Difficult Decisions: What's in a Name?

I would not call myself an indecisive person. Sure, I'll take hours at the bookstore because I want to make sure I'm not wasting my money on a book I'm not going to like. Yeah, I take a while when buying makeup because I want to compare prices and the quality of what I'm getting. But when it comes to important decisions, I may take my time to make the choice, but once I do, I do not waver. I hold on to the idea and carry it forward to fruition, no matter the cost.

But that's in my every day life. In my life as a writer, I make difficult decisions every time I create a character. One of the hardest decisions to make when creating a character is a name.

So much can be said about a person by their name. My name is Alison, and to me that is a very proper, sophisticated name. Of course, my nickname is Ali, and to me that sounds a bit childish and fun. When I'm in a formal setting, I prefer Alison. When I'm chilling at home with friends or family, Ali is usually more comfortable.

When creating a name for my characters, I take into account their appearance, their personalities, and what I want to be percieved by their name. I'll use 2 of my favorite characters as examples.

Briste is a character I created in 2004 with the help of two of my best friends, Shelley and Grady. In this instance, the character was brought to life because of the name. When I was 15 I got really into the idea of learning Irish Gaelic. Well, let me tell yah, that's one of the most difficult languages to learn (in my opinon) because nothing looks the way it sounds. I realize that's how it is for a lot of languages, but my word! Anyway, I was on the Google translator and wanted to know what the word for "broken" was in Gaelic. The word "briste" popped up. I do not know how to pronounce this word to the day,  but I thought that it would be a beautiful name for a girl, and I would pronounce it Bris-tee.

So, with a name that essentially means "broken" what kind of person is Briste? At first, Briste was a half angel half vampire. I figured it'd be an interesting play on her name, but as I grew older and more mature in my characterization, I realized that was incredibly cheesy. So instead, I made her a half witch, half vampire with an incredibly complicated life. I won't give away too much about her character simply because I haven't written the books yet, but from this name spawned an entire person. I know what kind of jokes she likes, what food she eats, to what religion she follows. I know everything about Briste, and it all started from her name.

Another character of mine from the Briste series actually had no name for a very long time. He wasn't in my original idea, nor my second draft of the idea. He came about after I watched the movie From Hell with Johnny Depp and I thought, "Johnny Depp would be an amazing vampire." I still think this is true, though I no longer associate my character with Johnny Depp's looks. He has taken on a whole new persona in the few years since he's been created.

First came his looks. Like I said, I thought Johnny Depp would have been a wonderful vampire and pictured him with long hair, mustache and beard, and tall and lanky. I always pictured him surrounded by people in a dark red room. I don't know why. At first, he was a villian. He was the enemy of the witches, and at the time, the witches were my heroes. But then I started delving deeper into his character, and everything about him changed. Suddenly, he was a vampire that had been changed against his will during the time of the Spanish Inquisition. He made two friends that he trusted along the way, another Spaniard vampire named Gabriel (I loved the angel's name, even if I didn't want to use angels in my story anymore) and an Egyptian vampire named Hamon. Sometime in their far distant future, Gabriel would fall in love with a witch and they would create a child: Briste. This is when my unknown vampire was given a name: Dominic De La Cruz, his surname meaing "of the cross" and he's in a battle with himself about whether or not he will be accepted into heaven, even though he's a blood drinker. I know, that part is a little bit Twilight esque, but I promise, I didn't steal it from that. This character took on a personality of his own and basically told me his story, not the other way around.

I know naming a character doesn't quite seem like a difficult decision to most people, but most people aren't trying to create a whole person on paper. Once you've invested so much of yourself into creating someone, you won't take for granted the importance of a name.

Alison



The Advice of Captain Obvious

Because I read too much into these types of things, I've been contemplating this weeks blog topic since Monday and wondering about what I should write about. Of course, I had to make it complicated and try to find something profound to write about instead of sticking to something easy like...uh...okay, when it comes to me, nothing is ever easy, so I guess that was over before it even began.

I digress.

In attempts of trying to figure out what to write about, I read some of my old journal entries and various blog posts from different sites, and I've come to a conclusion: I wish I knew as much now, at 23 (in 6 days!), as I did when I was 16. Boy, I thought I had it all figured out. I was so clueless, and yet I felt like I was so informed. Ha. Isn't it amazing what 7 years and lots of trials and tribulations will do for the completion of the soul?

When I was younger, I thought I had the answer to everything. It was a horrific day when I came to the realization that I don't even know half the questions yet.  It doesn't matter how grown you are, you will never know everything. Tough.

I remember when I thought a broken heart was the worst feeling in the world. I learned quickly that there is indeed something worse: being the person who inflicts another person with a broken heart. I remember that sting, that ache left from the empty spot in  my chest. The fact that I know I've done that to someone else makes me sick to my stomach. How could I, when I knew how badly it hurt? And you know what hurts even worse than being the heart breaker? Knowing that you literally had no other option other than doing the breaking. You scramble, trying to figure out how to avoid it, but you can't. In a breakup/death/ending of a friendship, someone is moving on and someone is being left behind. I've been both of those people (except for the whole dying thing, haven't done that yet and don't plan on it for a while **knocks on wood**), and it sucks, plain and simple.

I also remember thinking that if someone beaks up with you, someone had to have done something wrong. Either he left me for another girl (I'm not gonna lie, that's happened to me a few times and it was not fun, let me tell ya) or there was something wrong with me. Guess what? Sometimes relationships just don't work out. It doesn't have to be anybodies fault. Most of the time, you can split the blame right down the middle. It is absolutely okay to realize that maybe that person isn't who you're meant to be with at that time in your life, maybe ever. It is so much better to simply bow out gracefully than possibly lose someone that could have, and probably should have, been your very best friend later on.

I have also learned that (and I'm still guilty of this, mind) I like to complicate things. This blog is proof. I don't think I am ever truly satisfied unless I'm struggling with something. So much of who I am is wrapped up in this constant internal conflict with myself. I can never just let things be simple. Nothing can ever be easy. If it's easy, it can't be real. If it comes as simple as breathing, there has to be a catch. I know, I'm incredibly weird and I'm working on it.

And so, in the spirit of being "simple", I am going to post a list of random facts about myself. Enjoy guys!

Disturbed is the best band ever! 

My favorite color is cerulean, but I love wearing purple and green

I adore Applejacks and baked potatoes

I still secretly listen to Backstreet Boys

My first heartbreak happened at 16

One day one of my books will be on your shelf

I took singing lessons for 3 years, but I am stage fright inclined

My secret aspiration is to be somebodies hero

I have an accent

I'm also Captain Obvious

I like eating spaghetti at midnight

I'm not as clumsy as I appear, I just like to make people laugh

Don't yell at me because I promise, I'm louder than you

I live in the world of imagination and no cell phone service

I think real courage is hard to find these days

The longest I've slept is 18 hours

I am not your typical catty female

I'm small, but I have a mean right hook

Don't underestimate me, my resolve will be your downfall

No one puts baby in the corner!

Good manners will go far with me

So will a sense of humor

I’m not a vengeful person but I do believe in Karma.

I have the temper of a sinner and the patience of a Saint.

Second chances must be earned and this ain’t baseball son!

If you lie to me I'll forgive you, but I'll never forget

And I'll make sure you never forget either

I'm not easily intimidated, but feel free to try

I still wish on every shooting star I see

I have no use for a coward

I do not scare easily

I daydream out loud because I feel like dreams should be shared

I forgive you

Well ladies and gents, that's all she wrote for tonight! Remember, as the great Dolly Parton said in the movie Steel Magnolias, "Smile! It increases your face value!"

Alison

National Novel Writing Month

 I do not believe in coincidences, and so I do not think that the month I was born in was dubbed National Novel Writing Month. The gist of it is: in 30 days, write 50,000 words on a new project!

I've never participated in NaNo, but I'm gonna give it a try this year. I am starting late, so I'll go into December to give myself the full 30 days. I read the blog of one of my favorite authors Amelia Atwater-Rhodes, and she participates just about every year. If it works for her, maybe it'll work for me. I'm gonna cheat though and use this as a chance to maybe actually finish a novel!

I don't know why I am so mentally blocked when it comes to finishing a novel. I have been writing since I was in the 4th grade. I've always known it was what I was meant to do. God gave me a talent for words---a birthright gift, as Dr. Amy Alexander would say---(Jess, I put the dashes in for you. I'm trying them out.), but I think I'm just scared.

I know, that doesn't make sense. Who's scared of finishing a novel? It's not like it's gonna bite yah! Well, I think I'm scared of finishing it, sending it off, and it never getting published. Like, what if this isn't my calling? What if I'm not good enough? What if I'm actually a horrid writer and everyone has just been being nice to me for 13 years??!?!?!?!?! It'd be my worse nightmare made reality.

Now before anyone chastises me, I know that's a ridiculous fear, but you gotta admit that it has merit. I mean, aren't you scared of something like that? Writing is not just what I do, it's a part of who I am. The characters I've created, I know them like they are my friends. I know what they would do in any given situation. I even know what some of them would eat for breakfast. Stories are my way of saying the things I can't say in real life. I pride myself as being someone who speaks her mind no matter what anyone has to say about it, but some things you can't put into simple sentences. Some things you have to create a whole story to get one point across. I want to make a difference in someones life, like my favorite writers have made a difference in mine. I want someone to find Truth, Hope, Faith, and Love in my words. I want someone to find God in my words. I want to be able to give someone a glimpse into my head and heart through pictures I paint with what I say. I want someone to see...me.

 It usually starts with a song. Every time I have started a new project, it has been a song that has taken me there. It also usually happens while I'm driving. Something about the road helps make a scene unfold before my eyes, and the lyrics drive what I see. My story called Morgan Road started with the song "Everything is You" by the Eli Young Band. When I listen to the beginning part of that song, I always pictured a man with haunted eyes driving toward some destination, him thinking about a woman who left him far behind. When I heard the song "November" by Lindsay Ray Spurlock, I saw flashes of different scenes. I saw a handsome guy in a green dress shirt. I saw a different young guy playing guitar. I saw a girl standing in front of a headstone. And when I hear the song "Twisted Transistor" by Korn, I see two young girls dressed in black walking down a hill into a club filled with people.

I was born to be a writer, but I'm scared I'll never make a living at what I love. I really hope I find my fear unfounded.

Patron Saint of Baseball

There were two things my Daddy taught me as soon as I learned to walk: how to fish, and how to play baseball. Yeah, believe it or not, Daddy wanted to have a little girl. 

I've loved baseball for as long as I can remember, and it was largely because of Dad. He worked all day long, but he was never too tired to play catch with me or be the pitcher and let me hit. After I destroyed a chair with a crazy hard-hit ball, I felt like a super human. Then Dad hit the ball and busted out our neighbors window. Dad was always way more BA than me. 

Baseball wasn't the only thing Dad and I shared, but it held a special place in our hearts. We played all sorts of sports together. We collected things (Beenie-Babies, Hotwheels, baseball cards, rocks, even foreign currency as I got older) and we shared the same taste in music. Dad was an amazing guitar player and when I was 16, he started teaching me. It was awesome the first time my Dad listened to some of my music. He liked Three Days Grace's "Animal I Have Become" the best because he said the guitar went hard.  He played by ear, so he taught himself the main guitar riff! But there was something about baseball that brought me and him together in  a way that nothing else did. 

Baseball made Dad and I a team. We rooted for the same players, loved and hated the same teams, and screamed (and yeah, sometimes cussed) when our teams did crappy. No matter what though, no matter how badly they sucked, The Texas Rangers were always our #1! Dad started taking me to games when I was probably in the third or fourth grade. Back then, Juan Gonzalez was my man! I wanted to be an outfielder, just like him. And man, that man could swing a bat! One time Dad took me to a game and we sat right behind him (he played left field) and we ended up sitting next to some of Juan's friends from Puerto Rico. I didn't believe them till one of the guys called out to Juan and when he looked back, the guy started pointing at me. Juan smiled at me and waved, and said something back to the guy in Spanish. I got invited to stay after the game to go meet him! Unfortunately, it was a school night, so Dad didn't let me stay. Dad later said that he totally regretted not letting me stay, but I still look back on that day has an amazing day. 

When Dad got sick, baseball became something he found shelter in. He was sick for a whole season and the Rangers kinda sucked it up, but Dad watched them faithfully (maybe more so) as he'd always done, and cussed the Yankees just as much. Dad got better and he and my Uncle planned a trip to go to the baseball Hall of Fame, but then cancer came back with a vengeance...Dad never made that trip. Baseball season had just gotten into the full swing of things when Dad finally lost his battle with lung cancer. A month before he died, he was watching the Rangers kick some major butt and he looked at me, shook his head, and said (I'm quoting here, so excuse the language), "I'll be damned. Watch, I'm gonna die and the Rangers are gonna go to the damn World Series." Well, go to the World Series they did, and I'll be dad-gummed if they didn't go again!!!! 

I haven't watched a game of baseball since Dad died. I don't know if I would turn down a chance to watch the Rangers in the World Series, but I'm not sure I would go either. That was our thing, something special between me and my Dad and I'm not sure I'd be able to watch it without him. My Uncle Bob went to see them last year and bought a seat for my Dad, so in a way he had the best seat in the house. I'm not sure how much God gets involved in professional sports, but I do know that if God allowed such things, Dad would totally be down with being the angel in the outfield. Patrol Saint of Baseball! Err, not that my Dad was a Saint or anything, he was too goofy for that, but you know what I mean. 

So, come on Rangers!  Bring it home this time, for people like my Dad who were always faithful fans. I know winning the World Series, to most, wouldn't be considered much of a miracle, but to people like me and my Daddy, it's the next best thing. 

Alison

Stormy Weather

I wish life was easy. I wish love didn't fade, people didn't die, and friends stayed friends forever. The truth of it is, life is hard and messy most of the time, and beautiful and wonderful sometimes. Maybe I've had too much of the bad and now I'm jaded. Or maybe I've gone through just enough bad so that I can treasure the good just that much more.

Sometimes I feel like my life has been one gigantic thunderstorm. It doesn't matter how many steps I take forward, there is always a bolt of lightning making craters along my path. Sometimes I manage to find my way around the gigantic holes, but most of the time I trip and fall in. Every single time, though, I manage to climb and claw and curse my way out of the grave I and others have dug for me. I come out a little dirtier than I went in. A little bloodier and with fresh scars. I'm changed, sometimes for the worst, but sometimes for the better.

No one watches their father die a slow and painful death and come out unaffected. I watched him take his last breath. I saw, over the span of several months, the life just creep out of his body. My daddy was a fighter, but at the end, he just didn't have any fight left in him. We bought baby monitors to put in his room toward the end so that we could hear if he needed us late at night. We knew he would go anytime. The night he died, my aunt came into the living room where me and my cousins and friends were sitting and asked us if we'd gone into his room. We told them no, we hadn't been in there for nearly half an hour. Some voice had come over the monitor and asked, "Are you okay?" I figured it was interference from another electronically device and shrugged it off. A few minutes later my aunt returns, saying that she heard another voice say "Be still." He died not long after that. A few weeks later I found a passage in Exodus and I will never forget the shock I felt when I read it. Exodus 14:14 reads, "The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still." Daddy stopped fighting and let God fight for him, and God decided it was time for Roland to go home. I don't know another man more deserving of a rest.

In the year since my daddy has been gone, I have had to fight. I've had to fight to keep my head above water, and sometimes I just feel like letting myself drown. What astonishes me is that no matter what I do for people, no matter how kind I am, it never seems to be enough. I don't think I'm perfect by any means, but I am not a bad person. I'm certainly no illusionist. I'm so much more than smoke and mirrors. I am transparent and I wear my emotions and hearts on my sleeves. I am a human being with feelings and I've been through so much, too much for someone who is only about to be 23. I hate when people cry about life not being fair, but what was done to me by people who claimed to be some of my best friends...it wasn't right. I didn't deserve it. I will never take the blame for the cruelty that others dish out for no good reason. 4 months after I buried my father, three girls who I had grown to love like family started treating me like dirt simply because I didn't want to go to a party. I chose to spend time with my fiance because he wanted to take me out for my birthday. It was demanded that I not see him and go to the party with these girls. When I refused, all hell broke loose. There had been tension before this, I guess it was the straw that broke the camels back. I didn't want to party, I didn't want to be out late, and I didn't want to gossip. I wanted to study and spend time at home with my family and future husband. I wanted to feel normal after the hell my family had just been put through. I wanted someone to tell me that everything would be okay. I wanted them to give me space, and they wouldn't. They treated me like I was their child, told me what to do, and in the end pretty much said it was Zach or them. I chose the man I felt God had put on earth for me.

Zach has been a blessing to my life. He and I had been together for a month when my daddy died, but Zach was there through it all, even though he didn't have to be. He picked up my father and carried him so that we could move him into his hospital bed we built in his room. That's who Zach is. He loved me that much, and loves me more to this day. Why would I not want him in my life? I have never been loved so fiercely. As my friends, they didn't love me like that. They turned their backs on me and spread rumors that weren't true. They tried telling me what to do with my life and make my choices for me. They hurt me, threatened to get me kicked out of school. None of them gave a damn about the pain I was going through. Of the emptiness that now surrounded me, and the silence that engulfed me in our home that used to be filled with the sound of my daddy's laughter. They didn't understand that because they didn't try. Whether it was out of selfishness, or jealousy, I don't know. The only thing I do know is I'm not fighting anymore.

Last night one of my ex boyfriends tried to spread rumors about me to hurt me. I never did anything to him. I was happy when he had his child and he repays me by calling me a mess and saying I'm a liar and a cheat. I am neither of those things. I was good to him in the brief time we were together and he screwed it up, not me. My hands are clean. I was angry, fighting angry.

I AM A GOOD PERSON, I DO NOT DESERVE TO BE TREATED THAT WAY!   I am a person with feelings but no one seems to care! I am in a loving relationship, about to graduate from college, have some of the best friends anyone could ask for (for real this time) and what do you have? Tell me what do you have that I don't? What do I have that you don't? I have self-respect. I have pride in myself and my family. I have a future and goals and dreams that I will reach. I have a legacy. I have talent. I have class. I am everything God made me. I am everything you wish you could be, and you could be, if you'd only learn. If you would speak kindly and with love. If you would learn to treat others as you want to be treated. If you would learn not to make the same mistake twice, or the mistakes of those who have gone before you. Learn from what you did to me. Treat someone else better than you treated me.

I'm a strong person. I'm stronger than I want to be most of the time. I've lost so many people to death or circumstance, and I've experienced and witness some of the worst kind of cruelty. I am a better person because of the way I've been treated, because I will never treat someone else so callously. I will appreciate the friendships I have even more now. I will love my husband the way he loves me. I will cherish my fathers memory. I will see Shelley have justice. But it wont be because of me. I don't have much fight left in me. God will pick up the sword and shield and go to battle for me. I'm so tired of being angry at these people, resenting these people, hating them. I'm so tired of my heart being a storm. It may not be fair, but it is what it is, and they will probably never be sorry. And that's okay. I know what I will answer for when I am presented before my savior, and they will also be held accountable for every word that has ever come out of their mouths. I hope they are ready for this.

Alison

A Literary Legacy

This is only some of my collection, haha! 

I read my first word at the age of about 3. You see, my momma started reading to me the moment she found out she was pregnant. She read everything she could get her hands on! Cereal boxes, magazines, novels, you name, it, she read it. I come from two very talented parents and gene pools. Daddy was a science and music man. He played guitar beautifully and could be found in our back yard with a pair of binoculars, bird watching. I always thought people were going to think my dad was some kind of pervert, but he was really just watching the bird fly by and looking up their names in a book. He liked to read mostly history stuff, and read mostly before bed or while he was, erm, indisposed. When I was younger, I honestly thought I would do something in the science field, as I showed talent in earth and animal science. But, Momma's genes eventually dominated. See, she was a Literature lover and a writer in her younger years. I have a nice little Literary legacy. 

One of my favorite stories that Daddy would tell (and Momma will still tell me if I want to hear it. Again.) has to do with my love for reading. I made my parents read to me every day, often several times a day. My favorite was Rainbow Bright. Daddy said that he would often try to skip pages because he was so tired of that stupid Rainbow Bright, but that I would call him on it. "No Daddy, you missed a spot." He couldn't believe it, I'd memorized the entire book. I could recite it to him from memory. After a while, I memorized most of my books. If either of my parents tried to skip pages, I would just give them a look like "Yeah, right, nice try," and they'd have to back track. My kids will likely do the same thing to me and Zach someday. Dad will point and laugh at me from Heaven. 

One of my Daddy's older sisters, my Aunt Rhonda, was a third grade teacher most of my childhood, and so she played a huge roll in my love for reading as well. She would send me home with book and worksheets she used with her kids when I was very young. To this day she supports my love for reading. 

I remember vividly the day I read my first word all by myself. I was in the car with my Aunt Paula (one of my moms older sisters) and her three sons driving back to Italy. I noticed on the drive that a hotel on the side of the highway had changed their sign. I used all the tricks of sounding the words out in my head just like my Aunt Rhonda taught me and eventually sputtered out the word "Ramada Inn". My Aunt and cousins whirled their heads around, their mouths hanging open. When we arrived at my house, Aunt Paula was just beaming at the fact that she heard me read my first word! 

After that, there was no stopping me. I devoured everything I could get my hands on. When I was 5 I gave my first novel a try, attempting Treasure Island for the first time. I didn't understand anything, but I felt awesome because I could read every single word. When I was in the third grade, my teachers made me stop reading things like the Bernstein Bears, saying it was under my reading level. That was when I discovered the Box Car Children and The Hardy Boys. 

I wish I had kept a log of all the books I've read over my lifetime. I'm sure the number is up in the 1000's. And I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that being a writer is my greatest dream. I want to touch someones life the way my favorite authors have touched mine. I want to impact a young girl or boy with something I write. And more than that, I feel like I have something to say and can offer the world my experiences. I could have been a biologist, geologist, historian, detective, explorer, actress, singer, painter, archeologist, or absolutely nothing at all. But then I realized that I can be all of those things because, in the realm of my imagination, anything is possible! :)

Alison

My Inner Robin Hood

So, as I was sitting here contemplating what to write, I had a bit of a fright involving the kids that I babysit. Dr. M, forgive me, for this post will surely come after midnight, but I think the post itself will make up for its lateness. It is 11:45 as I'm writing this, and even though this is somewhat of an embarrassing moment for me, I simply have to share.

Sometimes I babysit my friend Alicia’s two children. The oldest is a boy and he’s ten, and his little sister is 7. They are two of my favorite kids in the world! I’ve known them since they were about 2 and 5, and they are the most precious kids. Granted, they can drive me crazy and be a handful, but I would still go to the mats for them. Well, I babysit them at their house, which is a loft on top of a barn out in the sticks. Ever heard of the movie Deliverance? It is not SAGU appropriate and I’ve only seen parts of it years ago, but her property sometimes gives me the feeling like I’ve just entered this movie. She lives next door to her parents, who have a house just to the side of the barn.

So, this being said, one would understand why I, at 11:30 p.m, would get a little jumpy when I hear someone in the barn below the loft. I heard the door slam shut, and I thought that maybe Alicia was home early. I waited and waited for her to come upstairs, but I never heard a sound. I rose from the couch and looked out the window and, to my horror, Alicia’s car was not in the drive way.

The first thing I think to do is to call my fiancé. He’s my protector and one of the only people who make me feel safe. He answers the phone on the first ring and as soon as I tell him what I heard, he rushes over. I texted Alicia and tell her what I heard, and she told me she would text her dad to check if he was awake, and gave me the address to the house in case I had to call 911. Zach was on his way and she lives so far out in the country that it usually takes the police 30 minutes to even make it out to her house. My best bet was to sit tight and wait for my knight in shining armor to come and rescue me.

I don’t need to tell you, dear reader, that I was nearly scared out of my pants. But I’ve been in pretty hairy situations before and I can usually stay pretty calm if I feel like I am in danger. My first thought wasn’t for myself, however. It was for those two angels asleep in the other room. I walked to the kitchen and pulled out the longest, sharpest cutting knife I could find, and I stood by the door, watching and waiting for Zach to arrive. I just kept thinking about what I would do if some stranger with a chainsaw (because, of course, he would have a chainsaw) came sauntering up the stairs. How would I protect these kids? I’m 5 foot 4 and not very strong, but I’m mean as all get out when I’m scared or angry, so I guess I had that going for me. It was also a pretty sharp knife. I could keep the kids in their room and make them lock the door. I could distract the person and they could sneak out of their room onto the stairs and out of the house to their grandparents. Sure, I’d probably be chopped to pieces by then, but that wasn’t my main concern.

Well, Zach arrived with our friend Brandon and a tennis racket just in time for Alicia to text me and tell me that it had been her dad downstairs in the barn. I just threw my hands up and thanked Jesus because I really didn’t want to be chopped into little pieces, or have to shank anyone! Zach left, giving me a kiss and telling me to put the knife away before I hurt myself. Alicia laughed at me, but I think she appreciates the fact that I would have faced off with a serial killer to protect her children.

When did I become that kind of person? I always thought my parents were brave. I’ve heard stories and seen my parents do crazy things in order to protect themselves, each other, and me, but I didn’t really know I had it in me. I have had prowlers in my backyard as of late (probably why I’m so jumpy) and I feel a fierce urge to protect my mother now that my daddy’s gone. I have no problem going outside with a baseball bat. Next time that happens, I’ll quote one of the speakers from chapel. “I’ll wear you out in the name of Jesus and speak in tongues the whole time!”

I’ve never thought of myself as brave. I’ve always wanted to be brave and courageous. That’s probably why my childhood & adult heroes have always been Robin Hood, Severus Snape, and Daddy. It’s not easy to stay calm in a scary situation, but I did it. I just kept thinking of the kids, and that their safety mattered more than mine. That’s why I went outside as soon as I saw Zach step out of his car. His safety meant more to me than mine, too. I’ve always said that I would hope that I would be able to put someone else before myself if the situation ever arose. Have I finally reached the point where I can say with certainty that I would? Am I brave now?

It’d be easier if I had a bow and some arrows, a magic wand, or was six feet tall and knew how to shoot a gun with extreme accuracy. But hey, we work with what we’ve got!

Alison