The Way of Kings

Several months ago I was working and noticed a book on the shelf from one of my favorite authors, Brandon Sanderson. The cover depicted two men in armor facing each other across a chasm. The colors are striking. The picture seems to tell a story of adventure, mystery, and power. My anticipation grows when I read the title, The Way of Kings. I love saying it, my imagination perks up.

Quite a few weeks past before I got a chance to read this book. I brought it home and just looked at it. It was a fat book. I love fat books. I turned to the end just to see how many pages it had, 1007. I couldn't wait to read it, but the anticipation of reading the book is part of what makes reading so wonderful.
I won't tell you the story here, because you should read this book for yourself. Beware, it will draw you in and you will be a committed Sanderson fan and eagerly await every fat book he can write. When I finished reading The Way of Kings, I felt awed by the scope of the story and the writing skill. I am improving my writing skills and am working on developing a novel. I am reading now not only for enjoyment, but to improve my own craft. I felt small after reading this book, like a child trying to step in her fathers foot prints. I wonder if my writing skill can ever grab a reader and mesmerize him so that he can't put my book down. I aspire to write in a way that when people see my name they get excited and look at my website to see if I have any new books coming out.
I know at this point when my mom reads this she will tell me that she eagerly awaits the new things I write. Sorry mom, you are my mom and you are supposed to think like that. I appreciate your support and faith in my abilities because it is encouraging. 
There is so much creation that goes into writing a good story. I feel like the creatures I imagine are just elephants that are colored differently or cats that have a different name. I want to be able to come up with creatures that are not just a variation of our animals, but something all their own. I want my stories to be fresh and not a remake of great authors stories.
I feel humbled after reading The Way of Kings because of the long way I have to go to become a professional author. I feel challenged to step up my writing, to push myself beyond my current imaginary and technical skill levels. I will never write like Brandon Sanderson. I will never come up with stories like Anne Bishop. My stories will not have the passion of Francine Rivers. However, I will develop a flavor all my own. I'm not a Brandon Sanderson, but I am Kristin Riggs. And as I improve my skills, the writer who is Kristin Riggs will emerge with a style and strengths all her own.

Running in the Rain

Running in the rain is an act that expresses joy. It is different than going for a run while it is raining. Some people go for a run for the fun of running. Most people who run do so to stay in shape or lose weight. Going for a run while it is raining is purposeful and is not the same as running in the rain.
Running in the rain is a spontaneous act. I may be at home going about my regular tasks when a clap of thunder and the sudden sound of fat rain drops splashing against the roof call me to the window. I look out at the rain showering the earth. It calls to me. It says, "Kristin, come out and play. Forget about the clothes you are folding or the paper you are writing and come outside. Come dance with me."
I open the door and peer out. The day is warm and a cold rain drop splats against my hand before I close the door. I kick off my socks, tie my hair back in a pony tail and venture out in the rain. Rain drops quickly soak into my clothes. I raise my face to the sky. My arms raise slowly, my fingers spread. Dipping my left arm I turn a slow circle. I bend the other way and start walking a giant C. Water saturates my hair and drips down my forehead. I lift my feet higher and break into a run. I weave in large S's dipping my arms like an airplane.
Down a dead end street I see a large puddle. I veer sharply to the right and run straight at the puddle. I plant both my feet and jump into the center of the puddle. Water splashes up my legs and sprays out from me. A chuckle slips out. Two small jumps take me to the outside of the puddle. I launch myself back in. I throw my head back and laugh. I play in the puddle for a while, but the rain beckons me on. I run down the street, circle around and come back.
Children stare at me from the dry windows of their houses, wishing they hadn't been prohibited from cavorting in the rain. An older couple sit towards the back of their porch, watch the storm. A large white dog lies at their feet. They look at me and smile. I wave to them enthusiastically and run on. The rhythm of the rain changes as the drops become smaller. A small patch of blue sky allows the sun to peek through. A rainbow glitters across the street. In front of my apartment I turn 3 quick circles, stare up at the sky for a minute and take a deep breath. The world smells washed clean. Thunder booms impotently in the distance. Water dripping from my clothes, I go back inside.
Running in the rain, is reveling in life. Rediscovering the joy that children exude. Jumping in puddles, flying like an airplane, laughing unrestrained. Running in the rain.

This picture brought to you from Shutterstock.

Family Artists

In my family we are artists. I love words and any artistry I have comes through writing. The others in my family paint and draw. This trend started nearly twenty years ago when my older sister began taking a painting class from a family friend. My mom made a comment about how she wish she could paint. The teacher challenged her "How do you know you can't paint unless you try." This began my mom's hobby. She mostly self taught herself and painted when she had time. There were many Saturday afternoons where the five of us engaged in some kind of art. I never had the patience for it. I was allowed to paint using acrylics. I always planned out my pictures and grew very frustrated when they didn't turn out like my mental picture.

Several years ago my mom started printing cards with her paintings on them. Now she has a blog site and posts some of her best work on Fine Art of America. My older sister mostly enjoys drawing. My little sister majored art in college and is making plans to pursue a masters in art. She writes about painting and posts her pictures on her blog. My dad also enjoys painting. He doesn't produce as much, but everything he does is detail oriented and looks great.

It is amazing to me how a comment made to my mom 20 years ago resulted in this artistic trend in my family. You never really know what effect your words will have. Your words could be the seeds that result in greatness in others.

Cynical Lens

I’m jaded. The lens I look through is clouded by a haze of cynicism. I’m working for a new company starting on Friday. Yesterday we had a day long training, complete with customer service videos. The first video delineated the wonderful aspects of the company with real employees expressing how this company is the best one they have ever worked for. The phrase we are like family kept coming up. My place of employment seems to always be changing and I have sat through many of these videos. At first they inspired me and idealistically I expected the wonders that were expressed, but over time, poor work environments and broken ideals I no longer believe anything in these orientation videos.

I’m jaded. I’m a year and a half into my masters program and I’m fighting apathy. A couple months ago I started the important classes for my profession, the basic classes out of the way, but I find little interest in them. Every time I turn in a paper that I know isn’t very good and lose only a quarter of a point, I lose faith in the quality expected of me. Why should I put in the effort and time to write a great paper if a mediocre paper gets me an A?

This is the way I have lived most of my life. I do what needs doing to get by. When my idealism is stripped away I lose the incentives to put forth my best effort. The sermon my pastor preached today seemed to be made just for me. He talked about how work is important for us, not just to make money and survive, but to thrive. It is part of who we are. He pointed out many proverbs that tell of the foolishness of the sluggard. I would not say I’m a sluggard. I always get to work on time, I always turn in my homework on time, and eventually I get around to washing those dishes. I don’t necessarily do these things well or cheerfully. What would happen if instead of expecting my new company not to live up to what it says it is, I went to work on Friday looking to serve and bless those around me? How would I feel about myself if I took the extra half an hour to proof read my paper and make sure it was great instead of reading a book or watching a movie? How much happier would me and my roommate be if we came home from work and didn’t have to clean the kitchen or vacuum the living room because I did it the day before? How different would my life be if I didn’t allow myself to be a partial sluggard? How would your life change if you chose to live well regardless of your boss, your crappy job, your huge paper, or your complicated relationships?

Bees, Goblins, and the Ding-Dang

I went on a camping trip this weekend with some friends to San Rafael Swell in the middle of Utah. Because of some company issues I was unable to use my vacation days. I worked 7 shifts in 6 days in order to have three days off for my camping trip. It was so worth it.
We set up camp in a nice place with a designated direction for bathroom use along with a bright orange horseshoe that you can carry with you so that everyone knows that you are watering the desert. We went on a short hike to hang out in a large cavern like overhang with a fabulous echo. Later that afternoon while some of us were playing bocce ball, we discovered that we set up our kitchen in and around 3 cottonwood trees that housed a bee hive. We courted danger, deciding it wasn't worth moving our kitchen unless the bees really became a problem. The bees buzzed overhead and sometimes came down to visit us, but for the most part left us alone.

On Sunday the wind blew gustily all day. The plan was to hike Little Wild Horse canyon. Potential thunderstorms were in the forecast and we decided that we would rather live than risk facing a flash flood in a slot canyon. Instead we played in Goblin Valley. Goblin Valley is filled with hundreds of sandstone formations that resemble goblins. We frolicked like children, impatiently demanding picture opportunities.

On Monday we hiked the Ding and Dang Canyons. We took the recommended route going up the Ding and down the Dang. The Ding was a pleasant hike with a few difficult scrambles and many picture moments. We resolved to do the Dang faster because we did need to drive back home, hopefully getting back before dark. We soon discovered why you descend the Dang. There are four or five tricky spots requiring shimming down between the walls of the canyon with a helpful friend below saying reach your left foot down just a foot farther while your right foot wobbling on a finger width foothold. You finally take a deep breath when you are through that spot and hip deep in water. It contained all of the fun of a slot canyon without facing near death experiences.

Hearing about my adventures is never complete until you know what we had to eat. The first night we had biscuits and stew made in a dutch oven, truly amazing. The second night we had mashed potatoes, steak, and corn. We also had an apple cobbler and smores. Yummy yummy yummy! For lunch we had chicken salad sandwiches and carrot sticks. One night we got to try homemade apple wine that some of my friends had made. If you have a couple of days go camping and sing some Disney songs around the campfire. It refreshes the soul

Recognition

We all want recognition of some kind. When you spend hours working on a project at work, you really want your boss or at least a coworker tell you what a wonderful job you did. If you show up on time for every class with your homework completed well, it sure is nice when someone notices and comments about it. Children often beg for recognition. they may call your name repeatedly until you praise the picture that they have worked so hard on or the ball of play do they carefully rolled. Besides big projects and hard work we like recognition for other things as well.
On Friday a friend of mine who is a cosmetologist put red highlights in my hair. I stipulated that I wanted them to be visible, but fairly natural and I didn't want them to stand out too much. And that is what I got. Indoors it is difficult to see the highlights, however in the sun they look coppery. Most people have not noticed my highlights. But that is not good enough for me. I find myself resisting the desire to tell everyone about my highlights. I want the recognition for the difference in my look. I really dislike being fussed over and I don't like being the center of attention, but I still desire recognition and attention for things I have accomplished or that I have changed. I think we all desire this. It is confirmation that we have value to other people and that we are noticed by others.

Cherry Orchard

Cherry Orchard

Cherries tremble in the wind

Dry eyes blink

Eighth notes dance with sixteenth notes

On background of white, taking rests as the music dictates

Slender fingers stroke keys of ivory and ebony

Delicate beauty gives birth

A vicious tortured sound

Tears glisten against pale cheeks stark against black gown

Stinging eyes blur

Strong blast of air assaults the orchard

Broken cherries bleed into the parched earth

I wrote this poem while I was in college. I still really like, but my poetry professor didn't have anything to say about it. What do you think?