Writing Update

Yesterday I finished the first round of edits, which means I've got a second draft now! I'm kind of amazed how quickly the editing went...but I'm glad to have the time to do more, because I'm reading a fantastic book on self-editing which will help a lot.
And!
I (finally) came up with a tentative title for my book! (I know, it's only been two years...)
So, for now, my first novel is called The Seventh Year. We'll see how many times it changes. But at least I can take out the "[Title of Book]" from the first page of my manuscript and replace it with some actual words.
Well, that's about it. Over and out!

Weekly Prompt Writing

Something a little out of the ordinary here, from our meeting tonight.

And the rain glowed. That was the weirdest thing she'd seen yet. Why did it glow? Was it radioactive or something? Would she burst into flames if it touched her skin? She stared out the window of the hovercraft and tried to imagine living here for a year. This hadn't been quite what she had in mind when she had suggested a foreign exchange program to her parents, but they had gotten so caught up in the new trend of planet hopping that she had found herself here in less than two weeks. It was bad enough not speaking the language, but things were going to be harder than she thought if she'd have to watch out for glowing rain and other foreign dangers. What if she did burst into flames and never went back home? Not that home was so fabulous. But at least at home she knew the rain wouldn't kill her.

Beauty

Ask most people, and they'll have a hard time supplying a definition for beauty. According to Webster's Third New International Dictionary, beauty is "a: extreme physical attractiveness and loveliness: perfect combination of characteristics pleasurable to see. b: a characteristic or combination of characteristics affording great sensory pleasure."
But come on. We know beauty is more than that. Here's my definition of beauty.

Beauty is the quality a person, object, animal, or place possesses of reflecting the nature of its Creator.

In other words, beauty is the sunset you just have to photograph.
Beauty is the look in a child's eyes when he hears "Daddy's home."
Beauty is a couple in love.
Beauty is the collective breath a choir takes before singing a chord.
Beauty is two friends talking for hours.
Beauty is waking up and hearing the birds singing.
Beauty is the hugs you share at a funeral.
Beauty is hoarfrost on the trees on a winter morning.
Beauty is laughing until your stomach hurts.
Beauty is the silence of a chapel during Eucharistic Adoration.
Beauty is the sound of creek water trickling past rocks.
Beauty is going to bed at night and waking up to a new day in the morning.

Beauty is any and every way the world around us reminds us Who made it.

(painting by Claude Monet)

Signs of Spring!

Bird sounds when I wake up, 

Reports like this: 

Easter in two weeks,

Summer planning,

Daylight savings,

and lots of other beautiful spring things!

Weekly Prompt Writing

He hopped among the hay-bales, as he had done every summer for as long as he could remember. The sun was sinking in the sky, tinting the trimmed field gold. A chilly wind was picking up, and he knew the grass would be wet and cold when he walked back to the house in bare feet. But he didn't care. He inhaled the smell of the dusty bales and curled his toes against the greenish plastic that held them together. He leapt to the next hay-bale, fording the gap with practiced ease and shaking hair from his eyes. "I wonder what Mom's making for dinner." 
It was his last thought before he fell.
He awoke in a hospital bed, and mechanic beeping invaded his ears as he glanced at the plethora of tubes running from different places on his body to large medical equipment. He blinked and his eyes refocused on the worry-worn face of his mother. 
"He's awake," she breathed, then screamed it, then dissolved into tears. A nurse came running and something made of cold metal was thrust underneath his tongue. "He's awake," his mother kept saying, as a plastic band squeezed his arm, then released its pressure. The nurse babbled something he was too tired to understand. 
He opened his mouth and spoke. "Hi, Mom. What's going on?"
She took his hand into her own, which were cold and shaky. "You're awake, you can come home now," she said. "After four months you can come home!"

Piano Festival

Piano festival was yesterday, and I guess it went pretty well, because I got superior in both my categories (songs and hymns).
I played "Cantico Iberico" by Eugenie Rocherolle and the first movement of "Sonatine" by Maurice Ravel.

Weekly Prompt Writing

A possible scene toward the beginning of my next book.

Twelve chimes. Noon. I ventured to remove my eyes from the book in my hand. No one looked up. I arched my aching back. 

Before I could persuade myself out of it, I heard my voice say, "Papa?" with a dainty little cough.

He frowned upon me. "What?"

"It's twelve."

"Speak up, child, for heaven's sake."

"I said it's twelve o'clock. Oughtn't we to be going? The train leaves for London at one."

He made a show of folding up his newspaper, rising, and calling the butler. He frowned at me again. I frowned back and donned my coat.

I cast a glance at my mother. She hadn't stirred. "Good-bye, Mum."

She beckoned to me and gave me a short kiss. "Safe journey. Remember to be on your best behavior in America, take care not to stare at people, and don't sing to yourself. It isn't ladylike."

I left without saying good-bye to my brother.