Author: Fadingblueowl

The Edge

She was standing on the edge of a cornfield, empty and brown

That’s how the wise godly man saw her

In the vision he had, holy inspiration all around

A single stalk, upright and alone

One of the few not chopped

By that devil farmer’s blade

A noble thing it would be

If she stood because of faith, like she ought to have

Rather than the fear that held her there back then

Go break it down, churn up the ground

Next she’s found sitting on the edge of a stage

Faith further fading, or not?

The clock and years keep moving

But the chains of her own making

Rust and hold her there like a cage

Doesn’t she know there is no practice round?

She watches babies arrive and then a baby’s father dies

Chances to grow come and go, life starts aching

Sure she can eat her hard feelings

But it only squanders her dime

Never mind enlarging her waistline        

Go break it down, churn up the ground

Now she’s standing on the edge of something new, wild and uncharted

But it’s foggy and hard to see, what is just beyond reach or beneath?

Could be great things ahead, she can’t know until it’s started

Or she could trip and fall

Even to crush the grit of the earth between her teeth

In reality, she’ll probably do it all

Dreams seem clouded over

By disaster, malfunction, and politics awry

Is it worth the trouble? That it is she must believe

Go break it down, churn up the ground

Standing on the edge is outdated, no more time to cry

She won’t fear the mist, she can’t let it win

God please take her hand

She’s ready to go

Jump the edge

It’s time to fly

Like Tomato Blossoms

The year was 2004, and it was a beautiful Sunday in June. I was just three months shy of my 10th birthday, a carefree little girl with her head in the clouds. Bunnies, puppies, and vegetable gardening in the backyard were what my world revolved around.

After being confined all morning to your typical boring Sunday morning church service, I was eager to be released when we got home early that afternoon. My dad had cleaned out an overgrown area in the backyard for me to use as my very own garden that year. A big girl garden! I was over the moon excited! This spot was so much bigger than my previous patch of dirt in the corner of one of his flower beds. In my imagination, I was now a horticulture superstar. I saw it as a whole 20-acre farm or something, where I would produce bushels upon bushels of cabbage heads (I didn’t even like to eat cabbage, I just liked to grow them because I thought they looked pretty!)  

Now June is still pretty early in the season for New England gardening, so not much produce was growing yet. Still, I ran out into the backyard to check on the progress. I had been waiting on one thing in particular- waiting for my tomato transplants to flower.

Was it happening? With enthusiasm rising, I thought I saw a hint of yellow amongst the row of green plants. Closer observation proved that to be correct- a tomato plant was in bloom!

“This is the best day of my life!” I shouted audibly towards the sky. Indeed, a perfect day it appeared to be. My tomatoes were blossoming and I had a playdate scheduled with a friend later that day. I couldn’t wait to show him the new developments in my garden.

Little did I know, this lovely day would soon take an unexpected turn.  

A little while before this time, Grandma Phelps- Mom’s mom- had decided to attend a different church than we did. A neighbor down the street from us would give her a ride each week since they also went to the other church. Either way, my parents would still typically have Grandma Phelps over to our house for Sunday dinner each week.

But this day we couldn’t get ahold of Grandma on the phone. We found out that she chose not to go with our neighbors to church that day, so she should have been home. Mom kept calling, but only the answering machine picked up. The sense that something was wrong began to loom in the air. Mom then left to drive over to Grandma Phelps’s house in the next town to see what was going on. Dad stayed home with my brother and me.  

Not much later our phone rang. Dad picked up and all I could make out was Mom crying on the other end. That was all it took to know. Grandma Phelps had passed away at home. The events from that day are burned into my brain kind of as if they were in one of those now vintage slide shows that you would project on an old bed sheet.

An idyllic day and pure joy over flowering tomatoes. Wait, something might be wrong with Grandma. The phone rings. Storm clouds mar the blue sky. We enter into a dazed state of sadness. Everything changed.

For obvious reasons, Dad called to tell my friend’s parents that we had to cancel our get-together. I was disappointed but understood. Well, I kind of understood. After we got the news and it was clear that Mom would not be coming home for a while, I wandered back out to my garden. Tomato blossoms had lost their sparkle. The best day of my life? Umm…

I was still young and struggling to make sense of what was even happening. I thought, Ok grandma died and this is sad. I am sad. But at the same time, I puzzled over the whole thing. I’m supposed to be sad, it’s my grandma.  But why am I sad? Why is death sad?  

Ironically, just the previous evening, we were all over at Grandma Phelps’s house to celebrate Mom’s birthday. For whatever reason, I guess was in a hurry to go home that night. That fateful evening I went out to the car and didn’t say goodbye to Grandma.

Who could have known I missed my last chance.

This upset me and I remember making a solemn vow to myself that I would always be sure to say goodbye to Grandma Buddington- Dad’s mom- so that we hopefully wouldn’t lose her too.

That day in 2004 will always live in my memory as a day of sharp contrasts. From having a celebration one night to mourning the next. From spending Sunday morning in a stodgy man-made church building to going out into the garden of God’s creation- featuring a blindingly bright rainbow of colors. From a light euphoric atmosphere to one that is dark and depressed.

Those images from 17 ½ years ago featuring myself and some tomato plants on the day Grandma Phelps died have been popping up on replay in my mind a lot lately. Maybe it’s because I don’t like how fast everything around me seems to be changing. Both personally and in the world at large. I’m certain I’m not alone in feeling this way.

A lot was altered back then too. Grandma Phelps passed from this life to the next. Our family dynamic changed, a layer of security had been stripped away with her gone. I had to grow up a little, whether I wanted to or not. We went from not having a dog to adopting Molly, Grandma’s Sheltie puppy. My family prepared to sell Grandma Phelps’s house on Primrose Lane, packing up all her earthly possessions. The last time I would be able to scale the epic climbing trees on her property would come.  

Those tomato flowers back in my garden didn’t stay flowers forever either that summer. First comes flowers, then comes the fresh, juicy red fruit in due time. If only all of life’s shifts were that good, right?  But that’s what our existence consists of…change upon change upon change. Good, bad, and somewhere in the middle.  We all know and live this, but the fluctuations are challenging nonetheless.  

People go around worrying about how the wind will decide to blow tomorrow, or what next big political, social, or natural disaster is coming down the pike. It seems like this often leaves us frozen to what is happening today, in the present moment, the only one we actually have.

I think it’s a tragedy that many people- myself included in recent times- lose that childlike sense of wonder and excitement as they go through life. The coldness of the outside world can take a toll and harden us. We might fail to even notice the simple, lovely things around us at all- like tomato blossoms.  

Sure, next year might not come. Or next month, or tomorrow. Heck, the sky could fall in two hours from now. But why let all that steal right now from you? Oh, and while you have right now, don’t just swear to always just say goodbye to those dear to you when you part ways…make sure they know that you love them. We won’t be here forever- like tomato blossoms.

So today I hope you and I make it a point to let ourselves get excited about those things that light us up. Put aside the angst about whatever may or may not hit the fan for a while. Embrace that childish enchantment over those little blessings of life, even as transient as they are- like tomato blossoms.

This Poem Is Not Profound

This Poem Is Not Profound

The swish of cow tails

A freight train on the rails

Don’t you ever wish

There was nothing to hate?

Wait

I’m sorry

Where was I going with this?

I don’t know

There’s nothing to miss

This isn’t school

At this rate, I should just go to bed

Before I go break all the rules

Anyway

This poem is not profound

There isn’t much hidden meaning to be found

Sometimes that’s a better way to play

So don’t waste your time trying to find

Don’t go wreaking your mind

Sit back down and

Enjoy the silly rhyme

It’s Time to Write Again

The song is called “Rise Above It” by the band Switchfoot. It’s just one of 400 songs on my mp3 player (I know, the cool kids don’t have these anymore, huh?), but I’ve noticed something funny over the recent months. If I get in the car and put the device on the shuffle setting, this song seems to pop up a disproportionate number of times. More often than not, I’m going to hear it at some point during my travels.

Is it a weird technological coincidence? Maybe. Is it God telling me to cut the crap and leave the pity party I’ve been attending lately? Perhaps, but I’ll come back to that.

If I remember correctly, someone brought the CD that had this song on it along on a youth group mission trip when I was still in high school. The music was a fun and upbeat soundtrack as we drove around Pennsylvania that week, but that was about it. The lyrics meant next to nothing to me at that time, or so it seemed.

“Rise Above It” (in my interpretation, anyhow) is a song about fighting back against all the stuff in this world that tends to hold people down. So here we are in 2021, and yes, I did download this track for a reason. I’m glad I stumbled upon it again. It suddenly held meaning.

Rust. Broken. Counterfeit. Typical. Sick. Miracle.

Personally, this has been a tough year so far. I mean, this was the year that I decided I like cats! Who even is this girl? :p  But seriously, things happened, and I’ve been through bouts of intense loneliness and homesickness. I’ve felt like I’ve been stuck in a massive rut- professionally, relationally, emotionally, spiritually, and so on. This mental entrapment has led to much questioning, overthinking, and many doubts. Of course, I know my struggles sound silly and insignificant compared to what other people I know are suffering through. Nonetheless, it’s been different than anything I’ve ever experienced before.

I’ve spent more time than I want to admit, mucking around in my mostly self-inflicted misery. Thought patterns like:

If only I were more _____.

If only I had/hadn’t done _____, surely things would be different.

I’m such a failure because______.

You get the picture, I’m sure. It’s a vicious cycle, and I got to the point where I was disgusted with it all. Sure, sometimes life is going to just plain suck. You are going to get knocked down. Day-to-day living is draining and repetitive. We make mistakes and feel like we’re never quite good enough. Opportunities seemingly pass us by for any number of reasons. But when I live in defeat, I’m letting those things win. I need to- dare I say it…rise above it.

The truth is, Jesus already did the dirty work centuries ago to make it possible for us to get back up and not stay stuck in that hole. So how do we live in light of that? How do I do that?

For me, I decided I had to start writing again.

A few years ago, I got frustrated and gave up on the fiction manuscripts I had in progress. For a while after that, I dabbled in the technical and journalistic writing field. Then 2020 happened. It kind of goes without saying, but things got really weird. The pandemic hit, and I stopped writing altogether.

Some days it is just the mundaneness of life that leaves me feeling so numb. I need a creative outlet. I need to rekindle my passion for telling stories. Living in a place of self-defeat is a waste of precious time, and it does nothing to help make the world a better place and give people hope. I can do both by putting pen to paper. I can help others find their way out of their muddy mess before it’s too late.

It’s been a few months now since I started working on a new fiction story idea. Honestly, it’s the most liberated I’ve felt all year. The Fading Blue Owl website marks the start of a new chapter, and I’m excited; welcome aboard!

I hope you’ll join me in learning how to triumph over all of the things that threaten to drag and keep us held under (and PLEASE, don’t be ashamed to seek professional help if your situation requires it <3). It’s not an easy journey, not at all, but it’s worth it.

So let’s go!

The system has indeed been bucked.

It’s time to write again!

~KL

Listen to “Rise Above It” from Switchfoot’s 2011 album, Vice Verses HERE :)

4-H Projects & Fair Filled Summers- My Reflections on Years Past

(Originally Published September 22, 2019)

Just last week, I went to a concert at the Ashland County Fair, featuring Country singer Craig Morgan and his band. The weather couldn’t have been better that night for an outdoor show, and the crowd was great. I got to enjoy many of his well-known hits played live- songs like, “That’s What I Love About Sunday,” “Redneck Yacht Club,” “International Harvester,” “Little Bit of Life,” and so on.

They played some new material as well, which was great. But as I listened and tapped my foot along to these songs I know so well, I was struck by something. I found myself becoming emotional, even choked up a time or two.

It’s a collective experience for most, I believe. The power of music has a way of taking us back in time, does it not? We connect certain songs to specific people, places, and events. The songs I mentioned were all played quite frequently by radio stations a few years back…a few years back when I was in 4-H, raising and showing goats and rabbits and exhibiting them at county fairs and shows all summer. Those songs would keep us company through the airwaves as we traveled with livestock in tow at 4 o’clock in the morning. Or they were played over loudspeakers on the midway as we took a walk to catch a little break from the barn after a busy show day. That just so happened to be the “soundtrack” during these defining years of my youth.

I am forever thankful to have had the opportunity to grow up being a “fair kid.” If you also grew up putting hours of work, along with blood, sweat, and tears into your livestock projects, you can probably relate. Folks who haven’t had the experience may not get it.

While it certainly has its place in the overall atmosphere and experience of a fair, the first thing that comes to mind for me isn’t the rides or the funnel cakes. Instead, it’s the cattle barns or the smell of dandruff shampoo mixed with the aroma of my freshly washed goats as I prep them for the show. Sure, those games on the midway may be a challenge, but have you ever shown dairy animals and played the game of trying to keep your snowy white show clothes…um, white? Or trying to keep the barn aisles neat and tidy all day and rearranging the chrysanthemum plants multiple times to outsmart the goats so they can’t eat them- don’t the little rascals know the flowers are decorations, not snacks?!?!     

Between the laughs and the tears, the long days and the short nights, raising and showing livestock taught me a lot of valuable things at a young age. I got to witness the miracle of birth and the beauty of life. But with that came experiencing the reality of death, and aiding in the relief of suffering when needed. I learned about winning and losing, about helping others, keeping records, managing money, and working hard. I learned that some people are just always going to be challenging to deal with, but it’s a waste to let them ruin your day completely. At the end of the day, at least make sure you did your best.

There are some folks out there today who think children should not grow up raising and showing livestock (especially market animals.) Some even that feel livestock displays at the county fair should be done away with altogether. Many have grown up with little to no contact with production agriculture and live in a very different or even virtual reality.

I’m not going to go too far into it here, but everyone is entitled to deciding for themselves if they want to eat meat or not. That being said though, I think the life lessons and values that children learn through raising and exhibiting livestock are precious, especially for today’s generation. I think it is crucial to do everything we can to support our local fairs and youth agricultural education programs. The local fair might be the only time and place all year that some people will get to experience agriculture hands-on. So we need to make a good impression and answer any questions respectfully and honestly.

I’m not sure where I’d be today if I didn’t have these experiences. I discovered my passion for agriculture this way, and I’m so glad I did. The support of my family had a lot to do with it. I’m indebted to my parents for their backing of my livestock raising projects. So Thank you Mom and Dad for the countless hours you gave up, the aggravation I caused at times, and being willing to have your hard-earned money turned into feed for animals, fuel for us, (you know, the countless Dunkin’ Donuts stops…) fuel for the old white van, and much more.

Or the year you saved the day, Dad. With some quick thinking, zip ties, and pulling the spare tire cover from the truck of your car to use as an emergency barrier when my best milking doe got assigned (unexpectedly and at the last minute) to a pen next to her thirsty kid who really didn’t like the idea of being weaned! I can’t fully express in words what all of this meant to me, and I hope you have a lot of good memories too.

As night fell over the fairgrounds after the concert, the livestock barns ware still very much lit up and a bustle of activity. Young people were fitting, feeding, and walking their animals- as well as goofing around and having a good time with friends. I currently live 500 + miles away from New England and New York where I exhibited my rabbits and goats as a kid, and that night I couldn’t help but wish for a minute that I was back in 4-H, showing my animals too.

Obviously, I can’t go back in time, but I do know that if I ever have kids of my own one day, I want them to have the experience of showing livestock. It’s not always glamorous or easy, but it’s a wonderful way to grow up, and they’ll have my support all the way. And I hope that one day when they are grown, they’ll look back fondly and appreciate those fair filled summers where it all started.

Through the Pages Blog Tour: Jeremiah Gordon

(Originally published September 12, 2018)

Today I’m excited to welcome author Annie Twitchell’s blog tour for her newly released novel, Through the Pages. I can say first hand that this book is fantastic, and I highly suggest that you check it out! In this stop on the tour, we’re taking a sneak peek at one (maybe my favorite 😉 ) of the characters in the story.

Jeremiah Gordon

Jeremiah Gordon was born in 1998, the fourth out of eight children. Growing up, he felt as though he was destined to be forgettable, but a chance encounter with Irene as a teenager turned that idea on its head. He works as a mechanic, which he loves, and he’s making quiet plans for how he can improve the efficiency of the garage. He is NOT looking forward to when self-driving cars are common.

When he’s not working, he likes to hang out with Misty, play video games with his younger brothers, and go for long drives on the back roads. He’s gotten lost more than once and spent the night in his truck, but when the sun comes up he finds the way home again. He tolerates cats, as long as he’d not expected to take any ownership of them, likes country music, and takes his coffee black.

jgordon

Want more of Jeremiah’s story? Read on for further details about the book and author! 

TtP social media graphics (2)

Spring will always follow Winter.

Misty doesn’t know who she is. Nineteen years old, she’s trapped inside who she has been, with no idea who she could be.

When she goes to Mill’s End to take care of her stubborn, book-loving grandmother, she finds herself torn between past and present. The answer to who she is lies hidden in her grandmother’s library. Her path to find herself takes her through the fading pages of dusty books and the memories of a woman who has lived a full life. It is up to Misty to write the final chapter to the dearest story of them all.

Book Trailer

About the Author:

annie.jpg

Annie Louise Twitchell is a homeschool graduate who is obsessed with dragons and fairy tales. She enjoys reading, writing, poetry, and many forms of art. When she’s not writing, she can often be found reading out loud to her cat, rabbit, and houseplants, or wandering barefoot in the area around her Western Maine home. In addition to seven published works, she has several poetry awards and pieces in four anthologies.

Connect:

Annie Louise Twitchell Blog

Amazon – Annie Louise Twitchell

Books And Quills Magazine – Annie Louise Twitchell

Facebook – Annie Louise Twitchell

Twitter: @WriterAnnieLou

Instagram: @annietwitchell @elli_and_indie

First, Stop for Gas- a Mostly True Story

(Originally published August 7, 2018)

You may have been here. It’s only a short trip you have planned. You get in the car and peak at the gas gauge. It’s getting pretty low, but stopping for gas is a pain, and after all, you aren’t going that far. Naw, I’ve got plenty for now…I’ll just stop later.

Woah! Careful now…because actually, that’s the Devil talking.

Those were my exact thoughts the other evening. Some friends had invited me to dinner. They live a few miles outside of town. Now I had heard that a particular major road was closed due to construction, but I really had no idea what part of it was actually closed, as  I do not frequently travel there.

At any rate, on this evening I had completely forgotten about any streets being closed anywhere, so I just went on my merry way.
I headed out of town and was quickly reminded by an ominous orange sign.

“Road Closed, X Number of Miles Ahead. Follow Detour”

Oh man, I totally forgot! How many miles out are they? Well, I really wasn’t sure and I’m still relatively new to the area and don’t really know my way around as far as shortcuts. Not wanting to take any chances supposedly, I follow the advertised detour. What could possibly go wrong?

This was when the drama started. Well, it was probably a lot more dramatic in my head at the time than it really was, but whatever. It makes for a good story after the fact I guess.
I should mention here that I recently had to get a newer vehicle. So A, I’m still getting used to it and figuring out how many miles I really have left before empty. And B, I went from a car to a SUV…so gas just doesn’t go quite as far now.

So I was following this detour…and still following the detour. At least the orange signs haven’t just disappeared, that’s a good thing, right?

Eh, yes, but not really.

Eventually, I started thinking (I know, novel idea). I must be too far north now. Maybe I should try turning off on the next county road heading west…that should bring me closer to where I need to be, in theory.
But there seemed to be no good place to pull off and I didn’t feel like ending up in a ditch or something. Plus there was another car right behind me. Frazzled and frustrated,  I kept going.

At some point, I looked down at the clock. That’s when I realized that I’d been driving for a lot longer than I thought I had. Where the time went, I couldn’t tell you. Then I glance at that gas gauge.

Oh, shoot. That short trip? Yeah right. Now I was feeling stupid. And why the heck am I still going north? I need to turn around.

It really felt like the middle of nowhere at the point. I mean, there were more Amish buggies out there than cars. Okay, not really. But I did come across quite a few of them.

I still really needed to turn around, but darn it, there was still another car on my heels. Look, I know you are probably following this eternal detour too, and you’re late too, but pleeeaaaase back off a bit more so I can think!

Now I was seeing signs for towns I’d never even heard of before.

Gas was getting lower, but I was still pretty confident here. After all, the gas light hadn’t come on yet. Heck, my old car didn’t even have such a feature.
I finally get to a place where I can safely stop. Ironically, I’m pretty sure that there was a working, open, gas station at this junction. But we won’t talk about that, okay? Okay.

While stopped, I finally decided to take out my phone and try using the GPS to find a different route back to where I needed to go (another novel idea a little late, wow!). I get turned around and head on my way, following that lady’s annoying voice. GPS Lady told me to take the next right onto some back road.

I came up to it and what do you know, there was nothing other than a big orange sign in the middle of the street! “Road Closed.” What in the world?!? Never mind, probably wouldn’t be a good Idea to take even if I could…recalculating.

I passed by the same Amish buggy I had already encountered going the other way. He gave me a funny look like, “I’ve seen you before tonight…I bet you were following that never-ending detour too…hahaha.”

At this time my friend called, wondering if I’m still coming and such. I sheepishly explain the situation. They inform me that the road is actually open at their place and apologizes for forgetting to mention it. By then, I had pulled off onto a side road to talk.

New plan…just go back and come the normal way I knew how to go. Cool.  I  felt better as continued back the way I came towards town. For a moment. Before things got really dicey.

That little orange gaslight came on.

Uh-oh. That happened a lot sooner than I thought it would.
I was still kind of far out. Nothing left to do now but hope and pray I could make it back. Maybe there is actually more gas in there than what it seems to say.

I could swear that I could actually see that needle moving towards E in real time. I imagined that the next thing I would be doing was making a very embarrassing call to my friend. I kept trucking. I cheered for downhill parts of the road so I could use gravity to my advantage. (“I’m glad it’s downhill from here”…That’s happened a time or two going places with my mom, 😉 )

I was pretty mad at myself for not turning around sooner. Oh well, just hope for the best at this point.

Well, friends, I’ll just say it now- I made it back to town! Those were some tense moments, but I did not run out of gas after all. I tested the limits, but they were not exceeded. I’ve almost never been that glad to see a gas station.
I arrived at my destination- after getting the gas this time- and the day ended well.

Do I now know where that road is actually closed? Nope, still don’t.
Do I want to find out first hand? Nope, not unless I have plenty of gas and lots of time to kill.

And that, folks, is why you should always stop for gas first, before leaving town. Because ya never know. Unless you like to live dangerously, but that’s your call. Lesson learned here…for a while anyway 😉

For the Love of Writing & Helga Schneider

(Originally published July 12, 2018)

Her name is Helga Schneider, and she resides in Frankfurt, Germany.  She makes her living selling chairs… homemade by her of course. She has a dog named Bernie and an English Lop rabbit named Herman.  Most of her friends are children.

Once upon a time, inspired in part by one of her young comrades, and also by the tragic local lack of Swiss cheese, Helga decided to take a camping trip. A tent camping trip to Switzerland. In the middle of the winter. Because I guess when a woman needs to have Swiss cheese, a woman will do whatever it takes to get it, right? It’s a completely logical decision!

But poor Helga, she had all sorts of problems as she tried to make her travel preparations. It seemed like she’d never get on that train to Zurich. So was she ultimately successful? Well, she did make it on the train eventually, but I don’t know if she ever completed her mission. Why?

See I never actually finished the story. Helga Schneider to Switzerland was my first attempt at writing a “novel” over ten years ago now.  The actual memory of how it came about is fuzzy. But my friends and I were goofy middle school age girls that had an obsession with The Sound of Music. My brother and I were also learning world geography in school, and we had a fascination with the countries of Germany and Switzerland.

Out of all this somehow came Helga Schneider. As well as an entire cast of supporting characters. Local Deli owner, Peter Steinburg. Helga’s rival in the church woman’s fellowship group, Mrs. Beatrice Schultz.  The Mary Poppins-ish Umbrella Lady, who peddled whatever the weather demanded (Pouring down rain outside? She’d be at your door with Umbrellas. Freezing your fingers off? Never fear, she’d have mittens by the dozen!).

My friends had characters too, and so did my brother. My mom even got on board and wrote about the dairy farmer and gourmet chef, Zelda Von Schneardenhook of Braunschweig (Sorry if I butchered her name, Mom 🙂 I know there were more that I can’t recall right now. We have many of the original stories saved, but I don’t have them to reference right now as didn’t bring them with me when I moved to Ohio 😦 Sorry Helga! I’ll come back and get you sometime!

But anyway, those were the days. We had grand plans for multiple series of books featuring these characters. Then we grew up and moved on. As I look back on it now, Helga Schneider, in all her hilarious misadventures, taught me so much

First of all, she ignited the creative writing spark in me. Ever since I started with Helga, I’ve been writing some sort of story. I learned that I loved writing. When we wrote those silly stories, we didn’t know any better.

Those stories weren’t necessarily “good” by the standards of the publishing world anyway. The plots were lacking. Some parts were incredibly dull, other parts were trying so hard to be funny that they didn’t even make sense. Helga and friends lived in Germany, but we were American kids, who had never really been anywhere. Did we research the countries and cultures of our characters? Of course not- if someone from Germany actually read those stories, they would probably laugh and throw the book or even be offended.

I simply wrote because I was in love with it. I didn’t care what other people thought- as long as they just laughed along with me at the silliness. Of course, as you get older, you lose your innocence. You begin to realize that many things in life aren’t so black and white. As I continued to write, I learned that there are so many elements that you have to take into account when you write, to make a good book. It was a lot- and still is a lot to take in.

Sometimes I get so caught up in getting the story right and making sure it has all the right things in the right places. I can lose sight of why I’m even writing it. Sometimes I wish I could go back to the blissful days of Helga.  Now, of course, I realize that there is a place for this in writing, certain things are absolutely crucial to making a story good and realistic. I’m in the middle of that right now… editing a manuscript, doing a lot of research to make sure things are accurate, and trying to make it better overall.

But at the end of the day, and especially when I get frustrated, I have to remember why I’m writing. I have to remember Helga, and what she taught me. I write first because I love it. Because I have a story that I want to tell. I hope that people will read them and enjoy them, but if not, that’s okay too. The story was written. That is half the battle after all, and what matters most.

So thank you, Helga Schneider. For starting it all, for showing me so much. May I never, ever forget you. And thank you to my friends and family who also wrote and laughed along with those stories- Mom, Dad, Grandma, James, Cassidy, and Em. Those times meant the world to me ❤

To any other writers reading this… what about you? Do you have a distinctive character that started it all for you? One that helps keep you grounded today?  I’d love to hear about them!

Thanks for reading guys 🙂

~KL