"Viewer Disrection Advised"

I'm an only child.

And that's just one of my "Viewer Discretion Advised".

"Frequently talks to herself."
"Was partially homeschooled, yet is full time awkward."
"Is prone to staring."
"No filter."
"Awkward dances when provoked."
"Becomes emotionally attached to food, and inanimate objects."
"Likes her cat more than you."
"Will pull out a book in social settings."

Growing up I felt like the most fortunate girl alive. I had my parents undivided attention, and I had a plethora of alone time. In an instant I could be transported to whichever world I chose, and I could create grand adventures all in the space of my head. It was the only life I ever knew, that constant faraway glance of whimsy, that yearning for something more. That ache for a glorious quest, yet also the pull and comfort of my own little world.

So as I got older I wanted for nothing. I had
enough food to eat, clothes to wear, a beautiful roof over my head, and parents that provided me all they could and more. And I was convinced that all I needed was myself, and the little family we had. And for a time it was enough. I went to school, begrudgingly, yet I persuaded myself to enjoy it, all but the social interaction. I delved into my studies and allowed the promise of new knowledge to wake me up each and every morning. Yet when I walked through the front door of my home, only then did I ever feel completely safe, and at ease in my skin.

No longer did I have to suffer through the small talk all elementary and middle schoolers have in common. No longer did I have to pretend I belonged in the same world as my peers.

I liked to pretend I wasn't from this world, because pretending was all I had. I had my head to play with, make up games with, and run around with. I had delved so far into myself that I never learned how to need others, so I relished in that feeling of solus.

Yet as life kept moving, and speeding up, and I kept growing in mind and body obstacles were thrown my way that I felt all too challenging to handle. My mind, once my friend and ally, was now my enemy. It kept me up at night, and filled me with wracks of sobs. It no longer fed me adventures, yet ravaged me with doubts and anxieties. And I learned the true meaning behind the world "alone", because to me it was always such a wonderful word.

It's a wonder how it all happened. I look back today as my fingers fly over my keyboard and a million images come to mind. Late night talks with my Mother and Father, incessant shushing to my brain, and finally the acceptance that perhaps I wasn't built to be completely alone. That perhaps the life that I had conjured in my mind could someday, maybe, be real. Those adventures could be real, and the girl I imagined myself to be, might be a person I could become.

So I did it. I really, honestly did it. I learned the proper way to be alone. And I participated in what was happening outside my mind.

And I found siblings. And I extended my small family. And they proved to be willing to support me every step of the way. They silenced my mind when they knew it wasn't feeding me good thoughts, and I opened up to them in time.

I learned how dangerous I was living, how on the edge of something very bad was I walking. The walls of protection I had put up to shade me from the outside world, also kept out all the good. What I wasn't willing to admit was how much I needed people. They weren't all bad. Some were actually quite good, great even. They were like the characters in all the books I had read, yet better because they were real, so their story continued on and on, and I could actually be a part of it.

I suppose that was all I ever really wanted, to be a part of someone's story. And for them to be a part of mine.

So now I am no longer the only inhabitant of my world. There are many residents, and we have done fantastic things, and we've lived. And we've all found a place that feels like home.

And I hope all of you will as well. And if you already have- kudos!

That's the first time I've ever used the word "kudos" before. Not too sure if it will happen again, in fact.

All the same, I wish you all a

Happy Reading, until next time.

TheMysteryWriter Introduction/ Food Frenzy: Lemon Chicken & Rice

TheMysteryWriter here, just thought I might introduce myself a little better now that we are acquainted. I'm a quiet, more reserved kind of person, and I struggle through my shyness. I tend to hide behind the written word, slowly showing my personality through pen and paper. I don't like being the center of attention but hide behind my work of words, art, and photography. I greatly enjoy reading; it's my getaway from reality. I cherish my friends, and I pick them carefully, having been burned in the past. I'm still slow to open up, even to my close friends because the walls I have built up over time, as I mentioned in my previous post. I'm an introvert with extroverted qualities, and somehow I really love people, I just can't always be around others. I need my alone time but still enjoy talking to and meeting new people. Though, my shy side still shines through very strongly at times, even with my closest of friends. So there you have it, I'm an extroverted introvert who hides behind books, paper, art, and the camera.
And I hope with time I may open up with you fine readers.

And before we sign off today, I would like to introduce another segment of this blog: Food Frenzy.
We all love to eat, right?
Dumb question.
Should I just get on with it?
Okay.
So with this in mind, coupled with my passion for all things edible, I had the bright idea to share a couple of my tried and true recipes with my lovely readers.
Cooking should be a fast, relaxing, and enjoyable process- especially come dinner time when the day has already been long, and the family is already famished. It's my goal to present some instructions that are easy to follow, that even the simplest of cooks can recreate them.
So put on the latest episode of LORE, tie on your apron, and let's get cookin!

Lemon Chicken & Rice

Ingredients for Rice:
1 cup of jasmine rice (you can substitute any type of rice you please, this is just my favorite.)
1/4-1/2 cup of a yellow onion- diced (eyeball it depending on your taste in onion)
2 cloves of garlic (minced)
Salt
Olive Oil

Ingredients for Chicken:
2 large chicken breasts
1 cup all-purpose flour (in a shallow baking dish w/ salt and pepper)
The juice of 2-3 lemons
Chicken stock
Salt & Pepper
Olive Oil
Chopped Fresh Parsley (optional)

Additional:
Parchment Paper
Kitchen Mallet

Instructions: (Feeds about 2-3, 4 if they are tiny.)

1. Put a medium sized pan on the stove, and turn up the heat to medium- medium/high. Prepare your onion and garlic as the stove is warming.
2. Once heated, add a coating of olive oil to your pan, and add the onion. Sprinkle over a pinch of salt, this will cause your onions to sweat and start turning translucent. Next, add your garlic.
3. Take a second to admire the heavenly fragrance. (Perfume idea?)
4. Let the onion and garlic meld for about a minute, then add your rice. Stir it into the garlic/ onion mixture. This toasts the rice, bringing out the nutty flavors and adding a well rounded taste to your rice. Let that go for about 2-3 minutes or until fragrant.
5. Depending on the type of rice you are using, add your water to the pan. If using jasmine rice this amount will be 1 1/2 cups. Turn the heat to high, and wait until it comes to a boil. Once boiling, put the lid on top and turn down the heat to LOW. Set your time for 15-20 minutes.
6. Now it's chicken time! Set another pan over medium/high heat. Get out a large cutting board, and cover it with parchment paper. Add one chicken breast to the board with tongs, and cover with another sheet of parchment paper.
7. Grab your mallet, and it's time to work out all that built up anger from the day. Who's face are you imagining that chicken to be?
8. Pound out your chicken, using smooth and fluid movements. It should be about a 1/2 inch when finished. Cut the chicken with scissors, in half (This way they will cook faster). Grab the tongs and place the chicken in the baking dish the flour mixture.
9. Repeat steps 6-8 with the second chicken breast. Continue to coat the chicken breasts with the flour on all sides, shake off all excess.
10. Coat the pan with a shallow drizzle of olive oil. Place all chicken in the pan, it should be sizzling and start to bubble.
11. Let the chicken fry for about 3-4 minutes, then flip. They should be golden brown. (You are not cooking them all the way through.)
12. After frying for 3-4 minutes on both sides take them out of the pan and place them on a plate or cookie sheet.
13. Get a wooden spoon ready, and your lemon juice. While pouring the juice in the pan, scrape the bottom of the pan. BE CAREFUL! It will bubble! And steam! Be sure you get up all the bits on the bottom of the pan, this will help create a yummy sauce.
14. Continue stirring the lemon juice as you pour in about 1/4 cup of chicken stock into the pan. Keep adding the stock until you have a shallow pool for your chicken to set in (probably another 1/4).
15. Add the chicken back into the pan, and set the heat to HIGH. When the liquid starts to boil, turn the heat to LOW or MEDIUM/ LOW. Cover and let simmer for 5 minutes.
16. Your rice should be ready! Take off the lid and grab a fork. Scrape your fork across the rice to fluff it up. (This is my secret to fluffy rice.) Add salt to taste.
17. When the chicken is ready, uncover and turn the heat off. (Add salt/pepper if necessary)You're ready to plate!
18. Spoon a nice portion of rice on your plate, stack 2 pieces of chicken on top of the rice, and spoon some of the sauce on the chicken. Sprinkle over the parsley for a nice fresh flavor.
19. Serve to your guest or family. They are sure to be impressed by your newly found cooking skills.
20. Sucka! Now you have to cook all the meals.
21. You're welcome.

Always be safe while cooking, burns hurt. And even if it might seem like the pan is well balanced on the counter, it's not. And it'll fall. And then you'll have to order pizza, PLUS clean up the kitchen.
And that's what I'm here for, helping all to learn from my failed attempts in life.
Thank you MysteryWriter for the introduction, always enjoyable hearing from you.
And thank you family for eating my cooking.
And thank you all for reading these mediocre little posts.
So until next time,
Happy Reading
&
Happy Eating!

*Don't look at me like that Scout, you'll make a cameo soon enough...*

When Words Fail

This case of writer’s block has been worse than the times before.

Words

Are

Not

Working

I

Feel

Broken

When I’m not able to form words- eloquent, beautiful words, I feel as if I’m lost. And alone.

And I start doing weird things.

And then I start taking far too many selfies.

And then I start eating more.

Sleeping more.

And then I somehow find the right words.

Yet not this time. This case has proved to be far more overwhelming, as well as distressing. A part of me is missing. My closest friends, my words, are gone.

And although I write this, and the words are coming slower, and my frustration is growing, I feel like I might not be far off from where I yearn to be. And I yearn for the little voices inside my head, whisking me away to faraway lands, and keeping me company in my solace. Yet now all I hear is silence. I hear silence, as well as worries. I hear silence swimming in an ocean of anxieties. I hear silence. Silence. Silence. And silence is deafening.

So to fill this silence I’ve found other words to fill my head. That of a man named Aaron Mahnke, and his historical podcast named LORE. Although history of any kind has filled me with wonder all my years, I am understandable that this isn’t always the case with many people. History class was a dreadful hour, and images are conjured up of those ancient teachers with their glasses perching precariously low on noses as they assign page after page of mundane reading material.

I had no such teacher. Rather I was my history teacher, as I was homeschooled from eighth grade onward. The material was given me, as well as assignments yet it my own choice as to what I extensively studied and which I furthered my learning over. I know of others that have taken this time for granted, yet I was never one of them. I furthered my learning hour with thorough research of strange and unusual topics. I wanted the history unfound in history textbooks.

I wanted the truth.

And so I read and I read, and I read some more until I was blue in the face with historical satires, numerous numbers I never remembered, and facts I strived to maintain through my years. Sadly, I lost much of the material I had stored in my brain, yet recently I was given the opportunity to get it back.

And there you have LORE.

The word “Lore” is of Germanic origin- ‘Lehre’, relating to the Dutch word “Leer”- meaning “Learn”.  It’s a word not often used in reference to typical learning today, as it has been assigned special meaning in society to the learning of mythical, or otherworldly study. And the LORE podcast delivers on both accounts.

LORE is a podcast created by the author Aaron Mahnke. And when you visit the LORE website*, the following words are used to describe this unique creation:

“Our fears have roots. Lore exposes the darker side of history, exploring the creatures, people, and places of our wildest nightmares.

Because sometime the truth is more frightening than fiction.”

Lore is a biweekly Podcast, with a theme centered around the unexplainable. Yet at times the root of the seemingly unexplainable can be easily explained, it’s man that complicates the very fabric of humanity. We strive for answers, and in this quest we are at times left with more questions and more confusion.

I fell in love with this Podcast right away. I was drawn to the dark premise, and the history I used to delve into as a youngster. Many of the myths we are so easy to accept as mere fiction, were based on actual lives and situations. Calling to mind the LORE tagline that “the truth is more frightening than fiction”. You start asking yourself questions: “How far do humans go until they lose all humanity?” And “how far would I go?”

I’m sure this isn’t the last I’ll be expressing my deep admiration, so take my word for it now. Yet also remember, Viewers Discretion Advised! Sometimes history and the mistakes of our ancestors can be hard to swallow, so make wise decisions as to what your listening to, and who also is listening with you.

It’s taken me two days to write this, and I’m finally at a satisfactory conclusion.

So why don’t I wrap this up until I start to ruin it with my incessant rambling.

Cheerio everyone!

This is the first time I’ve ever said ‘Cheerio’ in my life, and meant it! It felt good!

Okay, I promise I’m done.

Happy Reading

And Listening Everyone.

*You can find the link to LORE on the right hand side of this blog page. Enjoy!

Hooked on Books: "Fahrenheit 451"

It was a beautiful thing, as I was growing up, to learn I wasn't alone. I had terrible, dull feelings at times (which can only be pronounced as "unexplained") where I felt like I was isolated, and the world was moving in slow motion yet I was the only one it was affecting. Yet then, as soon as it came on, the feeling was gone and my Father is placing me on his shoulders, or my Mother is hugging me tight around the waist.
I can remember many of these moments, filed away under "Give More Thought To" or "Quit Thinking About So Much". It's lovely to think though, that I have found a remedy for these bouts of unexplained anxiety. And that remedy has turned into the most beautiful of friendships.

I found books at an early age, and from have never relinquished my hold on them. They grew to be my saviors in times of distress, and the listening ear to many of my childish secrets. I gained knowledge, and comfort between their pages. And the pages never ended. As soon as I closed one book, another fell open before me. I liked how the letter 'g' always looked so royal, and how the word 'upon' conjured up images of adventure. My love grew obsessive. And soon I wanted anything I could get my hands on; words are addictive.

"Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury is full of addictive words.
Ray Bradbury was certainly a man before his time. He predicted the future, many have claimed. And Fahrenheit is just one example of his intellectual hypotheses.

"My wife says books aren't 'real.'"
"Thank God for that."

The United States, as we know it, has significantly changed. No longer are fires stopped, but started. And no longer are people talking to one another, but listening. Listening to programs that foster numbness. No thought. No ideas. No bothers. And the one thing that really bothers people has been destroyed- books!
Guy Montag is a fireman, whose job is to burn books- forbidden books. He sets blaze to Bibles, Shakespeare, Wilde, Austen, etc. Then the world is as it should be- free from opposing ideas and philosophies that drove its ancestors to murder. And Guy is satisfied with his job, until he meets Clarisse, a seventeen-year-old girl who chases butterflies and fills Guy's head with questions. He is encouraged to observe life. No longer is he quite sure about lighting the match, setting aflame the many pages of questions he has accumulated. And when the setting fire of books turns deadly he's certain those many covers contain the answers.

"There must be something in books, something we can't imagine, to make a woman stay in a burning house; there must be something there. You don't stay for nothing."

Are the hypotheses coming true? Was Bradbury aware of the road many were taking? A look at the world gives us the answer. No longer are people talking to one another, the real kind of talking. The "tell me your hopes, dreams, fears" kind, that delves deeper. No longer are people observing, and asking questions. Is it because they've grown fearful of the answers?
And then, society has stopped reading. The ideas have stopped flowing, and soon the numbness will drown you. We turn on our TVs so we don't have to think. We plug our ears full of someone else's ideas. We plug up our minds with the same rubbish day in and day out.

"It's not books you need, it's some of the things that once were in books...there is nothing magical in them at all. The magic only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us."

There's something different about books. You serve as its master. You can cradle them for comfort, and throw them in anger. You can read them and love them, or read them and question them. You can rip out the pages you want to save, or rip out the ones you hate. They can lie on a bookshelf, for years- dead- and be brought back to life with two hands and an open mind.
And they bother you. And they question you. And you question them. Because that's what being alive means, it means feeling something. It means believing in something, saying something, yet listening to it too. It means ideas, and questions, and answers. Yet sometimes it means being bothered.

"We need not to be let alone. We need to be really bothered every once in a while."

Growing up with books has been my savior, and I've found myself between so many pages. I've asked questions, yet I've found answers, and I've asked more questions, and I'll continue to. And I'll read, and I'll read, and I'll read because they show cracks in the foundation of life and that's where I reside.
Books are honest to their readers, and I'm their most avid fan.

I recommend this book if you haven't read it. And if you have read it, read it again. You might find another jewel, or learn something new about yourself. Ray Bradbury has that affect on people, he makes them see life through new eyes.

So with fresh eyes, and even more questions I continue to live,
Always wishing you a
Happy Reading!

TheMysteryWriter: "The Fill-In Boyfriend"

We have a special treat today in store for all our readers, in this installment of "The Adventures of Scout and Curly". As is most common in many blogs, there are such things as Guest Writers. And I've taken advantage of this opportunity- as it means little work for myself. No longer do I need to ramble on about my thoughts and dreams, I have passed the baton off to another whimsical creature. And I'm sure you all will enjoy the break from me, as I'm ready for a break myself.
So without further adieu, I present TheMysteryWriter.

Normally I'm the one who reads murder mysteries and random novels I pick up at Goodwill or garage sales, because they look or sound interesting. I tend to find the more darker and deeper stories most entertaining, but every once in a while I surprise myself.
As of recent, I finished reading "The Fill-In Boyfriend". A teen love story, with immature minds, who find themselves as the book progresses; definitely not my genre but somehow this book captivated my attention and I ended up enjoying it.

I came upon "The Fill-In Boyfriend" by mere happenstance and decided I would at least give it a chance, then I found myself delving through the chapters in no time. The main character, Gia, is a high school senior, student council president, and all around most popular girl in school. She's pretty selfish, and always acts like she's perfectly put together. That is, until the lies start flowing freely and she's lost in the nonsense she's created. During this journey she finds she has never let anyone in to see the real her, she realizes she doesn't even know herself because she tucks her emotions away so tightly. Things start falling apart in her life but all the same are falling together, she finds someone to open up to and she learns how hard it can be to do so. Yet then once you do, how hard it can be to not do so.
Yes, it may have been a little cheesy at times, and you may be wondering why I enjoyed this book seeing as though it is not my genre. Well, you see, I found a lot of myself in Gia. No, I was never the popular one, nor did I care what everyone thought of me like she did, but I find myself closed up and always showing myself put together and "fine".
"'I'm fine.' Those two words are the most frequently told lie in the English language."
This is repeated several times throughout the book and oh how true it really is.
It's hard for me to open up to others and I could relate to Gia's struggle in doing so. And when she had no one to talk to, she realized that's what she needed the most- someone there for her to open up to.
And then there is Hayden, the boy who made her realize all these things about herself, and how badly she needed to open up and communicate her feelings.
Sometimes we just need that friend to see that we are not okay, to tell us to sit down, stop hiding, and communicate about our burdensome thoughts. We all need a friend like that, whether we are an open book, or closed up with walls up high. I myself know the struggle of trying to tear down those walls I've built up so high, but it's a relief to let go and not handle those trials, thoughts, and feelings on our own. It's a struggle but a relief all at once, to finally let go but to trust someone enough to do so.

Well, thanks Curly for the opportunity to write for you- I'm sure it won't be the last time we work with one another.

Certainly not the last, I can assure you! And for anyone who would like to read this wonderful book, the link can be found to the right. Thank you very much for your contribution MysteryWriter.

Of course, Curly. And if you don't mind, I'll sign us off-
This is TheMysteryWriter bidding you all farwell, and until next time,
Happy Reading,
and Happy Writing!

Destination: I'm Running Away

I get in these moods where I feel trapped. I feel like the walls are closing in on me, and if I don't do something, anything, then I will suffocate on my own air.
Anyone else feel the same?
Well, the way I cope with this is either
1. Nothing. Which leads to a dark depressed state of mind, where I frequently go just for the company, along with all my mistakes, disappointments, and hypothetical situations that like to talk too much. This usually lasts a short period of time- until I'm able to work through it.
or 2. I run. And I don't mean "I gonna go for a nice jog to clear my head". No! I mean run, as in run away. As in I pretend like I'm fleeing the country, and starting over in some magical land overrun by book characters I've created in my ever racing head.
Keep in mind though, that I never end up too far. I make it to the woods behind my neighborhood. And I call them 'woods' very lightly. It's basically a couple trees next to a water plant and some roads. Yet it's quiet, and if you try hard enough you kinda forget where you are. There's a special rock I like to sit on. Also, I'm using 'rock' very lightly because it's really a perfectly smooth slab of concrete. I've nicknamed it "The Crying Concrete"- it's seen many of my tears. 
But enough of this melodramatic monologue. In addition to it being my favorite hiding spot, Dad and I like to go down there and shoot our sling shots, because this is Kansas and there's not too much to do besides eat.

Dad and I are basically the same person, operating from the same brain so we understand each other very well. When he starts getting in these moods I can easily detect it- he gets antsy where I get broody. So, Sunday lent itself handsomely to a walk in the woods.
It's a mere right turn, right turn, left turn, left turn and you're in the woods- your ears filled with the sound of the Arkansas river. The river we all like to say 'doesn't smell' and 'doesn't look like a sewer'. We have to make the most of what we have, I suppose. It's a yearning of mine to live by water, I've always been drawn to it. Perhaps it's due to my isolation from it. As a child I would drag blanky, and Dog-Dog into the bathroom while my Mother took her shower. I would lie on the outside of the shower, stuffed dog underneath my head, and the sound of water trickling from the spout sending delightful chills up my back.
The water we have running behind Sunrise street is all we have, and all I've ever known- so I've learned to appreciate my travels down to the water's edge. And my father being apart of so many of those journeys, has had a tremendous impact on my life.

So on that bright Sunday afternoon, Dad and I set out on a journey of our own making. It's hard to go on an actual 'journey' in Wichita, Kansas, yet we have accepted the few walking paths, and even made a couple of our own. The clouds kept us company, and were a topic of intriguing interest in our dynamic dialogue. I found myself slowly talking more and more as we walked, each step I took I emphasized another word, and another discovery. Dad is now thoroughly up to date with my earthly findings.

The mangled trees, most commonly seen in the winter months, greeted our path with folklore and legends to occupy our imaginative thoughts. There's something spellbinding about the woods- fairy tales, musicals, and myths are all centered around the wonderfully dark and mysterious places. My Father and I have a special fondness for trees, gnarly ones with a history and a past we can only imagine, and imagine we do. We spin tales, which lead to hopes, which lead to dreams, which lead to some of the most comforting moments. My Father has always allowed me to talk, and talk, and talk, and he never grumbles. Rather he listens to each and every solitary word, and he replies to pondering questions, and complying silences. And so I continue until my voice is weak, and my mind is satisfied.

"If you truly love Nature, you will find beauty everywhere."
-Van Gogh

Dad and I continued our escape by collecting treasures. (I found a shell given to me by a River-Maid. And that was no ordinary leaf, but the last leaf of winter, to send to us good tidings of hope for an early spring.) As we skipped rocks we yelled at birds, and rejoiced over finding new flat rocks. And we kept the prettiest ones, yet gave the water back the others. Our pile of findings grew and grew and soon the backpack we took with us was full of shells, and rocks we would display around the house.
The sun continued to go down, so we found it best to walk back home before dark- it is the woods after all. While we walked to the river in chipper abandon with quick and witty dialogue, the walk back was full of companionable silence. It's a beautiful thing to share mutual silence with someone, no awkwardness involved, just the soft whisper of the wind in the trees and the fading sound of the river rushing downstream.
And it felt like we weren't home. And it felt good to get away. And it felt good to start missing my room, and my books, and my cat. And then everything was good again. And I can continue to appreciate where I am.
And the clouds continued to keep us company.

 When we returned home, Mom was waiting at the door, greeting us and relishing in our higher spirits. No longer was Dad antsy, and the water had broken my brood. I proceeded to walk throughout the house, like I was seeing it for the first time after a long time away. And it never looked more beautiful, and my books never looked so magnificent, and Scout had never been more happy.
It takes a lot of knowledge to live. You have to know what keeps you going, what keeps you from shutting down. It took me a long time to learn a routine, and I'm not embarrassed to admit it, nor ashamed. I've learned that a little water, and a couple clouds can keep me sane for a little while longer. That is, until the next time I'm ready to pack up and run- then it might be a cheap coffee, or a hug that holds me a little longer, maybe even someone will hold the door for me.
It's looking for the sun through the clouds. It's dancing in the rain. It's double chocolate chip cookies. And the smell of old books. It's life. It's life, and it's beautiful.
And if you don't take my word for it,
take Scout's!
She's proof enough that life is adorable, and cuddly, and has the cutest meow- or at least she does...

And that's the face I would like to end with.
Sleep well everyone! And until next time, keep running away and continue coming back,
Happy Reading!