Sometimes life is just hard

My car died last week. Grayson. I had him for a year. Almost to the day. He was a good car. Got me from A to B. And from B back to A, or sometimes to C. But he always got me home. Man, he was a good car. Named him after Dick Grayson from the comic books. Because I'm a comic book nerd. And it wasn't overly obvious. I don't like to be in your face, generally, with what I do and don't like/obsess over. Like comic books. If you guys knew the extent that my level of comic book nerd actually was, you'd be surprised, I think.

Any way, Grayson died and I have had a while to contemplate what I'm doing with my life. I don't have a new job yet. #anyonewanttohireawriter? I am living in the basement of my childhood home, questioning my life choices. I have a degree that my dad thinks is useless and currently he's trying really hard not to say "I told you so." BUT, despite all the opposition waiting for me to fail, I feel like this is my time to keep pushing forward. Not stopping the momentum. Well, there's not really a lot of momentum at this particular moment. Mostly I just can't stop trying. I can't stop working hard to find that elusive new job. And reach for my amazing dreams. I don't expect to become a screenwriter tomorrow, that's the end game. But I can get a new job now that will take me to the next step that will take me to the next step that will eventually lead to me becoming a screenwriter and making Changing Tyde into a movie. And LIGHTS. Because I know that's what y'all want, right?! RIGHT!

So, today I sit on my bed in my room that is full of boxes I haven't unpacked. And won't unpack until I move again. And while I sit, I keep thinking about how awesome my life actually is. It's not where I want to be, but it's not a bad place to start from. This is only the beginning, peeps. Only the beginning.

And in honor of this moment, I will share with you a poem I wrote. It's for LIGHTS. And it's been published in a student journal at UVU. And has an odd resemblance to my life. Sort of. I'm not a dancer. Obviously. But, how many times do we come across something trying to hold us back? And we have to fight and in the end there's triumph and pirouettes. And sometimes those pirouettes are the cookies and not the dance move. Ha ha.

Shadow and a Dancer

Creeper creeps in

darkness and night.

Dancer twirls,

twists and turns

together in motion.

He hides behind

her watching, waiting.

turn. stop. lift. stop.

Seeing no one she

dances until dawn

when nothing remains.

Struggle and fight,

she pushes beyond

shadow falls

while light remains

triumph and pirouettes.  

ALL THE FEELS

We all know of my *slight* addiction to TV shows, especially those of the superhero variety. But dang. Seriously. It has been a rough go of my shows lately. The writers are killing people left and right. It's like Injustice: Year 1, Issue 16 when Dick Grayson is accidentally killed by Damian Wayne. In the midst of this huge battle between Batman and Superman and their respective teams a single moment stands out. and suddenly you're ugly crying to the point that you have to put your comic down because you can't read you're crying so hard.

That's been me watching my shows. So many character deaths. Ugh. I hate it. Some are short and quick, like on The Flash last week, and others have been awful and drawn out. #savehook. Writers. You're killing me. And the feels. Oh the feels. I hate trying to explain why I'm ugly crying over a show. *sob*sob* "you just don't get it! It was his dad! The only family he had left! *sob*sob* and now he's gone!!" more sobbing. more ugly crying. All over fictional characters. This is my life.

And then, there's the other aspects of my life. Job searching. It's the worst. I hate spending hours a day filling out applications to companies that aren't even going to email me to let me know they're not interested. I feel like my information just goes into a black hole of nothingness sometimes.

I actually applied for a job that would potentially lead to my dream job. I saw the listing about this time last Thursday night/Friday morning and applied for it. And now comes the waiting game. The constant worry that I might not even hear back from them. That somehow the awesomeness of my resume and writing sample will some how not impress whoever I sent it to. If they even look at it. And my dream job could easily slip through my fingers. I'm not saying this to be negative, I'm just saying this because it's consuming my soul and I'm tired of it consuming my soul. I'm just tired. And not just because it's 2:32 AM and I'm still awake after finishing this season of iZombie. It's more than that.

In light of my above little outburst of emotion, I have decided to share with you a poem that I wrote. This is me putting myself completely out in the open as a writer. I am not a poet by nature and I struggled hard core in my intermediate poetry class, and the following poem is the result. That semester I was hooked on LIGHTS and couldn't help but write, like, all of my poems about Emma, Ian and Donovan. So, this poem is called Starlit Dreams and it's from Emma's perspective after she's lost Ian:

Starlit Dreams

I watch for every flicker

lighting the corners of my

eyes, and into my imagination.

Each night as I sleep, I hope

beyond the truth, the seconds

trickle past and tease me. A broken watch

remains, last proof that he is real. An echo

of his rich laugh a fire and coals on a cold day.

His fingers slipped from my neck, pausing

briefly at the base, like a waterfall

pooling. Waiting, holding, hoping

that time does not move past

his eyes. Deep caverns with a spark of light

that guides the weary strangers. I

caress the memory of waking

up beside him, the sting of winter kept

away by the warmth of his smile.

I dream of silver trees next to

ocean breezes after a storm

with hope and starlit dreams.

I may have broken someone's heart yesterday and although I don't regret that I did it, I do hope that I didn't cause more damage than necessary. It's made me stop and think a lot about how we treat other people. A LOT of people that I care about in my life have given me a lot of advice on how I should approach things. I listened to them for a while, but when I'm alone, and especially after I've spent some time reading my scriptures and contemplating my life, I have come to realize a few things. First, that how I personally feels does, in fact, matter. Second, that although we should give everyone a really good chance, that doesn't always mean that things are going to go the way you or other people think they will. Third, don't waste people's time. I feel really bad about that one because I think I wasted more time than I should have. I should have been more direct, but I was worried I would hurt someone or not give them enough of a chance. Instead, I put it off a lot longer than I should have. Which happens. Ugh. Feelings. They're killing me, guys. You can't live with them, and you can't live without them. I kind of feel like Barry Allen on tonight's The Flash. There's a moment towards the end of the episode where there's a big reveal and he can't handle it anymore and he goes out into the hallway and just collapses on the ground and is sitting there with his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands and there's tears streaming down his face. He just couldn't handle the emotions anymore. That's me mentally. I'm beyond my breaking point emotionally. Which is what it is. And I'll find the strength along the way. But dang. ALL THE FEELS. I tell you what, they're not so bueno. 

Batman V Superman, and other things

First of all, here's 2 chapters of Changing Tyde that I completely changed. Let me know what you think. They're SUPER rough drafts, but you should get the idea:

Chapter 2 - Kyla

I didn't think about how hard it was going to be to pack up my apartment. I moved quite frequently through out my college experience, this should be a piece of cake. But this time was harder than any of the other times. Everything I touched had a memory with him attached to it. I found myself reliving the last three years over and over again, each item bringing the pain in a new light. At this rate, I'll never get packed in time.

I finish packing the last box in the living room. I need to be packed and ready to go in two days. I look around my still mostly full apartment and feel defeated. I tape up the box and set in on top of the others labeled with a thick black sharpie. I look to the half packed kitchen and don't even want to think about the bedroom. I've avoided the bedroom more than anything else. The memories that room holds will be worse than the rest.

It's just a one bedroom apartment. It shouldn't be this difficult. And yet, I've been packing for a month. Or, avoiding the packing for a month. I pick up another box, determined to tackle the kitchen tonight when my phone buzzes to life on the counter top next to the sink. It's my best friend and former roommate Shannon. I answer it.

“Hey! I was just calling to see if you needed any help yet?” She sounds cheerfully cautious.

“I thought I could do this by myself, but I think I've hit the point where I need some help. When are you free?” I ask, frustrated. But before I can even finish the question, there's a knock at the door. I walk over and open the door as Shannon ends the call and looks up at me.

“I'm glad you're willing to let me help because I was going to help whether you wanted it or not.” She informs me with all the sass that her southern drawl implies. I hug her, feeling like I might not fall completely apart with her here.

“Thank you, Shan. Ugh. I odn't know what I was thinking.” I tell her.

“You were thinking that you could whip this all out in a day and a half like all the times we moved from one apartment to the next. But this isn't like all the other times.” She states, and I know she's right.

“I just get frustrated so easily. I'll be packing a box in the kitchen and before I know it, I'm ugly crying over a skillet Nick's mom gave me at my bridal shower. It's so depressing. Are you sure you want to help?” I ask.

“I'm sure I want to help. What is the hardest for you to pack?” She asks, looking around at the progress I have made.

“I finished the living room, I was just about to start on the kitchen again. I haven't really touched the bedroom. I've kind of avoided that one the most. Do you want to work on the kitchen and I'll try working on the bedroom?” I try sounding optimistic and determined. Shannon just smiles at me and wraps an arm around me,

“How about we do the bedroom together?” She asks with an optimism I lost a long time ago. I nod and we head over to the bedroom.

It's not that I have a lot of stuff in my bedroom, it's just that was the last place I saw Nick. It's where we slept each night and where we talked for hours about our future. I had gotten rid of most of his stuff, but there were still memories everywhere I looked.

We had moved into this apartment as newlyweds and now I was leaving everything behind. Shannon started taking all of my clothes out of the closet and putting them in a box. She probably would have done the whole thing if I let her. But I couldn't let her do that, so I grabbed a box and started going through my drawers.

“Would you believe that I've already gone through everything in here, like, three times?” I say with a slight smile as I find pictures from my first date with Nick. I hold up the picture to show Shannon, “Remember this night?”

“How could I forget? You were so smitten by him. You couldn't stop talking about him. Which was hilarious because you swore you didn't like him.”Shannon reminds me. I laugh a little and put the pictures in a box.

“He caught me off guard. I wasn't supposed to meet anyone that semester.”

“And yet, the universe and Nick had other plans.” She responds. I laugh a little at the memories and keep going. Within an hour my bedroom is completely packed and we head to the kitchen.

I sit down at the table to rest for a minute. Shannon grabs a couple bottles of water out of the fridge for us and sits across from me.

“Was that easier?” She asks. I nod.

“I don't think I could have done that without you. Thanks.” I open the water and take a drink.

“I'm so glad. Is the kitchen all that's left?” She asks looking around.

“Yeah, pretty much. And it's half way there. The moving truck will be tomorrow. Leo and Mark are going down with me to help me move in down there and then they're flying back on Saturday. This is all happening so fast.”

“I know. I can't believe you're actually leaving me. What am I going to do without you?” She teases.

“Come visit me. I don't have a huge apartment, but I do have a couch. And I'm not far from the beach!” I tell her.

“Fine. You win. I'll be here tomorrow to help you load the truck.” She looks at me with concern. This isn't new. Everyone's looked at me like that for a year. It's what happens when your whole life gets turned upside down and you're left scrambling to put the pieces back together. It's how I look at myself in the mirror each morning.

Chapter 4 - Kyla

I pull into an empty parking spot. Spring is in full bloom as I walk slowly through the empty grass and walk the familiar path to the one place I have found myself most often over the last year. I'm glad no one else has decided to come visit so that I can say goodbye alone. I stop at the granite gravestone.

Nicholas Andrew Robinson

May 16, 1988 – January 20, 2015

Beloved Husband and Son

I place a small arrangement of Gerber daisies at the base of the stone and kneel careful down next to it. This place has become sacred ground over the last year while I have dealt with the loss of my best friend.

“Hey Nick. I finally got all packed up and am ready to go. Shannon came by and helped last night or I'd probably be ugly crying over a knife set we got for the wedding.” I try to laugh at the absurdity of the truth, “your mom promised to come by regularly and bring you flowers. I know it's a little ridiculous for us to bring you flowers when you really didn't like them, but it's our way to let you know we care about you still.” I'm rambling. To a gravestone. If Nick really were here, he'd be teasing me with that ridiculous grin and sharp green eyes. I can still see them as if he were truly standing in front of me.

“So. California. I can't believe it's actually happening. Mom and Dad are thrilled to have me closer. They offered me the guest suite at their house, but I just couldn't move back in with them. I'm not the little girl that left there anymore. I did get the apartment down on 6^th Ave. It's a small studio apartment, but it'll do until I get on my feet again. Besides it's just me.” I can feel all of my emotions ebbing and flowing and rising like a river. I wasn't supposed to be alone ever again.

“I guess I really just wanted to come and say goodbye. Not for forever. I plan to come back and visit. I guess I just wanted to let you know that you completely changed my life, Nick, and I'll always love you for that. You showed up when I thought I didn't need anyone and proved me wrong. I love how you changed everything about my life and made me a better person. I will never forget you, or our life together. I will treasure each day we spent together and even though I'm moving away and moving on, that doesn't mean I'm going to forget you. I could never forget you. I still love you so much that it hurts. My heart is still broken and as long as I stay here it will be. I think that's part of why I took this job so soon. Because as long as I stay here all I'll think about is losing you. And I don't think you'd want me to stay here and dwell on what was. I think you want me to be happy. So that's what I'm going to try and do. Move on and be happy. I love you, Nick. Always.” I wipe away the tears that have collected and stand up to walk away. The sun is setting in front of me and the light dances through the trees and across Nick's grave. I smile and turn to walk back to my car. The pain of saying goodbye is just as hard as it was the day he was buried here.

.....sooooooo.....what did you think??? I'm actually really curious. You should, maybe, leave your thoughts in the comments or something.

Also, went and saw Batman V Superman last night after I revised 46 pages of the above story. It was a crazy awesome day and then I went to the movies with Liam, which was a lot of fun. It was a pretty good movie. They referenced a lot of different comic book story lines, so I'm curious where they take this. In my dream world, I will work for DC as a screenwriter. It's going to be awesome and their movies will be great. Any way, let me know what you thought of Changing Tyde. I know it's a lot different from where the story started and I am so happy that I get to keep working on it!!

This is What Happens When You Graduate College

'''''I have been binge watching shows. I have been writing like a mad woman. I haven't left my room in days, other than to go to my job. I curled my hair the other day just to do something different. This is the life of a college graduate. I applied for jobs in New York, Chicago, Miami, Fort Collins and Salt Lake City. I don't actually think I'll get the one in New York, Chicago or Miami, but you never know unless you try, right? Those three are all writing jobs with magazines for entertainment and music stuff. Which would be fun. I would love it. But my real goal is screenwriting. Doesn't it just sound pretty? Screen-writing. scree-n-writing. scree-nwriting. Any way you say it, it sounds fun. And exciting.

I am an 80 year old woman. I think I've hit spinsterhood. Because when I watch movies and stuff, I totally embroider and do hand stitching and stuff. All I need is a few cats and I'm set for all eternity. But not really because I actually just really enjoy needlework. It's becoming a lost art.

I also rewatched some of The Lizzie Bennett Diaries. Have you guys watched them? There's 100 episodes on YouTube, they are 5-6 minutes a piece. Here's the first on just in case you haven't seen them:


I feel like this is now the story of my life, except my mom is not crazy. Nor is she trying to marry me off to some rich dude. But, I am a college graduate that is not married. And I live in Utah. People tend to worry about my chances of ever getting married. Because I'm single. And 30. SCARY. I think people worry that I'm not worried about it. But, it'll happen exactly as it's supposed to.

Um. I wrote something. It's probably awful, but I thought I'd share it any way. Here you go.

It's not that I couldn't tell him what I was thinking, it's more that I didn't want him to over think what I was already over thinking and thus perpetuate the cycle further. So, instead, I watched him walk away. The love of my life. My best friend. The only one that really understood me. I just stood there and watched. I didn't move an inch. In the rain. I left my jacket in the house. I hadn't expected him to just come in like that. And when he talked to me, I couldn't think clearly. I was so distracted by the sound of his voice that I couldn't hear his words. The fire in his eyes was so fierce I saw nothing else. He was upset, I think. And then he left as abruptly as he came. I ran after him. I needed to know what he said.

“Wait!” He stopped at the sound of my voice and turned around.

“I'm tired of waiting. All this time you knew and you never did or said anything.” His words were truth and I heard them now. A stabbing guilty pain settled in my stomach. I knew it wasn't going away anytime soon. He was right. I had known for months that he loved me and I avoided him because of it. Foolishly avoided him thinking it was for the best.

“It's better this way.” I said. Stupid stupid girl that I was. He walked over to me, grabbed my face and kissed me so fiercely that I think I stopped breathing. I had never kissed anyone before, but somehow my lips knew just what to do. My hands found their way to his side and I held close to him.

When he pulled away, he looked at me. Rain dripping down his face and off his eyelashes. He was looking at me different, now. And not in a good way.

“You're right.” He said and let go of my face. As he turned to walk away, I wanted to call out, but couldn't. Instead, I just watched him walk away. And he didn't turn back. He never turned back. And I stood there. Alone. In the rain. Unsure of what to do next. Knowing we'd never be the same.

And then, here's another snippet from a different (maybe) story. It's going to be a series that is pretty much written like a sitcom. Each chapter is an episode and each book is a season, if that makes sense. My goal is to publish it and then actually make it into a TV show. That would be awesome. Any way, here's another snippet for you:

The walls of apartment 314 were old. They were white-ish with many small holes from push pins and nails being shoved through them. If the walls could talk, they would tell you about the many pictures and frames that were placed upon them to invite people into the room. If the floors could talk, they would tell you about 2 a.m. Dance parties and stolen kisses from new found love. If the ceiling could talk, it would tell you about the slumber parties in the living room and Chopped marathons. If you could watch time pass, you'd see lives grow and change. You'd see girls become woman. You would find sisterhood.

Fall semester was supposed to start like any other. It was a new school year and a new group of girls were moving in. None of them knew each other, which was a first for this apartment. It hadn't been bare for many years and the landlord finally had a chance to update the apartment. A fresh coat of paint on the walls and new carpet and furniture were brought in just in time for the unsuspecting tenants to move in just before school started. Isabella was the first. She seemed very quiet and reserved as she unlocked the door and pushed open the brown door that still had tape stuck to it from flyers that had long since been taken down. She glanced around and took a deep breath in. Smelling the new paint she smiled a little to herself.

“I was right, they did redo this one before I moved in.” She said to an unseen friend behind her. As she enters, so does the friend. He is tall and almost has to duck to enter the doorway. He looks around, unimpressed and sets the three boxes he is carrying down in front of him. Isabella walks through the living room to the balcony that overlooks the parking lot. She opens the door and steps outside.

“You can see everything from here. I love it. I love this place. Come look, Jace!” Jason still seems unimpressed as he walks slowly over to the balcony and steps outside looking across the parking lot with her.

“Nice. It's great. You'll have so much fun here.” He speaks in almost a monotone. Isabella hits his arm with a playful expression.

“Come on, you'll love visiting me here!” she replies. She walks back inside and looks around the kitchen. It is completely empty and she smiles to herself as she opens cupboards and then closes them again. As she works her way down the row of cupboards, she notices the hallway leading to the rooms standing open. Light pours in from the three rooms into the hallway and she walks quickly towards them.

Um. I think that's all I have to say right now. It's late and I have no excuse for still being awake. I have no homework. I was applying for jobs, so I guess that's my excuse. With North and South playing in the background. Have you guys seen that mini series? Best four hours of your life. Then you, too, can fall in love with Richard Crispin Armitage. I know I sure did. And still am. He's replaced Tom Hiddleston in my life. No one thought that would happen, but it did. And now, I am going to sleep. Peace.