All I Ever Wanted

All I Ever Wanted

8:34 PM

“We have to wait half an hour before taking another one!”

“Screw it—I declare it to be half an hour right now!”

It is the summer of 2015, and my parent’s living room is filled with whoops and hollers. Nobody refutes Jaxie’s rebellious break to the rule we all set a couple hours ago. We outta take it slow. We’ll take shots every 30 minutes and mixed drinks in between, with minimal vodka or rum—your choice.

I trail right behind my best friend Ashley’s heels, my cheeks flushed with the warmth spreading throughout my body, which isn’t only coming from the drink held loosely in my hand. It’s also coming from you holding my other hand, and not once do I let go. I catch myself glancing over my shoulder occasionally, as it to check for myself that you are still indeed there.

“Take it slow my ass,” Trevor mumbles across the kitchen as everyone piles around the granite island counter, where Jaxie messily pours everyone a generous shot. I reluctantly release your hand as I set my mixed drink down and pick up the warm glass of peach-flavored vodka. I look at all the faces around me, and I feel myself beaming. I love all these people. And I’m so happy that you’re here with us, to share memories that we’ll hopefully never forget.

It's been way too long since we’ve all gotten together again. It reminds me of high school. Being a sophomore in college, that time seems ages ago. Each time I look in the mirror, I’m reminded of how much I’ve physically changed since then. I’m over my semi-gothic phase: the heavy eyeliner, the dark clothing 24/7, the countless trips to Hot Topic. I’ve also lost a significant amount of weight my Freshmen year in college, so I’m no longer that girl who’s incredibly self-conscious of her body. I’ve still got curves, of course, and my thunder thighs, but as Meghan Trainor said, it’s all about that bass! And of course, whoever said high school is the best part of your life is debatable. So far, I like college immensely more than I did high school.

My eyes catch your dark brown ones as I swivel down the vodka. Around me, everyone whoops and hollers again, breaking off into warm-hearted laughter. Trevor makes his way back outside, turning the music back on with his phone. I hear the familiar thumping pop tune of Primadonna by Marina and the Diamonds through the thin walls of my parent’s house. Without them, this place seems so quiet. Or maybe it’s because we’re so loud. It doesn’t matter that we are; nobody can hear us since my parents living in the middle of nowhere. They’ve gone to their cabin in Colorado for vacation for a week, so I’ve got this entire house to myself. I fully intend on making full use of my time here.

You hold my hand again, and I immediately move closer, remembering how just over a year ago, you asked me to be your girlfriend in this very same room. The butterflies I feel fluttering in my stomach are nowhere near as intense as they were that day when you kissed my forehead, but that’s how I prefer it to be.

All I ever wanted was the world

I can't help but I need it all

The primadonna life, the rise and fall

9:25 PM

I have a new friend. It’s a bug, and I think it’s a he, although I’m not too sure. I’m also not sure what kind of bug he is, and although I’m not a huge fan of bugs, I’m not afraid or repulsed by them, either.

I’m crouching on the cold tile, vaguely hearing loud voices come from the backyard, where the pool is. But the bug stays there, right in the middle of the lines from the tile. Is he staring at me, too? Or is he too scared to move? I wonder what it’s like, to be that tiny in such a gigantic world. What do I look like to him?

“I’m not going to hurt you, little fella,” I murmur gently. “Would you like to go outside? Being inside isn’t all that great. Besides, the party’s moved out there!”

Fetching a piece of paper towel, I gently ease the bug onto the top and curl it like a small canoe. Then, I gingerly walk to the back porch and open the glass door. A naked Jaxie runs by me, and Ashley laughs from her place on the bench. We’re most likely both thinking the same thing.

How much you wanna bet Jaxie won’t actually do it?

Yet, she climbs into the hot tub stark naked, where Trevor and Sam wait inside. As I set down my new friend, I wonder where you are until I remember you went to get us pizza because when I’m buzzed, pizza is the best thing in the entire world, and except for Trevor, you’re the only one fit to drive anywhere because you refuse to drink.

“Hey,” Ashley’s voice sounds closer than I realize. When I straighten up, I see that she’s stripping out of her shirt. “You coming or what?”

“You know it,” I say with a crooked grin, already tugging on the hem of my purple shirt that I got once at a Renaissance Festival in Michigan with the words Damsel during the day, a wench at night! written in bold cursive over the front. As I manage to pull it off, I hear a low crunch where my feet are. Confused, I peer down to see the twisted remains of my friend.

“Sarah!” Sam’s voice carries from the hot tub. “C’mon. We’re playing truth or dare!”

10:55 PM

I feel hot despite the gusting winds of South Texas and me being waist-deep in pool water. I take a messy sip of vodka straight from the bottle before passing it to Sam, who takes several gulps.

You’re sitting next to me, but for once, I’m barely aware of your presence. The hot tub’s water is ironically cool and refreshing. My family hasn’t gotten it to work for the 10 years we’ve lived here. Maybe one day, it will. Or maybe not.

Only time can tell.

Someone winds up dropping the bottle, the pool water tainting the alcohol. But it’s the same color, so we continue passing it around. The world dips and spins, and I cannot stop smiling. Vaguely, in the background, I hear Trevor’s low music playing on his phone—the same song from earlier.

You say that I'm kinda difficult

But it's always someone else's fault

Got you wrapped around my finger, babe

You can count on me to misbehave

11: 25 PM

The world dips and spins, but not in a cool way. I can’t walk straight. My knees are banged and bruised from having the brilliant decision of jumping in and out of the pool. You’re holding my hand again, leading me down the hallway. We walk into the room I grew up in, and I instinctively glance over, expecting to find 20 pairs of eyes from One Direction posters peering back at me. But I only see a plain, white wall.

I remember how it was here, in this very room, where you said something so beautiful to me that it rendered me speechless. Or the time you gave me the handwritten note with countless ways to describe how you felt about me. We pass by my full-length mirror; I still recognize myself—my hazel eyes, flushed cheeks, and your tall stature. I’ve always loved your height. I felt like we matched like two puzzle pieces. That’s something that hasn’t changed.

You and I hold so many memories together. So many special moments. I want to make more, but not like those. Not as serious. I want us to be happy and carefree. As we lay on my twin-sized bed with your arms encased around me, I think to myself can you hold me?

The world dips and spins, but not in a cool way.

Side-to-side, up-and-down.

I can’t feel my lips, so I can’t feel you kissing me.

I’m suddenly so very tired.

And I'm sad to the core, core, core

Every day is a chore, chore, chore

When you feel of a whole more more

I wanna be adored

11: 45 PM

You’re not holding my hand. You’re holding my wrists above my head. Your hands are no longer warm but cold. Your touch is no longer gentle but demanding. Your smile is no longer friendly but malicious. I’m no longer giddy but scared.

I don’t know what’s happening.

I’m quickly reminded of the time you grabbed my forearm and drug me out of the theatre during One Act Play practice and into the empty dressing room, where you shoved me against the wall and pinned me to it. I remembered how tight your grasp was—my skin bruised later from it. Then you demanded to know why I was giving you the cold shoulder. I didn’t say, but I had been avoiding you because we were done and you wouldn’t leave me be. You were like a constant shadow, following my heel wherever I went. It creeped me out. But I’ve never heard your voice like that before, or seen the darkness in your eyes until that very moment. What happened to the sweet guy I rode the Ferris wheel with at the Jim Wells County Fair? For the first time, I felt afraid of you. Trevor, Ashley, and my other friend Jasmine banged loudly on the door, calling my name. Your lips moved rapidly. I couldn’t move. How did I forget that weeks later? You say sweet nothings, though your actions speak otherwise. And that’s all they are: sweet words with no authenticity.

And here, I can’t move. Not only because of what you’ve done to my wrists, but because my body is rendered incapable of moving properly. My head swims. Everything is numb and cold, so unlike before. My lips move, but I don’t know what I’m saying. Whatever it is, you have no reaction. You continue doing what you do.

I know why you refuse to drink. You told me years ago. So why are you doing this? Why do you find me in this state arousing?

Why aren’t you just holding me?

I don’t want this—I want my arms to be free—I want you off me—I feel like I can’t breathe—I don’t want you touching me. Not like this. Not as I am.

Primadonna girl fill the void, up with Celluloid

Take a picture, I'm with the boys

Get what I want 'cause I ask for it

Not because I'm really that deserving of it

12:35 AM

As I watch your truck disappear from the caliche road, I’m reminded of that day—the week after high school graduation, when you walked through that front door and left. But I feel nothing. You never did walk through the front door after that, until earlier this evening.

There is no in-between, I think to myself as I trudge back to the pool, seeing Sam and Trevor sitting on the side, deep in a conversation, and Ashley and Jaxie laughing about something. There are no transitions. This is all going by so fast…am I crying?

1:30 AM

I’m sitting in my parent’s bathtub with my knees pulled to my chest, sobbing. Beside me, Sam is telling me the story of Harry Styles and his pet chicken, which of course isn’t real. Normally the story makes me feel better when I’m drunk. But not this time.

My stomach aches and churns. I can’t get your face out of my mind. My wrists ache from your belt. I’m so tired. I don’t want to get sick.

“I promise you won’t throw up,” Sam tells me.

“Don’t promise her that,” Trevor says, crouching next to me with a towel in his hands. “She’ll feel better if she does, anyhow. C’mon, Sarah. It’s time for bed.”

The next day, everyone leaves by the afternoon, leaving me and Ashley to my parent’s house that is in the state of a disaster—the empty vodka bottles lying around on the counters, the peach-flavored one outside by the hot tub, empty pizza boxes littering the tables, and empty plastic cups discarded everywhere I look. I’m thankful my parents will be gone for another four days because it’ll take a while to clean this up. We’re quiet this morning, each exhausted and speechless from what happened last night.

Jaxie had thrown up this morning outside by the pool. When my mother called to ask whether I was feeding the dogs, I glanced out the window, saw one of them lapping at Jaxie’s remains of pizza, and calmly replied, “They’re eating great.”

For lunch, we drive into town to get some Dairy Queen. As Ashley pulls into the drive-thru, I send you a text.

Why?

I gaze out the window with hardened eyes as Ashley recites my order. It’s been a long time since I’ve sat in this drive-thru. And just as I’ve remembered, this Dairy Queen takes forever, despite us being the only ones here.

Each time I close my eyes, I see one scene and one scene only despite all the other muddled ones. You and I, in my childhood room.

From my lap, my phone vibrates.

Why what?

Why’d you do that when I was that drunk?

I told you to stop drinking. It’s not my fault you wouldn’t stop.

“I’ve got to hand it to Trevor,” Ashley mumbles when the familiar pop song comes on the radio. She leans forward to turn up the volume. “This song is catchy as hell.”

'Cause I'm a primadonna girl, yeah

All I ever wanted was the world

I can't help that I need it all

            I’m suddenly furious, my neck starting to turn red as well as my ears—my Irish blood boiling. My hands curl into fists. I want to throw my phone out the window. I want the images to be erased. I want to take back the night before. I want to never see you again.

            As the drive-thru opens with the employee handing out our drinks, I’m looking up the Texas state laws regarding legal consent.

            The Issue of Consent under Texas Law: Even when no force or threat of force is used, the defendant knows the alleged victim has not consented and is unconscious or physically unable to resist.

            He probably doesn’t know, I think to myself. That if someone is intoxicated, especially to the point where I was, they cannot give consent...but ignorance doesn’t excuse anyone from the law.

            As I take my first bite of the crispy, warm French fry, I remember a memory with my grandfather on my mother’s side of the family. I don’t remember what led to this conversation, but I’ll never forget his words. I always thought he was being paranoid and had an attitude about people. But the older I get, the more I realize how wise he truly is.

            “As a Pacific,” he told me, referring to my mother’s maiden name that was passed along his Italian mother’s side, “trust nobody except family or yourself. People will steal from you. Cheat you. Some people will knock you outta the way to get what they want, no matter how nice they may seem. So don’t give ‘em a chance to do it, you hear?”

            Ashley and I are driving back to my parent’s house, with a red Chevy truck going 55 miles an hour in front of us—25 below the legal speed limit. Typical rural Texas driving behavior. Ashley’s hands tighten around the wheel, her knuckles going pale from the tension. I look at the text again.  

            Was it my fault? Did I have too much to drink? I can’t remember what I said in my bedroom. I know how I felt, but did I properly vocalize that? I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but then we all went skinny dipping. Was that an open invitation for him to do what he wanted? Was I asking for it?

            Is it my fault?

            I never did text you back. And you never did text me back, of which I’m thankful for. It’s taken me years to come to this understanding, and it’s one that, like the memory, I will never forget. No matter what a woman is wearing, she never deserves being sexually invaded without proper consent. No matter what a woman says, it is not proper consent to touch her how you want when she’s intoxicated with alcohol. With a woman being in that kind of state, you are taking advantage of her. To this day, it boggles my mind how you even wanted that when I couldn’t even speak coherent sentences. It’s cowardice, I’ve told myself. And total lack of respect. Unfortunately, as a society we teach people not to wear certain clothes or not to drink too much, and instead we put the blame on the victims. We don’t spend enough time telling people to respect one another and treat each other the way you’d want to be treated. I did not ask for what you did to me. You were completely sober, and I was utterly drunk. You knew exactly what you were doing.

And as a Pacific, I will give nobody the chance to do that to me ever again. I hear you, Grandpa. Loud and clear.

            

Hózhó

Hózhó

My mother, my best friend named Jasmine, and our neighbor from back home in Texas named Linda, and I all waited at the mouth of the gondolas for the Telluride Off-road adventures to pick us up.  

My mother, who is deathly afraid of heights, seemed strangely pacified about the situation. All of us were surprised she even agreed to come along. When we called the jeep tour three days ago, we opted for the 2-hour tour guide called Seasonal Waterfall Tours, which according to the woman on the phone went through Ophir Pass, Tomboy Ghost Town, Alta Ghost Town, and Last Dollar Road. The first thing my mother asked her was how perilous the tour seemed to customers who were afraid of heights, and the woman reassured her that this was in no way a dangerous tour and that people with fears of heights reported that it never bothered them. 

The dark yellow jeep cranked to a stop in front of a store that sold highly expensive ski equipment and clothing. As kids and noisy families jostled around us, we all waited at the street curb to meet our tour guide. I had expected what I thought would be a mountainous man; the lower half of his face covered in a thick beard, with the build of a bear to step out of the driver’s seat. Instead, a lanky man opened the door, wearing a pair of slick sunglasses over his eyes and a tanned, scruffy cap hanging low over his forehead. From the passenger seat leaped out a dog with friendly, beady eyes but resembling much of his owner with his lanky, long legs, and overall stocky figure.  

Our tour guide introduced himself to us. His name was Herb, and his partner was called Rocky. Herb shook all our hands, and he had a crooked grin, and upon closer inspection, I noticed he had the barest hint of facial hair beginning to sprout along his sharp chin. The man was all muscle. I’ve come to notice that the men here in Telluride are not brawny like lumberjacks, but had figures that were gawky and thin. He clearly spent more time outdoors than inside a gym, working out on artificial machines. These were the real Colorado mountain men I had heard about--the ones who dared to ski the dangerous slopes of Colorado in the harsh winters and hiked the trails alongside those same slopes in the summer. Even driving on the road revealed how accustomed these people were to the gentle yet overbearing giants around them. No matter how hard me or any of my family tried going the speed limit, we were always too slow, and we always had someone trailing us close behind. We might as well wear a sign on the very back proclaiming we were from Texas and not used to the winding, hilly roads of southern Colorado.  

Herb warned us all that the ride will be bumpy. The jeep itself had seats on either side, benches, and they had yellow bars raised overhead, vertically, for if any of us wanted to stand up to look around, we could hold onto those to keep from falling out.  

There were no seatbelts. 

At first, the tour consisted of jarring historical facts. We sailed through the town, interwoven with the traffic of Telluride, maneuvering our way through the walking pedestrians. 

We passed by the sign in the middle of the town with its name written beautifully over the front and colorful flowers on all sides. 

Despite the cheeriness of its people, Herb told us that Telluride, like any other town or city, has a past seldom people knew about. This was hard to believe for me, because here in this cozy little town settled comfortably in a box canyon with a beautiful view of steep and towering, forested mountains surrounding it--it was hard to imagine anything bad happening. Telluride after all is nationally known not only for its ski resorts, but its pop culture, being featured in so many songs (by artists like Tim McGraw, Josh Gracin, Laura Marling, and Jake Own) and all its music festivals throughout its warm summers.  

But, Telluride was once a mining town. And today I quickly learned that all mining towns, without a doubt, had dark pasts. 

Herbs told us the start of Telluride’s discovery, being the pursuits of gold in the late 1800’s. Because of its isolated location, it took some time for its population to grow, despite the riches that were promised the moment John Fallon first allegedly discovered gold in Marshal Basin, which was above Telluride. Eventually, though, in 1878 the town was founded. Even with the disillusioning promises of gold, the area itself was rich in other minerals like zinc, lead, copper, and silver. As the population slowly began growing, everything changed with the emergence of Butch Cassidy and his gang known as the Wild Bunch. Here in Telluride, he robbed the San Miguel Valley Bank, which lay right off the main street, which was now called the Mahr Building. 

  And today I quickly learned that all mining towns, without a doubt, had dark pasts. 

As Herb told us all these exciting stories of a Western time in which Telluride was still young, I was shocked at all the excitement behind the robbers in search of the wealth than came with discovering gold. Even more unrest started, however, at the booming of mining towns. Though I noticed upon mentioning the labor disputes between the mining companies and the workers, Herbs changed the subject. 

“Property cost here is insane,” Herbs told us as we were nearing the outside of town. “Years ago, I used to say that you had to be a millionaire to live here. Now, I say you’ve got to be a billionaire.” He slowed the jeep down and directed our attention to our right, “Do you see that house right there? That is by far the most low quality house here in Telluride, but it’s on the market for over a million dollars.” 

Me and my mom exchanged mystified glances.  

“What about the workers?” My friend Jasmine asked.  

“Across town, near Bridal Falls, is where the worker sector is. The city’s got houses for workers like teachers and doctors, to make it more affordable to live here. Maybe I’ll take you guys by near the end of the tour.”  

Herbs took a thickly sloped road leading to a line of thick, green leaves with peering trunks that reached like claws over the road. We had to be mindful of these as to avoid being hit. Higher and higher we climbed, and soon, the road turned extremely bump. As we took a sharp corner, waving to a passing tour bus, the road turned into a narrow, rocky trail.  

My stomach churned. 

Beside me, my mother grew quiet. 

Meanwhile, Jasmine and Linda were talking animatedly. Often we’d hit a sharp bump that had us stumbling on our unsteady legs. I kept a death-like grip on the railing always, my knuckles turning white. I tried peering overhead to look for signs of bumps as to brace my body for impact. But most of the jarring ones came out of nowhere.  

Feeling my stomach churn with even more nerves, I sat down next to my mother and took out my lunch box, where I packed a light snack for myself. Chopped banana and peanut butter, for some quick carbs and some much-needed protein, since we had left so early from the cabin to arrive in Telluride, which was roughly 50 miles away from Delores, where our cabin was. Considering sloping up a higher elevation of 3,000 miles and perilous, sharp turns with no railings on the side of cliffs, the ride itself added up to an hour and twenty minutes. But now, as I chewed heartily on my snack, I realized how nice the roads were there rather than this trail. Sitting on the side of the cliff, as Telluride started appearing more and more like a speck of dots, the jeep tended to lean, and it felt as though it may roll over off the side. I had quickly lost my appetite, but I chewed on, trying to focus on the trail ahead rather than the deathly drop next to my right. 

We took several breaks during our climb. With Telluride itself being over 8,000 miles in elevation, we would climb up to 11,000 once we reached the Tomboy Ghost Town at the top. We still had about 2,000 more to go. During our breaks, we all got out to walk and stretch our legs. Rocky often bounded ahead of us, in search of anything interesting left on the trail, but he never ventured too far from Herbs.  

Despite the height, the views I saw were indescribable. No wonder the mountains of Colorado inspired many artists, from singers to painters, to writers and to photographers. The sleeping giants towered yet above us, untouched by man; it was an art I saw that was created from nature itself. The air, fresh and open, even though there wasn’t as much due to the higher elevation, was refreshing to me. Though walking a few steps up a slope made me breathless, it was all so awe inspiring with its tint of danger. Like a rose with thorns, the mountains were a sight to see, but it made me wonder how people traveled to the mining towns centuries ago, on horseback and with carriages. With terrible weather, too--it was horrifying to even imagine those mules trudging even in the snow, with the danger of avalanche constantly present on their journey.  

Harriet Backus’s personal account of living in the Tomboy Mine called Tomboy Bride: A Woman's Personal Account of Life in Mining Camps of the West depicted a woman who married a miner. Having to leave behind her former life, she moved in Telluride, where it took several years for her to adjust to the rigid landscape and harsh conditions of life. Living so far away from Telluride, the people living in Tomboy could only order groceries once a month, which had to be carried by mules--often items were forgotten or lost on the journey, and that was counting of the mules and rider arrived safely. There were no doctors in Tomboy, so if someone grew sick or a woman became pregnant, they had to make the perilous journey to Telluride. Pregnant women often went to Telluride anyway, for the lower elevation in town. Nonetheless, Backus’ account depicted how the women and men living at this high elevation, where farming was impossible, there was scarce, if any, hunting game, drew together to help each other survive.  

 Despite the height, the views I saw were indescribable. 

When we finally reached Tomboy, I was surprised at how green everything was. Due to the temperature growing significantly lower, I pulled on my red jacket halfway through the trip up, glad to have brought it like my mother had advised. There were other people parked near a bunch of shambles, and Herbs told us that those were the remains of the houses and stores of the town. When we passed by what used to be the convenience store, I was shocked to see inside the shambles were still forms of shelves, where items used to be stocked. 

Around us, we were surrounded by slopes of mountains. We could clearly see the treelines stop at a certain point, and there were still splotches of snow adorning the mountain sides. The vastness of the space around us was what really took my breath, as we all unloaded from the Jeep. My mother, who had resorted to getting on her knees in the middle of the journey, close to having a panic attack, seemed to be more collected now that we were no longer teetering on a cliff. It was quiet here, except for the voices of tourists. There weren’t many children, I also noticed.  

  

We all went separate ways, off to look at everything ourselves. Jasmine went to a small, trickling river stream, Linda went to check out the remains of buildings, and my mother and I went to look over where we just came--where miles away, was Telluride. I tried to imagine this place covered in snow. How did people do it? 

“It was a very harsh life up here,” Herbs was telling us. “With no dirt, people couldn’t even bury bodies. And they had trouble keeping everyone alive. With mice issues, they tried bringing cats, but the cats didn’t do very well with the elevation. The mining had the worst conditions, though. The companies looked for orphans to become miners because miners often died at an early age. So with them being orphans…” 

“They had nobody to really account to,” I murmured. 

“What a shame,” my mother commented.  

 “My mother, who had resorted to getting on her knees in the middle of the journey, close to having a panic attack, seemed to be more collected now that we were no longer teetering on a cliff.” 

“The Tomboy Mine sure didn’t last forever,” Herbs continued. “The people eventually realized this bit of land just didn’t have liveable conditions. Slowly, people began leaving. When everyone was gone, the mining company tried blowing up whatever mines were left. They didn’t like to keep track of their records with the labor disputes starting up in Telluride.” 

Rocky trotted past me and my mother with a huge stick in his mouth, his tail wagging excitedly. I sat down on a nearby boulder, seeing Jasmine’s petite form standing over by the river. Just standing. And looking. And listening. I didn’t want to move much, either. Not because of the elevation, but because I wanted to just take it all in as much as I could.  

A place unlivable, I thought to myself. Even to this day, as I’m back in South Texas, I keep thinking back to Tomboy Mine. The beauty of the wildflowers that you didn’t see in Telluride or Delores. The overreaching mountain peaks that stretched for the sky. The vastness of it all. I’ve heard stories of entire civilizations of people having to pick up and leave because of lack of resources. Recent studies discovered that it was decades of droughts that drove the Cliff Dwellers in Cortez, Colorado away from their entire civilizations, to be wiped off the face of the earth completely. For years we had no idea how they suddenly vanished, but now, speculations arose with some possibilities that have happened before.  

 As with the Cliff Dwellers, all these people here had hopes and dreams, of which now were mere shambles of buildings, crumbled remains of shelves and pottery, children’s toys. I can’t help but think of the challenges humanity is facing right now, due to climate change and 

human impact on our planet.  

The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) has spent years researching our climate and the past’s climate. In the past ten years or so, they have deducted that they were 90% certain humans were making an impact of the rate of climate change. Otherwise a naturally occurring process, humans are not the only ones affecting it. However, we are speeding up the process from thousands of millions of years to decades--which has never happened before on Planet Earth. The IPCC’s most recent conjecture, however, stated that they are 99% certain that humans are making an impact on the rate of climate change.  

They aren’t the only ones concerned, however. Institutes all over not only the United States but the world are coming together with speculations, research, data, and concerns for our future. NASA has come up with a prediction that by the year 2050, the world’s population will face long enough droughts that threaten our ways of life as of now. With the rising of the sea oceans due to the polar ice caps melting, many cities like Miami, Florida living on the coasts will be under water, which will in turn displace thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of people.  

All I can think about now is at the rate we are going now, can we someday end up like the Cliff Dwellers, or the people living in Tomboy? People who had soaring hopes and dreams, only to be forced to pick up everything and leave because the area was simply unlivable? I believe it’s not too late to change our way of thinking and our way of doing things. It’s only the matter of how many people want to do just that. 

April 20, 2017 UPDATE

Heya lovelies!

So, HAPPY 4.20!!!

For those of you who don't know what that means, google it. I'd put it on here, but once you see what it is, you'll know why!

Anyhow.

I wanted to give ya'll an update on my writing project. It's ALMOST completely written. It's divided into 2 parts, and since the 1st part has been done for quite some time, I've already had it gone through 2 rounds of VERY helpful beta reading for which I am eternally grateful for.

Seriously guys. Beta reading is a LIFE SAVER and such good experience if you want to beta read someone else's work, too.

I am so close to finishing the 2nd part that I can almost taste it. At this point, my project is also going to need a sequel. I'm not leaning towards it being a trilogy but I'll have to wait to see how far I can get in the second book. This project of mine is starting to develop into more complex ideas and themes, so this is why it requires a sequel. I'm not just forcing to do it that way to profit more on it--I know making sequels and trilogies is a major trend right now, I just don't want to have a 1,000 page novel in hopes of people having the courage to start reading it.

Ha.

I'm projecting to have the 2nd part finished and gone through two rounds of beta reading by mid-summer. Of course, this depends on how busy my beta readers are and whatnot.

My last, final round of beta reading is more for general thoughts. I literally give it to people I trust and ask them for honest feedback, like whether the book entertained them, if they see any typos. It's not heavy, dense work so it's not time consuming. I'm essentially asking them to read the book and let me know if they liked it. I want a reader's honest opinion.


Also, as a lasting note, I've had even MORE commissions done for the story! Check 'em out!

March is Women's History Month. So...

Rupi Kaur is a Canadian feminist poet, writer, and spoken word artist. She is popularly known as an "Instapoet" for the traction she gains from posting her poems online, with Instagram being her primary platform. She published a book of poetry and prose entitled milk and honey in 2015, which features themes of violence, abuse, love, loss, and femininity.

These short but powerful poems I have brought today are from this beautiful and riveting collection of poetry, which, if you haven’t had the opportunity to read, I highly suggest you check it out. You will not be disappointed.

Over this past Spring Break, I spent some of my free time watching a TV show called The Tudors, which loosely depicts the reign of King Henry VIII of England, even though most of it was filmed in Ireland. I had already watched the entire show before, but when I came back to it, I became enraptured again--and for a while, I couldn’t figure out why I loved it so much. Then I realized, it was the women. With all the suffocating confinements women were dealt at that time, the show never fails to get my blood boiling! Although after seeing how things used to be,I think it is good to look at where we’ve come and see where we are. But even so, we are in no way perfect. Even now there there are all kinds of standards for women. But the sad thing is that often times, it is women pitting against other women. Which leads me to Kaur’s next poem in milk and honey.

For those looking to self publish...

Let's get one thing straight to start off. In the world of publishing, book covers are VERY important. In indie publishing they are even more important because you are working to market your book. You don't have a big publishing house backing you up, so everything you do has to be even more concise otherwise. 

One thing I learned while publishing Twisted was how difficult it was to find an affordable but good quality book cover designer. Some designers specialize in ebooks, and when they say that and you are interested in print book design also, make sure they can do both. Ebook designs are different files than printed book designs. 

I eventually used ebooklaunch.com and was so impressed with their design for Twisted! I worked alongside an artist (oh gosh, I forgot his name) who worked alongside me to really get a feel for what my story is about before even starting to create the book cover. He kept me updated throughout the entire process, and on the first look, I was in love with the design he was going towards. They also do both ebook designs and print book designs! 

It was overall a wonderful experience! 

The quality of the stock photos were good. The artist's use of fonts were amazing. There was absolutely nothing I disliked about my book cover. People like Mark Coker, the founder of SMASHWORDS, Joel Friedlander, and Derek Murphy all have used ebooklaunch before and wholly endorse it.

And no, I am not being paid to say this. I just figured this is a great resources for indie authors who are on a budget like I was! And my last parting advise is to not go super cheap with your book cover! Remember, you are an indie author. Spending a little more on a cover will reflect on your royalties in the future when you are advertising your book! 

Here are some examples from their website's portfolio:

March 19, 2017

Hello, lovelies!

So, every Sunday I go grocery shopping. Normally I go in the afternoons so I can catch up on homework, any news stories, and work on any writing projects (if time allows), and of course--to catch a healthy breakfast! However, I woke up around 10 AM this morning feeling utterly energized, which is unusual! So, I took advantage of that and went grocery shopping much earlier than usual, and it was AMAZING! There were hardly any people, so I was able to get in there and get out in half an hour.

Talk about a productive morning!

I've also devoted much of my time today working on my writing project as well as reading over a friend's story that I'm helping to beta read. So, needless to say, it's been a calm and quiet Sunday for me. Tomorrow is back to school, and work, so I'm trying to soak in all this tranquility before all that comes into play again!

As of today, I have over 55,000 words written for my writing project. Do you know what this means?

THIS MEANS I AM ROUGHLY 73% FINISHED WITH THE MANUSCRIPT!

WHICH, I'M NOT GOOD AT MATH BUT I KNOW THAT IS MORE THAN HALFWAY!

My end goal is to have at least 75,000 words, but no more than 80,000 words. By then I'm going to have to figure out if anything needs cutting out or added. I'm also trying to contemplate whether I want to go the Indie route or try Traditional this time around. This entails doing even more research so I can consider all my options! I'm still new to the world of publishing, and so far it's been nothing but a hands-on lesson all around!

But I'm getting there!

Anyhow, I hope you are all having great Sundays!

All the love,
Sarah xx

5 Must-Dos for Creating Believable Characters

To me as a writer, the most difficult and most fun part of writing a story is creating the characters. Different writers go about all kinds of ways to bringing characters to life, and the awesome thing about writing is that there is no "correct" way of approaching anything. It's really up to you! However, I came across Brianne Toma's blog post about the things they do for characterization. It's very interesting, so I thought I'd share it with ya'll!

Source: http://briannetoma.blogspot.com/2015/10/5-must-dos-for-creating-believable.html?spref=pi

Designing Your Character

-Establish Goals and Motivations
-Prioritize Traits
-Believe The Lie
-Cue their "Aha" Moment

-Flesh Out the Face (and body...and hair)

Toma also has compiled some character template sheets, and I've recently started using these for characters in my writing project - and let me tell you, they are AMAZING. You can create your own based on Toma's template, or they've got tons out there on DeviantArt and any writing website, really. Toma also mentioned that they made this off of Scrivener, and for those who don't know what that is, it is a writing program for both Macs and Windows. Originally I heard my friend talking about it but she told me it is only for the Mac. However, I found out it was for Windows as well - you can do the free trial for 30 days, which is what I did, and after that you do have to pay for it. But it is such a helpful program, and I used it to brainstorm on my massive writing project before actually writing. Even when I did start writing, I used Scrivener because it helps encourage you to focus and limits distractions, and it keeps everything so organized, with you inputting notes, and it also has all kinds of character AND setting templates that you can check out! Overall, I highly suggest anyone at least give Scrivener a try!

Establish Goals and Motivations

This is foremost because this is your plot-driver. Your character is nothing without desire, and your book is plotless if the character isn't wanting enough to be motivated. Establish a concrete goal and figure out why they are motivated to achieve it. 

A motivation might be an over-protective family and the goal might be freedom to be their own person. 

I have a character who comes from an abusive household. She wants to be independent and do her own thing but her family restricts her. The motivation might also be the conflict. It depends and that's another subject. Focus!

Prioritize Traits

You don't want an info-dump to make the reader groan and toss your book aside (or over the fence...cough). Put your character in pieces throughout your story. What trait do you want to show first? Choose wisely. The first trait is the one that'll stick to them the entire book. Like a first impression. This trait will be in their first scene. Are they a womanizer? Lazy? Hot-headed? Family-oriented? You choose. And then choose another. Remember Shrek? Your characters are onions. Make them sweet, sharp, or purple (purple poppin' everywhere today!), but peel the layers one by one, and give your reader a taste. Just a taste.

Believe The Lie

The Lie is their belief. What do they strongly believe in? What are they convinced about that is their truth? 

Possible Lies: 

all women are manipulative See-You-Next-Tuesdays

You can only rely on yourself

money brings happiness

people are too stupid to live independently

killing murderers is not murder, it's justice

K.M. Weiland wrote an excellent post on Believing the Lie and it's where I got all the questions for it: The Lie Your Character Believes

Cue their "Aha" Moment

Characters will grow. They will change. Their belief system may be shattered. An "aha" is the moment of realization. Their Lie will be put in the spotlight and crushed before the character's eyes. Truth rises from The Lie's remains and the character sees everything, from their first scene up to the "Aha" moment. What has changed? Why? How? If your character has no "aha" moment, there is no growth, and the reader will be left empty, and your book flying over their fence.

Flesh Out the Face (and body...and hair)

I said the outside should reflect the inside. Now is the time to look at their personality through their goals and motivators, their traits, and beliefs, and consider their physical appearance. A lot of factors come into play here: their location, origin, discipline, vocation, positive or negative traits, finances, etc..

You're not going to have a soldier with long hair and a beard (unless they're special ops) but maybe they have a tattoo that indicates something more. Or a woman who is very uptight and doesn't have a single wrinkle in her wardrobe. Maybe you have a rebel teen who can't afford a professional haircut, so they cut and dye their own hair against their parent's wishes.

Physical descriptions are lesser priority than what will help move your story. There are a couple exceptions that I use, but they don't overrule the goals and motivations which push the characters through conflict.

Ultimately, it's up to you. I have given you my template in hopes of inspiring you to build your characters with depth.

For more information about Toma and their writing strategies, visit their blog (citation is at the top).