A (Very) Short Thought

Hello Readers,

      I love moonlight. So, so much. I love sunlight, but it's hot and leaves so many shadows. There's something almost magical about moonlight and how it reaches into all the cracks and crevices.

        It's a softer, quieter kind of light, smiling down on us. The light for the night travelers, the globe trotters. A quiet guide breaking through the night to illuminate paths for the weary wanderer.

        If moonlight had a sound, I think it would be the sound of a lone wind chime singing out through the wind. Singing a song without words that we all somehow understand.

       If moonlight had a tangible feeling, I think it would be like silk. A wispy soft silk grey shawl. Light and airy.

       If moonlight had a taste, I think it would be like the sea in the air. Barely there, a little salty, and hardly noticeable at all.

       If moonlight had a smell, I think it would be a perfume. A light, rose petal perfume. Not overpowering or filling the room, but there all the same, and just as lovely.

~Rubix

A Conversation With Myself/Christmas Post

Dear Readers,

     Well, I feel like I should write something. I've been lazy, lately. Haven't written a word... No poems, none of my book, not even cruddy fan fictions. I really should be scared. I really should write.

     But...

    I don't waaaaannnnnnnnaaaaaa!

     I can't churn out any awe-inducing poems, write any emotionally charged scenes, can't write a blog post about Christmas, for Durin's sakes. I am a writer who isn't writing. And as one of my favorite quotes says...

"A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity."

  Therefore, I need to write something.

   But what to write?

   I could write a long blog post about the deep meanings in the last season of Doctor Who, I could write about how making a ginger bread house with my family is an old, old tradition and it feels good to have a tradition to hold on to, I could write a poem about Christmas, and it might not even be that corny...

    But there's no magic in my fingers. No spark in my mind. No twinkle in my eye or spring in my step. My feet drag on the floor to my computer and I give it a disinterested look. No, this writer does not want to write. Not at all.

     This writer says "Bah humbug!" and refuses to write a nice inspiring blog post about Christmas that you all could use.

      Honestly, this writer needs to get over herself.

      I need to write.

      Cause that's what I am, isn't it? A writer?

      Ah, but I think another reason why I don't want to write is because I am scared. Scared? Yes, I'm scared.

      I'm scared that whatever I write won't be good enough, because I want to write about Christmas. (Well, we're getting somewhere, at least I want to write now!)

   Christmas? Christmas isn't scary, is it?

    When you want to write about it, it is. Yes, yes it is.

     When you want everyone to know how you feel, how this one day changed your life, not just your life, but everyone ever to live has been changed by this date.

    No pressure, right?

    I'm scared I won't be able to do Christmas justice.

    Actually, I know I won't be able to do it justice.

    Because I can not put into words or thoughts how much Jesus loves me.

     I can't describe this all encompassing feeling of peace and love and joy. And yes, we are celebrating his birth in a little bit, but we also know that this baby who was born on this date died, oh how painfully he died, for a bunch of people who were as disgusting as the filth on the streets he walked upon.

      We celebrate life, joy, and peace. But there is, at least for me, a small foreshadowing feeling. When you realize just how small you are. How unworthy of this little crying baby's life.

      Oh, but you get it anyway. You get to be clean and pure because this little baby, Jesus, Emmanuel, He was born to die.

      For a bunch of low life sinners.

      And no matter what we say or do, we don't deserve that.

      But He doesn't care. He loves us. He loves the filthy humans we are and loves to forgive us.

      It doesn't end. This love, this all encompassing love does not end for us. It is new every day, it does not wane, does not fade, and it loves more than you can believe.

      There is no condemnation in him. While we don't deserve this precious gift, he gives it to us, and he does not want us to blame ourselves, or beat ourselves up. We are human. We make mistakes. We hurt and are hurt.

       And this baby came to love us, and to die for us.

        And that one gift changed my life. Forever.

      And this is why I am not going to write a series of posts about Christmas. I only had one of these in me, only one chance to tell you about this Jesus.

      Because I could write novels and novels and not even scratch the surface of how much he loves me.

      How do you fit that into a blog post? This love and peace and this joy! Oh, this joy. It has made the lame walk, the blind see, the deaf hear, and the stone hearted love. This joy has carried me through this earth, and it will carry me out again.

Glory to God!

~Rubix


 

A Basket of Random Poems

Readers,

    So, first I tried to write a blog post. Then I tried to work on my novel. Then I tried to edit my blog's picture, which just ended up with me wanting to throw my computer out a window. Then back to novel again, then blog post. So I ended up trying to write some poems.

    Which actually went pretty good. So here's some of my efforts, and hopefully you can enjoy them.

A Questionare

They said to describe me in a sentence
I tried to find the right words
They floated out of my brain to pay penitence
To the queens and kings of other worlds.

They told me to describe my feelings
That was easy as telling a blind man about the color blue
Or a deaf man, the sound of words reeling
My emotions run deep and bright, well known to precious few.

They told me to write my heart on a page.
I filled up novels and still wasn’t done with my goal.
So many things I want to say, things of pain and joy and of love and rage.
I wrote until I had no paper, so I wrote on my walls in dark black coal

They told me to sum up my existence
What I did with my time on this earth
I stared at them like they spouted nonsense
I can not tell all the days, all the time, all for what it’s really worth.

They told me to tell what I want in the future
I shook my head dumbly, too frightened to speak
What I want is not material, not a house or computer

What I want is a feeling, to sow good that I will reap.

A Detour In My Mind

They dance along the paper, running through my head

Words read, words heard, the words we leave unsaid

Penned onto my paper, stuck in my brain

Coal black ink runs rampant through the lanes

Of my mind.

Singing through the air, tugging heartstrings to the beat

Grabbing my arm and taking me far away from the reality of neat

Wild colors jumping, and beautiful messes running by the lake

Ink blots stand up and dance with the snowflakes

In my mind.

The song slows, the pages turn with a mighty roar

The world turns to what it was before

I set off on this odd misadventure

To cities and places I’d never have ventured

But this was in my mind.

But then my heart calms, I don’t feel so wild

I look over to see a mother and child

The night wasn’t so silent, but he was staring at me

And I felt all the love that could ever be

In the quiet manger scene in my mind.

Alright. So, I only had two for you instead of a basket... Oops. Pretend it's a small basket, alright? Comment below with your thoughts!

~Rubix

Lovely Lonely People

Hey Readers,

      Now, to ease your worries before we start this blog post, I want to make a couple things clear. No, I am not depressed. No, I am not mentally unstable. I am not desperately lonely with no friends in the world. I am not angry, tired, or upset at my life.

      I love my life, I love my friends, I am more emotionally stable than a lot of the population of the world. I am not depressed or anxious. I am quite happy with my life, and I love the Lord.

    Alright. Now we may begin.

     I've been noticing lately, a pattern to movies, TV shows, and books that I'm attracted to. I love stories about lonely people. Here, I'll give you a brief overview.

The Search for Wondla: A girl tries to find humanity on a planet that turns out to be much different than it seems. She has two friends, an alien and a robot, to aid her. But they aren't like her. So while she is happy and she loves them, she is really alone on that world. The only remaining human.

BBC's Sherlock: A genius who no one understands, a brilliant lonely guy who everyone labels as a 'psychopath' because they don't get it. And then he meets this guy, John Watson. John becomes his friend, and he sticks by him through everything. When everyone has given up on Sherlock, John is there standing by him and shouting back at them that they're wrong, and that his friend is brilliant.

Harry Potter: Harry doesn't fit in in the human world, as he uses magic, but nor does he fit in the wizardry world, as he is also very, very human. He has two friends who also stick by him through thick and thin. But one's nearly all human, and the other is all wizard.

See the pattern?

And now for my favorite:

Doctor Who: The last of his kind, a Time Lord, the Doctor travels through space and time, saving people and preventing what happened to him happening to others. He takes his human (or alien) companions along for the ride, showing them the stars.

Oh, I love this story so much. Because while a lot of people would become bitter, the Doctor just dives in and saves people. He never hesitates to sacrifice himself for anyone. And as he's immortal, as soon as he says hello to someone, he knows, oh how he knows, that he's going to have to say bye to them.

Does he hole himself up? Never invest in people, never let himself love?

Oh no.

He dives in. He loves people, they love him back. He has best friends, and he falls in love, and he says goodbye. And it hurts. But he does it. Cause he knows it was worth it.

And that has really helped me, I know it sounds weird, to be helped by Doctor Who. But that show has spoke to me, because in some ways, in a lot of ways, I can relate to the Doctor.

The life I lead, I'm always saying hellos, and I'm always saying goodbyes. And I love my life. But it hurts sometimes. You miss people. And you know what? I wouldn't trade it for the world. I travel, not in a blue box, but in airplanes and cars and trains. I've never lived somewhere for more than four years.

I wouldn't trade my life for anyone else's.

Even though it hurts sometimes. And it can get a little lonely.

Because, like the Doctor, I also have companions. I have friends. And I know them better than they know themselves, sometimes. And I know, deep down, that I'll have to say bye one day. Because I move all over. That's what God has called me to do.

And it's okay. It's honestly okay to hurt and have it not be fixed. I wouldn't trade it. It was worth it. People. The right people, that is. Are always worth it.

If you hurt when you say goodbye, that means it meant something. That means it impacted you and changed you and made you better and more whole.

You move on eventually. You miss them, you text them, you talk over the phone, but it won't be the same. And you know what?

That's okay.

Because you'll get a new companion. You'll get new friends. It is okay to move on. You aren't betraying someone or dishonoring their memory by moving on. By making new friends. By being happy.

I am a happy person.

I am an optimist.

I love people. I love where I live. I love where I have lived. And I love where I will live one day.

And you know what? If I have a little ache for those places, those people, that means I lived a life worth living.

I was impacted. I felt. I felt pain and anger and love. That's what I want to be able to say when I die.

When I die, I want to be able to smile and say that over the course of my life, that I really lived. That I felt. That I made my God proud. That I made my parents proud. That I lifted up my siblings, I taught my children. That I loved my husband and my friends were close. I want to be able to say that.

What's a little hurt compared to that?

I know, just like The Doctor, as soon as I say hi to someone, I'll also say bye, I hope that I'll still go forward, that I'll let myself be open and be their friend, and let them be mine back.

Some of you might be rolling your eyes, because yes, I am talking mostly about a science fiction British show.

But it's helped me.

Because I travel. Because I say good bye more than most people ever will. Because I am a deep person and if you become my friend, you get in close and deep. Because I miss people. Because I feel everything deeply. Because I'm cheerful.

I want to be able to smile and say hello, even as I know, that a couple years down the road, I'll be saying goodbye.

That is my goal.

~Rubix

P.S Please read the beginning paragraphs if you feel sorry for me after you read this post. Because I don't. Don't feel sorry for me. I love my life. I love what God's doing in my life, and I love what He's teaching me.

This One Is For That Introvert In The Corner

Dear Readers,

       As you may have noticed (or not) I am intrigued by personality types. Particularly the Meyer's Briggs test. I, myself, am an ENFP (Extroverted Intuitive Feeling Perceiving). My personality type has also been described as the "introverted extrovert" or vice versa. I am in the middle. Basically, when I want to be alone, I want to be alone with other people in the room, and I don't want to have to talk to them.

       Really, it all depends on my mood. But I like people. A lot. Except sometimes when they're idiots. Then I just wonder if I'm part Elf/Time-Lord/Yoda. But enough about that, we were here to talk about introverts.

     Why? You ask.

     Well, I answer, because that's what the title said. It clearly stated we would be talking about introverts. So that's what we're doing. Don't question it. Thank you.

        Most of my friends are introverted, which is interesting, or at least, I think so. Tell you what, if you decide that you think introverts are boring, you can go get a cup of coffee and go read your Reader's Digest magazine. Alright? Comfy? Good. I'm going to continue talking about introverts. Don't bug me anymore. Thanks.

        As I was saying. Most of my friends are introverted. I like them. Some people think they're too quiet. Some people think they have something wrong with them. Some people think they're sad and serious all the time. But I know better.

      They're quiet cause they only talk when something needs to be said. They don't like wasting words. They don't have something wrong with them, they just like to think. And that's their thinking face, just because they aren't smiling all the time doesn't mean they're depressed.

       I also know that they are some of the funnest, craziest people alive. And I am so blessed to have them for my friends.

       When I go to their houses, I don't feel the need to talk 24/7 or do things all the time. They're relaxed and completely fine with reading a book and not talking for 20 minutes at a time, or scrolling through Pinterest, or watching a movie. And it's all good.

       I'm not an awful person if I want to just think for a couple minutes. Or read that magazine. It's perfectly fine by them. Heck, they really wanted to read their magazine too. Not that extroverts are in your face and making you do things every five seconds. Just in general, introverts are a lot more relaxed and fine with minimal conversation.

     And introverts are extremely interesting as well. Like Rubix Cubes. (See what I did there?)

     So the next time you're out somewhere, and you see someone in the corner quietly sitting there, go talk to them. Meet an introvert. They might be scared of you at first, but they're awesome. So go do it. I'll wait.

~Rubix.

Of Instruments and Practices

Hello Readers,

Today I had the pleasure of sitting in on a couple different music class practices at Lee University. It was an amazing experience. Just the rawness of it. It was almost more 'real' in a sense then other performances I've heard. It was fun and loud and you could feel how much they loved it. I was the only listener in the room, and they weren't preforming for performance's sake, but because they loved it.

Or maybe that was just my impression of it. Whatever the case, it was beautiful.

If I was asked to pick a favorite instrument, I'd have to say the violin (I'm a little biased though, as one of my characters plays it) followed by the cello. I love the sound of it. But then when they all sang out together into the world, it was breathtaking.

Time slows when music plays, reality is but a white noise, the present a figment of our imagination. Present, past, and future all blur together as the tempo pick up and galaxies swirl into blurred colors.

The drum keeps a steady beat, reminded the violins not to veer off down the lovely rabbit trails they long to explore. The trumpets sing joyously while the bass hums deeply in the background. The tuba shouts as the cellos play a melancholy balance. The violins whinny off again like wild horses and then slowly come back down, playing the melody.

The choir sings, competing with the instruments for sounds. The conductor waves his hands, pointing his baton in a language that only the musicians understand. He seems to be in a trance, and the rest of the musicians with him, watching the baton wave in that secret language known only to musicians.

It's beautiful.

I can't help but feel a tiny bit envious as I watch their fingers play in a manner that takes years of practice to master.

~Rubix

Things Books Have Taught Me

Hello Readers,

Today, I gathered together a small list of things that books have taught me.

The Chronicles Of Narnia taught me:

-That God is not safe, he is not tame, but he is good.
-Death isn't the end of the story.
-There is always a plan.
-Betrayers can come back.
-A real leader knows when to follow.
-Some people are meant to be warriors, and others are meant to plan the wars.

The Lord of the Rings taught me:

-That there is always light in the world.
-The smallest people sometimes make the biggest difference.
-People who like to play it safe are still as likely to get called on to go on an adventure.
-If a bunch of dwarves come and eat my food and then ask me to go on an adventure, I should say yes.
-Don't trust gold.
-If in danger, call the eagles.
-Even the least likable person has a part to play in the end. Sometimes they are the reason good conquers.

Harry Potter taught me:

-Kids have a part to play in the wars.
-Your friends become your family.
-The people who seem to be the villain are sometimes the bravest ones there.
-In dreams, we enter a world that is entirely our own.
-Death, to the intellectual mind, is but the next adventure.
-Things are never as they seem, don't judge too quickly.
-Reading can save your life.
-Love doesn't die.

The Swipe Series taught me:

-Know who your friends are.
-When you find out who they are, keep them close, you'll need them.
-You're here for a reason. Find that reason.
-Life is complicated, get used to it.
-Life isn't fair. Do what you can with your lot.

Ranger's Apprentice taught me:

-People do everything for a reason.
-Tragedy can happen to anyone.
-A normal archer practices until he can hit the target, a Ranger practices until he can't miss.
-There is always time for a coffee break.
-Sarcastic wit is a skill.
-One riot, one Ranger.

That's it for now, thank you for tuning in!

~Rubix

P.S Check out this awesome blog run by my cousin: Stories In Sounds

Watching Clouds

Dearest Readers,

Today I was laying down with my dad on a grassy hill and we were watching the clouds and making pictures out of them. Here's a list of some of what we saw: 

Gandalf
Iceland
Dragon
Old Lady with a Sombrero
An Old Bearded Dude (not Gandalf, another one. I have named him Fredrick.)
Greenland (I kept seeing countries, I have no idea why!)
A Dragon Bird (Or a Bird Dragon)

But we began discussing imagination out of this, since I was the one who spotted most of these shapes in the clouds. And we were talking about how when you're a kid, reality and imagination are hand in hand, you're always using them. A stick becomes a sword, a tinfoil hat becomes a helmet, your old rocking horse is your majestic steed, and your younger brother is the dragon.

As we get older, we don't think like that anymore.

Sticks are sticks.

Tinfoil is tinfoil.

Rocking horses are rocking horses.

And brothers are well.. creatures from Mars.

When you become an adult (I'm getting this all from my Dad, I don't know from experience.) you deal with reality so much that imagination doesn't really come into play as much as it used to. It's separated from reality, no longer one and the same.

Here, let me give you an example.

Setting: Playground.

Problem: Someone is stuck on the slide.

What the Child sees and does: Someone got stuck on one of the mighty sea-dragons scales as they slipped down his back, Child thinks. Child picks up a stick and runs at the slide, pretending to chop it's head off. "You're free!" He shouts to his friend on the slide, pulling on his hand and getting him out of his predicament. His friend beams and shakes his hand. "Thank you, Sir Brave-A-Lot, you saved me from the evil dragon's clutches!"

Setting: Playground.

Problem: Someone is stuck on the slide.

What the Adult sees and does: Some kid is stuck on the slide. Adult looks around for their parents, or someone to help them. Finding none, walks over and asks the kid if they may help. Proceeds to give them a small push to get their momentum back.

Children (or people that are constantly still using their imaginations) intertwine reality and fantasy, while most adults or older children keep it separated.

Which is why it was easier for me to find pictures and patterns in the cloud than my dad. Cause I am constantly using my imagination, and he does not as frequently. Now, this is not all to say that we will all lose our imaginations, just that it is second nature to us as children and we begin to have to actively try and use it, instead of just automatically switch.

But in my mind now and forever...

Sticks are swords.

Tinfoil is armor.

Rocking horses are majestic pure-bred war horses.

And brothers are dragons.


~Rubix

A Longing

Hello Readers,

I think, for me, as someone who's never lived somewhere for more that four years of her life, I understand even more clearly what it's like to not belong.

To stick out.

I've been sticking out all my life. In other cultures, I stick out easily. When I come back, I stick out because I've been impacted by these cultures, by what I've learned, by the way I've grown up. I just generally don't belong in a place, with people.

I don't have a "group". I get along easily with people, I can relate to many things. But I feel like, sometimes, just... a little lonely.

Little out of place.

Little homesick.

For a place I've never been.

For people I've never met.

For noises I've never heard and things I've never touched.

Christians as a general rule are supposed to feel this. But when you live in the same house all your life, grow up with the same people, marry someone you know inside and out and have for your whole existence on this planet, you kind of forget just who we are.

We are a peculiar people.

We don't belong here. We're just visiting, we're just here for a small while, and then we're going to go home. See our Father again.

And it's really easy for people to forget that. Feel comfortable.

But I've been living with it my whole life. This constant ebbing for a place, a home, somewhere I've never been. Because no place I go ever satisfies me completely, no place is as like home as I remembered it in my mind. But sometimes the ache is quieter, calmer, not as strong. And that's when I'm with people who I know are going to be going back Home with me. But sometimes I feel...

A heartache for someone I've never seen.

A longing for somewhere I've never been.

Wanting to feel things I've never felt.

This is who I am.

~Rubix

And...Another New Novel. Again!

Heya Readers,

Now I know what you're thinking... "Oh no, another novel." "She's never gonna finish this one." "What is she thinking?" "FINISH PROJECT MIMICRY, YOU DOLT!"
 Well....

^Bearer of BAD NEWS D:

Bad News: I don't know if I'll ever finish/write Project Mimicry O-o

^Bearer of Good News :D

Good News: I have a new novel that I'm really, really, reeaaallllyyy excited about!


Yes, me too, Minion. I am also jumping in my seat. Yes.

Okay, okay, now you're wondering when I'll stop being funny and putting odd gifs on here and get to what the story is about, don't you?

I'm glad you asked. The title of my newest endeavor is...

THE PUPPETEER'S CORRESPONDENCE.

Sorry, I didn't mean to shout it... O_______O I apologize. 

The Puppeteer's Correspondence is my first try at a mystery. A murder mystery, in fact. I am normally a "pantser" but this NaNoWriMo I am trying to plan this book out a little more. For most of my books, I start out with a bunch of characters. 

Like these: 

Or these:

And then I usually throw a little setting in. Like this:

Or... maybe this?

Or, how about this one?

And then, I throw my nice little characters into the nice little setting, and add some problems and a pinch of desperation and hope that something decent might happen. And if we actually get a plot (wonder of all wonders) along the way, that would be just splenderifous!

But...

NO. 

Not this time. This time, I am... *whispers* planning. 

I am plotting.

Not just a nice little setting with some nice little characters. No, oh, noooooooo. I am plotting. I am putting plot twists in this book before I even know what the name of my characters are!

Sometimes I shock myself, you know?

Anyways. I will be back with you on more with this book laaaateerrr!

Hope to see you 'round!

~Rubix of the Cube

Hello Readers,

Sorry it's been so long. I have been so busy. As some of you may know, I am back in the States for three months. I have been all over the place for the past three weeks or so, and haven't had the inspiration to crank out a blog post. So we'll see how this one goes.

I am currently sitting in a leather brown recliner (huge, by the way) and there's a football game playing in front of me. I think the Packers are winning. There are six boys in this house under the age of eleven. And one girl that is eight.

And there's me and my aunt and uncle, (parents are at a conference for a couple days). So as you can imagine, the house is just crazy.


















Couldn't have said it better myself.

Anyways, it's a lot of fun though :)



So yea, this has been my past week... I will write more tomorrow or the day after, cause I have to go to bed now :)

~Rubix

Meet Ryder

Hey Readers!

    Sorry I've been absent for a bit, just ran into a brick wall called "WRITER'S BLOCK". Not fun, man. So yea, I am now writing a blog post, finally.

        I've been working a bit on Project Mimicry and I thought I'd introduce you to Ryder. I'll let him introduce himself, actually.

Sure I can trust them?

Positive.

I don't trust you, but since you have power, I'll go along with it. Anyways, my name is Ryder.

Is that your first or last name?

Neither and both.

That was not cryptic in the slightest.

And you say I'm sarcastic. Anyways, I am a person. I am a guy. I have an age. 

Well if that wasn't vague.

Be quiet, I'm doing the talking. I'm around 18, I drive a beat up old white pick up, I have sideburns...

-He's rather proud of those-

I thought I said to be quiet. Anyway... I like kiwi birds, I live in my truck, and my diet mainly consists of fast food salads. They're the cheapest.

He just says he likes kiwi birds cause that was what he said when I asked what his favorite animal was, and now he won't drop it.

Shush. I don't have many friends, I drive around the country, I have powers of sorts.

Mhmm.

I can mimic any sort of sound you could think of. Gunfire, voices, tornado, wind, etc. etc. I have a photographic memory and can draw better than Vincent Van Gogh. 

He's awfully humble, isn't he?

I thought you said I was doing the talking! But that's all.

He's not cryptic or sarcastic in the slightest, is he? I always manage to create the snarky characters... Goodness!

I hope to be writing more often, so sorry for the long delay.

Thank you so much for sticking with my blog!

~Rubix

It's Over.

It's over. O____O It's done. O____O 

Twelve books. 5,400 pages over all. And now it's over. I read these characters lives, I watched their life story basically play out... I got emotionally attached and now they're gone. The book is over. Closed. Ended. Caput. Nata. Gone. 

And I'm sitting on my desk in disbelief and shock. 

IT'S. OVER. 

It can't be. Not yet. What about the rest?! I don't know what happened! 

It can't be.

Not yet. 

At least there's The Brotherband Chronicles to read next. At least there's that. 

I loved it. I loved the journey. I loved the characters. I loved this series. And I am currently horrified as to the thought that the series is over. 

done.

And this is my thoughts on the subject. I will write a longer review tomorrow, once I have recovered.

~Rubix

A Toast For A Friend and a Dash of Lyrics.

"...Come on, you words

  Come and take your places

  Everything changes, everything changes...

  ...Come on, you heart

  You restless child

  Open up your hands

  And wait here awhile..." -Helicopter by Branches

           Today is an important day. Now, normally I try to write these birthday posts (I tried for each one of my family members and a couple friends) but I always end up unable to finish them or not liking the way they turned out. But today, I am determined to do one. 

        This one is for a friend of mine. And she's... awesome. She really is. I've known her for almost two years now, and I learn new things about her every day. So she really deserves this blog post, so I'm going to write it. And even if it's horrible, she'll know I tried. 

         She's becoming a teenager today. We're the same age again! She's... amazing, really, just a great person that I've had the pleasure of getting to know. She likes singing, and we both joke around about how we sing off key, and she's good at drawing. 

          She likes acting, and she's not scared of a camera (I don't like cameras... especially in videos. Freaks me out.) Watching her take on another persona is amazing, because she acts completely like them. 

          She listens to most of my ramblings with an amused look, and helps me brainstorm for my books. I am envious of her patience, sometimes, and we always seem to stick together when we're around other people. She's kinda like my older twin (which is pretty ironic, considering I'm the older one) but she keeps me out of trouble. 

          Well, most of the time, anyway. 

          And she plays play-dough with me, which is a very high quality in a person. She loves Les Mis, and I know almost all of a couple songs because she sings them so much. 

            She's one of those people that you don't need to be "doing" something with every five seconds. So when we hang out, we kinda just sit around and talk, and she'll get out her guitar and play the few chords she knows, and I'll get out the ukulele and play the one chord I'll know. 

       We joke around about how we need to start a band, cause we're like, super musically knowledged. 

          And yea, I'm just really blessed to have her as one of my close friends. So, a toast for you, you know who you are! *raises a glass of grape juice* 

 Happy Birthday. 

^There's your cake :D 

~Rubix

The First Couple Pages of Project Mimicry

Hello Readers,

       Well, it's pretty self explanatory, seeing as you most likely read the title ^ (if you haven't, look up) Hope you enjoy, and please leave a comment. I would love it if you did.

      Chapter One

         “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

         No answer from the cars surrounding him. They were quiet, and looked still, but their engines were revving and the people in them were slowly moving to trap him.

         “I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry!” He screamed at the cars again, looking around wildly for a gap in the circle that kept closing in around him.

         There were tears streaks down his face, and more tears shining in his eyes, making the blue brighter and look more like water. It was dark that night; the moon was hiding behind the clouds, and the stars were few. But his red hair stood out, almost like fire, and his eyes were shining with tears as he looked around wildly for a gap, for an escape.

         There was a noise from the end of the road, one foreign to the boy’s ears, but it seemed that these cars knew this noise. And that they didn’t like it one bit. They stopped moving, their attention divided between the noise and the boy.

         And while their backs were turned, a man leapt over the hood of one of the cars, snatched up the child and leaped over the hood of another car.

         “Hold onto me.” He hissed. “If you want to live, hold on to me.”

         He shakily nodded and looped his hands so they around the man’s back and gripped the flannel, squeezing his eyes shut and holding on with his legs. He heard a strange noise, it scared him… but he couldn’t be scared, not after what happened last time. No. Not again. He was not scared.

         “Good kid.” The man said, his voice gentler, but still gruff and hissed, and he took something from his pocket.

         Now the child realized what the strange noise had been… Gunfire. And the man he was holding onto now shot at where the noise had come from. He gripped the flannel tighter, as his savior started to run faster, stopping to catch his breath or shoot at the noise. Now there were voices… flashing lights. But the man kept running until it was quieter.

         The child dared to open his eyes, and he saw, on an old dirt road, a beat up white pick up truck. They were closer to it now, and the man opened the door, lifting the child off of himself and placing him in the truck before getting in and turning the key.

         He drew up his knees quietly as the man started to drive, and then dared to ask.

         “…who are you…?”

         “Ryder.” Was the short, gruff reply as he focused on the road.

         “…why did you save me?” The child said quietly, gripping his knees.

         There was no answer, and he didn’t dare to ask any more questions, but said after a while, “My name’s Lyle...”

         “I know.” The man with the short brown hair and beard whose name was Ryder said gruffly.

         Lyle’s heart started beating faster, and he was convinced that it might just come out of his chest. His eyes went wider. No. No. He couldn’t be scared. Not after what happened last time.

         He gripped his knees quietly, his knuckles turning white with the effort as he remembered.

“It’s just a nightmare, honey.”

         He looked up at his mom with huge terrified eyes, “Mom. Mom. Mom…” He was scared out of his wits…She needed to understand. It wasn’t just a nightmare. It was worse. He just wanted her to understand.

         And then his mom started screaming. Because of him. Because he wanted her to know how he felt. Not pass it off as “just a nightmare”. He went too far this time…

         He had done it before, so people would understand. He didn’t know how or why it happened, just knew he could do it. He made his dad happy one time, when he was upset. But now… his mom was scared. Like him.

         “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He said quietly, putting clothes in his school backpack. “It won’t happen again.” He quietly crept down the stairs and ran out into the night.

         He had gone too far this time. He could hurt someone.

         And then there was the cars.

         “…I’m dangerous…should give me to the police…” He said quietly.

         The man named Ryder’s mouth seemed to twitch into a smile for a moment. “So am I…”

         Lyle shook his head. “Don’t understand…” Lyle wanted him to understand, feel how sorry he was, but he couldn’t. Not again. Not again. Stop it, Lyle, stop it. You have to stop letting people know you’re smarter than the sixth graders, you have to stop making people understand what you feel. Just stop it, Lyle. What is wrong with you? A tear slipped down his face.

         Ryder chuckled wryly and… knowingly, Lyle noticed. “Bud, you would be surprised at how much I do.”

         “You’re… like me?”

         A brief nod from Ryder and his hands clenched and unclenched the steering wheel nervously.

         “…why were they after me?”

         “They were hunting.”

         “Hunting is when Dad goes to shoot deer. Were they going to kill me?” His voice was oddly calm, matter of factly.

         “Don’t know. Sometimes they do. They were hunting you.”

         Lyle nodded barely, hugging his knees to his chest. “Were you hunting?” Barely a whisper.

         “In a way.”

         “Are you going to kill me?”

         “If I wanted to kill you, I would have left you there.” Ryder turned left on the intersection.

         “So you won’t kill me?” Lyle said, looking at Ryder with wide eyes.

         “No.”

         Lyle fell silent, putting his backpack on the floor of the truck and grabbing a sweatshirt with the name of some local college off of the floor and wriggled into it. Probably Ryder’s, he thought, but he was cold, and the sweatshirt was warm. Ryder wouldn’t mind, he told himself, putting the hood over his face and leaning against the window.

A New Novel

Hello Readers,

       Well the other day I was looking at character inspiration and I found one I liked, and suddenly I had a wisp of a novel idea. So I wrote it down, and then brainstormed with one of my friends, and slowly my wisp turned into something tangible.

         The name of the novel is Project Mimicry.

         Here is the synopsis:

                “What happened that night?”

A simple question… but raises strikingly different answers. Some say he ran. Some said he was chased. Some said he was hunting. Others said he was the hunted. 

People said it was dark that night. Really dark. But his red hair stood out, and his eyes were shining from tears. He was just a kid, people said, others said he was more. But everyone agreed that there was a man. And there were cars. Black cars. And the man and the cars were fighting for the boy.

And the man took him.

Vanished. 

Was the man his savior? Or his downfall?

Check the tabs for more info, there will be a page about Project Mimicry very soon. :D

Thanks for checking in!

~Rubix