all hail the cutest picture in the world.

maybe tomorrow will be better, can i call you then?

All Hail Sawyer, the Adorable Nerd.

All Hail Ryan, The Photogenic One.

Introducing Me {Bailey}

I figured out that Bailey can have outrageous, artistic clothes and ways of expressing herself without being identical to Riah. Riah is feisty, whereas Bailey is... artistic and wild on the outside, but quiet on the inside. I think that's the route I'm going to go. I was trying too hard to have two quiet characters, because I didn't want to duplicate Riah. Well, I think Bailey will be like Riah, just... in a quieter sort of way. She's kind of complicated to describe. Complicated, but quiet. Wild, but weary of the world and its ways. She's got a very extroverted exterior, but a quiet interior, that not many people see that side of her. I think she looks wild, but she isn't. And that's gonna be awesome to write.

I FINALLY FIGURED HER OUT. happy days are here again.

Book Cover? Or Not?

A Conglomeration of Collages

A Walk In the Rain

The rain is falling down just like the day we played in the rain. Only the hopeless feeling that weighs upon my shoulders makes it difficult to breathe.
Ryan's gone. To who knows where. He didn't think it was worth it to stay. He didn't think we were worth it.
It stings, to be honest. I walk down the street, my mind wandering. Did he not think we were good enough? Could he not have stayed? For the sake of our planet, if nothing else.
"What's wrong?"
I whirl in my steps, the rain sloshing beneath my shoes. Sawyer stands behind me.
"What do you think is wrong?" I continue my quick gait across the water-stained road. "Ryan's gone."
"So? We can go on without him."
"No, we can't." I turn to see him quickly closing the gap between us. I don't want him here. Not now.
"And why not?" Sawyer stuffs his hands into his pockets, an action which slightly angers me. "It's not like he added anything to our little ensemble."
I want to slap him. "How can you say that? He added everything to our little ensemble, as you put it."
"You can't just give up now, Avary. We can't."
"What do you suggest? Move on? Act like we don't care? Act like he isn't gone?"
"Well, we have to get home first."
"Um, yeah, about that... how are we supposed to get back through the time warp bubble without him?"
Sawyer lifts his shoulder into a shrug. "We'll figure out."
I slap his chest with the back of my hand. "What the heck is wrong with you, Sawyer? You should be the one stressing about this."
"I don't know. I guess I don't really care."
"About Ryan?"
"About the fact that he's gone. We can live without him. What made him so special anyway?"
I twirl a strand of amber curly hair around my finger in thought as we continue to stroll down the soppy street. "I... I don't know. He was just... Ryan. You know?"
Sawyer shrugs. "I'm a guy. I don't fangirl over cute faces."
I feel my face turn red. "That's not it and you know it."
"It's not? Remember at the beach? You and him did a LOT of talking." The evil grin overtaking Sawyer's face gives me a sinking feeling in my stomach. "All alone... on the beach... in complete solitude... with the stars blanketing the heavens... oh, and did I mention you were alone?"
I slap him again. "You can be quiet now."
"You don't like what I'm saying? No? That must be because it's true... oooh, Avary likes Ryan..."
"Shut up." He does shut up, but instead he gives me an impish grin. "Shut. Up!" I insist.
"Fine, fine. But I continue to ask: why is he so special?"
"He has... I don't know." I snap my fingers through the air in an effort to come up with the right words. "He has a spark of life. Something beneath the surface that I just want to know about."
It hits me that I'm confiding to Sawyer Bentley -- something I've never done before and never thought I'd do. This sends many awkward feelings rippling through my heart. "Anyway. Who knows if we'll be able to get back home?"
"Yeah, you're right. Thank you, Miss Logical. Now if only that imbecile Ryan would've thought through that before he just took off with two feet running."
"True enough." I fold my arms, shivering against the rainy chill. "Think we should go back?"
"Up to you, Miss Townsend." He fakes a bow, complete with tipping his invisible hat. "You're in charge here."
It strikes me what a wonderful person Sawyer is. And it almost helps me feel better. Just a bit.

An awesome name:

Rhori.

In Which I Ramble About Spies, Helena Bonham-Carter, the Woes of Being Ryan, and How Sawyer Gets a Free Ride Through Life and a Puppy.

I'm trying to decide whether Dr. Flanigan's wife was a spy. This would mean I would have to utilize the fine face of Helena Bonham-Carter. Which would be fine if I actually liked Helena Bonham-Carter. She's sorta okay but in National Treasure she annoyed me.
Then again, she might be too old for Flanigan, whoever plays him. Which is kind of awkward considering I just realized he kinda sorta looks like Patrick Gates.

....Nah. That guy is WAY too old to have teenagers. Namely, Bailey and Sawyer. Unless he's a womanizer and his wife is super-young. Which would be way awkward. Nuh-uh, not going there.

...Ew.

Carry on.

I sorta was thinking his spy could cheat on him with Gesparo. And that would be awkward.

Yeah, so either way this could be insanely awkward. We'll see.

It would be helpful, though. Because then Flan would automatically know what Gesparo's plans were. Because he'd have a spy. And then the spy would defect. And he would be wonely.

That would sure as heck wreak havoc on Bailey and Sawyer's emotions.... I don't know if I can convincingly write something like that. I mean, being abandoned... having your mother defect to the dark side... it's a sad life, people.

Then again, maybe I should torture my characters more. Especially B&S. Because here we have Ryan who goes through virtual hell by losing himself, and Sawyer gets a cute little puppy. Bahaha. Something is seriously wrong here.

I want to roll on the floor laughing after writing that.

The Darkest Moment In Time Starts Now

Once they figure out that Ryan is losing himself, they set to work putting a book together of his memories. Avary, Bailey, and Sawyer all help with this. It becomes a leather book and they bring it with them everywhere so that they can verify his souvenirs.

Close to the end, they return to the desertous planet where Ebenezer is, only they return on the same day Ebenezer dies. Ryan doesn’t remember the planet at all, but when he sees Ebenezer, it strikes a chord. The old man is killed by Gesparo due to a problem involved with smuggling. They hide out somehow, and Ryan freaks out because he remembers Ebenezer. He watches him die. Soon after that, Ryan passes out. They drag him back to Emasis and he falls into a coma.

Gypsy Soul

You've got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leaving.

He’d been too many places to count.

He’d started out in Arden. On Emasis. Later he’d return, and he didn’t know why. But that’s another story for another time.

At the age of fourteen he stuffed everything he owned into a leatherskin knapsack, slung it over his shoulder, and never looked back. Or so he thought. He looked back many times over the years, wondering if he could have done something better. Something right.

The first thing he did was catch a ride on a space shuttle. They went between the planets, a taxi of sorts. It was then that he cried. The starlight reflected in his tears. Why had he left? He honestly had no idea. But it was too late to go back now.

He landed on a planet severely different from his home climate. Arden was a forest-land, filled with trees and country songs. This was a veritable desert, with a beating sun and choking desert sand. He nearly dissolved into a coughing fit as soon as his feet hit the ground.

And then he found the city. It was a haven in the midst of the hot, dusty ground. And somehow, it somewhat reminded him of home. He settled in and started looking for a job. At first he wondered what the heck he was going to do. He didn’t have any talent… or did he?

And then he found the violin.

He was engaging in the highly amazing pastime of searching through dumpsters for his next meal. And then he saw it. A dusty violin, sitting against the wall. Waiting for him.

Normally he was horribly against being sentimental. No feelings. Things were things. That was that.
And then he remembered the paperclip. The way his father made ordinary things extraordinary.

And somehow, even though it reeked of everything his father had done, Ryan wanted to do the same thing, too.

So he picked up the violin. And tucked it in the crook of his arm.

And took it home.

He cleaned it that night with a semi-clean cotton cloth. When he was done, the cloth was coated in dirt and dust. But when he was done, the violin was clean. In the tiny light in his cramped cave-like quarters, the wood almost seemed to shine.

He didn’t know how to play of course, but he was determined to learn. He was walking against the cobblestone streets, choking in the summer heat and watching the heat waves reflect off the pavement. The violin was tucked into the deepest recesses of his oilcloth knapsack. He didn’t want to risk losing it. Not now.

He wasn’t looking where he was going, and he almost tripped over a bundle sitting in the street. On second glance, the bundle proved to be a man.

“Oh… I’m…I’m sorry.” He stammered, taking two steps backward. The man was rancid, with yellow teeth. Gray hair rested in two long braids on his shoulders, and wisped out everywhere else. A knit cap covered what was left of his shrunken, wrinkled forehead. His legs were covered in rags and dirt and who knows what else. Unless he was mistaken, Ryan heard flies. Or fleas. Either way, the man was bound to be crawling with disease and plague and—

“Watch where you’re goin’, boy.” The voice eked out.

“Right. Sorry.” But Ryan didn’t watch where he was going. His foot caught on the nearest cobblestone and he fell forward, face first. He caught himself with his hands, narrowly avoiding a faceplant. The old man continued to watch him with wide blue eyes. Somehow, even in the rancid environment, the man’s eyes held a spark of life. And if the eyes were the window to the soul, then this man’s soul was alive. Very alive. Despite what outward appearances seemed to suggest.

Unfortunately, Ryan had completely lost his hold on his knapsack. Therefore, it spilled its contents everywhere, which included Ryan’s only other pair of clothes (including his underclothes, which were now spread all over the street), a granola meal bar… and his violin.

“Do you play?” the man’s voice was barely audible, even though the street was dead quiet, unusual for the time of day.

“What?”

He gestured to the violin, lying face down in the grimy street crevice. “That. Do you play?”

“Uh… no,” Ryan said with a fair amount of embarrassment as he snatched his violin and brushed it off possessively. “No. I don’t.” Once he was satisfied that every speck of dirt had been cleared off, he snapped back to reality. “Do you?”

“Used to. A very long time ago. In another life.”

“Oh.”

“You’ve got a broken string.”

“Yes.” Ryan fiddled with the frayed end. “I need to get it fixed. Do you know how?”

“I did. Once.”

“Would you now?”

“For a fair price.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“Can you work, boy?”

“What?”

“I said, can you work?”

“…Yeah. My da’ taught me lots of things. We lived in the country. I can do most anything, and if I don’t know how, I can learn.”

“I’ll take it.”

“…Excuse me?”

“You work for me. I’ll fix your violin string. Good? Or will you just trip off over the cobblestone the way you came?”

“No… no, I guess that would be fine.” Ryan blinked.

“Fine, fine. The name’s Ebenezer.” He stuck out his hand and took Ryan’s in an iron-hard grip. Despite the appearance of disease and grime, Ebenezer seemed fairly clean, a shocking realization on Ryan’s part.

The days ticked by. Ebenezer, despite the appearance of a beggar, led a fairly decent life in a shack on the outskirts of town. Ryan spent his time there, hauling sacks of flour into storage, sweeping the front porch, and nailing back loose boards. Ebenezer put him to work doing most everything.

The violin string was fixed in no time.

a little bit o' street love

Found these on The Director's blog. Beautiful, no?

Welcome to Arden

Downtown was the perfect place to hide.

The first star that I saw last night was a headlight

Of a man-made sky, but man- made never made our dreams collide,

Collide.

Last week found me living for nothing but deadlines,

With my dead beat sky but, this town doesn't look the same tonight

These dreams started singing to me out of nowhere

And in all my life I don't know that I ever felt so alive,

Alive

I remember vividly the day that Ryan came to Arden. The truck's wheels carved two ruts in the center of the road as it splashed through the mud in the center of town. The sky was a muddy twilight, lit by only the streetlights on the curb.

He jumped out of the car, his boots splashing against the mud. The trees above him splattered droplets on his face as he pushed through the leaves. He was too tall to avoid brushing his head through the limbs as he walked.

He was new to the town. A wandering soul. There was nothing new about this. Yes, it was a new town. A new planet, even. But the routine was the same.

First thing he did was seek out the first establishment that looked promising. In this case, the establishment proved to be Arden's local bar. It was technically tagged as a restaurant to appeal to the family-friendly types, but even the stupidest citizens knew that it was a bar. Alcoholic beverages were served with no abandon, and it wasn't uncommon to see a drunkard stumbling out over the broken floorboards on the rickety wooden porch, or retching over the side of the railing.

Ryan didn't know all this though, so he plunged onward, squaring his shoulders as the rain ran down his hoodie. He didn't mind. He was used to it. And if anything, the rain helped jar his senses; helped him feel at least somewhat alive.

He mounted the steps and pushed open the sagging wooden door. His senses were immediately on edge. The smoky atmosphere, the dim red lighting, and the sound of conversation and clinking glasses. All of it was a far cry from the pounding of the raindrops outside the door.

He made his way to the counter and balanced himself on a bar stool. The man crossed over, wiping his hand on a dirty towel. "You're new."

It wasn't a question. Ryan hesitated to answer, weighing his options and the honesty conveyed in the man's eyes.

"Don't try to lie to me, boy. I know all the faces in Arden, and you're not one of them." The man's breath was rancid, and he wore a filthy white tanktop. A silver chain hung around his neck, with no apparent purpose other than to look cool. Whether he actually succeeded at looking cool was debatable.

An empty straw wrapper lay nearby. Ryan twisted it between his fingers as he considered a response. "Is Arden really that small?"

"Heck, you bet, boy." The man banged his hands down smack on the countertop, a sound which made Ryan jump due to the suddenness. "So. What'll it be?"

The sneer on the man's face made Ryan uneasy. He twisted the straw wrapper back and forth. Back and forth. He wasn't sure whether it was safe to be here. And yet, was it even that much better outside?

"Water." He crumpled the straw wrapper into a ball. "Just water. On ice."

The man chuckled, a deep sound that rolled out of his pot belly. "Water? Hear that, Clark? He wants water!"

Ryan followed the man's gaze to the person sitting next to him, a middle-aged man with dark hair. "Calm down, Gerry. Just because you like your drinks hard doesn't mean everyone does."

"Hm." The man grunted and went to the back wall, where an arrayment of taps and metal spickets hung.

"Welcome to Arden." The man next to Ryan stuck out his right hand. "Clark Townsend."

Ryan returned the handshake. "Ryan Something."

"How long have you been here?"

"About fifteen minutes. Just drove in, actually." Ryan then took to squeezing the crushed straw wrapper between his fingers.

"Do you have family here?" Clark continued to press.

Ryan shook his head quickly. "No."

"Just passing through?"

Ryan lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Yep. Pretty much."

"Well, then. Welcome to Arden." The stranger's grim was disarming. Warm. Strange. It unnerved Ryan, but not in a dangerous way. At least... he didn't think so.

"Thanks."

Gerry -- the bartender -- came back and slid a plastic mug in front of Ryan. "There ya go, stranger."

Ryan nodded. "How much will this be?"

"On the house," Clark piped up. "I'll cover it."

Ryan lowered his brow. "I have money."

Clark nodded. "Don't deny that. But I want to give you a taste of what a wonderful town Arden really is. And I hope you'll stay."

Ryan considered this, then finally agreed on a nod. "I appreciate it; thank you."

Then he let his thoughts drift along like a boat on a sea of pondwater.

To J-Hutch, or Not To J-Hutch

...that is the question.

...and a very hard question at that.

Before the Beginning // Sawyer, the Boy with the Dreams

When he was little, he wanted to fly. I didn’t know this at the time, but we had more in common than I thought.

He’d stand in the middle of the field, green with grass up to his chest. He’d stare at the sky with wonder-filled eyes, wondering what was beyond the clouds. Was it everything it had cracked up to be? Everything he’d hoped for?

When he got old enough he became a studious scholar. The reason? He wanted to fly. Well, it was more than that. He was a dreamer at heart, and it showed. It wasn’t just flying. He’d stare at ships in bottles and wonder… where did they go? Could he captain one of those ships? Better yet, could he captain one of those ships in the sky?

He followed in his father’s footsteps. Only science. But somewhere along the way, he’d gotten so much logic engrained into his boyish head that he lost the dreamer. No, that isn’t correct. He didn’t lose the dreamy part of him. It just got buried under equations and numbers and logical statements.

Pretty soon, the dreamer boy gave up on flying altogether. And yet… he didn’t. Somewhere, buried beneath the unkempt hair, the black plastic glasses, and the trendy plaid shirt, the dreams were still there.
He just needed to find them.

Summer Days {Avary}

Summer days,

In the rain

We were so careless

So hopeless

So free

Sunflower days

In the rain

Time passes away

When she was little she’d go stand in the middle of a golden field full of wheat grains and sunflowers. The sun would shine on her freckled face and highlight the orange in her corkscrew curls. She wanted to live forever. To fly away and be free—or wait, wasn’t freedom what she had already attained? She didn’t know, but she wanted to touch the stars.

Bare feet, a lace dress. She sometimes wore plaid. She’d take a glass bottle full of lemonade and pour it into mason jars. She’d sit and have a tea party. The sun beat down on her head and gave her a bronze summer tan. She didn’t care. She’d sit out there forever if she had to.

Her daddy came to join her sometimes, when he wasn’t busy. He twirled her around and the sound of her laughter carried for miles. They’d dance. To this day, those were some of her favorite memories.
The day that she remembers the most was when he sat down with her and had a tea party. The other attendees included her raggle-taggle teddy bear, and her bunny rabbit. He played the part perfectly; she had a hard time remembering he was only her father.

Those were the days when she missed her mom. It was a keen aching. She couldn’t decide whether it dulled or eased by the diversion of playing in the grass. Perhaps a little bit of both.

Those were the days that were both full and empty, hopeful and hopeless. Love-filled and lonely.