Archive for November, 2013

All the Signs

I heard a knock at my door. I stood up awkwardly then sat back down. “Come in,” I said resignedly.

It was my friend who was coming over to study. I didn’t know him all that well but the fear of an upcoming test brings all sorts of people together.

“How’s studying going?” he asked while he sat down at the chair by my desk. I shoved my Chemistry textbook into my backpack while I answered, “I mean, test preparation has never been my favorite thing.”

He pulled out his laptop. “I’m with you there, right along with the rest of the college students out there.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I feel like there are some people who really do like studying. Especially the one’s at the Big Fancy schools,” I responded while I pulled out the notebook for World History.

He laughed. I didn’t really know why he was laughing and so I turned a few pages in my notebook before I put my thoughts together and remembered my review sheet was in my folder.

We eventually started to study. Occasionally we had some conversation.

He seemed to start most of the conversation. “Is this your only test this week?”

“No, I have a few more. Organic Chemistry and Composition and Literature both have big tests or projects,” I replied with a sigh.

“That sucks,” he replied. I looked up to gauge his sincerity. People seemed to lose sincerity when they were worrying about themselves, which often happened during finals week.

“How about you?” I asked with little to no feeling in my voice.

“Nothing too bad, I chose an easy major for a reason.”

We went back to studying.

“You really into movies?” he asked a few minutes later, gesturing to my movie collection, which was rather extensive.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“I’m more into music, ya know, feeling the beat at the gym?”

l looked up at him with a facial expression that probably made it clear I did not feel the beat when I went to the gym. I actually really did like music but he didn’t need to know that. We just needed to study.

“Am I asking too many personal questions?” he asked of me when there was a lull in study-talk.

This got my attention. “What possibly gave you that idea?” I replied with sugary sarcasm.

He gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I’m going to head out. I tend to get too personal, too easily.”

I almost told him to stay but decided against it. I’d rather not get closer with someone whose mood seemed to change with the review question we were on.

He walked to the door and was reaching his hand to it when he instead went for the sink mirror and opened it. I was looking at him incredulously, “What are you-“

“I knew they’d be here. So what do you have? Schizophrenia? OCD? Depression?” He read the bottle. “Ah, depression. Had it a long time. He pointed to the empty tic tack box on the bed. “Coping thing? Having something to concentrate on? I bet you overload yourself with classes every year. Take yourself down without anyone’s help.”

He looked at me with the look of someone who has disowned his child. “Bet you had me pegged for a nice guy, huh.”

And then he left me. I sat there for a few minutes, unable to move. No one had ever seen my antidepressants besides my parents. Many of my friends, the trustworthy ones, knew I had depression.

I eventually got up and put the bottle back behind the mirror. Maybe when people saw me, they saw through what I saw in the mirror and saw the pills. Maybe everyone thought I was crazy.

His tweet later that night said it all. The signs are all the same, I can spot em from a mile away.

So I was just another depressed person for him to spot. I must have all the signs.

Set Me Free

The longest moment of my life was when I said goodbye. The moment was too short still. I hardly got to say goodbye. He was the crown prince and I would be his queen. One foggy afternoon we were together in the castle. He was about to embrace me, when the Dark Ones attacked the castle. I see now that we should have been more prepared for it. We should have thought it would happen, but we did not. His father, King Sebastian, was ill, and with the kingdom preoccupied with the matter, it was the opportune time to invade. They slashed King Sebastian where he lay in his sick bed, kidnapped Francis, and became our ruthless leaders. They sold me, along with Sophie, a castle maid who was present, into indentured servitude. At the Inn where we were to serve, we were literally bound.  The Dark Ones possess a sort of magic that whatever they say is made permanent. When they sold us, we acquired chains around our ankles. They were light chains – a chain that would retract and extend according to where I walked in the inn. It was light enough that for a moment I could forget about it. But then, if I tried to go out the door of the inn, the chain would drag me back. I never stopped trying to escape, and it never let me fully forget that I was a slave.

It’d been three long years since we arrived as the house maids of Buckshire Inn. Every day Sophie and I scrubbed and washed cleaned. Every day Sophie saw into my downcast soul and put her hand on my shoulder. “Your prince will come.” Everyday she tried to instill a hope in me.

Every day I answered, “That he will.”

This morning wasn’t any different in that respect. She repeated her worn out expression.

“That he will,” I responded. I looked up from the floor I was scrubbing and saw her face was aglow. “What is it?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” She squealed softly. “They say he’s out.”

I only frowned.

“He’s escaped from the Dark One’s camp. Gone.” She searched my face.

I swallowed and tried to put all the pictures of Francis out of my mind. “Are you sure?”

“The talk is all over the kingdom. The Dark Ones are terrorizing villages, looking for him.”

I sat down on the sudsy floor, trying to take this in.

“That’s it then,” she continued. “He’s going to rise up against them. The Dark Ones.”

“And if we could defeat them, don’t you think someone would have done it already?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Little is known about the Darkness. Surely they have their weaknesses, too.”

I was a bit skeptical, but I knew she was right. I fingered the bright chain on my ankle. If the Dark Ones were no more, their power would be gone. I would be free.

“And once he defeats them, he will come for you.” I looked up at her and she looked at me sternly. “He will, Alisha.”

“He’d better.”

That was all I could say, for it was the refrain of my heart. I’d stopped wishing for merely Francis long ago. What we had together wasn’t even particularly wonderful. When The Dark Ones took away what was mine, it was not my prince that I meant. It was my freedom. I would never stop waiting for it to come back to me.

Overcoming the Fear in Writing

by: Rebecca Taylor

I personally find sending out my work frightening and between blogging, monthly newspaper articles and calls for writing, I have probably sent out over eight hundred different texts and had most of them returned with a form letter. Still, I continue to write because sometimes, people like what I write, sometimes I get an acceptance and that is an amazing feeling.  So, for this month’s writing topic, I’ve decided to tell you some things you need to remember when sending out your work:


  • The most important thing is that no matter how many rejection notices we receive, we remember why we write – because we love it, because it is a part of us and we know that somewhere out there someone is going to like what we wrote.
  • We must be proud of our work. We took the time to sit down and put the words to paper/keyboard and after we’ve edited it, we’ve come up with something we want to share with the world.
  • We need to know that when we send our work out, and it comes back, it doesn’t mean we cannot write. It just means that our work didn’t fit the present need or wasn’t what that editor/panel of editors or judges was looking for. When you have only so many pages to fill in a specific time period and lots of talent, tough decisions must be made.
  • We need to get in the habit of sharing our work. If we do it infrequently, it is more frightening but the more I send out my work, the easier I find it to receive those rejection letters and I just type them into my Excel file and move on. I accept it and move on, knowing that someday that rejected piece of writing could make a lot of people happy or might even make me a lot of money. There are lots of famous authors who started out just like us. Were they frightened by the writing process, maybe but they found a way to get their work into our hands.
  • Use writing websites to share your work with other writers. The other writers will be in the same boat as you when it comes to you reading their writing.
  • While our writing is personal, we have to know that when it comes to sending it to publishing companies, it is a business deal and we must understand that while our hearts and numerous hours were poured into the writing, for the editor, it’s their business, whether it is a volunteer or paid position.
  • Know that when it comes to feedback, the ultimate decision on whether or not to make changes is yours but we must at least consider what the reader is saying. We can become too easily attached to our writing, to the words we spent so much time writing to know what we should change, what parts drag down the stories or what lines inhibit the flow of the writing.


I hope you find this advice helpful. Whether you’re just starting to write or have been writing for a long time, we are still going to have to go through the writing, sending and waiting processes. It might take a while but our writing has potential to find a niche somewhere or you could decide to self-publish, but that is a topic for another time.


“What do you mean, I was closed off?”

“You aren’t like that anymore! It was just how it seemed last year,” replied my best friend.

“Matt, how did you even become my friend if you thought I was closed off?” I asked him, giving him an incredulous look.

“C’mon, you don’t need to stress this,” he replied with a weary frown at me.

I didn’t even register that he’d replied because my mind was racing back to the previous year. Had I really been closed off or was it just his perspective? Someone had just mentioned the other day about how I show more emotions now.

My mind eventually circled around to the idea that maybe they were right. The fearful part of me wondered if it was my inner personality and I wasn’t who I thought it was.

“I didn’t think I was closed off but I guess I could see it,” I said as I turned towards him again and away from my thoughts.

He raised his eyebrows, “You realize that this isn’t what you need to dwell on?”

It was my turn to frown, “I never try to dwell on these things, it just ends up happening.”

He gave me a parent-y look with eyebrows raised, mouth in a straight line and eyes focused.

“I’ll do my best to think of other things,” I replied with an eye roll.

He smiled. “Good.”

Writing: Embracing Language

This week in my fiction writing class, my professor showed a video by Stephen Fry. Afterwards, my professor told us to embrace language.

Call me presumptuous, but I can guess what you’re thinking. Embrace language? We’re writers. Of course we do that. Our job is to embrace language. Right? Right. Sometimes we need a reminder.

We often forget how much power words really have. That old adage “sticks and stones” is absolutely senseless. Words can hurt. Why do you think the concept of ‘reining in the tongue’ is so prevalent? Yet if we only look only at the negative side of the equation, we miss so much. Words can be ineffably beautiful, too.

I encourage you to fall in love. The next time you write something, pay attention to your word choice. Keep an eye out for love. The next time you read, notice the words that catch your eye. We all have those words we just love. You know what I’m talking about. We like how that one word sounds when it rolls off our tongue. My list of favorite words is long and ever growing, but a few of my personal favorites are odd words like corrosive, juxtaposition, and zeal.

Try it out. Look at a dictionary and thesaurus. Use words you wouldn’t normally use. Take an adventure.

Don’t just fall in love with a story; fall in love the words you use to tell it.

Watch Stephen Fry’s message about language.

Against the Norm

by: Rebecca Taylor

“I want to marry you, Steve, but I cannot go against everything that I believe in, in order to do that,” said Beth Robbins sitting on a park bench next to her fiancé.

            “Come on, Beth, why are you so against our parents announcing our engagement?”

            “Because we can do it ourselves, we are adults, we don’t live in our parents homes, and they aren’t paying for the wedding. It is us; we made the decision to get married. I don’t want our announcement or our invitations to say, ‘John and Vivian Nordell are pleased to announce the wedding of their son Steven to Elizabeth, daughter of Andrew and Teresa Robbins.’”

            “Would it be that big of a deal? No matter what the invitations or announcement say we will still love each other the same.”

            “You don’t get it, I feel very strongly about being able to get ahead in life. Women are always portrayed as the weaker gender. I want to be thought of as Elizabeth Maria Robbins. I don’t want to go through life being thought of as Andrew and Teresa’s daughter or Steve Nordell’s wife. I am my parents’ daughter and I want to be your wife but I don’t want that to be the only reason people accept me. I want my accomplishments to have value. Even though the world revolves around familial associations, we are all our own people. I don’t want to be stifled by who my family is.”

            “I’m not going to take away your voice, Beth; you are entitled to your opinions. I just want my parents to be happy.”

            “You’re taking their side instead of mine, and while you are also entitled to your opinions, are you always going to side with them after we’re married? We need to have a united front on things, that’s the only way we’re going to have a successful wedding and marriage.”

            “You’re going against all traditional weddings; most people are conventionalists unlike you.”

            “Maybe there are more people than you think out there who believe what I do but are too afraid to actually do it. I want our wedding to be about you and me. I want us to announce the wedding; I want to walk down the aisle by myself.” We need to be equal; nobody is expecting you to be called Mrs. Steve Nordell,  giving you away or expecting you to be a shadow of me.

            “What does your father think about that?”

            “He’s accepting it, I think he would have liked to walk me down the aisle but I do not believe it is necessary. I learned to walk before I was two; now I am twenty-six, and more than capable of doing it on my own. I also don’t want ‘who gives this woman’ as part of the marriage ceremony. It is old fashioned and chauvinist, nobody asks ‘who gives this man.’ I have my own life, I do not need anybody to give me away; it sounds like some old toy that needs discarding.”

Why do you have to be so stubborn, Beth, this is our wedding. It shouldn’t be so difficult to plan. Sometimes you and your feminist views get in the way of all simplicity.

 “Having a traditional wedding won’t change who you are.”

            “I don’t want to sacrifice who I am and what I believe, just so your family and probably some of mine get what they want. This isn’t about them. This is our wedding, yours and mine, as long as we agree nothing else matters.”

            “I don’t see why we are complicating things for one day, wouldn’t it be easier to put aside your feminist views just for the day so that we can have a wedding where everyone involved is going to have a great time.”

            “Maybe we don’t know each other well enough, I think we should put off our wedding plans; we can’t even decide how to announce it right now.”

            “Beth, I’m sorry. We love each other; I don’t think we should wait. We can work this out.”

            “How? You don’t understand how I feel. It is important that I feel valued. I want this wedding to be one of the most wonderful days of our lives. I want people to see our way of thinking; I don’t want my views to be debated on or the focus of the wedding. I just don’t want to regret not having the wedding I believe in just because some people think my ideas are ridiculous. I don’t know how we can be married if you can’t accept that. I’ve got some thinking to do, give me time, Steve, I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk about this,” and Beth got up, walked down the tree lined path toward the Boulevard that would take her home, her shoulder length blond hair blowing in the wind, her grey eyes sad. I’m doing the right thing, I have beliefs, and nobody should make me change them. I’m not an uncompromising person, but there are some things in life that I don’t think a person should waver on. I am a modern woman and will not be treated like a pouting child just because I know that I am right. If I do this wedding the way he wants me to, I will always feel like I sacrificed my values so we would not have to discuss the real issues. I may not fully resent him for it now but someday I would. What if I married him in the traditional way and someday we have a daughter and she wants to be free of the stereotypes which society have when it comes to women, how could I tell her that I believed the same things when I was her age but didn’t stand my ground, what kind of a role model would that make me?

            Steve sat on the park bench for a few minutes, stunned, never had he thought that Beth would walk away just because he did not agree to her terms. I’m fighting the issue because I want Beth’s parents and mine to be happy, I don’t want them to be left out. It is traditional that the parents announce the engagement and that the father walks his daughter down the aisle. Somehow, I need to make her understand and I think I will have to get our parents involved, it’s the only way. I need to save this engagement and making her see reason is the best chance. Otherwise, who knows how long it will take to make her come around to my way of thinking.

            It wasn’t long before Steve was sitting in his parents’ living room discussing the wedding.

            “Weddings are very stressful on the bride, trying to make every detail perfect,” said Vivian Nordell.

            “I want a simple wedding and I don’t care about the little details like the flowers or the colour of the napkins. Beth and I can’t agree on the concept of the wedding. Traditional is the easiest way, it’s been done so many times before. She wants to have a feminist wedding, where we announce the wedding, her father doesn’t walk her down the aisle and no ‘who takes this woman’, and I don’t know how the minister will announce us at the end of the wedding because she doesn’t want to be defined by her familial connections.”

            “What does that mean?” asked John Nordell. “Do you mean she isn’t going to take our last name?”

            “I guess so; Beth claims traditional weddings are chauvinist.”

            “I had a traditional wedding; it doesn’t mean I can’t think for myself. I like the family inclusion in weddings, it is an opportunity to meet the in-laws and get to know our future daughter better.”

            “Beth was very moody this morning, when she is in feminism mode, she isn’t the same lovable woman that I want to marry.”

            “Are you sure you know her well enough?” asked John.

            “We went out for two years before I asked her to marry me, how much better am I supposed to get to know her?”

            “You can know some people for a lifetime and never really know who they are,” replied Vivian.

            “When you were engaged, did everyone just get along or were there all kinds of debates about things?”

            “There were many problems along the way, the flower fiasco, and the number of guests to invite. The worst was the menu. Your father’s mother wanted to use china dishes and have an elegant sit down meal. My parents thought that we should have a buffet with paper plates, save having someone do dishes when the reception was taking place.”

            “What did you do in the end?”

            “Sit down meal with paper plates,” laughed John, “it’s funny thinking about all the silly little fights we had with our in-laws and each other back then, but at the time it felt like the world could end or that the wedding was never going to take place.”

            “So, you think that Beth and I will be able to make ours happen too.”

            “Yes, you just have to stand tall and fight for what you believe in.”

            “She’s going to do the same thing,” answered Steve running his hand through his chocolate coloured hair.

            “You have to reach middle ground just like we did with the meal and plates,” said Vivian.

            “How much can I compromise, she wants a wedding that people will think is a mockery. You said yourself how much you were looking forward to announcing the wedding.”

            “Of course we’re looking forward to announcing it, you’re our only child. This is our only opportunity at having a wedding of this magnitude in the family.”

Steve sighed; he could hear Beth’s words echoing in his ears, “this isn’t about them. This is our wedding, yours and mine, as long as we agree nothing else matters” It’s our wedding, what about what I think. I’ve dreamed of the moment your father walks you down the aisle to me for almost as long as I’ve known you, why deny me the chance to see him smiling, you on his arm. I don’t know what to tell you, Beth, I don’t want to back down. If we could only agree on this, the rest should be easy. The ceremony is the most important part because it ties us together for the rest of our lives.

            On the third day, Beth was sitting in the mess hall of the fire station where she worked as a firefighter, instead of eating her fingers drummed loudly against the veneer tabletop.

            “Hey, Beth, what’s bothering you?” asked one of her coworkers Frank.

            “You probably wouldn’t understand.”

            “Try me, I’m a good listener.”

            “It’s the wedding plans, Steve and I can’t seem to agree on anything. I haven’t talked to him in three days.”

            “Take it from a married man; you won’t solve anything by not talking.”

            “I just don’t know what to say to him to make him understand my point of view. I don’t want a traditional marriage, I want an equal partnership and having a customary wedding isn’t going to allow us to do that.”

            “Can you compromise?”

            “I’d like to but he doesn’t want to see things my way. By having a contemporary wedding, we won’t sacrifice anything. I am a modern woman; I don’t like old-fashioned thinking, as a liberated woman I want to walk myself down the aisle, forego the ‘who takes this woman,’ keep my last name and not be introduced as Mrs. Steve Nordell.”

            “Those are different views, Beth, and you have been with this department for four years, we have gotten to know and respect you and your modern thinking but maybe Steve isn’t used to the new way some women think.”

            “He knows that I have views about certain things where women’s rights are concerned but mostly he’s worried about me hurting his and my parents’ feelings. My parents have known my views for many years and while sometimes sceptical have come to accept them; his parents will have to live with it.”

            “What is your opinion on men opening doors for you?” asked another firefighter Joe.

            “Opening doors for someone is common courtesy, nobody wants a door slammed in their face, but holding the door open is not gender exclusive. Opening the car door on the other hand, I don’t understand it. I am capable of doing that for myself.” 

            “You fought your way into the hearts and minds of this department, and while not everyone was sure about having a woman on the team because of physical standards and maybe some outdated ideas, you proved your weight around here. I have no doubt that someday you could make fire chief,” said Frank

            “I’d just like to get married first; I can wait thirty years or so to make fire chief. I’d like to be a training officer or a firefighter instructor first. I would love to inspire more women to think about it as a choice of career.”

            “If you want it, you’ll do it, tonight when the shift is over, talk to Steve, you’re both too stubborn for your own good, and if you don’t talk about it now, you may not be married when you’re ninety.”

            “Very funny, Joe,” said Beth, “I’ll talk to Steve tonight and see if we can’t get everything sorted out. Thank you.”

            “I hope it works, your finger drumming isn’t one of your most becoming qualities,” replied Frank.

Before Beth could respond, the fire bell rang and everyone in the station raced to get ready for whatever was ahead.

            That evening as she left the station, Beth called Steve on her cell phone and left him a message to meet her at her apartment as soon as he got a chance. He arrived forty‑five minutes later with a take-out order of Chinese food.

            “Steve,” said Beth giving him a hug, “I’ve missed you.”

            “I missed you too, let’s sit down, and talk. I promise to listen to all of your opinions and no matter what we decide on, we’ll do it together.”

            “Deal,” said Beth going into the kitchen to get some plates and cutlery for the meal. Then, she and Steve sat down at the kitchen table, food containers spread out in front of them and started eating and talking.

            “We have to reach a compromise. These last three days without you were miserable. I never want us to be apart. We need to stick together, for ever and always,” said Steve.

            “There’s something we agree on, I’m all for those vows being part of our marriage ceremony.”

            “If your father is okay with not walking you down the aisle I can accept it and we don’t need a ‘who gives this woman,’ you’re right it is kind of sexist. It can just be our names on the engagement notice and invitations; I think I can convince my parents that they will still have an important part in the ceremony.”

            “Of course, they will I want them there front and center, they’re our parents, I just want us to make plans without help, it’s our day.”

            “You don’t want to be defined by me, what exactly do you mean by that?”

            “It means I won’t be taking your name when we marry. I want to be Elizabeth Robbins forever, if someone happens to call me Mrs. Nordell once in a while, I’m not going to have a fit but that isn’t what I want to be called. I am my own person.”

            “I guess I can accept that, as long as you understand that in everyday life when people are trying to determine family connections, we will be associated together and I will be called John and Vivian’s son, you will be called my wife and your parents’ daughter.”

            “I’m okay with that as long that isn’t who I am always defined as; I don’t like it when who you are related to is all people remember. While we are going to be together for the rest of our lives, we will have combined and separate lives. Our birth names are our roots.”

            “That’s fine with me, but what will happen when we have children?”

            “I don’t know, we’ll figure it out, I don’t want our children to feel like they are stuck with having a write a really long name because we couldn’t decide on which name to choose. I suppose they’ll have your last name unless we choose short first and middle names and then they could have both or maybe Robbins could be a middle name like Sara Robbins Nordell.”

            “That sounds pretty. We’ll have to think about that but first we need to get married.”

            “First we have to plan the wedding. Would you be okay with the minister says, now I present the union of Steven Nordell and Elizabeth Robbins instead of Mr. and Mrs. Steven Nordell.”

            “But it sounds so good,” answered Steve reaching out to touch Beth’s hand.

            “It does to you but how would you feel if they said and now Mrs. and Mr. Elizabeth Robbins?”

            “I guess I get your point.”

            “Our love makes us one, a union,” said Beth, “But we are not one person, we are individuals joining together to make a life and I want that to be how we perceive our marriage, no false pretences. We are equal and need to share responsibilities fifty-fifty, that includes inside and outside work. As we do it, we can figure it out so that one of us isn’t always stuck doing the chores while the other enjoys themselves. If we work together we can both benefit.”

            “You mean you don’t want to be stuck washing the dishes, while I watch a movie?”


            “I’m just teasing, Beth, of course we’ll work together.”

            “That’s good because I want to watch movies too, curled up in your arms. Besides, we’re going to have a dishwasher.”

They both laughed, their once sad and anxious eyes now smiling. Eight months later at St. Gabrielle’s Church, Steve Nordell waited at the front of the church wearing a tuxedo for Beth Robbins to walk herself down the aisle wearing a beautiful white dress that made her glow. The ceremony was perfect, the wording had been carefully chosen by the minister and the wedding party. The happy couple had struck out on their own for their celebration and gone against the norm. 

Special Bonds

Calling them special might be a bit of a stretch. Not many would really believe you because they were just normal high school students with their knockoff coach purses and top siders. The looked average, they really did.

But to call them normal would not quite fit either. They could certainly act normal in the Hollister shirts and bored faces in the classroom. It wasn’t that they didn’t fit in but when it came right down to it, they did not fit in.

It all started with the English class. Whereas math classes were jokes and games, English classes continually got more in depth with feelings and views. It barely took a week for everyone to connect and for the class to drop the little friendship clicks and become one click themselves. They did not realize they were a click. The nonverbal body language when they passed in the hallways and the funny jokes they passed as they separated to go to separate classes were all things they did not know they did. Everyone else noticed, of course. Their bond really was strong.

You may have experienced a similar sort of special bond (not the same of course) if you have ever done any of the following:

  1. Seen a movie in theatres and walking out feeling dumbfounded. You may even have discussed the movie later over drinks with one of the people you went with.
  2. Listened to a really great sermon and learned something that you could apply in your life along with other people.
  3. Been stuck on a school bus that stalled and had to make friends with people you’d known of for a long time but never really known.
  4. Looked someone in the eye and saw something there that just couldn’t be described but also couldn’t be broken.
  5. Walked out of a near death situation with a group, feeling like you were on the cover of a magazine for your brilliance.

Can you relate? Perhaps.

However, what made this particular group peculiar was probably not that they had a Facebook group for the class. Perchance it was because of the teacher, who really set the mood for the students.

It’s the same reason as many books make it to the New York Times Bestseller’s List; it’s an abstract idea, an intangible concept.

After hearing all of this, you probably don’t immediately think of the love and power dichotomy. Let me explain.

The class had a sort of love for one another. Possibly twisted or strangely started but a love nonetheless.

The power went unfound for a while. Young high school students don’t necessarily see the power of a class although they usually acknowledge the power of a click. Funny, really.

Right before graduation was when I discovered the power. I had just finished reading The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks (by E. Lockhart) and was on a feminist, power hungry trip without really knowing it.

If your anything like me, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you this. What does it all mean?

It means that I started a secret society. Along with occasionally reading a book as a class and often posting on our Facebook group, we do secret society type things.

I’m writing this down in a journal so that my children will know if for some reason the power of the group leads me to a near-death incident while we are working together. I love them very much and am close with many of them even to this day.

I am also writing this down so that if anyone else happens to go through my belongings and read my old notebooks full of random scribbles, they might consider the dichotomy of love and power.

That they might try and find their own special class.

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BREVITY's Nonfiction Blog

(Somewhat) Daily News from the World of Literary Nonfiction

The Blog

The latest news on and the WordPress community.

Coco J. Ginger Says

Poems and stories of love & heartbreak.

Plenty of Pages

This isn't paper, and we don't necessarily write about paradise.

Make A Living Writing

This isn't paper, and we don't necessarily write about paradise.

Be a Freelance Blogger

Learn to make REAL money blogging for hire

Lightning Droplets

Little flecks of inspiration and creativity

Star Spider

The Musings and Writing of Star Spider

The Dreamers Adventures

This isn't paper, and we don't necessarily write about paradise.

YA Writers - Alumni

This isn't paper, and we don't necessarily write about paradise.

Jeff Korhan

This isn't paper, and we don't necessarily write about paradise.