The Wisdom of Solomon

Dad rented the movie "The Song" today, and so we all watched it together as we ate our dinner. It's a great movie. IMDB's summary is as follows:

An aspiring singer-songwriter's life and marriage suffer when the song he writes for his wife propels him to stardom.

Anyway. There's a part at the beginning, where Rose asks Jed, if could ask God for anything, knowing that God would say yes, what would he ask for? Jed replies that he'd ask for wisdom, and Rose tells him to just ask. Right now. And so he does.

What I'm getting at is what Rose told Jed. She made it so simple. Jed wanted wisdom, and she replied [something like], "So ask Him. Right now, just ask him." She made it so simple. And so it is.

A lot of times, it seems, we think of God more as this big, unapproachable king in the sky, ruling over us much like we might rule over the people in The Sims game. While that may contain some truth in it, there's much more to God than that. He's our Father, and he's genuinely cares about us.

Is wisdom not something that God desires every one of us to have? He's promised to give us

whatever we ask in his will. Is there ever an instance where wisdom would not be part of God's will for us? Do we not desire it? Why, then, do we think and work and wish, when we could simply ask? Sure, he'll probably use trials, temptations, to teach us this wisdom, but will he not also simply give when we need it most, if we're asking and praying for it, and leaning on Him and following his will?

If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent?                                          Luke 11:11

If you're saved, we are his children. Through Jesus's sacrifice, we are made His — equal with the Son himself through his death.

If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.                            James 1:5

                          

Home Again: A Short Story

The wind howled. I pressed through the stinging white vortex swirling around me. The light was just ahead. I couldn't tell the distance in that storm, but it couldn't be far if I was seeing it.

Ten minutes later, I was pounding on the door with my fist, hoping the people inside would hear me above the wail of the blizzard.

A man came to the door. His eyes widened when he saw me.

"How... What are you doing out here?" He scooped me up in his arms like the child I was and kicked the door shut with the heel of his foot. He set me down in front of the fire and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.

Before long, I was plenty warm, with a bowl of hot stew in my hands.

Wolves howled in the distance as Keith lay huddled close to the fire. Tomorrow he would journey back, which was both a good thing and bad. This search had been a disaster.

Daniel's girl was still missing. Coming back without her was worse than not coming back at all. What could he tell her mother? Saira had lost enough in Daniel's accident. Keith had made a rash promise in the moment and now he had to deal with one broken. One that involved leaving a nine-year-old girl to die in the forest, cold and alone. The thought's only accomplishment was to help his failure sear through him.

He woke before dawn. How long had he been sleeping? Not long, judging by how tired he felt. But then, he hadn't expected to sleep at all with Brielle on his mind. He must have fallen asleep praying.

Keith broke camp, checked that his fire was completely extinguished, and trudged in the direction of Saira's village. He hadn't gone far when noticed something in the snow. A disturbance irregular to forest creatures. It hadn't snowed for a few days; perhaps this was the reason. Thank you, Lord, he thought as he knelt to see what the tracks had to show him. They were the size of Brielle's, and headed northwest. Keith stood and followed the path they directed him to walk.

Not more than a mile or two from the place Keith had slept was a cabin. He should have recognized the place long before he came so close. He'd never come in the deep winter, and the snow must have disguised the area.

He pushed through the wind to reach the door and pounded hard on the wooden barrier to be heard above the sound of the wild north. Before long, the door was opened and he stumbled inside.

The man who'd let him in slammed the door firmly shut. "Keith! What are you doing out here this time of year?"

"The girl." Keith hadn't realized how cold and tired he was until he'd been engulfed by the warmth of John's cabin. "Is she here?"

"You mean Brielle? Yes, she's fine." He gestured down the hall to the bedroom. "She's still asleep."

John helped his friend out of his winter coat and hung it on the hooks near the doorway, then stoked the fire while Keith shed the rest of his gear.

"Can I get you anything?" John stood and brushed the soot off his hands. "Hungry? I just made a pot of stew last night."

"Yes, please." Keith replied. He hadn't realized how hungry he was, either.

The two men sat and talked as Keith ate. It was mid-January, and they hadn't seen each other since two summers ago. Their conversation soon turned to the girl who was the center of this visit.

"She showed up on my doorstep yesterday," John said when Keith had finished with his story. "How she survived in that cold for almost three days on her own, and without injury or illness, only God knows."

They were silent for a minute before John spoke again. "You plan on going back today?"

"Yup. Weather seems as mild as it'll get for some time." He thought of Saira, the look in her eyes and the fear in her voice when she'd told him her daughter was missing. "Her mother's worried sick about her."

"In that case, you should probably get going soon. There's another blizzard on it's way. Sooner you leave, the better."

Footsteps sounded softly in the hallway. Brielle came out in bare feet, wrapped in the blankets that John had given her the night before. She came and stood next to John, regarding Keith in a curious way.

"Do I know you?" she asked him. "I think I've met you before."

Keith smiled at her. "I was good friends with your daddy. Last I saw you, you must have been at least five, or younger."

"I remember," she said in a voice that was strong and sweet all at once. "You're the one who read to me." She shuffled across the floorboards and curled up in his lap. "Can you tell me a story now? Please?"

They left shortly thereafter. John gave them some extra food and supplies, along with goodbyes and admonishment that they travel carefully.

The snow was deep and the wind was fierce. Keith was glad for the extra supplies John had insisted they take with them. Brielle fared well for such a small girl, especially one who'd been alone in the wild in the dead of winter only the day before. She was strong, that girl. Like her mother.

Keith and Brielle arrived in the village by sundown the next day. It didn't take long for them to make their way through the marketplace to the small dwelling that was Brielle's home.

Saira appeared through the doorway while they were still a ways down the street. Brielle broke into a run. Mother and daughter embraced, after so long being apart. Keith kept walking towards them, stopping a short distance from where they stood. Saira looked to him and mouthed the words thank you, joyous tears running down her cheeks.

It was good to be home.

I ran to my mother, whose open arms enveloped me in the warmest hug I'd ever felt. I could feel her tears on my cheek as we held tight to each other, glad to be together and home again.

written by Jessy on 02.08.15 at 03:57

Black Again

Hey. Been awhile.

As the title indicates, this is Black. She may be learning Portuguese, but I don't know a word of it, and I'm not randomly obsessed with Irish, so no worries on that front. On the other hand, if your preference happens to not be English, she's added a translate button on the right for you.

Random post of the month. I'm Black, one phantom black who posted back in September. Remember that? No? Cool, then.

Black is not my given name. I do have one. Still not telling.

She's currently in Pennsylvania again. The kid is in the house. For almost a whole week, but they (two minions came) go back tomorrow. Tears and dramatic sadness, seems she. Alright, that's a bit exaggerated, but it goes something like that. Meanwhile, they read and play on devices and I sit unnoticed on my iPod. Mostly because I'm invisible. Though I get the idea that kid thinks my name is Bob. Nice to be known, even unknowingly...but, Bob? Despicable. Ish.

And that whole paragraph was not supposed to be a Despicable Me reference but seems to have turned out that way. At least it fits.

Spontaneous sleepover plans with Anne were thwarted Friday night, but the girls definitely enjoys seeing each other again. First time since September. An eternity. She forgot to return that random question, though. Nicholas spoilers are apparently unforgivable. Personally, I'm not sure what she sees in that guy, but then, I can't exactly judge what I don't know.

Next time, you two, I'd like to be invited, not lurking in the shadows like a stalker. Thanks.

The writeress is making a comeback. I'm here, aren't I? I've been silent for some time. Now if she'll just get that short story she's writing finished, she can move on and get some good WIP work done. Maybe continue with that couple she created the other day, which has basically created their own story in her head. They've shown up as truth and not something she's got to make up. Rwayn isn't so bad, either. Not sure about Gary, buried in those books and hardly ever says a word. Working on that.

All in all, her last week has been something like this:

Excellent.

Now she's going to go finish that story for her friend. Before midnight. (Probably not, but ambitious deadlines force incentive.)

Signing off,
Black

Beautiful People #5: A Escritora

That's right, Dean, you are.

(Obviously, I had to steal this, Cait.)

Q U E S T I O N S

1. How many years have you been writing? I'm not sure at all when I began writing... several years ago, at least. I don't know that I ever thought I'd be a writer, though. I always hated "write a short story about _____" assignments the very most, all the way from K-4, until perhaps... 7th grade? Something like that. When did you officially consider yourself a 'writer'? A few years ago? I'm not really certain. I'll have to look through my dates and see. Though I believe the first time I officially considered myself an actual writer would have been soon after Anne-girl and I began talking about books and writing and characters and plots and movies and all.

2. How/why did you start writing? Because I had to, the way Jeremiah had to preach.

3. What's your favorite part of writing? Writing. I know, lame, boring, extremely creative answer. 'Tis the truth, though. Writing is my favorite part of writing. When the words flow not so much from me but through me and I'm simply the channel through which they pass from the abstract to black and white colors.

4. What's your biggest writing struggle? Plotting. Plotting, plotting, plotting. I get random ideas and scenes and pictures and words, but rarely ever an entire story. Or if I do, I can't get enough details pinned down to actually get on with it. Thus all the cliffhangerishness that goes on around here. (Desculpe.)

5. Do you write best at night or day? At night. In the middle of the night. Strange, perhaps, but true. Then again... it seems I'm not so alone in this as I once thought. My favorite writings are always the ones I wrote sometime in the wee hours of the morning. This does seem to be changing somewhat, but for now it still remains.

6. What does your writing space look like? (Feel free to show us pictures!) Hmm, I don't exactly have one. My writing space is my laptop, or occasionally my phone or tablet, or, even less often, my notebook. Unless it's poetry... poetry I write in notebooks, or occasionally on the phone. For poetry, writing tools from first choice to last: notebook, tablet, phone, laptop. And for everything else: laptop, tablet, phone, notebook. (Something like that.) Weird.

7. How long does it typically take you to write a complete draft? I don't know, I've never done that [yet].

8. How many projects do you work on at once? As many as I want, I suppose. I'm not extremely organized about this writing thing. I'm trapped, though, as anyone else. In the most beautiful, chaotic way, of course.

9. Do you prefer writing happy endings, sad ones, or somewhere in between? Somewhere in between, I suppose. I like happily sad endings, or sadly happy endings. Please tell me you understand what I'm saying? Because I do realize that at first glance that may look like exactly the same thing, but it is not.

10. List a few authors who've influenced your writing journey. (Listed randomly.)

• Markus Zusak (The Book Thief)
• Allie Condie (Matched)
• Westmoure (Revelations)
• Anne-girl (Scribblings)
• Cait (Paper Fury)
• Sky (Further Up and Further In)
• Clare Vanderpool (Moonlight Over Manifest)
• Matthew J. Kirby (Icefall)
• Nicholas Sparks (A Walk to Remember)
  I've never loved love stories, but he makes them real. I've never read any of his books {though I just started The Longest Ride}, but I've seen A Walk To Remember {which was the first love story I fell in love with}, The Notebook {which was the second, I think}, and, as of this week, The Lucky One {the movie could have been done much better, but the story behind the cheese was quite the one}. I didn't realize until this week, when I watched The Lucky One, that all three were based on books written by Nicholas Sparks. Thus his addition to my list of awesomeness writers.
• A&E (screenwriters, Once Upon a Time)
• the writers of Supernatural
• Suzanne Collins (The Hunger Games)
• Michael Grant (Gone)
• Edgar Allen Poe
• Christopher Paolini (Eragon. His books breathed into me a permanent inspiration. I suppose the day I finished Inheritance is the day I truly began to become a writer.)
• Mark Twain
• Jack London (The Call of the Wild)
• Ely ({what can I say?})
• Olivia (The Scribbleagonist)
• Ashley G. ([insert title here])
• Christine Smith, aka Lauriloth (Musings of an Elf)
• Jaime, aka Jaguar Hero! (The Dancing Lawn)
• Vicki (Sunshine and Shadow)
• Rachel Heffinton (The Inkpen Authoress)
• Ted Dekker (The Circle Series)
• Rick Riordan (Percy Jackson. He writes with a simplicity I at times admire.)
• Amy Walker
• and of course many others, but I can't list them all (sadly)

11. Do you let people read your writing? Why or why not? It depends. Sometimes I post what I write, sometimes I show it to only certain people (or characters), and other times I show it to no one (perhaps not even myself). In the latter case, I have a secret, private blog upon which I scrawl any and all such works for safe-keeping. Why? Because some things simply are or are not meant for sharing, dearie.

12. What's your ultimate writing goal or dream? Ultimate? Hmm. Perhaps to have that one great book of my own that becomes classic and loved. Like The Book Thief. Not that said book would be like The Book Thief itself, or even the same genre, or anything, only that it would be that kind of beloved classic... you get the idea?

13. If you didn't write, what would you want to do? Act. As in, be a legit actress. Yes, that is my dream job.

14. Do you have a book you'd like to write one day but don't feel you're ready to attempt it yet? Yes, I do. The one that comes to mind would be World Without Water. It's sloshing around in my head still, gathering and collecting such things as would be needed until such a time presents itself. I don't want to start until it's ready for fear of ruining such a beautiful story. (Not that I'm really sure of what's going on yet, other than the original [title] idea. Which is part of why it's sloshing.)

15. Which story has your heart and won't let go? Jainie. And Alex. Also the others, but mostly Jainie (and Alex).

A perhaps [un]noteworthy note:

GIFs are cool but annoying. I never dreamed I'd actually use any.

And then Dean showed up on Beautiful People.

Hmm. Awesomeness, indeed.

"a escritora" is Portuguese for "the writer" (feminine), if you must know

Awaken Her

adding this edit as of 18 Feb 2023 since this post has recently been linked to outside of blogger

I am no longer active on this blog. My current blog can be found here as well as the newly-written part two of this story.

Disclaimer: some of the views expressed in the content of Barefoot in the Snow no longer represent me or my beliefs.

I don't know what she's thinking, diving in like that. I watch her pierce the water's calm face and disappear beneath the surface. We wait for her to return.

The water is dark, deep, consuming. I search through the veil but cannot see. Soon, I return to the surface, just long enough to breathe, then push myself down deep below the glass. She's in here somewhere. She's fine, she just needs help to find the way. 

I ascend once more. Nathan calls my name just before the water muffles my ears. He's found her, and she's fine. Of course she is. 

The current guides me toward them on the bank just beyond me. I give into its strength while I wonder what went on. She's lying on the ground, Nathan trying to revive her. Of course she's okay, she just needs air. 

I make it to where they've landed. Her lips are purple, her face is white. She's not dead yet.

I remember the sirens' scream as we rushed toward each other. We had to get her to the road, the ambulances couldn't get to the river. Nathan held her and ran, still I could hardly keep up.

The mad rush to the hospital, the rush through the halls, the frantic hurry to waken her.

I wish it had worked. No, she didn't die. She was fine, of course she was fine. She'd never been better.

That was the problem.

The Moment // O Momento

Something told me. He's here.

I flew down the stairs and out the door. He was close, I knew he was. My mom called after me, but I hardly heard. She was drowned out by the voice drumming in my head, He's here, he's here. He's close, he's here.

I ran to the end of our driveway and down the old dirt road. It stopped into pavement before too long, diving beneath the hard black surface, creating a T with the yellow lines fading down the middle of the modern road. I could see headlights. It's him, he's here. For once the voices were welcome.

I waited by the stop sign, anxiously patient. I peered through the windows as the car got closer, trying to see in, somehow knowing but still wondering. The sun was low, peeping over the hills in the background, lighting the world just enough to send it to sleep. I slowly realized all at once the icy cold seeping through my soles; in my hurry I'd run all this way barefoot in the snow, wearing only my short-sleeved pajamas. I didn't mind. He's here.

The car slowed as it crept closer. It finally pulled round the corner and stopped in front of me. A man stepped out in full uniform. I stood tall just above his waist. I stared at his belt for the longest second of my life, the moment my heart stopped time. I raised my eyes to his face, suddenly scared to trust my eyes or the voices, the moment that didn't exist. I looked into his smiling eyes. It's him.

He knelt down and held his arms out to me. Next thing I knew I was in his arms, the moment the world was still.

Algo me disse. Ele está aqui.

Desci as escadas e saiu pela porta. Ele estava perto, eu sabia que ele era. Minha mãe me chamou, mas eu quase não ouvi. Ela foi abafada pelo rufar voz na minha cabeça, Ele está aqui, ele está aqui. Ele está perto, ele está aqui.

Corri para o final do nosso caminho e pela estrada de terra antiga. Ele parou na calçada antes de muito tempo, o mergulho sob a superfície dura preta, criando um T com as linhas amarelas desvanecem no meio da estrada moderna. Eu podia ver os faróis. É ele, ele está aqui. Pela primeira vez, as vozes eram bem-vindos.

Esperei pelo sinal de parada, ansiosamente paciente. Olhei através das janelas quando o carro se aproximou, tentando ver em, de alguma forma saber, mas ainda se perguntando. O sol estava baixo, olhando ao longo dos montes no fundo, iluminando o mundo apenas o suficiente para enviá-lo para dormir. Eu lentamente percebeu tudo de uma vez o frio gelado que escoa através de minhas solas; Na minha pressa eu ia correr todo esse caminho descalço na neve, usando apenas o meu pijama de manga curta. Eu não me importava. Ele está aqui.

O carro diminuiu, uma vez que se arrastou mais perto. Ele finalmente se ao virar da esquina e parou na minha frente. Um homem saiu de uniforme completo. Eu estava logo acima de sua espera. Olhei para sua cintura para o segundo mais longo da minha vida, o momento meu coração parou tempo. Ergui os olhos para o seu rosto, de repente, com medo de confiar em meus olhos, nem as vozes, o momento em que não existia. Olhei em seus olhos sorridentes. É ele.

Ajoelhou-se e estendeu is braços para min. A próxima coisa que eu sabia que eu estava em seua braços, o momento em que o mundo ainda era.

translated by Google Translate

Black and Brown // Preto e Marrom

I walked to the small coffee shop near our house. A twenty-minute walk but worth it, and I needed the air and exercise to create the illusion of clearing my head.

As I sat at the small metal table, I couldn't help but think. Things and nonsense and otherwise clouded my mind while I attempted to dispel them all. It was just one of those days.


He sat down next to me, dressed all in black, but I wasn't afraid. I didn't even look at him and he didn't say a word. He just sat with his iPhone and I simply understood he was there.

My coffee came and smiled at me, a comforting warmth that poured down my throat. I was drowned in the scalding liquid blanket and the sound streaming from the lines connecting me to the world. Nothing could have been better.

Fui até a pequena loja de café perto da nossa casa. A caminhada de vinte minutos, mas vale a pena, e eu precisava de ar e exercer para criar a ilusão de limpar minha cabeça.

Enquanto eu me sentei na mesa de metal pequeno, eu não pude deixar de pensar. Coisas e absurdo e de outra forma moldaram minha mente enquanto eu tentava dissipar todos eles. Foi apenas um daqueles dias.

Sentou-se ao meu lado, todo vestido de preto, mas eu não estava com medo. Eu nem sequer olhar para ele e ele não disse uma palavra. Ele apenas ficou com seu iPhone e eu simplesmente entendeu que ele estava lá.

Meu café veio e sorriu para mim, um calor reconfortante que derramou na minha garganta. Eu estava afogado no cobertor líquido escaldante eo som de streaming a partir das linhas me ligam ao mundo. Nada poderia ter sido melhor.

translated by Google Translate

Dark as Night // Escuro como Noite

I run hard through the darkening forest. The sun is setting and it's that strange time of night just before the absence of light when the darkness has consumed your eyes. My bloody red skirt reaches under my feet and grabs at my legs, threatening to overthrow me.

Eu corro difícil através da floresta escura. O sol está se pondo e é nessa época estranha da noite, pouco antes da ausência de luz quando a escuridão consumiu seus olhos. Minha saia vermelha sangrenta atinge debaixo dos meus pés e pega as minhas pernas, ameaçando me derrubar.

translation by Google Translate

Liebster Award

Hello, dearies! It seems I've been nominated for the Liebster Award. I've no idea where the name came from or who started this, but it's been floating around for quite a while. The basic idea, as I understand it, is to get to know different bloggers (thus the rule about less than 200 followers). Don't ask me why it's called an award, though. I haven't the slightest idea.

Thank you, Maddie Jay, for the nomination!

source

thank and link back to the person who nominated you

list 11 facts about yourself

answer the 11 questions asked by the blogger who nominated you

nominate 11 bloggers who have fewer than 200 followers

(you can’t nominate the blogger who nominated you)

ask them 11 questions

let them know about the nomination

eleven randoms facts of myself

1) I don't like peanut butter or nuts.

if I do eat peanut butter, I choose crunchy over creamy. I'm also working an acquiring the taste...which has so far been somewhat successful.

2) Clark (from Mind Games) is one of my all-time favorite characters, ever.

3) several of my favorite movies were made in 2002

4) this is supposedly the number of death

Artemis Fowl is both a great character and series

(yes, those things go together. see book seven.)

5) almost all of my friends are pastors' kids

6) I'm in love with cold and ice and snow.

I've skied since I was four (my dad taught me)

and have been down some pretty wicked slopes since then.

I got to try snowboarding once. it's harder but funner than skiing.

and ice hockey is awesome, though I've only played (or ice skated) once.

7) I have yet to see The Book Thief,

which I've been anticipating since first learning of it.

less than a day or two after finishing the book, I saw the movie advertised on the back of a newspaper someone was reading. a newspaper. how appropriate.

I was slightly nervous about it at first (Hollywood. 'nuff said) but everything I've seen/heard so far is nothing but goodness.

8) I'll taste {almost} anything at least once

usually over and over again {not in one sitting} until I can at least tolerate it

9) The Count of Monte Cristo

and here you thought I wasn't going to mention it for Once

10) I don't like the number ten

the word is okay, though

go say hi to Lykan and Lauriloth. they're awesome

11) I'm slightly obsessed with numbers

and words

my answers to maddie's questions

1. Who is your favorite band or singer? I guess that would be the Clark family. Specifically Bro Mike, Mike, and Travis. Mike and Travis are young (teenage) brothers, and Bro Mike is their dad. They sing beaumazingly together. So I made up a word. [get over it] The rest of the family sings, too, but they're my favorite "group."

2. Who was your first fictional crush? (can be movie or book) I've never really had any. Um... many Neal from Once Upon a Time, or Dan from The Shunning. Or maybe Gale from The Hunger Games series. Nah, not Gale. Jack from the Titanic? Or, wait, no, probably the guy from that Hallmark Christmas movie, the one with Henry Winkler in it. (I found it here)

Well, I've at least attempted to answer this one. Next question.

3. What is a cartoon you loved when you were little, but can't stand now? Let's see... Little Bear, Blue's Clues, Winnie the Pooh. I think those are the only cartoons I watched. Oh, and Swiss Family Robinson. I haven't seen any of those in ages, so I don't really know. But back then, favorite to least favorite were: 1) Family Robinson, 2) Little Bear, 3) Pooh Bear, and 4) Blue's Clues.

4. What was/is your least favorite subject in school? Geometry. I love math! Especially algebra. Just not geometry. (It was all remembering numerous theorems and their two- or three-letter abbreviations.)

5. If you had to dye your hair an unusual color, what would you choose? Probably purple. Except that I'm verrrrry picky about that color. There's only one shade I actually like. It's a really dark, rich shade of purple. Inky, maybe. But darker... like shadows. One of the boys in church has a shirt that color, but it's not like I've got a picture of it.

6. Do you grow your fingernails out long or keep them short? Both. I don't exactly pay them much attention. I just let them grow until they get annoying, then clip them. Or sometimes one will break and I'll clip it. So some are short, some are longish.

7. How much makeup do you usually wear? None.

8. What is one song you can't stand to listen to? "Never Ever Getting Back Together", or whatever that song is called. It's by Taylor Swift. It's doesn't help that they put it on the country countdown when it's clearly not a country song. (actually, they're doing that a lot these days...) Okay, rant over. Next.

9. Ford or Chevy? Chevy.

10. What accent do you love to listen to? Aussie.

11. How many (or any) kids would you like to have? None of "my own" (meaning biological). I want to foster/adopt. I don't really have a number. At times, though, I've imagined something like Jo March's house of boys. My preference would be all boys, maybe a girl or two. Maybe. As I said, like Jo. But that's just a preference.

my nominations

ashley g.

[insert title here]

bound and freed

The Pen of a Ready Writer

carly meyer

Books and Etc.

christine / lauriloth

Musings of an Elf

(she just so happens to have already been nominated)

(so I've given her place to...)

alyianna

Anna's Notebook

ely

what can I say?

jameson

Lovely Whatsoevers

miss elliot

Puritan Observer

molly weston

To Write Something Worth Reading

olivia

The Scribbleagonist

rissa

Two Moons

westmoure

Revelations

my questions for you

#1

If you could travel anywhere in the world, where is the first place you'd go? Why?

#2

If you could travel anywhere in any universe (fictional or otherwise), what specific place would you visit first? Why?

#3

Do you have a favorite Bible story/character/verse? Who/what is it?

#4

Would you ever consider eating octopus ink pasta with squid?

(I'm a bit obsessed with this question right now...)

click here to see the original post

{it seems I forgot to add this picture before posting}

#5

Have you read The Book Thief? What is your opinion on it? Favorite quote/scene?

(You may mention the movie if you've seen it, but try to keep the movie spoilers to a minimum.)

#6

If you suddenly found yourself in a do-or-die situation, what would it be?

What single item would you want to have with you?

#7

Quotes are lovely things. I've got an entire blog devoted to them.

Post a favorite or three [for me to use].

(if I use any, I'll link to your post as the source and tell you when it publishes)

#8

What is your favorite type of blog post to read?

{Beautiful People, Stacking the Shelves, ramblings, [original] writings,

character posts...}

#9

What's the first thing you do in the morning, after you attempt to wake up and actually get out of bed?

#10

What is the worst book you've ever read?

#11

Can you swim? Ocean, lake, creek, or pool?

Thanks again for nominating me, Maddie!

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Enjoy, you guys!

{and comment below with the link to your post so I can read it}