The Riverwoods

In the city of Provo, there lies this tiny community of shops called the Riverwoods. It's this gorgeous place with cobblestone roads, fountains, shops, benches, and a pavilion where live bands play and poetry slams are held. To be honest, I think it's a beautiful place. I got pictures from inside the toy store, but then the phone died. Some day I'll get pictures of the Riverwoods.

Monopoly

I had the fun experience of playing Monopoly with my little brother Owen today. He was so confident because he had won my mother every time they played... well little did he know that I was the master, obviously.

This is what I won by.

Should I feel bad? .....Nah.

Short Story: Larnwick's Lunatic

They thought he was a raving lunatic.

They were right.

He stayed in his house most of the day, peering out of his windows behind heavy, dark curtains, intently watching the people and cars passing his home. Every night at exactly 11:11, the creaking sound of the rusted hinges of his old, chipped door echoed eerily in the neighborhood. He tiptoed down the road, whispering quietly to himself in words that made no sense to the residents of Larnwick.

“That man is insane,” a husband would say to his wife.

“Stay inside,” she would tell the children.

“He’s a demon,” the children would tell their friends.

“He’s possessed,” the friends would tell their parents.

But, reader, he was not possessed--he simply knew more than they did. He knew that Larnwick was not the quiet little town the residents thought it was. He knew that those tiny, pristine houses didn’t all hold happy, nosy neighbors. He knew that the city, however peaceful it seemed (besides the rivals between neighbors of course) was hardly peaceful at all.

Magic of Bookstores

Today I went on an adventure to the bookstore with my cousin Natalie to embark on yet another writing marathon. We wrote for about half an hour before I got distracted... By what, you may ask? By these two.

I noticed this guy, who looked nervous. He walked around the same bookshelf about eight times. I couldn't stop watching him. He was tall and young looking, with dusty brown hair and a hint of stubble on his slim jaw. He kept pacing around this one bookshelf and I was trying to figure out why. He looked nervous--biting his lip, twisting his hands, shifting his weight when standing still.

And then I noticed why.

There was a girl. She was sitting in a chair by the bookshelf, completely absorbed in her notebook she was scribbling frantically in, and she hand't noticed the stranger glancing at her. She had blonde hair that curled at her chin, black framed glasses, and she was fairly petite.

I watched curiously as the man walked yet another lap around the bookshelf, then cautiously approached her. I heard him say, "Hi... can I sit here?"

Her head snapped up, a distracted look in her eyes that I recognize and reciprocate when writing. "Yeah, yeah," she waved him to sit, then continued writing.

Immediately I knew this was the start of a romantic novel.

I discreetly watched--though I'm sure if I blatantly stared it wouldn't make a difference, since this poor man was so enchanted by this mysterious writer.

He sat down and tapped his fingers on his knee for a moment, then launched into a question. "What are you writing?"

I smiled to myself. This, surely, would work out well, for what better question is there to ask a writer than "what are you writing"?

She turned her head slowly to look at him, shock clear on her face. "Just... a story.." she hesitated to answer.

"What is it about?"

Oh, I thought to myself, this is going to end very well indeed.

She paused, as if wondering whether or not to let her soul be bared to this stranger. "I could go on for hours," she finally said. "I don't want to waste your time."

"That's okay," he said. "I don't mind."

"I'm sure you do," she mumbled, then turned back to her notebook.

He sat in stunned silence, obviously searching his mind for what to say next--he so desperately wanted to keep talking to this girl. His eyes wandered to her notebook, and, with a sudden pop of excitement, he gushed, "That map is incredible!"

She blushed a pretty rose color and handed him the book. "You like it?"

"It's awesome!" He said, turning the pages gingerly as if they might rip with the slightest twitch of his slender hands.

With a deep inhale, she gathered her courage and blurted, "My main character was born there." She pointed onto the paper.

The man scooted his chair closer to hers and they continued talking for a while longer, mostly about her story. The way he looked at her almost made me blush to watch, as if it were in an intimate moment that should be shared between them without curious onlookers. It was if in those few moments, he had fallen completely in love with her. He gazed on her with complete adoration and admiration, soaking in everything she said.

At this point I sighed, an involuntary smile creeping across my lips.

The man jumped suddenly as his phone buzzed. He took it out and grimaced at the screen. "I have to be somewhere," he explained to the girl.

My heart sank for them. Was this another sunken ship?

She looked crestfallen, but she soon brightened. "Here," she said, tearing out a page from her notebook. "Here's my number. Call me when you can, okay?"

I had to hold back a squeal of delight.

His face lit up. Goodness it was adorable. He took the paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He put his hand boldly over hers on the armrest of the chair and said, "I'll call you as soon as I can." He then departed with the biggest grin on his face.

It is times like this that rekindle my hope and admiration for love, and the paradoxical gentle power it possesses.


(P.S. - I'm already writing the novel about them, don't steal it please) :)

Youth Conference

I was at Youth Conference last week, and I don't have a lot of pictures yet (the leaders haven't sent them yet) but I do have this one.

So yeah that was pretty fun. We had a Hobbit themed Youth Conference. That's how freaking fabulous we are. In case you can't tell, I'm the smallest person there, in bright red shorts and a hoodie that almost swallows me.

Youth Conference was really fun, though :) We stayed in a SUPER nice place--like with beds and showers *happy cheer*. We played games, and went swimming and boating on the lake, and we went horseback riding (I think I'm pretty good at horseback riding except for the time that my legs weren't long enough to get over the horse and I got stuck while trying to get off). It was so much fun, and the food... oh gosh the food. :) I'm so glad I got to go!

Cold to the Point of Hot

So it rained. And me and Carly, being the fabulous darlings that we are, determined the flooded cul-de-sac would be perfect for absolutely soaking each other. This woman (who is currently sitting next to me) is quite possibly one of the strangest creatures on the planet, with the best laugh that's so ridiculously contagious. She's literally sitting next to me screeching about her "water bending powers" in all the pictures. Gosh I love this girl.

Love

This Korean artist named Puuung illustrated what love looks like. And, well, just looking at these makes me really happy. I feel like when we think of love, we think of those dramatic fairy tale happenings--daring deeds, lilting letters, terrifying trials--when really the greatest love is found in daily life.

Writing Spree

I recently returned from a writing spree at my local Barnes and Noble (aka my HEAVEN), and now I smell like coffee and books. I think sometimes, when writing, it's best to have a change of scenery. I mostly write in my bedroom, and as much as I love my room, it's nice to write some place else. Writing in different locations creates more inspiration. You can only draw so much inspiration from one place, and moving from location to location creates that sense of adventure and it exposes you to a wider range of inspiration.

While at Barnes and Noble, I purchased a book which is quickly becoming my favorite: The World's Greatest Love Letters, compiled by Michael Kelahan. It's a compilation of love letters written by people such as Mary Queen of Scots, Edgar Allen Poe, Henry VIII, Victor Hugo, and many more, in time periods ranging mostly from the early 1600s to the late 1800s. Each one is as lilting and soft as poetry. I found it odd that I could relate most definitely to the letter written from Thomas Otway to Elizabeth Barry ca. 1678. It's hilarious and I admit it sounds exactly like me--talking about how love is such an inconvenience. It's funny how writing is so applicable even hundreds of years after it was written. Writing in and of itself is an eternal concept, one that stretches into the infinities.

Gatsby

I had the privilege of watching The Great Gatsby last night. I must say it's a beautiful movie, with stunning costumes, actors, sets, and cinematography. I also must say that I would love to live in Gatsby's mansion.

Just take a moment and appreciate that stunning, gorgeous house. Whoa. Some day--whether it be on earth or in heaven--I will abide in such a place as that.