Feel Free to Throw Tomatoes

So far I am doing a horrible job at keeping up with my new year’s resolutions. First off, my blog schedule. Really, it isn’t working. I am going to try to make it work if I can, but for now, my plan B is that, every Sunday, if I haven’t posted sometime during the week, I will force myself to sit down and type up a post. Or I could post on Saturdays. Yes, that works.

And then there’s my writing resolution. I haven’t done a thing about that, at all. I’m reluctant to pick one of my ideas to turn into a novel, because when I think about them, I think… Is this really what I want to become known for? Do I really want this story to be my debut into the writing world? I’m not too great with ideas. Frankly, my most promising idea is something I didn’t even come up with:

I’m particularly reluctant to write this one because a) it’s on the internet, it’s a novel idea and I’m certainly not going to be the only one trying to do this, and b) how would that even work? I have ideas, but… I just don’t know.

I could go and pull one of my older works-in-progress and expand them, but most of them are horribly lacking in the plot area, and the one that has a good plot and that I was working on planning for the better part of a summer is annoyingly similar to “Avatar: The Last Airbender”. Not in plot, but it has bending-esque stuff, and four groups (“clans”), each with a special ability (i.e. one can time-travel, one can shape-shift, etc.).

And then there’s the message behind it: I like the message, it’s about staying true to who you are and not abandoning yourself to fit into a group, but I didn’t execute it well. The three main characters are searching for the “Spacebenders”, an elite clan of the greatest benders/whatever of all time. Each of them has a part of them that doesn’t fit with the Spacebenders’ philosophies. One is a thief, one is eternally trying to fit in and please everyone, and one loves adventure and wants to travel. They have to decide whether to give up part of themselves to join the clan, or give up on the clan and remain the same. Well, the first one obviously should stop being a thief, and the second one needs to learn that she can choose her own path and stuff. But the third one? If she wants to see the world, well, she can go right ahead. She’ll decide that if seeing the world means not being a Spacebender, so be it, and her friends want to stick with her.

Well, it’s a trick: by choosing to stay together and for the third one to stay true to herself, they’ve proven that they’re worth of being Spacebenders. I love the message there, I really do, but I only applied it to one character. I need it to apply to all of them for it to work.

And then there’s the other clans’ names: the Timetravellers, which is cool, the Shapeshifters, that’s fine, and the Lightguiders… wait, wha?

Anyway. That one needs a lot of work if I want to write it. Work that I can certainly do, of course, but I’m still unsure.

I wrote a skit for drama class about a girl who wants to be a poet, but she keeps questioning herself about the decisions she’s making about her poems. Maybe I should keep the moral of that story in mind and stop questioning myself and just write.

-Ginger Evans

Rainy Day Musings

Well well well, what have we here? Just over a week into the new year and I’ve already broken my resolutions. n;n It wasn’t intentional: I left my camera in the car and didn’t get it back until Monday, and on Tuesday we started school again, and I… just… forgot. Sorry.

To make up for it, I’ve got a handful of older photos (taken a couple weeks/days ago) that I can show you, and I have a neat little webbysite to show you guys. It fits in with the dreamery theme of this blog, so cool. Yes, I did just use the word “dreamery”, and I don’t care what you say, spellcheck, it IS a word.

First, a couple of kitty photos:

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Here’s a picture of our Christmas tree, all lit up, although a bit blurry:




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Now for the website. Start at the main page or head right on over to the quiet place. Check that out first, then you can drift around to other things like the thoughts room, and from there finally you get to the dreams room. The best part of the quiet place project is, in my opinion, the dreams room. I love it. It’ll help you keep up with your dreams; it has you enter a dream and a milestone to get started, and it’ll ask for your e-mail and a password so you can log in again. All your dreams and milestones are completely private, and if you choose to post at the comfort spot (where “dream room souls” can ask for and give comfort), you will be completely anonymous. The comfort spot is my favorite part. There are dozens of people each day asking for comfort. A lot of the time, these people may be suicidal or self-harming, although there are a range of other problems people ask for help with. I’ve helped save at least one life already, and the feeling you get when someone thanks you for the help or sends you a virtual hug is amazing. I’m addicted to the comfort spot, but it’s a good thing to be addicted to. I’m helping people, I’m making people feel better. I’m making a difference.

-Ginger Evans

My New Year’s Resolutions

Well, it’s the first day of 2013 and I’m forcing myself to write a blog post because, it’s the new year and I haven’t made my resolutions yet. I’m not sure how good of an idea it is to be doing this right now, considering my brain is barely working, but… oh well.

So, to the resolutions. I want to figure out what I’m doing with my life. That involves blogging, as far as the near future goes. That involves writing, obviously, and perhaps photography. But I also want to keep doing what I’m doing with my pack, without letting the internet consume every waking moment. How am I going to do that? I don’t know. But I’m going to come up with something. It might take all year, but I’ll do my best.

This resolution is a bit more concrete: I want to write an hour a day, every day. I don’t mean writing as in blogging, or posting on forums, or roleplaying. No. I’m going to allocate an hour daily to work on a novel, once I decide which of my story ideas I want to turn into a novel first. I have an idea of it already, but I don’t want to rush into it too quickly, because this will be my first novel, and I want to choose the right one.

Also, I want to join a writer’s website, like FictionPress or writing.com, and work on getting some short stories posted there, just to put myself out there.

Finally, I want to create a more defined schedule for my blog. I’m thinking two posts a week, one with my thoughts/ramblings/musings/general daily life, and one with photography. Sound good? It’s Tuesday, so maybe musings on Tuesday and photos on Saturday. And if anything interesting happens on any other day I might post then, too. (: Just to make sure I end up with at least a few posts a week and don’t end up completely ignoring my blog for two weeks straight.

-Ginger Evans

White Christmas Sunrise

It snowed yesterday. Like, snow snowed. It’s probably not a lot for those of you up north (and you people are probably wondering why we’re so excited about snow in December), but it’s enough to call it a White Christmas. It went from a hailstorm in the middle of the night to light rain in the morning to snow in the afternoon. It was pretty awesome.

I received a camera, my very own camera, this year. I don’t have any pictures of it yet, sadly. It’s blue. I don’t know enough about kinds of cameras (do your research, Ginger!) to tell you what kind it is, other than a Canon. And blue. That too.

This is the first picture I took with it (of one of my other Christmas presents, at that):


That is my owl watch-necklace, which is absolutely amazing. I love it.

This morning, I looked out my bedroom window after getting up. I was rewarded with a sight so beautiful I had to run downstairs and grab my camera. Words cannot do it justice, nor can the amateur pictures I took. But here are some of them anyway:















Tower window

Sunlight glinting

Through the snow

Winter sunrise

Early ladybird

Alights upon

My windowpane.


A Story for Christmas Eve

Tomorrow is Christmas.

Where has my life gone?

Anyway, here’s a story for you all. Consider it a Christmas present. It’s a bit of a tribute for the people who were killed in the recent school shooting, so you might want to have a box of Kleenex handy. (I doubt it’ll actually make you cry, though.)


He pushed through the open door. The school was silent. Someone had seen him coming, sounded the alarm, and it was code red. Everyone was hidden as best as they could in the tiny school. But he knew this school, knew it inside and out, and knew that there were very few places to hide in the little building that used to be a church. They were on short notice, and they wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

He walked through the single looping hallway of the school, checking doors along the way. One of them creaked open, revealing a handful of fourth-graders and a cowering teacher who had forgotten to lock the door. The one he was looking for wasn’t here, but they would do. None of them would recognize him. He pulled one of his two guns from his holster and grabbed a little girl by the back of the neck. He pointed the gun at her, looked straight at the teacher, and said, “Tell me where seventh grade is hiding, and no one gets hurt.”

He would never tell anyone that the gun he was holding was unloaded. There was only one person in this school he was looking for, and he would not harm anyone else if he could.

The teacher cowered and shook, and after a long moment of hesitation, she said, no, she whispered, “They’re in the kitchen.”

He dropped the little girl and left the room. He didn’t need to be told where the kitchen was. He already knew.

He pushed on the kitchen door. Locked. He took the unloaded gun and rapped on the door once, twice, three times. There were anxious whispers and nervous breathing. He rapped the gun sharply against the doorknob. It snapped off, taking the locking mechanism with it. He holstered the gun, pulled the loaded one from his belt, and pushed on the door.

It creaked open. Half of the seventh grade class screamed. The rest cowered low to the ground in silent terror.

They felt the gunman’s eyes sweeping through the room. He was looking for someone, they knew. And there was one thought in each of their minds: Not me. Don’t kill me. 

The teacher didn’t do anything. She was frozen in terror, and if she could have done something, she wouldn’t have known what to do.

His eyes landed on her. She was who he was looking for. His harsh metal boots clicked, clicked, clicked across the tile floor. His eyes held hers, and she stared up at him. She locked her gaze on his eyes. She saw something in those eyes, something she knew, and she recognized him. He aimed his gun at her, point-blank.

She closed her eyes, fighting tears. She knew she was about to die. What she didn’t know was that there were two rounds in that gun, one for her… and one for him.

Gunfire shook the school. Then there was a metal click, click, click. The door creaked closed.

A little ghost sat in the corner of the kitchen. No one saw her tears.


The Sun is Not Shining

The sun is not shining

I wish the clouds would go away

It is too cold to play

I think it is going to rain

The fish are not swimming

I wish this rainstorm would just leave

It’s too dark to believe

I think I am going to cry

The birds are not flying

I wish this darkness would go die

It is too hard to hide

I think this will not end

The sun is not shining

The clouds will never go away

I’ll go inside to play

I really don’t care if it rains

Drums and Dancing

We went to a dance performance my sister was doing tonight. We arrived a little early, and there were kids musicians performing to help advertise Guitar Center. Most of them were very young, and frankly, very bad. But one of them stood out to me: an 11-year-old drummer.

I didn’t think a drum performance could reduce to me to tears. This one almost did.

I was pressed up against the wall of the gym, sitting on the bleachers rather than in the chairs set up. I could feel the vibrations, both from the seats and in the walls. It reminded me of P.E. in elementary school, when we would play games with music, and when I was out I would sit squashed up against the wall and just feel the music. The performance was spectacular. I think there were lyrics in the music, but I couldn’t understand them, the drumming was so loud. I didn’t care. It was spectacular, indescribable. I wish I could do it justice in words, but I can’t.

Then came the dancers. My sister had a solo. She choreographed it herself, to a song called “Believe”.

Now, understand my sister has been dancing for years – almost 10, I think. She is the longest-standing dancer in the company, and she is stunning. Not beauty-wise, but dancing-wise. Her solo tonight was beautiful, even though I think she may have been a little bit uneasy this time. It went amazingly. Her performance did reduce me to tears – pride for my sister,  and the song absolutely broke my heart. The drum performance did, too, but in a different way.

I think there are only two places where you can find that kind of passion: drums and dancing.

-Ginger Evans

The Random Beginnings of a Random Story

So I had a bit of a story idea today, and I thought, I haven’t posted on my blog in a week, why don’t I write something down to keep it in my head and to keep myself from forgetting about this blog completely.


A flash of red. That was all I saw, and then he was gone. Red was a color I was all too familiar with. School papers, work reports, you name it – red, for me, was everywhere. Red was the color of failure.

My own clothes had red embroidery, a sign that I was one of Them – a Failure. But to be clothed in all red was a sign of complete and absolute Failure, someone so worthless and pathetic they were avoided like the plague. A sight most would recoil from instantly.

But I was different. I knew what it meant to be a Failure, to be shunned by the others of this world, to feel so useless. I reached out for this red-clad stranger, but it was as if he was simply vanished.


Aaand I don’t feel like writing any more than that. Just enough to get my idea started. That’s definitely not as good as it’s going to be, but I’m a bit short on time right now.

-Ginger Evans

Why I’m Not Doing My Homework Right Now

Yes, yes, I should be doing my homework, I know. It helps you get better grades, do better in school, blah blah blah, I really don’t care. Aside from the fact that doing homework is completely and utterly pointless (come on, when’s the last time you’ve learned a valuable life lesson from doing your homework?), here’s why I don’t want to do this assignment:

1. I have to write a biography of Helen Keller. Um yeah nothat’snothappening.

2. I have to write a 200-word biography of Helen Keller. Oh, please. The shortest biographies of Helen Keller are ranging in the hundreds of pages.

3. I have to include an anecdote. I chose the incident everyone knows about, the “Miracle at the Water Pump” thing. I’m not finished writing it yet. It is nearly 300 words long already.

4. How is writing a biography/summary/whatever these people are calling it of Helen Keller a better use of my time than, oh, I don’t know, blogging? Doing something I actually want to do?

5. Google Chrome just told me “want” is not a word for a moment there. Not sure what that has to do with this assignment, but I felt like it was worth mentioning.

6. The anecdote is all well and good and stuff, but how about the rest of her life? She lived a good eighty-seven years and accomplished a whole lot of cool stuff in that time. Please don’t tell me you want me to write all of that down, do you?

7. Google Chrome just told me “rest” is not a word. I think there’s something up with the italicizing here, people.

8. I am one of the smartest people in my class, and frankly I did not start on this project until after it was initially due, I’m pretty sure. If I don’t think it’s worth doing, then, well… then again I don’t think anything is worth doing.

9. I would rather be cleaning my room than doing this project. Tell me there’s not something wrong with that.

10. I don’t like homework.

I think I’mma go clean my room now.

What I’m Thankful For

Okay. Aside from that… thing I posted earlier today, it’s Thanksgiving. And what is the point of Thanksgiving when you don’t give any thanks? I’m going to take a moment or two to list a couple of things I am thankful for.

I am thankful for my loving, caring, supporting family, and although they infuriate me at times I know they will always be there for me.

I am thankful for my friends at school. Without them the internet would be my only purpose.

On that note, I’m thankful for the internet. What else am I supposed to do with all my time?

I am thankful for my packmates and all that they have done for me. Without them I would not be the person I am today. This pack is made up of a bunch of wonderful, beautiful people who I am honored to know and call my friends.

I am thankful for the teachers at my school who AREN’T complete idiots.

I am thankful for my kitties.

I am thankful for having a roof over my head, shoes on my feet (well, I’m not wearing shoes right NOW…), and food on the table.

I am thankful for LDW and the beautiful games they make.

I am thankful for sunshine and fresh air.

I am thankful for cute little kids and the warm fuzzy feeling you get when they smile at you.

I am thankful for my talents as a writer.

I am thankful for my mother’s camera. Although it would be nice if I had a camera of my own (:

I am thankful for WordPress and the wonderful people running it. You don’t find the kind of customer support they have everywhere.

I am thankful for YOU! Yes, you, you reading this! You guys who’ve read and liked and followed my blog, thank you so much. It means a lot to me. It keeps me going and encourages me to keep on doing what I love. Also, I have someone (or possibly 5 people, I’m not sure) in Italy who viewed this blog and that is just really really cool to me for some reason.

What are you thankful for?

-Ginger Evans