Define: 'Gezelligheid'

“She wasn’t doing a thing that I could see, except standing there, leaning on the balcony railing, holding the universe together.”

-J.D Salinger The Catcher in the Rye

I don’t remember meeting Maddison; she was just constantly there melting into the background. And I admire people that melt, their presence soft and unassuming. These are the people I like to watch. Their actions and speech are modest, yet if you look closely you will see this otherworldliness about them. It surrounds them like a cloak of protection, and it’s beautifully made.

Maddison and I are childhood friends, yet until recently, we never really knew each other. I understand now that her walls were built just as high and thick as mine. I knew only what she wanted me to know, and she knew only what I showed her. Yet it didn’t take long for the walls we had built to come down, at least around each other.

And I was greeted with this protagonist, who is strong and worthy and cunning against any and every foe. I found myself writing her into every story-

 “No one ever knew what she was thinking, it could be the secret of the universe or her shopping list. Did she need eggs or world domination? Milk or anarchy? Yet perhaps this all added to her charm, and her mystery. And everyone loves a good mystery, especially one that’s living and breathing. Sometimes though, she wound herself into a riddle. Sometimes the mystery fed on her own mind, and it scared her. That is, until the first time she picked up a pen. She saw everything-every scar, every tear, every smile- when the weight of her pen was gliding across the pages of her leather bound notebook. And it was like finding that key, opening that tomb, drinking from that spring- she was no longer an enigma. Yet no one deserved this knowledge, it was too precious and far too exquisite. So she kept them guessing, and wrote out another list.”

I’m very choosy as to who I allow drain me of energy. Being at times cripplingly introverted, this is my protection and I revel in some sort of control. It’s hard to explain, yet I will try. I’ve been around people that drain me to the point of exhaustion, and leave me starving for a recharge. These people, without any fault of their own, can be dangerous to an introvert’s mental health in that they drain and drain and drain, yet never replenish. Then, there are people like Maddison. Maddison took, yet also gave. Does this make since? I suppose what I’m trying to say is

These are special people. They're nurturers. The energy they put off isn’t over extravagant, it’s calming. You feel at ease in their presence, and this is rare for me. I cherish such people.

Needless to say the day we spent together was full of utter, loving friendship. And we found ourselves surrounded by books.

Derby, Kansas is becoming more of a hopping place as of recent years. We have received a Panera, Target, Hobby Lobby, and Chipotle. All the places one needs for survival. And although this new boom in business has been good for the small city, I find myself dreaming of simpler times. Although I'm a frequent visitor of Target, and Hobby Lobby I miss the small town feel of Derby. As a child I had fields to keep my eyes busy, and the promise of McDonalds for lunch. It was simpler I suppose. Choices were made for you, and the constant complaints for something new became familiar small talk.

Now that Derby is housing the main powerhouses of stores, we are no longer in need of the small businesses that line Maddison Avenue and K-15. If only my business, could keep them in business.

Maddison and I’s first stop was Silvery, a new café and bakery that took the place of the old donut house. I was shocked we finally had a nice hipster joint to lay our hat. It was a pleasant surprise right when I first walked in. The décor was a mod-podge of rustic, vintage, and eclectic. The wooden tables were surrounded by a plethora of vintage chairs, with not one matching. I felt at home.

While I took in the décor, I was greeted by a pleasant staff. We enjoyed chit-chat that although I at times suffer through, found myself enjoying. And when it was time to order I knew exactly what I wanted: A London Fog.

This drink, as I am surprised to learn, is not too common in fair ole Kansas. Essentially it’s black tea (typically Earl grey) with foamed milk, and vanilla. I call it comfort. So I was pleasantly surprised to find it on the menu.

And for the coffee lovers, they have a variety of drinks ranging from all your typical latte and macchiato needs. (I suggest their latte with a shot of Irish cream.)

When we received our drinks, we shared them over typical Maddison/McKenzie conversation- writing. Maddison is a poet, and I enjoy hearing her speak of her latest inspiration. As she shares her latest work with me, I give her snippets of the novel I have been working on for the last couple of years. It has taken many forms, been deleted countless times, and seen many tears. Yet I hope it’s on the right path- (*resists urge to hit the delete button again*).

After finishing our coffee, and early morning talk of dreams and hopes and fears we found ourselves meandering around Derby’s one and only bookstore- Blue Dragon Books. It’s a quaint little book store mere paces from Silvery, and has become my regular stop while in Derby. It ranges from new releases, to classics, to vintage hard backed books, and so much sci-fi I found myself giddy. Maddi went straight toward the poetry, and I searched for the copies of Pride and Prejudice. We met back again in the Classics, and sat on the floor searching through the Vintage section, of lesser known titles and authors. These books hold the most enchantment; you never know if you’ll find a gem.

When I’m in places like this, lying on the floor of a second-hand book store, full of coffee and tea, with a stack of yellow edged paper backs, and dusty hard covered books, I don’t feel like I’m in Kansas. I could be in Carlos Zafon’s Cemetery of Forgotten Books from “The Shadow of the Wind”, searching through Jane Austen’s book shelf, hiding novels from the fireman in Ray Bradbury’s “Fahrenheit 451”, or on some grand adventure halfway across the world. And then I no longer feel claustrophobic, and I can stay here for a little longer.

After Maddison and I chose from our selection, the books we couldn’t live without, we paid and continued on our journey. And all the while we continued speaking of mysteries of the world, mysteries within ourselves, books we wish to read, books we wish to read yet know we will have to write, poems to be recited, and places we yearn to one day call home.

And it was home. And it was living. And the clouds that filled the sky put us into a melancholy, yet also joyous day. And we clutched our books tightly to our chest and thanked the other for such beautiful companionship.

“Certain things they should just stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those glass cases and just leave them alone.”

-J.D Salinger The Catcher in the Rye

If only we could preserve moments and days like this for an eternity. I suppose this is why we write.

-Happy Reading Everyone!

Gezelligheid: (n.) A Dutch word meaning the 'coziness, warmth and comfort of being at home, or being together with friends or loved ones sharing time in a pleasant or quaint atmosphere.'

KENZIE, I KNOW YOU'RE BUSY BUT I NEED MORE FOOD AND MAYBE SOME NEW TOYS. YOU'RE GREAT THOUGH! KISSES, SCOUT

I must be quick and I must brief.

She doesn't know about me.

She thinks I'm under the dining room table again, brooding. But I'll get to that later.

Hello everyone, my name is Scout.

Please don't tell. I have an image to uphold. That of being a cat of course. Don't ask how I learned English, it's a long story that I don't wish to get into at the present moment.

McKenzie has currently settled into a new and promising writing kick. She won't tell me what she's writing about, but I watch as her face gets all scrunched up and her fingers fly on the keyboard. I like to sit on her hands while she's typing- Hey, I need attention too!

Kenzie has been writing so much lately that it's been hard to get to the laptop myself. So, when I saw a chance I ran!

I hear her footsteps walking down the stairs.
She's calling my name.
I suppose I better get back under the table.
Keep my secret everyone, and I'll try to write more soon.

Oh and what's that thing Kenzie always says?
Yeah, right! Until next time my fans,
Happy Reading!

Destination: Memory Lane

I’m not sure if this is true of everyone- but out of all the memories I have stored in my head the majority of them revolve around the sky. Cloudy days, sunny days, snowy days- most of my recollections are tied to my memories of the sky.

For example, I have this very vivid memory, from when I was a wee child, of a morning thunderstorm. I woke up as soon as this loud CRACK! of thunder reverberated off our house. I bolted right out of bed and went in search of an adult. The entire house was dark, save for a light in the kitchen. As I went around the corner I found the most glorious sight- my Meme! And not to mention the expectation of a delicious breakfast. After my nerves were calmed, we sat down at the dining room table, Mickey Mouse pancakes and fruit soup* ready to be devoured, and gazed out the window at the dark grey sky. I don’t remember anything past that, nor what we talked about, yet I know that thunderstorm mornings will always be promising days.

What influenced my pondering, besides the fact that my mind is constantly racing, is that today is a sunny day. Sunny days are mysteries. They either hold promise, or disaster. Now we’re all wired so differently that many of these feelings cannot be explained. You see, sunny days hold many memories for me, and a large portion are not pleasant ones. Perhaps it’s the people I spent them with- many no longer in my life. Perhaps, in my opinion sunny days are always too much- too much sun and too many people. And the sky does that thing where it washes out all the blue from the sky, as the day progresses, and when you look up all you see is white.

While I was reading “The Reader” (you can find the link to the review in the right-hand column) I came across something that stood out to me, particularly for this day.

“Sometimes the memory of happiness cannot stay true because it ended unhappily. Because happiness is only real if it lasts forever? Because things always end painfully if they contained pain, conscious or unconscious, all along? But what is unconscious, or unrecognized pain?”

Now let’s give this some thought, do all memories stay happy? What do you think?

Or do the future actions of others blind us to the happiness we experienced? I’ve given this much thought recently. It’s hard for me to think of my own happiness, once that happiness has been clouded with unfulfilled expectations or misplaced trust. Yet is this right? It WAS a happy moment. I remember being happy, so does that memory all of a sudden change once I’m no longer happy. Is happiness only stable if the people involved are stable?

This kind of thinking can lead to absolute darkness, where your head is full of blotted out moments, and faceless people. If you commit to relying on the fickleness of humans to define your happiness- you will no longer find any joy in life. Which is not to say that a measure is necessary. There are memories that need to be clouded for a time in order for hearts to heal, and emotional wounds to close up.

Memories are a fascinating being, which I suppose is why humans are also fascinating beings. Yet, this leads to another pondering question- do memories make us who we are? Or rather, how we remember them? Is it the person we are that makes a memory? Whereas one can find happiness in a memory, and another can find sadness in the same? One might see adventure when another finds loneliness.

I suppose we all must answer these questions for ourselves. As we strive for understanding we are left with even more questions, and as we answer these questions we are met with more and more and more.

And as we stroll down memory lane may we not fear the blots, and may we not create them. Memories create fear and joy, comfort and distress, they burn down buildings and build up mountains, they remind us of love, and  help us recall the things we were scared to lose. Without memories, we would only have moments. And moments fade away so quickly.

The night is no longer young, so I shall sign off until next time. I have some reminiscing to return to,

Happy Reading.

*'Fruit soup' was created through my stubbornness. I had a hard time accepting the bland nature of fruit, and vegetables for that matter. To make 'fruit soup' merely place about a cup of your favorite fruits into a bowl. Pour cold water over the fruit, and look proudly at your creation for just a moment. Proceed to eat the 'soup' as any normal person eats soup, with a spoon. Reward yourself for your resourcefulness, fruit serving and water intake all at once! Whoa fella, slow down, the world is not ready for you. (Yes, this was a real thing I did. Yes, as I think about it it's actually a little odd. No, I do not enjoy this delicacy today.)

 

Hooked on Books: The Reader

"What would you have done?"

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
  I took the one less traveled by,
  And that has made all the difference."
  - Robert Frost

It's unsettling to think of choices.
'Should I wear the red ones, or the blue ones?' 'The right or the left'? 'To be or not to be?'
And it's just as unsettling to think of the choices you didn't make- or rather the road you didn't choose to travel down. How would my life look today if I would've worn the blue pair? If I would've went to the left, instead of the right? If I would've spoken my mind, instead of keeping silent?
Yet the past is set in stone, and no matter how hard we try, we cannot change it. It's a futile endeavor and you'll only be driven to madness. I would know, I've tried.

"What should I have done differently?"

"What would you have done?"

And with that one simple question, you can ruin a life.

"The Reader" by Bernhard Schlink was published in 1995, and may it eternally live as one of the most haunting novels, set in the most devastating of time periods; that of postwar Germany.
Michael Berg is 15 years old when he meets Hanna Schmitz on the road. She takes care of him after he loses his lunch on the street. In time this woman, who is more than twice Michael's age, becomes his lover and companion. Their love is twisted, and wrong. It's raw and innocent, while lacking all scruples. In time Michael takes on another role, that of certified reader. He brings book after book to her home, and spends hours reading her tales stemming from 'The Odyssey' to 'War and Peace'. And soon their love turns to literature, the purest form of love there is. Hanna's frustrated swings in mood are never of concern to Michael, for he need only read and soon they disappear. Yet when Hanna herself disappears is when our story takes light.
Michael is now a young law student and living in numbness. Although distant from his memory, Hanna's still taking ownership of the remnants of his mind- a mere ghost.
That is, until she no longer is merely an apparition.
The next time Michael sees her, she's on trial for a heinous crime, along with five other Nazi guards.
Yet could her innocence be hidden in the details? And could Michael know the secret she's spent years trying to hide?

From page one all I needed was more, more, more. I read until my eyes hurt, and then I kept reading. It was disturbing. It was disturbing because it was human. 

It was man that killed millions of people.  

It was man that tortured other men.

And it's mankind, the most beautiful creatures of all, that can love with the ferocity not seen outside of the human race.
Perhaps we're still trying to understand how the same person can kiss his wife, and kill his neighbor. Perhaps it's not for us to understand.
Yet when did it all become a cliché?

No, it's not just a movie. No, it's not just a book. No, it's not just a flag.
Don't turn your face away from the misfortune, and don't embellish it. It was embellished enough with reality.
The generation after WWII was a damaged one. They saw their mothers and fathers no longer as parental units, yet murderers and enablers. They grew up picking up pieces they didn't drop. And they grew up while humanity was still crumbling.
I enjoyed seeing new perspectives in this novel.
What of the people who knew nothing about the camps? Or the people who did know, yet didn't do a thing? The ones, even, that regretted it? What of them? And ask yourself-

What would I have done?

Although not for the light hearted, this book is recommended a million times.
Read it, then read it one more time.
Dissect it, and hold it close.
Cry.
Cry.
Cry.
And of course,
As always

Happy Reading!

A Look at Escapism

My childhood was riddled with different forms of escaping; whether in the physical (taking leave from a conversation, hiding in my closet with a flashlight, hiding anywhere with a flashlight really.) or mental sense (books, music, the torture chamber of my mind). I've from an early age avoided reality whenever I could, or whenever it was acceptable. I felt like an outcast among my peers- a foreigner, a Brit among the Scots- and through my short existence I've often wondered why there was such a difference between us.

This yearning I have to understand the world, began with myself. I was convinced that if I were to crack the case of the universe, I would have to start with me. Yet, who was I? Why did I enjoy the company of books to people? Why am I so slow to speak, yet so quick to write? Do all people have this vast universe living in their mind, this war conspiring to destroy them?

And then these questions inspired even more questions:

Do we make our dreams, or do our dreams make us?
How does our body know when to cry, and when to laugh?
Why do happy songs make us happy? Yet sad songs, essentially make us sad? Who's to say what is happy, anyway? Does it mean anything significant that I enjoy sad songs, to happy ones?
Do all people ask such questions?

And so I searched for answers to my questions, and the source for my ponderings. I spent nights thinking, and days thinking, and showers thinking, which spilled over into every single moment of every day thinking. I would observe as everyone around me interacted with one another, while I was be occupied inside my own head.
What was I missing?

It was starring me in the face. It sat next to me on the couch, walked with me at school, held me at night, and woke me up in the morning. What have I been missing my entire life?

And then it hit me.

Companionship.

Growing up an only child I never gave my loneliness a second thought. It was my constant companion, and I found boundless happiness in the one-sided conversations I had with myself, in my ever present head. It was all I had, and it was all I knew existed, and that's why I never gave it much thought.

Now, I know this is not the entire story. I am not who I am today merely because I grew up without siblings, and because I found extreme comfort away from human beings and human interactions. I know that it's so much more complex, and far too personal of a thing to rant about online, yet could I be onto something?

I often wonder whether my lack of growing up without companions contributed to the many times I yearned for escape.

One definition of loneliness is: "standing apart; isolated". I've stood apart my entire life, I thought this was normal or expected. Perhaps I could have stood with all the others, I could have gained relationships, yet I didn't, and so I stood alone in my journey.

One definition of escape is: "to slip away; fade". In times where I've felt like I was losing myself, meaning I felt heavy from the world around me, all I needed to do was escape for a little while. Escaping reminds me of who I am, and who I aim to be. I took pleasure in standing apart from the pack, for it was in these instances that I truly understood who I was. It allowed me to leave, without ever moving.

Escapism is often used as a tactic when unhappy with reality. Although I'm not unhappy in my life, I wonder why I feel the need to live inside my mind. Perhaps it was due to my loneliness that I grabbed at something to stay afloat. While I felt like an outcast, I could escape to the world of my choosing, where I wasn't a stranger. And this was how I lived, and how I still live.

Although I've made progress with acclimating myself to the real world, I still have times of burnout. I wear out easy, and need to recharge. Yet it's nice to know that the life outside my head, can be just as nice as the one inside it. And it's nice to know that the people I have surrounding me in life are accepting of the times I might run away- and are determined to escape with me. It's sometimes not a very inviting place that I might escape to, as it was when I was a child.

And so I've learned that participation in life is mandatory, as much as I fight it.

I've learned that the right people no longer allow me to stand alone, yet keep me company at a distance.

And I've learned that escaping is also mandatory, just as long as you come back.

Living is overwhelming, even when you do it correctly. So read that book, watch that movie, and listen, listen, listen to that song- do whatever you need to do to keep participating.

(Too bad we no longer get Participation badges once out of school, I feel like I've finally earned mine.)

We shall end it with a selfie, and call it night.

Happy reading, everyone!

Hooked on Books: "All The Bright Places"

I've had my heart ripped out. Quite a horrendous and rather tragic ordeal; you see I started this book- and that was the beginning and end of it all.

To start this story, I’ve a very bad attitude toward ‘Bestselling Books’. If you win an award, I don’t want to read you. This is a terrible attitude to have because I’m aware of the number of books I must be shunning; life changing books I may never allow into my circle of friends. Yet, that’s always been my way- constantly rooting for the underdog and rewarding myself when I find a diamond in the rough.

Recently though I’ve gone through a sort of dry patch in my reading material. I found dud after dud. Or, I found books I ‘wasn’t prepared to read yet’. You see, every book has its time. In fact, some books even have a second, or third time if they’re fortunate. Yet this all depends on when you decide to read a book. I have many books on my bookshelf that I’m saving, saving for what I don’t know- but I will know when I’m ready. It’ll be effortless to start and a journey to end. If it doesn’t flow by the second chapter I give it up to another time.

So, with this all said I had no clue what I was going to read and I actually started to slightly panic. You see I never am not in the middle of reading a book. It’s in my genetic makeup, it’s programmed in my brain- I must be surrounded by words. Getting down to the nitty gritty I meticulously went from one book to the next, reading the first pages until finally I found myself on page 50 without ever realizing it. And lone behold, what do I find? A Bestselling Teen Fiction novel that decided to change my life.

“All The Bright Places” by. Jennifer Niven is a contemporary-coming of age-romance. It centers around the lives of Violet Markey and Theodore Finch (yet everyone just calls him Finch), and both of their lives are centered around death. If you’re looking for a feel good novel, don’t let the beautiful cover fool you, this novel broke me. And I mean that in the best possible way.

Violet Markey is coming up on the 1-year anniversary of her sister’s death from a fatal car crash, that she blames herself for. Her sister, Eleanor, was her rock and since her death Violet has found herself floating between life and that dark abyss she pictures Eleanor in.

‘Freak of the school’ Theodore Finch is obsessed with planning the perfect suicide. He's constantly fighting a losing battle to stay alive, and to keep participating to life. So, he takes life to the extreme and goes full throttle just to feel alive again. Or, to take advantage of the times he’s not locked himself in his closet, asleep and swimming in the darkness of his mind.

Violet never planned on committing suicide that day, yet she sure did find herself on that tower- looming over several feet of open air, and a concrete slab that’ll snap your neck. Yet Violet would never do such a thing, even if it were due to “extenuating circumstances”, she was the girl everyone wanted to be. But that girl died along with Eleanor, and here she is, all alone on a ledge awaiting death.

“Come here often? Because this is kind of my spot and I don’t remember seeing you here before.”

Theodore Finch fell for Violet Markey that very day. The big glasses that sat atop her nose looked out of place and her shoe-clad feet made him nervous she might slip. He hadn’t planned on jumping that day either. Although Finch has been obsessed with suicide for years, he has never attempted it. He merely dabbles in it.  And if he were to ever settle down and do the deed, he wants to go out with a bang. So seeing Violet on that ledge, mere feet from him, he adds a tally mark to his list of reasons not to jump.

The story of Violet and Finch is told from alternating point-of-views, and centers around a school project and the literary work of Virginia Woolf. Now, I'm not blind to the similarities between this novel and John Green's infamous "The Fault in Our Stars". While John Green created an emotionally realistic view of death, Bright Places showed the opposing view- death by choice. It took a seemingly lighthearted approach to the issue of suicide, almost to show the ludicrous view many people may have toward it as well as mental illness. 

The almost satirical view stems from the author's view that "you get flowers when people die naturally, not by choice". Whether this is right or wrong is not the case she is trying to make, rather it's the truth as seen by her own eyes.

Overall I enjoyed this book, and the way it tore me apart. Yet that's I'm wired. Many people in life are living for the high, and avoiding the low at all cost. I recognize this as not really living at all. Life is crap sometimes, more often than not and I'm not quick to run from it. Sometimes I have to stop myself from the complete acceptance.

"What a terrible feeling to love someone and not be able to help them."

In conclusion, I'm too tired for these emotional one-sided conversations, however frequent I participate in them. Read the book. Don't read the book. I'm not here to rule your life, rather to make some suggestions.

I am finishing this blogpost the day after I started it, so I have something very important to get to. The Golden Globes is playing in the background, Scout is crawling all over my laptop, and the train wreck that is celebrity award shows is too much of an offer to give up.

"Play the darn music already!"

"Oh look it's Eddie Redmayne!"

"Why am I not Jeniffer Lawrence?"

"Maybe I shouldn't eat real food anymore."

"Should I become a world renowned actress?"

"I've never even heard of these shows."

"McKenzie, shut up."

Happy reading, everyone.

Making Your Acquaintance

How are we to have these first introductions?

Am I to talk and talk and talk, and you to merely listen? Suppose you knew the circumstances and clicked all the same. Suppose I should no longer ramble on and we shall begin our proper beginning.

Hello there. How are you? Feeling well? Are you staying warm? Or cool? Are you happy? Why? Why not? I myself am very happy in this moment, for beginnings are usually of a more jubilant nature than endings. I look forward to finding a happy ending in my life, yet I suppose you shall know of it. It's a sad thing-to think I may never hear of yours.

My name? Have I not said? Well how silly of me!

My name is McKenzie, and it's wonderful to make your acquaintance. Or rather is it wonderful of YOU to make MY acquaintance?

I'm sorry to confuse you any further, yet I'm not the "Scout" in this scenario, and I anticipate Scout won't be writing anytime soon, unless she is harbouring some sort of secret I don't know about. And if this were the case then we would have much bigger issues to sort through. Such as, how did Scout learn to read and write? And can I somehow make money off her new talents? Did she fall into a vat of slimy green goo, turning her into some sort of mutant, and even more important- what will her superhero name be? These days Scout only has two things on her mind- sink her teeth into every one of my book covers and sleep. Yet she won over my heart with a single pur. (Pssst, Scout is a cat. Incase, you didn't surmise this from my clever wordplay. Yet isn't that the job of a writer? To create magic from the ordinary? To take a simple observation and write a sonnet?)
But yes, you guessed it. I'm the "Curly. It springs from the pounds of curly hair that have sprouted from my head since the day of my birth. It's a constant in my life, and I like constants. I can wake up every single day and know that my hair will be just as a much of a mess as it was the day before. Just the same, I can wake up everyday and look in the mirror and see two blue eyes staring back at me. It's a comfort to know that some things in life don't change.
Yet some change isn't too bad, just as long as I know of it and I have created it. (No, I do not have control issues, and don't you say that ever again!)
Change and I have a love, hate relationship. Or rather we have a spy vs. spy relationship. Neither one of us can trust the other, constantly going behind each other's back to one up the other. I don't know who's winning.
Scout doesn't share in this game. Scout's perfectly happy at all times, very much unlike any feline I've known, and her only concern is getting comfortable enough to fall asleep 5 times a day. I amusedly watch her features squish together with calculation. Yet just as soon as she has found her spot, she's out like a light- snoring.
I, on the other hand, sleep rather poorly. It's the falling asleep that's a struggle. My brain has had all day to worry about mundane things, yet it chooses 11 o'clock at night to finally settle down and fix the world's problems. Give me some time and I'll figure out who really killed J.F.K, or maybe how we can fix the Star Wars prequels. (We all know Jar Jar Binks has to die.)
So yeah, I don't like change, I don't sleep well, I own a cat...what more do y'all need to know?
Oh, I live in Kansas. That's...interesting?
Honestly, it's a little weird for me to talk about myself. I would much rather listen to what others have to say, being someone who always took on more of an observational role. Yes, I was (am) that odd little kid that used to stare at you a lot. I was trying to understand you is all, and plot world domination. I like to think my staring days are over, yet no. I don't apologize for it anymore, the world is a fascinating place and I wish to understand it. And if that means making a couple people feel uncomfortable then so be it.
So from an early age I would make up these stories about people I saw at school, walked past on the street, or saw flying by on the road. It was overwhelming to think that each and everyone of these people had a life, a family, a story. I wanted to know all of it, so I created it on my own.
Writing comes naturally to me. I don't say this with confidence. I say this with resolute fact. I love words and they sprout from my brain with ease, whether or not they are interesting, witty, or at all understandable is still unknown. So this little blog I've dedicated to the act of persuasion. To persuade myself that maybe one day-ONE DAY- I can reach a level of satisfaction with my writing. Maybe even a level of satisfaction with myself, too.

Scout and I are on a quest of discovery. A discovery of life, literature, and the pursuit of the perfect song. I have this dream of reading all the books on my bookshelf, accidently finding an unpublished novel by Jane Austen, ordering everything off the Starbucks menu, and not adding extra sugar to any of it, eventually sitting down and watching every early Doctor Who episode, and learning how to bake my own graham crackers.
So it's my hope that I will remember to document all of it, just as long as I'm not doing that little ole thing some people like to call 'living' in 'reality'. It doesn't happen very often, so it shouldn't be of concern.

Scout is in need of food, I am in need of hot tea, and my laptop is in need of rest.

This is McKenzie Porter, signing off. And until next time:

Happy Reading!