somewhere beyond the barricades.

Listening to: Sam's Town by The Killers

Line Obsession: Stories are the wildest thing of all, the monster rumbled. Stories chase and bite and hunt. - from A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness

via google images

"Love has no middle term; either it destroys or it saves." - Les Miserables

I'm bumping my very important blog about celebrity-look-a-likes so we can talk about Les Miserables. And other things. Savvy?

I'll start here: 

Many years ago, I spent a summer month in London taking a Shakespeare class. As much as I've written about that experience, you'd think I stayed there a year. But I didn't. I only stayed a month, but one month can resonate so hard when you really, truly live it. I lived up every fiber of every second of that experience. For reasons I still can't articulate, the London Summer changed how I filtered everything. London was not the sort of city that gently ushered me in. It didn't coddle or console or give me time to adjust. London hurled me into the deep. From the moment I got there, I was caught in the tension between sink and swim.

I'll never forget a late night toward the end of my stay: I was on the tube, on my way back to my flat. None of my friends were with me. This was quite an accomplishment. When I first got to London, I'd been afraid to go anywhere by myself, but that's another story. Riding the train alone may not seem like a big victory, but it was for me. That night, I rode alone. As the train rambled on, I noticed the reflection of a woman in the window. I tried to glance at her without staring too much. Just from her reflection though, she seemed like the kind of person I wanted so badly to become. She looked London-cool; messy hair, fitted trench coat, bag slung around her shoulders. She was leaning against the center pole, easily. When the train stopped suddenly, she wouldn't fall, because she had her feet planted. But she wasn't clutching anything either; she wasn't afraid or nervous. She had high cheekbones and the shadow of a smile on her face. She looked so confident, so steady, like she was settled in for the ride of a lifetime. An amazing lifetime. Her lifetime. She was living up every fiber of every second of that life.

It took approximately ten more seconds of staring before I realized I was looking at myself. I know that sounds dumb. I'm positive I've never seen myself that way again. But for those few glorious minutes, I saw something about myself that I hadn't seen before.


In the rush of the night train, London had whispered the wildest possibility in my ear: what if you are the girl you've always wanted to be? 


You were afraid to come here alone, but you came.

You were afraid to ride this by yourself, but you did it.


What if you are capable of more than you ever imagined?

There are loads of reasons you should go to London someday (or go back, maybe :), but the reason I most want you to go there, or anywhere that's calling out to you, or any place that you're afraid of going (but so desperately want to go) is because I so-bad want you to have a moment like that. Not lots of moments like that; but one. Looking at yourself for too long will never, ever result in anything worthwhile. Self-loathing and conceit are two sides of the same coin, I think. Spend your time looking at the world around you; study it and love it and let it unnerve you a little bit. But catch a glimpse of yourself too, especially just before you leave wherever it is you've been. You might be surprised at the girl (or beastly) looking back at you.


I don't think a change of place always changes the person. Maybe it will. That's fine if it does. But I think the best thing that comes with a change of place is when it helps me peel away all the fake and the fear and finally see all the potential inside me. That's a wonderful day when you realize that you're capable of so much more than you thought.

When you start to wonder if, dagnabit, it's time to just be what you've been becoming.

Everybody needs a place like that, whether it's 10,000 miles away or only 10 paces.

Everybody has a place like that out there somewhere, a Sam's Town; a city that gets caught-up in you. You'll feel it someday, if you haven't already. Someday, there's a place that will draw you like a magnet. You'll daydream about it. You'll read about it. You'll collect pictures and photographs and you'll convince yourself it can't possibly be as amazing as you're imagining. But then you'll step off the plane (or out your back door :) and you'll see that it isn't as amazing; it's better. Because it's real. Because it's your story then. Even when you leave that place, it won't leave you.


London was like that for me.

I took a Shakespeare class while I was in London. That probably seems cliche, but I figured there was no better place for such an undertaking. Usually, at night, my class would meet up at plays all over the city: at The Globe, in Regent's Park, in some seedy warehouse on a tube stop in The Twilight Zone. During the day, we'd meet up at the college or at a pub and discuss what we'd been reading and what we'd seen the night before. Sometimes we read the plays aloud, volleying lines back and forth to each other with all the animosity and longing a bunch of sleep-deprived college students could muster.


Theater, like language, is a whole different experience when you learn by full-immersion.

Ever the planner, I'd saved up for months in advance so I could see other plays too. I don't know if I've ever mentioned this, but I'm a serious theater nerd. Drama actually helped me break out of my shy-shell just an itty-bitty bit. I'm not very good at acting; but I loved it. (I actually think acting and writing fiction feel a little bit similar; because you're "in character" in both cases, maybe?) Not having any acting savvy hasn't lessened my love for theater at all. I'm beyond grateful every time I get to take in a play; the fact that I get to be part of that magic in any way at all blows my mind. So when I went to London, I wanted to see as many plays as I could afford. (I was a college student ... so that still wasn't many ;)

On nights I didn't attend plays for class, I'd run to Leicester Square to find cheap theater tickets for musicals on the West End. I'd promised my mom that I would see Les Miserables first, so that's the very first ticket I bought.

As you probably know, when it comes to cheap tickets, seating is a real Bingo game of possibilities. Sometimes the seats are amazing. Sometimes they are high up in the heavens with a .005% view of the stage. Luckily, my seat for Les Miserables was perfect. The theater was huge, dark, and crowded. I had no idea what to expect when as the lights dimmed down.

That's such a magical moment in a theater, isn't it? *shivers*

Les Miserables. 

I was mesmerized.

Even for a girl who loves theater, Les Miserables defied all logic. The music was so loud, so powerful, that I could feel it vibrating inside my chest. Maybe that's what makes the story so special too; you feel the words. You don't just hear them. The play was dark, sad, and wonderful. Les Miserables is a story of depravity, morality, revolution, redemption and faith. Does God care? Why does He see suffering and not stop it? And what happens when two people pray to the same God, both claim they're trying to live for His glory ... and yet one becomes a sworn enemy of the other?

Has war always been romanticized?

Have guys always overlooked the girl-next-door for the rich and flouncy Cosette-behind-the-gate?

Les Miserables is a love story. It's a war story. It's sickening. It's inspiring. Because I'm a tremendous theater nerd, I tend to have a very visceral reaction to plays. So of course I cried. At the end, I stood and applauded so hard that my hands prickled. I was trembling as I walked out of the theater.

I left, but the music stayed with me. That night, I had the lights of London and rainy streets and a song-memory that I knew I'd keep forever. As soon as I got off at my stop, I ran to the Internet cafe and emailed my mom and I told her that Les Miserables was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. It still is.

This is my favorite line:


Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

So when I heard a new film adaptation was coming this December, I was thrilled. I finally saw the trailer for the film ... and whoa nelly it's everything I hoped it would be. I love the casting. I love the tone of it. I love Hugh Jackman, Russel Crowe, and Anne Hathaway in this. I thought I'd get a little snooty about my beloved #24601, like who can possibly throw-down with Alfie Boe's Jean Valjean? Or Colm Wilkinson's? Have you heard Gary Morris sing "Bring Him Home"? He's incredible. I'd forgotten how much I love Hugh Jackman though, in everything. He's so versatile and talented, isn't he? I can't believe I ever doubted.

I'm particularly wild about this casting for Marius. I don't remember when I first saw Eddie Redmayne, but most recently I watched him in My Week with Marilyn. He stole the movie. Have you seen this guy? I'm sure you have because 1.) he's a doll and 2.) he's very talented. I'm crazy about his face; so many emotions flicker in his eyes and across his features. He can look so boyish and still so handsome. A little bit guy-next-door and still very aristocratic. I like him a bunch. (And, gah, have you heard him talk? His voice is wonderful.) (Why can't I have a British accent?)

Let's watch the teaser together, shall we?  :)



I've seen it probably forty-seven times now, but it still makes me hyperventilate. That part where Anne Hathaway is singing and she's choking out the lyrics? Amazing.

So anyway. I love Les Miserables because of the story, but I also love Les Miserables because of the place in my life it bookmarked.

It was ten years ago when I went to London. That summer was a Jubilee Summer too, just like this one will be. I ran through the rain. I sang "Hey Jude" in Hyde Park with a million other people. I cheered on England in the World Cup. I sat on a balcony over Cromwell Street and wrote. And wrote. And wrote.

I was afraid. I was fearless. And at the very end of it all, I didn't recognize the girl in the mirror. I didn't recognize her, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.

If you get a chance to see Les Miserables in a theater, do it.

And if there's a world you long to see, go see it.


Do you love Les Miserables too? Are you a theater-nerd like me? Do you remember the first play that stole your heart? Do you have a favorite? I really, really love Wicked too. Les Miserables is special in a different way though. Will you geek out with me and talk musical theater down in the comments? :)

twitter-iffic.

Listening To: Mumford and Sons. And the rain on the roof. 
Line Obsession: "Far too many people die with a heart that's gone flat with indifference, and it surely must be a terrible way to go. Life will offer amazing opportunities, but we've got to be wide-awake to recognize them.” - from Saving CeeCee Honeycutt by Beth Hoffman


That is a picture of a pig in flight:

This is a picture of lightning striking the same(ish) place twice:

This is a picture of The Eagles during their first(ish) reunion tour, after they vowed they would never, ever reunite: 

This is Johnny Depp failing to attract me in any way whatsoever: 

These are all phenomenons that someone thought could never happen. 

To that short list, I shall now add this:

That is a picture of my Twitter profile.

I never thought it would happen either.


Between us, I'm not so sure I'm a twitter-kind-of-girl. 

I love blogging (because you people make this place so fun). My hope is that this blog has a conversational vibe about it. If blogs were places, I'd want this one to be a funky little coffee shop with good music playing and good people hanging out. You're welcome to come as you are and stay as long as you want.

But if Twitter was a place ... eh. I guess I've always thought of it more like an overcrowded cafeteria. A place where you hear lots of people talking but you're never invited in on the conversation. Obviously, I'm wrong. Lots of people seem to love the tweeting. I'm sort of a social outcast when it comes to social media, I guess.

And yet. Pigs fly. Lightning strikes. Bands reunite. Johnny Depp has a bird on his head. And I tweet. I'm giving it a try, at least. :)

If you're on Twitter, will you say hello? I'd love to connect with you on there. The good news is that Twitter doesn't pick up twang, so you won't even need subtitles to understand what I'm saying ;)

Note: I'm certain that I won't understand how to use Twitter for a while. In case you haven't noticed, I have a hard time keeping my thoughts short, sweet, and to the point. Thanks for being patient with me while I step into the 21st century. Hopefully, eventually, Twitter will be fun. Fun-ish. ;) My hope is that whether you say hello over there or on here, you'll still feel welcome. Just exactly as you are.


I think you can find me by clicking this magical button: 



Follow @_natalielloyd



If not, my handle (?) is _natalielloyd (note the underscore before my name).

I have a real post scheduled for later this week, a thought-provoking piece about feuding families and celebrity look-a-likes. (Be thinking of who your celebrity look-a-like is ... because that's what I want to ask you in my next post! :)

Do you like Twitter? Or does "social" media make you feel a little bit anti-social too? ;) 

someday i'll be undignified.

Listening To: Breath of Life by Florence + The Machine
Love Obsession: "It was a Monday and they walked on a tightrope to the sun." - from The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

Photo via Google Images

Hey sweet people! I feel like we haven't chatted in a while. How you been? Is school almost over? Papers all turned in? Classes all scheduled for next year? Awesome summer plans emerging? (You're looking adorable, by the way.)

I have so much I want to tell you, but I should probably wait until I can unpack my heart a little bit better.

So. For today, if it's cool by you, I'd like to talk about Elvis.

Ever so often, especially when I get tangled up in something I'm writing, I got a hankering for a Blizzard. Not the snowy sort (though that would be awesome since the weather here hovers at boiling 364 days a year), but the ice cream kind. And when it comes to ice cream and my quest to find and consume it, my Dad is always my most dependable ally. 

So one day I called him up and said, "Dad! How about tonight, we run out to The Derek Wayne and get a blizzard?"

And Dad was all, "Brillllliant!"

So off we went.

With my favorite ice cream ally.

Necessary Backstory #1: A few years ago, a girl in my Bible Study said that her cousin's husband wanted to name their baby Derek Wayne. But her cousin said no, because that's how people in East Texas pronounced "Dairy Queen." That quote still delights me to no end, so when I speak of Dairy Queen I usually refer to it as The Derek Wayne. Which is probably how I've always referred to it anyway, as my drawl is much thicker than any East Texan I've ever met. So. 

The fact that I get ice cream from The Derek Wayne makes the trip is worthwhile, always. Menchies just moved into my city so I'll probably cheat on The Derek Wayne this summer, but still. Ice cream quests always end in victory.

What I could not have anticipated about this particular trip - not in my wildest dreams - is who I would see.


While at Dairy Queen, I came face-to-face with The King himself.

Necessary Backstory#2: Getting stuck in traffic is not uncommon in my city. While my city is not some huge, sprawling metropolis, it gets congested. Most eateries and stores are located on a couple of streets that border the mall. On those streets, the traffic lights are all jacked up to the tenth degree of crazy.

So I have lots of time to ponder life, love, and other mysteries while I wait for the traffic lights to change. I've listened to entire podcasts. I've had long phone conversations with long-lost friends. Once, someone dressed as Captain America ran past my car holding an election sign. I've seen many unusual sights.


And yet. There is one sight I always hope to behold while stuck in traffic, one sign from the universe that spins my heart and delights my eyes like none other. 

The first time I saw it was just a few weeks after I moved here. An ordinary-looking (old) blue pick-up truck was waiting in front of me. Thankfully, I took the time to read the advertisement on the back glass:

Elvis Impersonator!

Weddings! Reunions! Birthday Parties!

{Phone Number}

On the back-glass of a truck. I call it The King's Pick-Up.

I don't know why it makes me happy, but it does. For me, The King's Pick-Up is better than a four leaf clover. When I see it, I know I'm going to have a good day. How could the day be bad after that? I'm not sure why The King's Pick-Up makes me so happy, but I have some theories.

Theory #1: There's always a little part of me that thrills at the idea of someone having a job they love, especially if that job is completely out of the norm.

Theory #2: If you work as a paid impersonator ... I'm guessing you know how to have fun. My guess is that impersonators love the thrill of being in front of an audience, that making people happy is what makes them happiest about performing.

Theory #3: I don't think there's any snobby pretension associated with impersonating. If your talent - regardless of what it is - has the ability to bring a little bit of joy into somebody's life, then it's a very savvy gift you've been entrusted with. I could even get very deep and philosophical about how impersonating is pretty much what we all do. Is there any originality in art? Or even in the world? Or are we all impersonators? Why am I suddenly trying to get all deep and Yoda-like with this post? Anyway.

Sadly, despite being in traffic behind The King's Pick-Up on many, many occasions I've never actually seen The King. The windows of the truck are tinted. The King remained a mystery.

Until now.

Because when Dad and I pulled into the parking lot of The Derek Wayne, I got out of the car, glanced about ... and nearly fell over and flailed about in joy.

Because the pickup was in the parking lot.

I grabbed my dad's arm and said (you can probably see this coming...):


"Dad. Elvis is in the building." 

I was speechless for maybe a whole second. Frozen in a state of pure delight. This phase passed quickly, because I started thinking about frozen delights and Blizzards and Dip Cones and what do I want?!?! And The King is inside!

I tried to be very casual as I scoped out the restaurant. Nobody fit the profile of what I assumed The King would look like. Was The King disguised so well? Does he have a civilian-self that looks so normal, so different from the Hunka-Hunka-Burning-Love-self I'd imagined? I began to lose hope.

And then.

As I waited in line for my Reese Cup Blizzard, someone brushed past me and said: "S'cuse me, Darlin."


... I'm totally kidding, he didn't say that. 


But I did see him. I saw the King. He walked around me and grabbed his own Blizzard - a King-Sized one. Obviously. He thanked the guy who made it. (Just "thanks" not "Thank ya' very much"). And then he walked away.

He wasn't in character. He had the right look though - dark black hair, fuzzy sideburns and that whole shtick. But he was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He seemed really normal.

So now, when I see The King's Pick-Up, there's the slightest tinge of sadness that washes over me.  Now I know he's just a normal guy who eats Blizzards, not a super hero out to be my good luck charm. It's the same kind of sadness as when you're a kid and you see a mall Santa out on a smoke break. Or when you realize The Dukes of Hazzard aren't real; they're just a TV show. We all have to grow up someday, I guess.

Note: As I type this, I'm thinking about how funny it would be  if the guy I thought was the King ... was not The King. What if some guy in a white jumpsuit and glasses was sitting at the booth watching a baseball game and I missed it? I hope that happened. That would be awesome.

Speaking of Elvis.

Are you a fan of the real Elvis? I never really understood the Elvis-crazy until I saw Black Leather Elvis. It's not that I didn't see Elvis's talent; that was obvious. I like his music. And I remember liking some of his movies when I was a kid. He intrigues me for sure. But I didn't understand why people were so obsessed with him. Black Leather Elvis helped me understand. (Or maybe I understand because I'm older?) Some people are just naturally enigmatic. He was like that, I think.

I'm not sure head-to-toe black leather is a good look for 99% of the population, but oh mylanta. He wears it like it's jeans and a t-shirt, like it's nothing. Like he's totally comfortable walking around in leather. Maybe Elvis wasn't a confident man, but he looked so confident on a stage, the way he sang and snarled and growled. And his voice was seriously beautiful. Sometimes he coos like he's singing a love song and sometimes he rasps like he's about to preach. (Maybe he was doing a little bit of both?) And the way he glances up every now and then with those sky-blue eyes like he's looking right at you and then he does that confident little smirk like ... gah. No wonder women went crazy.

But this is my favorite thing about Elvis: I love musicians who are brave enough let the music move them around. That kind of moving that isn't always pretty; it's not choreographed.

You remember in the Bible, when David danced before The Lord and his wife got embarrassed and David said, "I'll become even more undignified than this?" I think that's a similar kind of dancing; that raw, unhinged, primal desire just to move. To physically respond to the moment. That's how Elvis looks in clips I see; not vulgar, but gloriously undignified. And so darn handsome. It's like the music was connected to his bones and wired to his heart and, at best, he was trying to control it. And then he stopped controlling it and let it move him every which way. I think his music gave lots of people permission to move the same way. And I'm sure he was inspired by loads of musicians, but he blended all that into something that came off very original (ironic maybe, considering how much he's impersonated).

So maybe we're not all impersonators. Maybe we're just borrowers. Or maybe we're all just dying to dance. Thank goodness for the dreamers and believers who remind us that it's okay to be undignified.  

(PS: This Elvis song will always be my favorite.) 

I would love to hear your big summer plans! Or your favorite Elvis song. Or your favorite Blizzard mix ... ;) 

out of the dark places.

Listening To: Hold On To What You Believe by Mumford & Sons
Line Obsession: "Lives are made of strings of moments, and every once and a while, one of those moments is pivotal and defining. It changes everything, alters you so completely that when you look back, there's a clear before and after."- from Unraveling by Elizabeth Norris

Do you ever get homesick for places you've barely even seen?

(Or places you've never seen at all? :)

I'm feeling that way today.

Last summer, I took a massive roadtrip with my brother/The Rogue Accountant. We flew out to the Pacific Northwest and spent the week adventuring to places we'd only dreamed of seeing (including the honest-to-goodness Goondocks!!). We drove for hours with the windows down, listening to music, sometimes talking, but mostly just staring slack-jawed at the wonderful world around us.

Because it is seriously a wonderful, wonderful world.

We hiked to waterfalls.

We drank coffee at Stumptown.

We watched people paraglide through the Columbia River Gorge.

We ate grilled cheese sandwiches at a pub on Cannon Beach, then walked to the edge of the world and listened to the ocean roar at us.

Mostly though, I felt like I was clicking the camera as the car zoomed by. We wanted to see as much of that world as we possibly could, get lots of miles behind us. We succeeded. If The Rogue Accountant has a superpower besides annoying the daylights out of me, it's driving. He can drive for hours and never get bored. And never need bathroom breaks. His savvy is enviable.

We drove 90% of the time. But as much as we saw, I never stopped feeling amazed over it, or grateful that I got to take it in. There's a line in a David Crowder song where he sings, "My eyes are small but they have seen the glory of enormous things." That's exactly how I felt.

At every bend in the road, we traded glory for glory.

It was all ice and blue sky.
Flowers bloomed out of the rocks
and snow muffled every sound.
The mountains were jagged, black and white,
reaching up through the clouds to scratch the sky.

That place is wild.

And when you're there, staring up at those mountains, you feel wild too. Even if you're the shyest, most timid person in the world, you feel like you've got it in you to roar.

One of our last trips was to see The Hoh Rainforest. That's the trip I'm homesick for today. I'll probably do a bad job of trying to describe it for you, but here goes:

If someone had the power to open up your favorite storybook, cut out the gorgeous illustration of the enchanted woods, and make that page life-size and lived in ... that's what The Hoh Rainforest would look like. Those woods are enchanted. The trees are so tall that there's no way to see the tips of them. You look up and nearly fall backwards over the hugeness. In some places, the canopy is so thick and dense that the woods looked dark, even though we went during the day. Because of all the rain, the forest looks neon-green. Thick moss carpets the forest floor and wraps around tree trunks, brambles, and limbs. Ironically, it was not raining the day we went to the rainforest, but it wasn't totally quiet either. It's almost like you can hear echoes of rain as you walk down the pathways.

Echoes of storms.
Cackling rivers.
Whispers stuck like spider-webs in the tree-tops.

I'm so grateful a place like that exists. That people worked (and work) to protect it. That I got to walk through all that gorgeousness. The Hoh Reforest is creepy, inspiring, and wholly enchanting.

(Not so enchanting? My camera battery. Which, apparently, needs to be regularly charged in order to work. My camera and my phone both powered down when we drove into the forest ... which is kind of creepy-awesome ... and also why I don't have any pictures.)

I'm guessing there are a bunch of entrances and billions of pathways you could explore. On the path we walked, there were lots of signs to acquaint us with the woods. I read a few. Skimmed others.

But the sign that really snagged my attention was wooden, carved with faded white words and a picture of a very regal looking elk. With his strong legs and tangled crown of antlers, the elk looked like the boss of that place. Like he'd just walked out of Narnia.

The sign called elk the "silent guardians" of the woods. They're here, but you probably won't realize it. They're watching you even if you don't see them. 


I swallowed hard. I glanced to the left. And then to the right. 

Because I didn't  particularly like the idea of The Boss Elk watching me.


Reason: A few days before we walked through the rainforest, The Rogue Accountant stopped at a random roadside stand and bought Yak Jerky. 

Yak Jerky. 

He didn't open his jerky until a few days later, when we were waiting to board the ferry leaving Seattle. And I'm convinced he only opened it then as a form of protest. The ferry ride was my idea, because it sounded awesome. Judge me if you must. But I'm a country girl. I never get to ride ferrys and taxis and such.  Apparently, the Seattle ferry is a popular form of transportation (and not just for country bumpkins like myself who get excited about big ol' boats). Also, I picked rush-hour to go ... and, thus, we had to sit in line for hours. The Rogue Accountant hates to wait. He not so subtly communicated his disdain:

But the view from the ferry? SO WORTH THE WAIT.

Anyway! While we were waiting to ride the ferry, Chase ripped open the pack of Yak Jerky. And yak stank ... it is a special kind of stank. He didn't have a napkin, so he wiped his hands on his pants. And then he wiped his hand on MY HOODIE.

Very eloquently, very calmly, I told him that his gesture was unkind. "INGRATE! We're hiking through the woods tomorrow! Wild animals will eat me!"


Chase narrowed his eyes at me, the way villains are wont to do. He smirked. "Exactly." 

So. I stood there in the dark woods, reading a post about the silent guardians who were most likely licking their lips while they watched me trip through the forest. I took no solace in the fact that I smelled like a beastly buffet.


Does The Boss Elk really see me? 


Does The Boss Elk eat Yak?!?!

The sign assured me that the elk weren't aggressive as long as they weren't, like, aggressed (it amazes me that warnings like this have to be issued - that people actually try to cuddle wild animals).

As if to assuage my fears even further, the sign informed me that elk are symbols of luck and good fortune. If you see them you should feel blessed. (Blessed unless they eat yak, obviously.)

I ran after my brother and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. "The Elk ... they're watching!"

He looked at me like I had two heads.

I clapped my hands together excitedly (more of a flutter than a clap). "That sign says it's good luck if you see them. That something good is going to happen to you. Not everybody sees an elk because not everybody takes the time to look for them ... that's why they're lucky elk!"

Now, admittedly, I don't really believe in luck. But I believe in miracles. I believe in wonder. Mostly, I just thought it'd be so cool to see an elk.  And I thought it would make the sweetest vacation story; if I could say that I'd seen THE elk, the one with the big, beautiful Narnia-antlers. Maybe I'd see him walking out of the woods, and he wouldn't eat me, he'd just stand tall in a little grassy spot. And I'd remember that the world could be so magical sometimes. And I'd take it like a little wink, a reminder that good days are coming. That'd be wonderful, if it happened.

I squealed. "It'd be like a patronas ... but better!!!!"


My brother's response was to walk faster, in a not so subtle effort to leave me behind.

As I tripped along behind him, I occasionally hollered out: "Tell me if you see an elk! I'd love to see one!"

... He didn't see an elk.

Toward the end of the trail, I became more resolute. I stomped my foot down on the path and declared: "I will see an Elk!"

... I didn't see an elk.

"That's okay though," I sighed as I buckled my seatbelt. "It's okay not to see them. You know what? It's better that I didn't see them."

Because sometimes it's good to remember that just because you don't see something wonderful, that doesn't mean something wonderful isn't there, isn't already happening. Right?

So we drove out of the dark woods. The shadows still clung to us even as we drove into the sunlight. Shadows are sticky that way. Light always wins out though. I squinted against the bright sun and rummaged through my purse-o-crap for my sunglasses. The woods had been so dark that I'd forgotten it was still daylight.

"There are some cars pulled over in that clearing up there," Chase said. "Maybe it's your elk!"

"Maybe," I shrugged, pushing my sunglasses up on my nose. "But probably just a deer."

But we slowed down at the clearing, just in case.

... We didn't see an elk.

We saw an entire herd of elk. 

They were huge, sleek, and gorgeous. My camera only coughed up enough battery power to snap a couple of pictures before they meandered back into the woods.

But. Do you see the pretty one with antlers?

He stopped walking and looked back at us, only for a second. Maybe he only looked because he caught a whiff of yak juice. (I rolled up the window and locked the door, just in case.) After a quick glance, he marched silently, elegantly back into his woods.

That one second was long enough for my heart to pound out a reminder.


One second was long enough for me to remember that hope is the wildest thing we have inside us. 

Maybe if you press on through the dark woods, if you keep moving, keep looking, keep believing ... maybe you get to see something more wonderful than you ever imagined.

And maybe you wouldn't even know how wonderful it is if you hadn't caught your first glimpse of it in the dark.



Is there a place you're homesick for today? 

monday's blinks.

Listening To: Classy Girls by The Lumineers
Line Obsession: "I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once." - John Green, The Fault in Our Stars


Happy Monday, party animals! Thanks for sharing your list of car songs. As I've said before, I think we could all roadtrip together and have the most swankified time. We could hire The Rogue Accountant to drive us in a double-decker. Maybe that one from The Great Muppet Caper when they go to The Happiness Hotel? (The bus is parked in front.)




"If that's The Happiness Hotel, I'd hate to see what the sad one looks like." 

I've been saving up some blinks* to share with you:

- My most favorite recent quote (from my BFF Sarah): "Why'd they dress Peeta like Porter Wagoner to do his interviews?" Note: I've seen The Hunger Games. I have some thoughts. But I can't decide if I want to blog them. Are you interested in discussing The Girl on Fire? Or are you kinda hunger'd out at this point? (Did you wear gold eyeliner when you went to see it? I didn't. But the thought did cross my mind.) 

- I'm honored to be on Leigh's list of savvy people. My only dislike is that Leigh didn't put herself on her own list. But I guess putting yourself on your own list would be weird ... :) Leigh's blog is a gem though. I love how candid she is about life, love, and the pursuit of the perfect fried pickle.

 - I'm a voracious reader of Joy Eggerich's blog, Love & Respect Now. Her writing is one of my favorite recent discoveries. Joy writes about relationships, but not in a sappy way. She's smart, informative, and very funny. Joy writes from a faith-perspective, but I think you'll find lots of wisdom (and much funny) regardless of what you believe. I'm a major fan. Biscuit is a big fan of Walter (Joy's dog). Also, Joy loves unicorns. People who love unicorns are my kind of people.

*Tangent* Speaking of animals with super powers, here's an adorable picture of Biscuit taking a nap: 

- My mom sent me this great article about designer Esther Boller. I'm pretty sure I've clicked through this girl's portfolio ten thousand times now. She made that gorgeous white dress OUT OF MASKING TAPE!! Her entire portfolio is so inspiring. I'm not a designer and I don't sew, but anytime I see people making beautiful work it makes me want to get better at what I do too.

- As previously noted, I'm not a crafty person. But this is the kind of DIY excellence I can get behind. 

- Love this article on Hello Giggles about why Hamlet is mostly a tool. I laughed so much. I can picture this girl reading the play, slinging it across her dorm room with a wail of anguish, and typing out this frustrated article. If you're a Lit major or just drowning in a paper for your high school English class, you'll empathize. What are your thoughts on Hamlet? Have you ever thought about what Hamlet2012 would look like? I think Hamlet in the modern era would be more "princely" in movie star way than an actual royal way. He seems like the kind of guy that would dress very scruffy but pay big bucks for his scruffy clothes. I get that Hamlet was grieving and that his kingdom was falling apart (blah blah blah) but I always thought he came off a little bit spoiled and indulged. He's more tabloid fodder than History Channel documentary.

But Hamlet Shmamlet.

Most of all, I wish Ophelia'd had a friend who could have shaken her and been like, "Fee, The boy's a scrub. You don't think you can do better than Hamlet?! Hamlet talks to skulls!!!" (My favorite Shakespeare play is Much Ado About Nothing. Beatrice + Benedict, FTW!)

- Speaking of cute couples! I read that Markus Mumford and Carrie Mulligan are married now. I also read that she wore pink wellies with her wedding dress. Too cute!


- Marshall Eriksen is following me on Pinterest!

- And so is ... Thomas Edison ... ? 

- In honor of National Poetry Month, I give you Sonnet 129 ... as read by Voldemort. 

- And finally! Last week in the comments, Ashley linked me to a song called "Emmylou" by the band First Aid Kit. I listened. And I proceeded to send it to everybody I know. (Tens of people!) Thank you, Ashley!



I'll be your Emmylou and I'll be your June
if you'll be my Gram and my Johnny too.

Perfect.


Care to share a fun blink in the comments? Do you have a strong opinion about Peeta's suits, pink wellies, or Hamlet Prince of Scrubs? 


* Recently, when I tried to share some links I typed "blinks" but I decided to embrace the typo.

sing-a-long. scream-a-long.

Listening To: Hey Pretty Girl by Kip Moore
Loving: all the books you recommended on this post. Thank you!
Line Obsession: "Magnolia has coffee like muddy tears, but it gets me out of the house." - Emma Forrest

So I was hanging out with my dad last week, and we decided to stop for some coffee.

And by "we decided to stop for coffee" what I mean is that I saw the Starbucks sign and, thus, I began pointing and flailing about. "Freak Out" is my Pavlovian response to Starbucks. There's always room in my life for a Caramel Macchiato. (And now my sister's getting me hooked on those infernal chai lattes ... how can so much joy exist in one small cup?!)

So we stopped for coffee, then made our way back toward the interstate. As we were waiting to turn, a car rolled up along side us. And the car's music was blaring so loud that it made my car vibrate. It made my teeth vibrate.


When music is so loud that it makes my teeth vibrate, I have this involuntary reaction to look.

I wasn't being ornery about it or anything. I didn't particularly care that the music was loud (my teeth might care but I'm fine with it ...). I keep my music cranked up too, especially in the car. (Because I like to sing along ... and if I keep Adele turned up really, really loud I start to convince myself that I sound exactly like her. You savvy?) When I felt the bass line thumping deep down in my bones, I guess I just felt compelled to see what was up. Those woofers were like sirens to my redneck soul.

When I glanced over at The Boneshaker beside me, I saw ... a tiny, old Mazda truck. The truck was no higher off the ground than my car. The driver was a man who looked to be in his twenties or thirties - very thin, with shaggy hair and a backwards hat. He saw me looking. He smiled and waved: "Sorry!"

I waved my hand like, "Hakuna Matata, friend!" No worries. Carry on with thy boneshaking. I smiled at him.


And then he motioned for me to roll down the window.

Which I did, hesitantly.

And I was rather delighted by what I heard. Because when my window was all the way down ... my car was suddenly flooded with the sound of synthesizers and perky drum beats - glorious 80's dance music.

The Boneshaker was rocking out to ... Whitney Houston.


How will I know if he really loves me?
I say a prayer with ev-ry heartbeat ...


The guy smiled and gave a thumbs up and hollered, "I'm keeping Whitney alive!"


I'm asking you what do you know about these things?

I mirrored his thumbs up. "Awesome!"

I raised my coffee cup in honor of his bravery. Salute.

He passed us on the interstate and, to my great delight, he was still rocking out, still screaming, "How Will I Knoo-ooooow..." at the top of his lungs.

My dad was like, "Why did he feel the need to tell you he was listening to Whitney Houston?"

The world may never know.


But I like it. I like a grown-man who's not ashamed to sing-a-long with Whitney. 

Maybe he recognized a kindred spirit. I also like to have concerts in my car. Every since the day I met The Boneshaker, I've been thinking about my favorite car songs. And how my favorite kind of music, my favorite bands ... aren't necessarily my favorite tunes to sing in the car. My favorite kind of music tends to be moody, artsy, lyric-driven stuff. I don't remember if it was my mom or dad who made the observation that my favorite bands mostly dress like hobos and hitchhikers. *shrugs* S'true. And yet. Those same sweet, introspective songs that make me want to write better and fall in love harder or just curl up in the corner and weep ... those aren't necessarily my favorite car songs. There's some crossover, but the car mix is more eclectic.

Here are some of my favorites:


- As previously mentioned, anything and everything by Adele. Adele is inspirational-legit. Like I said, there is some crossover on this list.
- "Paranoia in B Flat" by The Avett Brothers. Except not too often because that song makes me want to bust a move. And it's hard to actually move around much in a car, while driving, without making other passengers nervous.
- "Mr. Tambourine Man" by Bob Dylan. Observation: when I try to sing like Bob Dylan I mostly just sound like I'm in pain.
- "Somebody Told Me" by The Killers. Classic.
- "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry. Uh-oh, the ballad of a dove. *raises hand as if releasing a small bird* Go in peace and love. (She's totally doing an ode to Anne Shirley in this video, don't you think? Well played, Kimberly Perry!)
- The entire Wicked Soundtrack. It's almost sad how much I like Wicked. But everyone deserves a chance to fly, dang it!
- The movie soundtrack for Grease. (When I hang out with my bffMelanie, we still listen to "You're the One that I Want" and we take turns singing Danny and Sandy's parts.) (...TMI?)
- "Carrying Your Love" with Me by George Strait. For whatever reason, I really, really like country music in the car. George Strait's voice puts me in a good frame of mind. I wish he was an option for the navigator's voice on my TomTom. I'd like for him to sing me around the city.
- "Mama Tried" by Merle Haggard. This one ... I can't explain it. I only know it's a great car song. (For a double dose of awesome, you can watch him sing it with Dolly here.)
- "Gunpowder and Lead" by Miranda Lambert. Miranda's my go to girl for when I'm feeling feisty.
- "Stronger" by Kelly Clarkson. Ditto for Kelly when it comes to the feisty factor. Stronger is also my favorite workout song right now. And I might have spent almost an entire night trying to learn the dance at the end. Judge me if you must. 

Sometimes, when I'm driving, I gravitate toward melancholy songs; songs that makes me think about where I'm going and where I'm headed. Other times, I just want the kind of music that makes me want to roll down the window and howl out the lyrics.

Speaking of howling, one of my all time favorite car songs is "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" by The Darkness. My brother hates it when we're out and that song comes on my iPod. I can't really describe the change that comes over me. All I know for sure, is that my rendition of the song is very special. In the words of Randy Jackson, it gets a little pitchy.



If you were going on an epic roadtrip with your best friends tomorrow, what songs would be on your playlist?

I like big books and I cannot lie. (part two)

Listening To: 20 Years by The Civil Wars
Quotable: "Inspiration exists but it has to find you working." - Pablo Picasso

* Someone asked if I'd ever finished writing the post about Middle Grade novels I'm exited about reading this year. Thank you for reminding me! I meant to post this back when I wrote about upcoming YA books that are making my heart go pitter-pat. This is a long one, so maybe go get some snacks, come back, and make yourself comfy! :) 

As I've mentioned a time or a thousand, February marked the second anniversary of the day I turned twenty-nine years old. In the minds of children, this means that I am mostly pre-historic. In the eyes of my parents, I'm still a spring chicken. No matter how you view this age ... I'm pretty much an actual adult.


Except for when I photoshop Ceelo Green glasses onto my brother's face:

That is not mature. But otherwise!


Despite the fact that I'm a grown-up(ish), I happen to love middle-grade novels.

In fact, if I'm being tee-totally honest, middle-grade novels are my favorite reads. Middle School was the era I loved to read most. (The Baby-Sitters Club! Narnia! Bunnicula! Wayside School! Ma and Pa Ingalls! Goosebumps!) And it was the era I started getting serious about showing my very, very corny stories to other people. And also, and maybe most importantly, it was the era when I wore slap bracelets and airbrushed unicorn sweatshirts for school picture day. Hawt. (This I promise you: I was geek before it was chic.)

I've never stopped loving middle grade books. I love the style, for starters. Because it takes a very particular kind of voice to write it. Regardless of whether that voice has a lyrical flow (like my Writer Hero Kate DiCamillo) or more of a plot-centered punch (like Rick Riordan), all of it has a poetic clip to it. The words in these books are pure poetry - controlled poetry - and they're well paced. And they're fun. Young Adult books get lots of love, and rightfully so. Middle Grade books are a whole different kind of wonderful though, and I think they deserve some hype as well. Today, I am happy to be their hype-girl.

Whether you are a legit adult or just too legit to quit (or way too young to even know the song I just referenced), don't hesitate to pick up a middle grade novel this year (even if middle school is, thankfully, light years behind you). Middle Grade books are some of the most well written, most surprisingly literary books I've discovered. They steal my heart away every time.

These are just a few of a bunch of middle grade books I'm eager to nab in 2012:

May B. by Caroline Starr Rose. I've followed Caroline's blog for a long time now and it has been quite an encouragement to me. Caroline has been very candid about her path to publication; a path that is typically bumpy and crackly and full of potholes. And sink holes. And suck holes.

I find her honesty very encouraging. For me, The Path to Publication (for fiction) (which is the not-so-secret-secret-dream) has mostly felt like a Dystopian version of The Oregon Trail Game. Apparently, you gotta get snake-bit and dysenteried a bunch before you ever get to Freedom Rock. (Put that in your metaphorical pipe.) Thus, I cannot imagine a writer who wouldn't be encouraged by Caroline's tenacity. I'd read her blog long enough to know that it was only a matter of time before her book(s) got snatched up. Sometimes talent shines through even when writers don't mean for it to, and her blog always had a sparkle to it.

Her first novel (which came out in January) tells the story of 12-year old May, a frontier girl living in the late 19th century who, unexpectedly, is abandoned one winter and has to survive alone. The novel is written in verse which is a tricky sell for me - despite the fact that I love poetry so much. I'm down with verse, but I think, for me, it can very easily fracture the pace of a novel. Plus, without the right skillz, writers get lost in the versey-ness of their verse. (That last sentence is a fine example of why I don't write many book reviews.) Incorporating verse the right way takes some savvy but I've read Caroline's blog enough to know she has it, tons of it. When I was a kid, I followed the Ingalls family all over the prairie. As an adult, I am excited to spend some of my Spring with May B. I'm confident May's gonna steal my heart. (The books today are all middle grade, so even if your parents are pretty strict about what you read, I'm guessing they'll be okay with these. But, of course, I can't know that for sure. So if a character stubs her toe and mumbles a cuss word, please don't throw rotten eggs at my car.)

The Seven Tales of Trinket by Shelley Moore Thomas. 


There are certain kinds of stories that pull me in immediately. More often than not, the writing is the first thing that hooks me - there's a certain style of writing I adore. But, regardless of the writing, I'm drawn to stories that have a classical, lyrical, enchanting sort of pulse in the pages. I like quests. I love heroes who don't feel heroic at all (the best heroes are always that way, aren't they?). I like lots of stories that weave together unexpectedly. I don't know if The Seven Tales of Trinket is like that, exactly, but everything about the blurb makes it obvious I'm going to read it. You can read more about the novel at Shelly Thomas's blog. Shelley has also written some lovely children's books. If you need some new reads for your little sibs, or the kids you nanny, do check out her Good Knight series. (Or, if you're like me, you can just check them out for yourself. Children's books are my favorite kind of poetry.) Trinket isn't out until this fall, so stick it your "TBR" list. I get a prickly sense about books that are going to be wonderful (it's my 6th Sense, maybe ...) (Book sense is far better than an I-See-Dead-People Sense, yes?), and this one's giving me the pricklies.

The Sinister Sweetness of Splendid Academy by Nikki Lofton.

So, that TV Show, Once Upon a Time?  Do you remember how I fan-girled all over that show when it first came on? Well ... I totally gave up on it. I have commitment issues when it comes to television, anyway. But there was an episode of Once when the wicked queen started pitching hearts into the fire (very Temple of Doom-esc) ... and it came off so corny for me. I get that it's storybook-fun and quirky and all that. My suspension of disbelief is pretty much in the stratosphere. I have a very high tolerance for storybook stuff. But the heart-wielding was just ... eh. A friend tells me I need to get past my roasted-heart prejudice, because the show is so fun. I'll try again someday. Maybe.

Regardless, I am always up for fairytale retellings. I'm nuts about them. And there is no shortage of them in the universe of kid-littery (yay!). Cinderella gets lots of love. I could argue that Beauty and The Beast is pretty much the basis of every love story ever. (Also it is the reason I want my very own library with a wheely ladder attached.) The coolest retelling that I've read about in a very long time, however, is Nikki Lofton's The Sinister Sweetness of Splendid Academy. Oh. My. Word. I've read that it's like "Coraline meets Hansel and Gretel". (!) And I want to read it so much that I can hardly stand the waiting. You can click through to Nikki's blog to read the blurb. How cute is that cover?!

Be right back. I'm going to go grab a Diet Dr. Pepper.*

Ok!

The Mapmaker and the Ghost by Sarvenaz Tash. 

Last time I visited my nephew, he asked me to read Rick Riordan's Son of Neptune. Andy likes for me to read a certain scene over and over again, because I do June's voice like the woman who made Tapioca pudding for Renee Zellwegger in New in Town. Andy thinks that's funny. He does wonders for my ego. In that scene of Neptune, the harpies are swooping in and so I start to get nervous for Percy, and sometimes I have to stand up and jump around while I read. At that point, Andy mostly looks me as though (in the words of the great poet Rob Thomas), I'm just a little unwell.

Point: I like to get swept up in adventure books. Not only do I love adventure books, but I love books with maps. I wish I had a map in every book I own. Even if the book takes place in Podunkville, I want a map! Storybook maps are magical things.

Enter The Mapmaker and the Ghost. I actually saw it blurbed as something (... I don't remember the first part, but it was a comparison to another book or movie) ".... meets Goonies." And I thought, "Hellooooo, I must own." Because you know how much I love me some Goonies.


The Mapmaker and the Ghost sounds sweet and unique and awesome and adventur-y. The author is Sarvenaz Tash (her debut!) and you can read more about her novel on her site. An added perk? I'm almost positive this book will have a map in it. Jumpy claps are imminent.

Fun tangent: Sarvenaz is an Iranian name. As you might remember, one of my most favorite people in all the world also has an Iranian name, as do her sibs. I love the way their names sound. So storybook and chic. You can hear Sarvenaz pronounce her name here. And this is a sweet post about she wrote about her name.

There are, of course, loads more great books that will come out this year. First billing on my "wanna-read-like-whoa-list" always goes to Kate DiCamillo, Jenny B. Jones and Sarah Addison Allen. (And J.K. Rowling, obviously.) I read Jenny's There You'll Find Me earlier this year, and I loved it, but apparently she thinks she only has to put out one book a year or something. And I'm not sure if Sarah Addison Allen or Kate D. are putting out anything new in 2012 either. It's like none of them care that I can't bear the thoughts of going a whole year without their books. *gives favorite authors the stink-eye* But I'm keeping a vigilant watch. And I'm always watching for something I've never even heard of, something that surprises me, a cover that catches my eye in the bookstore, a first page that steals my heart away when I didn't expect it to. That's the best feeling for a lifelong geek, regardless of how chic she becomes.

If you're still reading this, you deserve cookies and pinwheels and plastic whistles and cupcakes. Festive things.

Just so you know, I don't get any kind of kickback from mentioning these books. I don't know these authors (but they seem awesome). I just think their stories sound incredible. I don't even get Book-It credit. Did you guys do Book-It? Or was that prehistoric? (Book-It, back in ye olden days, was Pizza Hut's way of rewarding booknerds. You got a huge button and, for every book you read, you put a star on the button. And when the button was full you got a free personal pan pizza.) I am forever grateful to Pizza Hut for championing my two great loves: reading and cheese. (Why doesn't Book-It exist for adults?!)

I feel like there's only one proper way to end this post: 

Do you remember your favorite book in middle school? I hope you'll let me know what you're reading now (regardless of genre!). I love hearing your book recommendations. I'll meet you in the comments so we can reminisce about good books. And Book-It. And airbrushed sweatshirts :) 


*Total lie. I had to take a break and sing my favorite line from Beauty and the Beast, "... isn't this amazing?! It's my favorite part because ... you'll see, here's where she meets prince charming ...but she won't discover that it's him till chapter three ..."