So, I participated in this event called National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo for short), which takes place every November, every year. You are supposed to write at least 50,000 words in the adult program, and you can set your word count with the youth program (which is what I did). I set my word count goal to 32,500, and you know what? I completed it! I got 33,062 words by the time I submitted what I had to submit to “win” NaNoWriMo. This youth program really helped me focus writing and as well discover new things about my book/characters that I never thought about before.

Of course, my book isn’t done. I still have a long way to go, but I am confident that I will finish this thing. In the meantime, check out this program at if you want to learn more! It really gives you a challenge that you thought could not have been done.


You Make Beautiful Things

You make beautiful things. You make beautiful things out of us, no matter if we are weak or strong. We shine through you, and we live through you. Even after many struggles, after all this pain. Even if we never can find our way. We wonder that sometimes, don’t we? Whenever it feels like we are on a long, endless road. The endless road of pain, struggles, and suffering. We wonder if we can ever find our way; our way through the thorns and spikes that our enemies have laid down on our paths’, forcing us to take routes where we become lost and hope to be found. We wonder if our life can really change from that at all, for the rugged path is all we see, We seem to forget about all the good things that could set us on the right path, even if we try really hard.

But then we remember. We remember that you make beautiful things. Even after everything that has happened, even after everything that we have been through. We remember that with you we can step over the thorns and spikes, we can find our way to the right path, for you do not fail. We remember that you make beautiful things out of the dust where we came from, the dust where you made us from. The dust that shines and created a beautiful life for us. The dust that made us who we are. The dust that lives through all the amazing things you have done. The dust that remembers that you make beautiful things out of us.

All around we see hope. Hope that is springing up from the old earth, hope that destroys the chaos and makes us the beautiful things we are meant to be. But in the chaos there again is pain and struggling, but out of the chaos life is being found in you, where you make beautiful things.

Then again, we remember. You make beautiful things. Things that watch over us and take care of us. You make beautiful things out of the dust. The dust that surrounds us. The dust that began our life. You make beautiful things out of us. The beautiful things that we were meant to be.

Then we boast about you making us new, and are continuing to make us even newer. Newer after all the challenges and hardships. Newer after all the pain and struggle, because through the pain and struggle is where we learn and remember.

Always. Always we will remember. And forever we will remember that you make beautiful things. You make beautiful things out of us.

Safe Inside the Song

How unsafe I am
I want to find refuge
Feels ironic as a man
To seem so vulnerable

Why be afraid?
Why be afraid?

I just want to play that music
That helps me find where I belong
I just want to feel that music
No matter what goes right or wrong
No matter I feel weak or strong
I just feel safe inside the song

It’s irony again
That put’s me on the this stage
Where I could win or lose
Where you could leave or stay

Why be afraid?
Why be afraid?

I just want to play that music
That helps me find where I belong
I just want to feel that music
No matter what goes right or wrong
No matter I feel weak or strong
I just feel safe inside the song

What Should I Write? – The Inspiration

Finding inspiration to write is difficult. You think as hard as you can, but can’t get the words that your brain desperately wants to let out. You look so hard to find what you want to write, and you end up leaving the blank page that sits in front of you. Looking for inspiration in itself is difficult. But after thinking about it, you learn that inspiration isn’t something you can find. Inspiration for writing is something that finds you. It may come from a person, a thing, or an event. It can come from anything really. All it takes from you is to be patient. You must take back all of your thoughts that you wasted on finding the inspiration. When you wait, you will find the gift God has given you; the gift to write and share your thoughts and opinions to others. But inspiration for writing doesn’t come quick enough for you, doesn’t it? You stress yourself out instead, making writing harder for you. But that is why you should wait. Someday, the light-bulb that sits in your head will click.

New Series – What should I Write?

This is a common question I come to every single time I pull up my blog or a Word document so that I can just… you know… write. I usually can write short stories just by looking at something – like a word, phrase, or picture. An idea pops into my head every single time. I then clumsily press my fingers onto the keyboard, throwing the words onto my computer screen. But as I write, I find it harder and harder to keep with the original idea, and eventually I get off course. I lose control of the story and it becomes nothing.
But of course, writing is writing. No matter how stupid it sounds, it comes from my imagination, and crazy can be good at times. But what happens if I want to write something decent? What if I don’t want it to sound stupid or crazy? How do I solve these problems that come to my writing? I know it has nothing to do with Writer’s Block – cause it doesn’t exist. Writer’s Block is just something our minds make up, making us incapable of writing any further. So what should I write? What should I write that can make a difference? Can I write something that can do that?

I am going to make a “series” of blog posts that will pretty much add onto or be related to this one. I need to be more active with my blog, as I haven’t posted much of anything lately.

Penmen Project

So, a few weeks ago I decided to join this project on this other blog, The point of it was to make a story; the owner of the blog started off with two sentences, people sent in paragraphs related to the sentences (which was the first two sentences of the paragraph), and people voted on the best paragraph. After the paragraph is chosen, everyone starts to send in paragraphs again, except that they continue the paragraph that won. Round one finished, and I decided to send in a paragraph for round two. Check out this project, it’s interesting! My part of the story is the second paragraph. Hope you guys like it!

I woke up this morning with a strange feeling. I think I had a lucid dream last night or maybe not. I don’t remember everything exactly but I began my normal morning routine still half asleep; take a piss, feed the cat, make coffee and toast. I sat down to partake in my morning coffee ritual when suddenly a cold sweat came over me, the taste of metal… I ran to the toilet and threw up. Except there was something strange… Something metal floating in the bowl… I stood there staring at it, just floating there in the vomit. Trying to remember what I ate. Trying to remember where I was last night, who I was with. Was the dream really just a dream? Then with a quick swoop I grabbed the metal object and rinsed it in the sink. What the hell was it? How’d it get in my body? Then suddenly jolting me out my trance, the phone rang the same time someone urgently starting banging on the door.

I picked up the phone and looked at the contact. Unknown number. The person banged on the door again. A loud voice came out of nowhere, “Police! Come out with your hands in the air where I can see them!” I panicked. What did I do? Should I run or should I stay? The policeman banged on the door again. I picked up my backpack and started going for the back door. Suddenly, the front door was kicked down and then there was footsteps. No time to find out. I grabbed the handle and ran out the back door. A police officer jumped at me but missed by that much. Leaping over the fence, I started running. Running like I never had before. I don’t remember what I did, but I don’t feel like I should stick around to find out. A few seconds later, police sirens filled the air and I still ran. But I never stopped. There were things I didn’t know, or at least thought I didn’t know. I had to find out what was going on.


Why do I have to wait? For life. For happiness. For everything. Why do I have to wait for life to get better? Why can’t I just be happy? Why must my soul be crushed every time those thoughts come back? The thoughts that affect my everyday life. The thoughts that tell me things that my heart says no to. That my heart says otherwise to. But those thoughts take over my heart, making it weak. Then I can’t do anything about it. All I am is just a lonely face, seeking happiness and satisfaction.
I love it when things go my way. Because that is the best way things should be, right? That’s what we want to think. But is it how we truly should think? What if there is a better way? A better way to truly believe in things? Believe in things that are good and that bring true satisfaction. But what is true satisfaction? How do we find it? I don’t know if my heart can take feeling lonely any longer. The desire for satisfaction is corrupting my mind, blocking my heart from the reality of true happiness, while the rest of reality is trying to push that away from me.
Satisfaction is not necessarily a good thing. It forces the mind to think that these bad things are good things, and turns the good things into things that aren’t necessarily good anymore. The craving for satisfaction is pure evil. It waits to prance at you whenever you are at your weakest. Whenever you want things the most. Whenever you want to be happy. Whenever you want to be satisfied. It’s just another tool Society uses to ruin your life. They give you things that make you feel as if you are satisfied. But I am not fooled. Society just wants me to believe this. Believe in that. But what they give me is not true satisfaction. No. True satisfaction comes from what the heart thinks. It comes from what you were programed for. It comes from the soul that is in every human being. True satisfaction is happiness without despair. Because I know that after I wait for satisfaction to come, then I will truly be happy. I will truly be satisfied.

What is Writing?

Writing. Such odd things writing can do. How it can paint the imagination of an author onto a piece of paper. How it can tell a reader what a person is thinking. Writing is a powerful thing. Nobody can fully understand writing. It confuses the mind. Some people understand it in one way, some understand it in another. Everyone thinks differently, but writing is different. It tells everyone the same thing. But everyone takes it differently.
Why does writing do that? If it wants us to know what it is saying, then why not just say it? Why must it mess with our minds? Nobody knows. Nobody can know. We all think differently. Nothing is the same as the other. But why is writing like that? Only the writer knows what their writing is. They know what they are trying to say. But how do they send that message to others? Through writing of course. But only the author can understand what their writing is saying. Everyone else just has an idea.
Writing is an author’s language. It is the author’s voice. Even though only the author can understand their own language, everyone else catches onto the author’s words and tries to decipher the author’s tongue. The tongue that speaks many languages. The mind never knew that the tongue could speak those languages. They just come out of the author’s mouth, painting the imagination onto a piece of paper. Telling everyone what the author is thinking. But nobody can understand. The author can’t express his thoughts. His emotions. The author becomes discouraged. The author stops writing. And then he is no longer an author. He is just another face on this planet. Another human being. No he did not lose his purpose. He just lost his identity.
Writing is special. It allows writers to express themselves in ways unimaginable by other people who think they know their friend so well. But they don’t know them completely. They just know pieces of the writer. And everyday they add more pieces to the puzzle so they can completely understand. But they can’t find those last few pieces. Those last few pieces. The writer’s voice. The writer’s thoughts. The writer’s view of this world. They have ideas, but they will never fully understand. That is the beauty of writing. It makes people wonder what is next.

Light in the Darkness

The soft wind blew in my face. The sun shined brightly in the sky. The trees shifted back and forth, giving the forest life. It’s odd how the world works. Even in the darkest of times, you could feel the light. You could see the beauty of life. The very beauty of it. Oh how it can change a person’s point of view.
Even in the light there was still the dark; when all the darkness was, was the absence of light. People abuse the darkness. They corrupt the minds of every living soul. We were all just machines. Machines controlled by the reality of Society. Machines that fed off the information that Society inputs into them. Only one man was powerful enough to completely overcome the lies of Society. But he died long ago.
I have tried my best to refuse that information. The very information that ruins my everyday life. Not everyone recognizes this. Most just give in. Which I learned not to do.
What I could not believe was the anger that these lies brought to me. No matter how hard I tried, the anger came to me out of nowhere. What astonished me was that I found it really hard to resist that anger, but somehow I managed to hold it back. Darkness still enters my mind. I still fail at many things in life. But even though I fail at many things in my life, I know that I can find light in the darkness, because I myself have suffered when I was tempted, but I was able to help those who were being tempted.