A Garden full of quotes :)

Many of these I have written down over the years because I love them so much, but a few I just recently stumbled upon. They just made my day better...
Sometimes I could go for hours reading quote after little saying and it never grows old. Enjoy!

Substitute "damn" every time you're inclined to write "very;" your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be. ~Mark Twain

When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen. But if you have not a pen, I suppose you must scratch any way you can. ~Samuel Lover, Handy Andy, 1842

I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotions. ~James Michener

Everywhere I go I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them. There's many a bestseller that could have been prevented by a good teacher. ~Flannery O'Connor

Ink on paper is as beautiful to me as flowers on the mountains; God composes, why shouldn't we? ~Terri Guillemets

A synonym is a word you use when you can't spell the other one. ~Baltasar Gracián

One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment. ~Hart Crane

I'm back....

There is something about typing my thoughts down on a screen instead of wring with pen and ink on paper, that blocks my mind and causes havoc on my brain. I don’t know if there’s a disconnect between the motions my hand make as I write or the lack of them as I type, and it is something I'm working on conquering.

How does one accomplish this? I wish someone would tell me. Lately I’ve been struggling with writing even a little bit. I feel no deep longing to write and this worries me. I know that good writing takes practice and the strength to sit and put words down on paper, even when you’re not feeling creative in the slightest. Out of hard work comes masterpieces.

To me this quote explains a lot.

Writing is easy: All you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. ~Gene Fowler

Lately this is how I feel all the time. It’s almost been easier for me to write essays and such, than it for me to put down in writing my thought’s or recent happenings in my life.

So this right here is me dragging words out of my throat, can’t you tell? I know I can.

Until another time, and I promise it won’t be so long.

Love your tired college student.

Join us for Irish Step classes this Fall!

It's official! My sister and I have finally found a studio to begin teaching Irish step classes in! It's not only affordable and nearby but also has the most amazing space I've seen in a studio!
From the outside it's looks like a small town fifty year old storefront house, with a little shop down below. The blue paint is peeling, the stairs are just a little bit rickety but the studio upstairs is beautiful!

Fall classes here we come!

Making summer memories, left , right and in the water.

The end of August is almost in sight now. Once September starts everything will be more rushed and crazy with the start of school teaching Irish step and teaching Sunday school at church! I'm worried that I won't be able to schedule everything.

But why think about that right now? I think I'll just daydream about the rest of this month and all the last minute parties I can plan! We never really did that beach party I wanted......

But then I guess it's the little things that make summer so special.

Like Going to the Russian evening service with a bunch of friends and then finding out at the last minute it's canceled, so instead, heading to the park to walk along the waterfront, but ending up, kind of on accident but mostly on purpose, jumping into the pacific ocean with all of our clothes on.

Or maybe a special moment could be swimming at Whatcom falls and accidentally going over one of the falls and then watching in wonder as a certain sister decides to do the same, only on purpose. Only then we were stuck and couldn't get out. Boy are we stupid!

Just for the record both of these incidents happened in the past week.

Ever wonder how boring summer would be without water?

August Rain

I wrote this about three years ago,on a very wet and rainy day in march. Spring seemed a long time coming, I was babysitting kids that didn't really need me in really dirty house and I was in a bad mood. And then creativity hit me! or maybe I was so bored I just started to write and ended up with this.

Anyways, it was originally titled Springtime, but after today, I'm thinking of changing the title to August Rain.... or something like that.



Constant is the rain,
sinking my spirits down
into the muddy ground
like a limp leaf.

Looming are the clouds,
colorless and steady,
promising a future of
wetness and cold.

Dark are my thoughts,
ready to murder anyone
who says a sunny word
to me.

Dead is the sibling,
the one that disregarded
his sisters warning.


Don't worry. A run in the rain and a nice cup of tea afterwords cheered me up :)

One of my favorite poems.

Piano, my silent

mother,

I can touch you,

you are cool

and smooth

and willing

to stay with me

stay with me

talk to me.

Uncomplaining

you accept

the cover to your keys

and still

you

make room

for all that I

place

there.

We close our eyes

together

and together find that stillness

like a pond

a pond

when the wind is quiet

and the surface

glazes

gazing unblinking

at the blue sky.

I play songs

that have only the pattern

of my self in them

and you hum along

supporting me.

You are the

companion

to myself.

The mirror

with my mother's eyes.


~(Taken from) Out of the Dust,
by Karen Hesse

These are words.

The shiny black cover of a new notebook, lures me, from its place on the bed.

I sniff its delicious newness with delight while slowly I turn the pages.

Stories flood my head, vivid pictures and tender poems,

mix with color descriptions and lonely poetry until they're all just a bunch of meaningless words.

I sift through it, untangling the jumbo. Then a story leaps out at me,
itching through my fingertips to be told.

I reach for the sharpened pencil, and chew on it's pink eraser.

Then I put the tip to the lined paper and watch with interest as my story unfolds on

to its hungry pages.