BEM Day 5. Whatcha think?

So I've been jamming on this novel I've been writing lately and want to show you, reader, some of it. You should feel special. Here's the premise:

6 kids are pronounced dead but secretly alive and hidden in a lab in NYC. They're given super abilities. Now they have escaped from the lab but need to get back at the man who hurt them. One of them is a mole for the man. One is bent on destruction of the man regardless of circumstances. One is emotionally scarred and fragile. All are lost, confused, and legally dead. So here's an excerpt:

The two looked like a duck had just explained calculus to them. And, in their bewilderment, I sent this huge machine—I have no idea what it’s called or what it does—flying at them from across the room. They went down fast and hard. I was rather impressed with myself, actually. I’d been emotionally and physically drained and I could still do that with no problem. Amazing.

                  I yanked the IV from my arm, wincing, and cradled my broken arm next to my chest as I leapt up from the bed. Marcy’s face was bleeding badly and she was knocked out. Peter Taylor was trapped under the machine, unable to push it off of him. He was yelling for help but I, mercilessly, kicked him in the side of his head. I felt bad for a split second. Then I looked at my arm. Regret over.

                  As I entered the hallway, I heard more yelling by some familiar voices. One of the linebackers who frequently held me down was writhing on the floor in invisible pain.

                  “Where is Carter?” someone growled in an ominously dark voice.

                  “Don’t…know…didn’t…tell us…STOP!” screamed the linebacker, his voice breaking.

                  I tried to run, but my body still ached, so an awkward jog had to suffice.

                  And there he was. Tyler’s normally calm face was the picture of anger and revenge. He looked almost murderous.

                  “Ty?” I asked hesitantly.

                  His fierce expression broke when he saw me standing with a cast on my arm and shorts and a t-shirt. The linebacker relaxed, panting and dry heaving.

                  “Carter? Carter! Oh man. You’re here. You’re not dead. Guys! Hey, everyone, I found her!” Tyler yelled behind him.

                  Drew, Ella, Holly, and Grayson came running around the corner, Drew absently kicking some obscure nurse I’d never seen before to the side. They grabbed me in a hug and I winced, my arm being smashed, but I didn’t really care. They were here. They were here to save me. We were back together after nearly a month of sheer hell.

So that's that. Sparked your interest? I won't be offended if you say no. Okay, maybe a little. Yep. 

Yes, this is me cheating on the blogging every day thing. Shhhh, don't tell the blog police. 

Also, Carter is a girl. Not a guy. 

I am...

Listening to: "When A Heart Breaks" by Ben Rector

Looking forward to: All my graduation parties tomorrow. I think I have 4...

Procrastinating: Sleeping. I took a 2 hour nap earlier today

Thinking about: My grades. I really don't want to take any finals...I don't think I'll have to. That's a "Linley-getting-good-grades" win

Wondering: When I'm going to get more than 8 hours of sleep in a night...

Reflecting over: The words of this song. I'm pretty sure you need Jesus all the time, Ben. 

BEM Day 4. Let it fly.

Ever have those dreams where you feel like you're flying and then, all of a sudden, you just fall? And right when you hit the ground, your whole body practically convulses and your eyes fly open and your heart is pounding and you're sweating and then you're grossed out by your sweat and freaked out by the fact that your dream self just died.

Maybe that's just me, but I have those dreams kind of a lot. Probably once a month. Yeah yeah, in one falling dream per thirty sleeps is a pretty good record, but it's the unexpectedness that scares you. The jolt that brings you back to consciousness.

The part that annoys me, though, is not the fact that I'm from "falling". It's the fact that I don't know what I was doing before I fell, other than flying. So here's my wannabe dream. Here's what I want to have happen before the startling self-wakeup:


It's effortless.

Purely effortless.

A gentle but constant wind blows on your face as you carve out your own space in the sky, flying like you've been flying for years.

In reality, this is the first time you've ever taken on the air like this. You've skipped and hopped before, getting no more than six feet off the ground before you get pushed around by the wind or lose your stamina or, the worst, get scared.

But today, you decided that it was now or never.

You aren't exactly sure what made you make this decision. Maybe it's because you just want to prove to yourself that you can fight the wind and beat it. Maybe because you've been working out and want to test out your new strength in a real way (flying will do that). Maybe it's to conquer the fear that constantly lurks in the back of your mind.

You start to run, getting ready for take off. You are literally seconds from leaping into the air when you hear the doubts start taking over your mind.

You will fail it whispers in a ghostly voice. You will crash and burn. And no one will care.


Shaking your head, you try to get a song stuck in your head or recall a conversation...anything to get the voice to leave. But nothing is working.

Don't even try. You'll look like a fool.


Gritting your teeth, you try to block it out.

Failure it hisses. Weak, fearful, incapable.

The words cut like daggers and you trip over your own foot, looking like an idiot, and fall on your face. The voice was right--you do look like a fool with dirt all over your face. But you refuse to let this figment of your own imagination ruin this. You are determined. You will fly.

Getting back on your feet, you look ahead. You hadn't noticed this before, but you're on a dirt road somewhere in west Texas. It's one of those old state highways, the ones that just go straight for miles upon miles. It's the perfect liftoff place.

You start to run again. The song "Burn Out Bright" (by Switchfoot) is in your head now. It pumps you up, gets you excited and ready. Your legs are pumping under you and you feel like the ground is propelling you along, like it wants you to get airborne. You give one mighty leap and spread your arms out to the side like bird wings.

And just like that, you start to fly.

To get higher, you tilt your body at an angle and pull your arms to your sides. You're rocketing into the air. You feel invincible.

Who is the failure now? You think snidely and smile to yourself.

Deciding that you were high enough, you start to level out. The land squares of west Texas are visible and you really are flying. It's as easy as breathing. You feel free. Life is easier up in the sky. Closing your eyes, you feel peaceful and strong, like you could live in this moment forever and be happy. The sun warms your back and the wind pulls through your hair and tickles your outstretched arms.

Everything is right.


That's how I wish my dreams ended. There isn't that feeling of "Oh my gosh I almost just died" and the jolt is nonexistent. When you wake up from those, you know that you are very much alive because your heart is pounding so hard. But flying is being alive too.

Why can't we feel that alive instead of the scary alive?

But what do you think is more accurate to true life?


I am...

Listening to: "The Beat" by Ben Rector and then "Gravity" by John Mayer (the song changed)
Looking forward to: Getting in bed at a semi-reasonable hour
Procrastinating: Nothing. I don't have anything else to be doing (besides sleeping, but that doesn't count)
Thinking about: How I'm so intensely glad that tomorrow is Friday
Wondering: If I'm going to get an interview for a scholarship I applied for.
Reflecting over: The song "Gravity". John Mayer speaks to my soul.

BEM Day 3. Suddenly overwhelmed.

So, I thought that I would have a chill night. I'm not taking an AP test in the morning. Senior year only has 21 days left in it. Life is good. No stress, right?

Wrong.

My mom informed me today that I would need to get all my pictures organized and put on a disk. It's 11:57 now. She told me this at about 10 tonight. Great, thanks Mom. So that's what I've been up to. And then I have a math quiz tomorrow and homework (since when do I have homework?). Life all of a sudden got a little crazy with all this senior stuff.

Color me overwhelmed.

On an more upbeat note, my friend finally posted a video to my Facebook page--something he's been promising to do for about 4 months now. His excuse was that he was in a cast and couldn't, therefor, hold a camera. Lame. But he got out of the cast and posted this hilarious video to my profile. If you happen to be friends with me on the book of faces, check it out. Then you will understand why he and I are friends. And today during 180, we had a great worship session. I love 180.

But now that it is slightly past midnight and I have a quiz to study for, I shall end this post before the ramblings become even more painful.

I am...

Listening to: "Fight Another Day" by Brandon Heath
Looking forward to: Being done with graduation party stuff
Procrastinating: Studying for my quiz
Thinking about: How comfortable my bed is and how I'm excited for sleep
Wondering: How did senior year go so impossibly fast?
Reflecting over: The song "Jesus Paid It All". Good stuff, right there.

Blog Er'ryday May. BEM. Day 2. Throwback music thoughts.

So, about a million years ago, my friend burned me this CD with a bunch of FM Static songs on it. FM Static was big in the late 1990s/early 2000s. Good stuff. Early tonight, I had to run a few errands (okay fine, so I was getting the new Rick Riordan book and contact solution...those are in order of priority level) and was listening to the CD. Like it I said, it was probably the first mix CD I ever got. Ancient history, back in the days of 6th grade and fashionable Hollister shirts.

But, as I jam, there was this one line that really stuck out to me in the song "Crazy Mary". The line is "she can run, but let's teach her how to walk away." Translation: She can run away from whatever she thinks is bad for her, but she can't say "no" to (insert destructive action here).  I can't lie, it sticks out for some reason. I've heard this song a hundred times or more but I never really payed attention to that line. And it's the most important line in the song.


If we're honest with ourselves, we realize that we run from too much. I run from rejection. If I feel like there's a chance I'm going to get hurt because someone doesn't want to talk to me or hang out or whatever, I flee like the little girl I not-so-secretly am. I haul tail away from that relationship and pull myself back--fast. Some people run from truth; they're afraid that someone will tell them what they're doing is seriously wrong, so they try to escape. Others run from themselves. They put on the smile and pretend that everything is all hunky-dorey but are torn up inside. Yeah, I speak from experience. The truth thing, not so much. But trying to run from myself...uh, yes. Welcome to all of middle school and a fair portion of high school. Pesky insecurities. Always cropping up.

So I know how to run. Metaphorically. Spiritually. Emotionally. Not so much physically.

But teaching someone how to walk away? That's something entirely different.

Think about it. "Running away" has a fairly negative connotation, does it not? If they run from their fears, they're cowards. But if they "walk away" from something that's hindering them, that gets a big thumbs-up from people. Like, "Oh, good! He's walking away from the alcohol!" or "Look at her! She's walking away from that boyfriend--he's been so bad to her." We're praised for that, and rightfully so. Stepping away from something, anything, like that is an accomplishment. But, as we all know, some people can't stop.

Everyone says you need to walk before you can run. I disagree. Sometimes, you have to sprint before you can slow down. When babies learn to walk, they normally don't take slow, measured steps, do they? Absolutely not. They take rushed, clumsy steps. Once they can stay on their feet, they rarely slow down to walk. Either they run or they stand. There's no in-between.

Humans are runners. We book it when something we don't like is going down. We don't like to walk away from something that we like but that may not be good for us. It's against our nature.

The end.

I am...

Listening to: "Crazy Mary" by FM Static
Looking forward to: Actually reading Rick Riordan's book instead of just staring at it on my nightstand
Procrastinating: Taking a shower...again.
Thinking about: Percy Jackson. Yes, the book character. I just finished rereading the series and came close to tears. He's on the mind.
Wondering: Why it takes me so long and so much motivation to just get in the dang shower.
Reflecting over: Senior year. 23 more school days until graduation.

Belated goal. Blog Er'ryday May.

So you might remember my fail of a 30 day blog challenge a few months ago. The idea of the challenge was to blog every day--not just whenever I felt like blogging. That kind of defeated the purpose. I've never been good with following directions that weren't vital.

Yes, I realize that I'm rambling.

Anyways, I have decided to make my own blog challenge to consistently blog every day for all of May, which I'm calling Blog Er'ryday May. Because I'm such a gangsta. You know, those white girls in the middle-upper class. So gangsta. Watch out for my crew and me. We'll cut you. I make that threat all the time. Have I followed through with it? Nope. My cutting someone consists of slapping them weakly because I don't actually want to hurt anyone. That would be mean.

This is how I blog after I watch Toby Turner on Youtube, apparently. If you don't know who Toby Turner is, I would highly recommend you look him up. He's hilarious.

Alright, this idea of blogging every day with a catchy name for this daily blog was inspired by my friend Sarah. Check out her blog too! http://sincerelysarahliz.blogspot.com/ and I really liked that idea of self-driven blogging with your own topics that come to you in the spur of the moment. Then at the end of every day, she had a consistent count of something. So I'll do that too, because it sounds cool.

Today's post? Explaining the next posts for the rest of May. Kind of a strange topic: blogging about blogging. Roundabout? Yes. So here's where we begin, blog readers (should any readers exist). With a potential misadventure.

And now for the constants:

I am...

Listening to: "For the First Time" by The Script.
Looking forward to: Tomorrow's field trip to a Renaissance Festival with the middle school I student teach at.
Procrastinating: Taking a shower.
Thinking about: How the dentist was rough with my teeth and now they hurt.
Wondering: If Rick Riordan's Throne of Fire is going to be good. It's coming out tomorrow!
Reflecting over: "Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you." 1 Peter 5:7

NOsama. Wow.

9 years, 7 months, and 20 days ago, America changed.

Permanently.

I was a third grader in Mrs. E's class when I'd learned that some people had crashed into these two buildings in New York. I'd watched the news with my mom and she gently explained what happened. To a  nine-year-old, this was an unthinkable act. It gave me nightmares. When my dad went on his next business trip, I begged him not to leave, tears streaming out of my eyes.

I'm now 19 years old. I'm leaving for college in 4 months. The date of today is May 1st, 2011. Today is the day I found out that Osama bin Laden is dead. The man who had caused my nightmares. The man who orchestrated an event that scared and scarred America.

He's dead. The US is in possession of his body. From what I've heard, it was some ambush mission or something that got him.

This doesn't end the war. But it is a morale boost for our troops. Though bin Laden wasn't a vital role in al Qaeda anymore, he was still a player. And now he's dead. This is fairly heartless, but I've only got 2 more words for you on the subject:

Good riddance.

So long, small group.

Tonight was my last night to ever have 86:12 small group. 

86:12, the youth choir I am a part of and have been a part of since 6th grade (7 years of pure awesome), has been a major part of my life. In eighth grade, we started doing this thing called small groups where it was just your gender and grade. We had an hour devoted to it every Sunday night and it was a time for people who were going through your same deals came together. 

Though I'm not necessarily tight with everyone in my grade, we're all definitely friends. There's no question about that. I love all of those girls dearly and being able to be in a safe environment with them so we can talk about life has been such a blessing the past 5 years. We've all rolled with the tide and been blown by the wind. We can relate to each other and that's what has helped us along. I don't know how I would've gone through high school without my small group. 

But tonight, May 1st, 2011, was my last night in small group. 

When I thought about it initially, I was kind of sad and a little nostalgic but I figured I would be okay. You know, I would get all emotional and weepy and stupid like I have a tendency to be. Uh, yeah right. Right when our leader suggested that we all pray, I objected and then started crying. It wasn't bawling or anything, but enough for a few tears to fall and a tissue to be required. The awkward part? No one really joined me in crying. The not awkward part? We all kind of started laughing, which lightened the mood. Then the topic changed and the thing was forgotten.

But I'm still kind nostalgic about this. And I'm not really sure how to deal with it. Good bye, 86:12 small group. Sunday nights will never quite be the same without you for a while. I'll miss y'all. A lot.