kid in the summer time. I hope your day goes well, readers. I hope you have time to run barefoot in wet grass and pick sour apples. This is a truly beautiful life we lead, and I sincerely hope your day goes accordingly.

picture credit.

Preserves

I wanted to share with you guys today this little piece of writing a did a few months ago which was the inspiration for the blog you see here:

I store your facial expressions up in mason jar memories and organize them on my shelf. Your finger creases and forest brown eyeflecks and soft rosy red ear curves. I have it all. Alphabetized and organized, folded, stacked, and preserved like spring peaches and zuccini and yellow white corn cob kernels. I'll never miss a thing, I'll never go hungry.

Image (C) piccsy.com



The Glass Eye

Happy Monday Readers!

I hope its been a good one, or at a least mostly tolerable one in my case :P

My newly tatooed arm is huge and swollen up to Popeye proportions, so I haven't been able to take pictures or anything for a new blog post. I did, however, discover an amazing website for artists called Odosketch. Its super fun and I freaking love how all of the tools look so realistic. If you enjoyed Artpad's sketching tool, you neeeed to check this out!

I wish I had a tablet to use with it, but its still pretty fun and versatile with just a mouse. I ended up illustrating a little story I wrote a while back using it, and unfortunately blogger won't embed the file, but if you want to watch it, follow this link.

 It goes a little bit fast, but the words are:

The girl with the glass eye loved him; the boy in the hospital bed across from hers.

He flew her paper cranes when the doctors weren't looking.

He held her hand the night she couldn't see.

Hopefully my arm gets back to normal soon and I can continue regular update posts. Thank you so much for reading, and have a beautiful night.

Fever Kisses

This has been a lovely gray Sunday. Despite the rain, and the gloom, my heart is warm and full :)

I got to spend, not one, but TWO movie date nights with my Yeti already.

(By the way, Thor is great, Priest is gory, but great.)

I also got a shopping/movie/pizza day with my sweet sister in law :)

I don't have much to blog about, so I'll just leave you with some writing I've done recently and some outfit pics:

Basically everything above was from target. Target cowl, dress, cardigan, necklace, tights. Antic Shoes.

My Papa, he swore he could track daddy long legs by their scent. "Just like vinegar." He'd say. Daddy long legs are the most poisonous spiders on the whole Earth, but they were made without fangs to inject it. I can see it in his eyes sometimes. Like when I pierced my belly button with a sewing needle or stayed out too late with a boy. I saw the most poisonous venom on Earth behind his eyelashes but he just shook his head and walked away, perfuming the air with disappointment, and the slight scent of vinegar.

She kissed his fever on the throat- the mouth, hips, the tympanic membrane. She kissed his fever into the bright orange light of early morning. She kissed in slow, small circles, like chain links, with the fresh wet cold of night grass. She left out the window in an afternoon storm.

Thank you for reading, feel free to comment and follow. Have a great night :)

A Great Need

I just wanted to post a quick update and a little bit of writing for you on this cloudy grey Monday. The Yeti and I have been doing well. Time spent with family and friends and of course, the deepest companionship of all- our God, have been keeping us in high spirits. Honestly though, ones of my most favorite and comforting things of all is just resting and relaxing in my big Yeti's arms! He's everything I've ever wanted, all rolled up in one handsome package. :) Or as my Grandma called him, a tall glass of water, tehe.

And oh boy, was she right!

I wanted to post a little piece of writing I did, in honor of him:

And the curve of your collar bone makes me ache for things I've forgotten, like my Grandma's willow tree and all of the flowers that have died in vases right in front of me and windy home videos with no sound. It makes me remember why I ever held your hand or wrote your story into mine, thoughtfully and completely, like a bright stained tapestry made with tired hands and sold out of a trunk at the grand canyon. After my Grandpa died, fuzzy and dry and repenting, my Grandma had a man come cut that weeping willow down to just the stump, because she was tired of mourning.

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Also, I found just the most gorgeous picture of a nautical sailor Matroyshka doll that I just love and NEED as a tattoo. I've inquired with the artist to see if I have permission to use it as a tattoo design, but have heard no response yet, fingers crossed!

It was found here: Sacred Stitches.

I've always loved those little nesting dolls and recently, me and my adorable sister-in-law started painting our own sets of them from Hobby Lobby. Mine is all Yeti and the Vamp themed (of course :P) and I'll be sure to post pics as soon as I'm done!

Thank you (to Neptune and back) for reading, I hope you enjoyed your time here. Feel free to comment and follow, and have a great Monday :)

I'll leave you with this gorgeous poem by Hafiz:

Out
Of a great need
We are all holding hands
And climbing.
Not loving is a letting go.Listen,
The terrain around here
Is
Far too
Dangerous
For
That.

 ♥