Why I Should Write Screenplays Instead of Novels

Proof That I Ought to Write Comedic, Romantic Screenplays, Not Novels

Point One: I'm a Dreamer

 I have dreams, and then I have vivid dreams. There are dreams that feel like dreams and then there are dreams that feel realer than real life. Do yours have that distinction? The best part about these vivid dreams are the fact that in most cases, they are full of things I have never before felt, or at a depth I have never felt them and with no exceptions, they come unexpectedly and have nothing to do with what I assume I will dream about. My brain somehow concocts the most intricate pieces of entertainment from my subconscious and imagination. As I sleep, I live them. A dream-dream will fade within the first hour of my waking up. Sometimes, if I'm jostled awake too abruptly by my "Somewhere Beyond the Sea" alarm, I'll forget them in an instant. But the vivid dreams exist as if preserved by some good fairy's charms. They aren't always romantic dreams either--once I had to be the assistant of a wordless FBI agent. I have run a week before on the fumes of a vivid dream just as I would if it was a real experience. They don't come often--perhaps every several months--but when they come, they are a delight. I had one the other night. I'll skip the details except for telling you that it was a perfectly innocent dream of a slightly-famous and highly-attractive man moving into the house across the road and falling in love with me. At one point in the dream he took my hand and laced his fingers through mine and, laughing, took me into the house to meet his parents and his eight year old niece.

I wish I could describe to you just how real it felt. Everything, from the feel of his fingers between mine to the slightly-stupid question I asked at the beginning when his sudden tenderness toward me sent me into much warm-cheeked confusion, felt extremely calm and real. Which is hilarious, because I've never met this person or had someone hold my hand that way, and the people who live in the house across the street have been there since we moved in. All the details are ones I have never consciously considered. The reality of the dream continued when, after visiting with the man's parents, I checked my phone and realized that it was 11:30 and I had needed to be at work by 9:00. I pulled a Cinderella then and fled the scene, sending a panicked text to my boss with something along the lines of, "Sorry I'm late--a really sweet/handsome man started talking to me and I thought it had only been fifteen minutes!"

Such a lame excuse, isn't it?

But I love dreams like this. I spent the entire day after that dream feeling loved and cherished and excited about something...what was it? Oh yeah. That ridiculously vivid dream. I laughed to myself over it, then told it to my siblings where it was laughed over and taunted further. One of my sisters put together a love-lorn playlist and we danced around the kitchen, putting dinner together to the tune of "Not That Girl" and "Marry Me." The point of this post so far is to let you in on my frame of mind before socking you with...

Point Two: I'm queen of serendipitous hilarity

Because, though fun, not only was our kitchen dance session amazingly pathetic but the reason for my flushed cheeks and starry eyes was some dumb dream about someone I will never meet and never think about without provocation. Still, I have told you before that I'm easily satisfied with small things and if it is pitiable that having a dream about someone holding my hand and saying pretty things to me sets me up for a fortnight, at least I'm not hard to please. As I have said, I felt quite airy and blushy this day and the dancing only made it feel more real. Whenever this sort of dream-thing begins to happen in real life, I already know I'm going to be hilarious. I'm going to be the person who is smiling about nothing. I'll be perfectly functional, but everyone will know I am in love. I mean, seriously: I'm made happier than a caterpillar in May to have a dream about something I didn't know I wanted.

I had almost gotten this ridiculous mood out of my system when I took my littlest brother upstairs to change into pajamas. In my room, I found my cat and she looked so sleepy and cuddly that I felt like rummaging her awake and dragging her into my fine humor. I get like this sometimes: I can't leave the cat alone, even if she's sleeping peacefully. I just have to bounce her. So I plopped on the bed beside her, then laced her paw through my fingers and continued the conversation from the dream with my other hand stroking her fine ruff.

And then it happened. The part I couldn't have scripted any better if I'd been writing that screenplay:

Just as I got to the cleverest part of the dream conversation and had almost determined to finish waking the cat by scooping her into my arms and dancing Aurora-wise about the room to annoy her, the dratted beast began to hack up a hairball. Not your normal, easy-going hairball. This one must have been lodged and stuck and never gonna come out, no sir.

"HACK, HACK, HUCKKKKKKK. HACK, HACK." 

I un-laced her paw. I sat up straight. I started to laugh.

"HURKKKKKK, HACK, HACK, HYUCK."

I dumped the choking animal unceremoniously on the floor and watched her body convulse. Get it out, darlin'. My little brother joined the circus and tweeted--yes, tweeted like a bird--every time she hacked and giggled in between It was quite the chorus, I tell you:

"HUCK"

*tweet!*

"HACCCCKKK"

*tweet*

That twinkly, rose-flavored feeling from the day--that in-love for no good reason about no real person--belongs strictly to dreams. It's wonderfully pleasant and I look forward with delight to the rare occasions when I get a vivid dream instead of the whisked-away sort. But the truth is, it's all imaginary. There is no guy in my life who wants to hold my hand and take me to meet his parents and tour his childhood home and laugh over the fact that we're standing in the front yard together and I really just asked if his windows had a good view. No one like that. Not yet. He might be on his way, but he isn't here and the house across the street boasts a tubby country boy and his slender wife and his little-man son and the only person who holds my hand is the three year old on her way to go potty. So while the vividness of the dream is a good substitute for things I have never experienced, the real parts of my life are much more realistic and quite hilarious.

 I'm not a Cinderella or an Aurora and I'm pretty sure that when my man comes, he'll probably not fit the description of the amazing man from the dream (you won't guess who it is. If you do guess, I won't tell you. But it isn't Tom Hiddleston) and he probably won't be your classic Prince Charming. In many ways, he'll probably be better. But I have one requirement for the elusive fella:

He'd better be up for dance parties and hair-balls.

Romance: Tulle & Hammered Gold

This morning as I got dressed in our walk-in closet, I observed to my sister that I always laugh when I think of how adamant opinions on trivial things are so apt to change. In my life I have loudly held many opinions that have gone, if not quite the opposite in recent years, at least swung that way. I used to swear I would never marry a man even half a year younger than myself. Now in my twenties, age gaps are shockingly non-issues between friends who are in the same season of life. I used to swear that I would never wear leggings. I now wear leggings frequently, though I still refuse to wear them instead of pants. And then we come to the Tulle Skirt. I once vowed that they looked idiotic and that I would never wear them...and I'm here today to confess that not only have I wanted a tulle skirt for a year now, but that last week I bought one and convinced my friend to buy one for herself too. 

Today, I went all-neutrals except for my mint-colored purse which possesses just enough winter to make it cheeky January-wear. The day is freezing and windy and not exactly shoot-photos-while-wearing-a-floaty-tulle-skirt kind of day so Benjamin very sweetly obliged to take a couple quick shots. I am therefore not responsible for any odd-looking poses or faces. ;)

 In honor of the store where I invested in this skirt (invested is the right word...it was 'spensive, though not so pricey as every other tulle skirt I've seen) which was called BohoBlu, I did a criss-crossy French Braided thing with my hair that looks quite luscious and gives the impression of never-ending tresses.

I don't why my face looks so angelic here.

 The fun of neutrals is that you get to pair lots of textures and patterns and it will all coordinate nicely. A beige cardigan from New York & Co., a fashion tee from Kohl's, a rose-gold belt around the tulle skirt, and second-hand snake-skin shoes complete the look. Gold jewelry accents add a little pizzazz to keep the outfit from looking too old-baptist piano-player, right?

I love the fairy-shadows my tulle creates!

Though this is photo is poor in quality, you can see that I went with a makeup scheme that defies winter: a palette of peach, aqua, a raspberry lip. January blues? Nah. We've got tulle and hammered gold.

Do you have a tulle skirt? And if so, how do you style it? I'm looking forward to playing around with mine...might even look into buying a crinoline to give it extra "poof." I'm sure that I'll have lots more style combinations to share as the year wears on. That was the great fun of investing in this piece: it's quite transitional for every season.

Skirt: BohoBlu

Tee: Kohl's

Cardigan: New York & Co.

Belt: Lace Affair

Shoes: hand-me-down

Happy Wednesday!

The Pros, Cons, and Laughy-Bits Of Being A Nanny

A friend recently asked me if I thought she would be a good fit for a nannying position, and whether I liked mine. The short answer to both questions is "yes," but before advising someone into a career that requires consistency, high-energy, loads of creativity, and much responsibility (you're dealing with someone's kids, not insurance policies, groceries, someone's double-shot-latte-extra-hot, car repairs, or shoe size), I gave her some general advice about what worked so well with my job: my current boss interviewed me in person, then sent me a 30-question interview to fill out at leisure with some rather deep questions. At first, I worried she might be super type-A, high-maintenance, and a pain to work for. Then I remembered that the friend I got the reference from would have brooked nothing of the sort and had loved the job. My fears mostly eased, I filled out those questions, sent them in, and have been happily working with Sharon for the last nine months. She's the most wonderful, inspiring boss I could ask to work for. She loves her kids fiercely and is a clear communicator. What I had originally perceived as control-freak actually was a healthy-minded person laying out clear expectations so that neither of us got to the ninth month and looked back with dissatisfaction. I love my job. I won't say it's for everyone. A less-skilled person my age in my field of nanny-teacher-chief-cook-and-bottle-washer might find it overwhelming. I am pooped by the end of a work week and ready for my days off, but it is incredibly rewarding.

And every position is different. If you are looking at applying for what one person calls a "nanny," you might really be in for well-paid babysitting. In the case of another good friend, she's half chauffeur, half play-mate, with a dash of housekeeper thrown in. Just as each family is different, each job will have different requirements, expectations, and situations. And these things will change depending on the age and number of kids in the family. So I'm afraid I can't advise anyone straight out that they would definitely be a good fit for that nanny job. I'd have to know a whole lot more about the given situation than I do. There are, however, a number of truths universally acknowledged by The Surrogate Mother Trade (nannies). In an effort to humorously advise other people thinking of applying for a nannying position, I've drawn up a list of pros and cons to be considered:

Your name either comes up in one long string of Not-Listening ("Miss Rachel. Miss Rachel? Miss RACHEL. MissRachelMissRachelMissRachelllllllll?") or not at all ( "Miss Daddy,""Miss Mommy," "Miss Nammaw," and a great many other names that are variations on the theme).
Your body is not your own. Or at least, I have to work super hard to make it so. They're kids. They are going to poke and prode you multiple times a day and block up doorways to make it nearly impossible for you to go through. I'm accustomed to a certain level of it with my younger siblings and am slowly coaching Lila and Sophy out of it. But really, they're going to pile into your lap during book-time and flop on your back and thighs and arms and ankles when you're anywhere close to the vicinity of the floor. your knees will develop spots from constant kneeling at toddler-level to play games and "do it again." They're also going to share their sneezes, yawns, coughs, toots, and whatever else with you. Welcome to a taste of motherhood.
Just because you have no "moves" does not mean you get out of dance parties. Seriously. When the three year old can break it down and shake it off better than you can at twenty-two, you might have serious thoughts about quitting. Sorry. The whole fun of a dance-party is to show off your prowess to the adult and have the adult show off their ridiculousness to you. I've got the ridiculousness down.
There's no filter on the opinions. "Miss Rachel, I'm really thinking that looks like a lamb." (referencing an Arctic fox I drew.) "That definitely looks more like a turtle. That looks like a lung." (Couldn't she see my elaborate pancake-batter babydoll and breaching orca?)
The parents will show up at the most awkward (for you) moments. Burned the toast? The father will appear and jovially comment on the house smelling of burnt popcorn. Child (unbeknownst to you) has transgressed, will confess first opportunity in front of mother: "I been doin' bad sings, Mommy." Spent the last half-hour with a leaf-mustache pretending to be an Italian named Fernando and chasing the girls? A parent will come out the back door to relieve you of duty just as you scream and dodge out from behind a bush.
Their particular phrases will start popping up in your speech.
"Lila, get your elbow out of my booby or get off my lap."
"I'm just takin' an eye on Sophy."
"Does anyone need to go potty before we head outside?"
"That's my booty, not yours, so stop slapping it. Slap your own booty all day if you want, but leave mine alone."
"Sophy, is your attitude having issues...?"
Doesn't matter how much you despise sports, you will be playing soccer, basketball, football (or all three) daily. I've played more sports in the past nine months than I have in my entire life, I feel. I'm actually a really good kicker, for a kindergarten-team.
You have no privacy. Really. It's your job to teach your wards that the bathroom door stays closed, preferably until the person exits or at least till you hear the sink running. Be specific. It's not water running that gives you permission to fling the doors open. It's the sink. There's a shocking difference. This is a trial-and-error lesson that seems to take eons for children to learn. Prepare to be embarrassed.

So far the rough parts. But then you have the particular joys that makes those drawbacks perfectly worth every moment. These include such things as...

You get to share in every new thing these kids learn. "Can I give you an eskimo sugars, Miss Rachel? Dey don't kiss like diss (lips puckered) because your lips would sweeze. So dey scrub noses." - or - "Hey, Miss Rachel. I drew an arrow from the killer whale to the polar bear because they eat polar bears, right?" (This kid figured out the food chain on her own. So smart.)
You get to be there for so many "firsts. At lunch today, I put a purple Hershey's kiss on Sophy's plate. She stared at it. "What is it?"
What is it? The blessed child had never had a Hershey's kiss--didn't recognize it as something even edible. I took it in hand, thinking of how her life would never be the same again, and pulled the little paper tab, unraveled the shining wrapper, and exposed the chocolate inside. Her eyes were so round and serious as she saw the explanation behind this sorcery. "Ohhhhh, Miss Rachel."
Your favorites become their favorites. I think I've single-handedly converted my girls to eating dill pickles, eating kiwi skins, dancing to the new Annie soundtrack, using expressions such as "You never can tell with bees," and "What you talkin' about, Willis?", using "divine" to describe food, reading chapter-books, singing certain book-songs in certain tunes, asking for the lipstick du jour swiped on their lips and then kissed on their hand first thing upon coming into the house.
They are always on your side. The same kiddo who beat your tail in Uno eight games in a row is thrilled to see you win one measly round with a luck Draw-Four. The one you just had to discipline will fling chubby arms around your neck and say perfectly seriously, "Miss Rachel, do you yuv me?" and then claim your lap for every book afterward. The girl who will probably grow up to be a brain surgeon or botanist listens to your explanation of an analog clock, then pensively turns back to you. "Miss Rachel, you are smart."
Everything you do and say becomes the law of the Medes and the Persians. Things you frequently tell them today will resurface when they are sixty-five. Watch them correct you when they notice the slightest bit of variance from the Way You Told It First and insistence that the way you do anything is always the best way. You might regret having started such a high-energy tradition, but you can't help but love their loyalty. So many traditions...the "pause" button. The "party" button. The "When Flushing" sign. The You-Must-Sing-To-Me-Before-I-Tell-You-A-Story deal. The "talk for that animal" game. Sticking my tongue out while cutting an onion so my mascara won't run. The movie quotes that pop up every time they say a certain phrase ("Forget about it. Big guy says move 'em, we move 'em.").
You have a chance to set a number of things straight: Pluto is a planet. The middle finger has a terribly important job: to snuggle next to your palm and keep it warm. The only version of Winnie-the-Pooh books that matter is the original text.
You have the benefit of a youthful perspective. It's a well-known fact: having children in your life keeps you young at heart. Surrounded daily by such innocence, peace, and cheerful naivete, the world seems half as scary as I've learned it to be. In their eyes, life is an adventure, everything is possible, and small kindnesses matter. It's a precious thing to have access to.

The Essential Wedding Hair-Do Kit

After last post, there was sufficient interest in learning what I consider the Must-Haves in a wedding hair-styling kit for me to bother rounding up my supplies and taking pictures and putting them into a collage. Thanks for that--I wanted to do the post so you gratified my wish. I will now act important and show you the eight items I believe make up the (basic) Essential Wedding Hair-Do Kit:

1. A curling iron: I have a simple, normal clamp-curling iron but I've heard that the curling wands are even better because you have the choice of how thick you want the curl to be! But honestly, a regular old clamp-iron works just as well when you know how to curl hair. Be certain, however, that you do know how to use it so you don't end up with a bunch of crimped ends and wonky ringlets.
2. Wave-clamps: you never know when you'll be working on a headful of hair that does not want to curl. These clamps are helpful in setting the look. Immediately after taking the hair off the curling iron, swirl it up to the head and clamp in place until completely cool. Spray, then take down.
3. Dry shampoo: I use Not Your Mother's "Clean Freak." Spraying this power into clean or day-old hair (which is easier to work with) provides a great base for teasing, poufing, and pinning. ALWAYS add dry shampoo or another texturizing product when working with updos.
4. Hairspray: the Aussie brand is a good way to go. Volumizing spray is also helpful. Spray the HECK out of the bridesmaids' heads, but only after they've approved the look. It's hard to un-spray hair and you don't want anyone to walk around all day wishing they looked different. After spraying, refrain from lighting a match.
5. A teasing comb: these combs have tiny teeth to help you get that va-voom in the styles. Backcomb gently for desired volume, then comb smooth the top of the hair, leaving a pretty little rat's nest beneath.
6. Curved bobbies: though regular bobby pins work well in most hair, I'm a fan of these curved bobbies by Conair because they follow the contour of the scalp and are much more comfortable to wear. When the bride or bridesmaids are wearing fifty+ bobby pins, you want it to be as comfortable as possible!
7. Clear elastics: a complete life-saver, you always want clear elastics to provide the stability of a hair-tie without the chunky color and visibility. You can easily find them in the hair-pin section of most stores. If for some reason you are having difficulty finding them, check the ethnic section. 
8. Hand-held mirror: obviously helpful for letting your "patient" see the back of her head, a hand-held mirror is a delightful and often-forgotten addition to the essential wedding hair-do kit.

And there you have it! Portable, light-weight, and efficient, these eight items will insure your ability to create nearly any style from French twist to chic chignon, from vintage curls to sophisticated buns and up-dos. Of course you can always add items to increase efficiency or create a certain style. At last weekend's wedding, the bridesmaids had all received snowflake-shaped crystal pins meant to be worn in their hair. At another wedding, if a bouffant bun is desired you might bring a foam ring or a sock. There are always additions one can make. My list is intended to be a list of the basics I now know to be necessities for anyone on their way to lend an artistic hand on someone's big day. I hope this helps take the trepidation out of preparing to play beauty-parlor. Remember! "Wedding Season" is right around the corner. ;)

In Which I Am A Wedding Hair-Stylist

One of the fun things about being known as a girl who loves fashion/style/beauty is that my help is sometimes enlisted for formal events! Back in November, I got to do my sister-in-law's bridal hairstyle as well as work on some of the bridesmaids. Yesterday, I had the privilege of attending another friend's wedding and playing hairstylist again for six of the nine girls in the wedding party. The legendary Jill was there. We have a term called Jill-Hair. Basically, it means Pinterest-Perfect Hair. It is a joy to work with.

I got a flat on the way to the hotel and had to wait in a farmer's field to be rescued by Dad. Gorgeous day for it, though! Weddings, while a lot of work, are such fun. I never tire of getting to be around the bride's best friends, sisters, or soon to be sisters-in-law who make up her bridal party. I love the camaraderie, the laughter, the mess leftover from the bachelorette parties the night before. I love making the bridesmaids feel beautiful, creating styles that fit their faces and personalities, and trying new techniques to get the girls picture-perfect. Unfortunately, I was so busy doing hair that I forgot to take pictures of the styles as I finished them. I will say, though, that every bridesmaid was delighted with her style and thought hers the prettiest. The bride had requested that everyone wear updo's, which was a challenge in itself! I didn't want to repeat a style. Some girls had an idea of what they wanted, some had no clue. I worked with different lengths and textures of hair and had a blast. In fact, the day was going so well that I got all six girls done in 2 1/2 hours! I think Pandora's wonderful "Wedding" playlist had something to do with it. ;)

//photo creds: Jake Gunther//

I believe everyone is gifted in some way and weddings around here are where this principle becomes plain as the nose on your face. I helped via hairstyling, the bride's coworker commanded makeup, a good friend took the bride in hand and did her day-of style, a SWARM of friends worked catering, design, and decor...it was beautiful.

We got to dance at this wedding, and the one fellow I know who knows how to swing dance happened to be in attendance and I happened to be wearing a dress perfect for swing-dancing in, and it happened to work out that they played "Be My Forever" (one of my favorite songs), and he happened to be in a mood conducive to asking someone to dance and I happened to get to dance with the one person who knows how to swing besides my cousin, the photographer. We also did the Cupid-Shuffle and the bride made everyone cry by dancing with each of her brothers and then this crazy-skilled Asian fellow broke down into electric/robot dancing and absolutely killed it. So I ended the night quite happy, though jealous of my friend Linda's amazing freestyle-dance abilities.

As for the hair, I wish now that I'd gotten photos of individual styles as I went, but maybe they will start coming out of Facebook over the next few days. For now, who would be interested in a run-down of the Vital Pieces of a Wedding Day Hairstyling Kit? If there's interest, I'd be glad to put together a post and perhaps a tutorial or two. If you're good at hairstyling, I would definitely keep practicing, learning, and sharing your talent.You never know when you'll have the opportunity to save someone a ton of money/time/stress by lending your skills. Plus, who doesn't love to be up close and personal with the wedding party? It's kind of like a mini VIP meet-and-greet. ;)

The Secret Life of Optimists

Okay, show of hands: how many people here have seen The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (2013)? I have several friends who hate it, several who adore it, and several who look at me with confused but polite expressions on their faces when I ask if they've seen it.

On a basic level, Walter Mitty is a film about a hard-core day-dreamer in love with a girl at work he's never spoken to, who finds himself saddled with discovering the baffling whereabouts of a vital photograph ("Quintessence") missing from his workplace. We all like to pull for the underdog, especially one with a heart and imagination as endearing as Walter's. But at its core, the film is a celebration of imagination, optimism, friendship, art, adventure...all the things that make up the delightful parts of life.Walter Mitty works at Life Magazine and the company's motto will always inspire me:

"To see the world,
Things dangerous to come to,
To see behind walls,
Draw closer,
To find each other,
And to feel.
That is the purpose of life."

 I suppose the reason I love The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (apart from the stunning and artistic way the film was shot) is because it is a story about a person like me. A person with an imagination that colors his world brighter than usual. A person who has more than once spaced out in a conversation, totally enveloped in What Could Happen. A person who sees possibility everywhere, in everyone. A person who has within his mind, a million outcomes of a million situations and is poised just so, waiting to see which will really come to pass and where it might take him.

This first week of 2015 has been amazing. I am not exactly sure why except that I have lived every day with this glorious sensation of Just Around the River Bend practically sparking out of me. 2015 is, so far, an open year. I don't have many plans. Those I do have are just sketches, waiting to be filled with color by the adventures God lets me stumble across. Exciting things are lurking in the corners. I just know it. I don't have a reason for knowing it, but somehow I do. Seriously, put away your raised eyebrows. There are no secrets here. Just a flush on my cheeks and my heart beating a little smidgen faster than usual because something is coming. The unknown is all around me and there's something in the wind that makes me so terribly excited for this year. And yet, I feel a little like Jane and Michael Banks after Bert has done his rigmarole of: "You think...you...wink, you do a double-blink, you close your eyes and...."

Jane cocks her head, looks at Bert and says:

 "Is something s'posed to happen?"

That's how I feel right now. Is something s'posed to happen? Will it? I have my eye on several situations in friends' lives that could bloom into straight-up, real time fairy-tales or epic-saga adventures. I'm waiting for the next part of the story, conscious that any moment could catapult them (and me, vicariously) into a crazy, practically unheard-of new world. In my own life, things move along as usual. I spend my days doing life in technicolor. The people at the grocery-store are not just people. I mean, they are just people but not just people. I believe in the rich old truth that my life is a story and each component is part of that tale. Therefore, the man behind me in line at the grocery store could turn out to be important. The lady who cuts in front of me in traffic. The bank teller I saw twice in one day. The man in the window of the National Press Club Building. The woman whose package I rescued off the metro who I finally got back in contact with. My brain goes wild with the possibilities. When those people don't give me something memorable, I remedy the situation by doing something creative for them to remember. If I can't meet That Person, I'll be That Person. Call it what you will (fate, destiny, a horse), there's never a dull moment in this brain. I know bad stuff happens in life, but I know good stuff happens too, and it's the good stuff, the grace-moments in life that I wait for. They're there. They're everywhere. Some people just don't look for them or notice.

But living this secret life of brilliant hues has a flip-side: when life does turn out to be normal and the threads running across it seem to be weaving an average graham-colored bit of the tapestry, the heart-racing, flush-cheeked, eyes-sparkling existence begins to feel like a pacing tiger in a cage. I'm ready for the adventure. Where is it? I'm keeping a weather eye out for the next interesting person, the next impossibly beautiful moonrise, the next rose-red leaf silvered with frost, the next place to send an anonymous letter, the next way to secretly give a quiet blessing. It's an odd sort of discontentment, waiting for the peacock blues and currant reds and new-wheat greens in the tapestry of life to cover the graham-colors. When they don't come on their own, I make them myself, content in mixing dyes from the bits of everyday magic around me. I'm content with waiting, with letting wild hopes fly through my fingers each day, for there are always more hopes to be spent tomorrow. It's a luxury that optimists like myself can easily spare. But I will admit that our outlook can be exhausting,  for we spend hope at an extravagant rate and if it's a harsh master who would call it wasteful, our output is certainly tiring. I discussed this topic briefly with a friend this evening:

"Did you know it is slightly exhausting being an imaginative optimist? I mean, what's more tiring and frustrating: waiting for nothing to happen or waiting for anything to happen? In the first case you at least are fairly ready to stay where you are all your life. In the latter, you have the most delicious sense of 'any day now.'"

...or "any person now," or "any moment now," or "any page now," or "any conversation now," or "any query now." I don't believe the hope is poorly spent. I would always far rather be the optimist waiting with shining eyes and a laugh caught in her throat because anything could happen, than the pessimist who pulls on his tan trench-coat and trudges to work through snow whose beauty he can't even see because he can think of nothing but what a mess it'll make of the roads. I would always rather be That Person than a thousand Anyone Elses. I would always rather be a half-short, past-plump girl who makes generous messes in the kitchen than the tall, slender model who can't allow herself a slice of sourdough toast. I would always rather be the girl sleepy-eyed and smiling from an overdose of well-marked books than the frowning, tired-eyed girl who gave up reading because her schedule didn't allow it. I'd always rather wake up believing with my whole heart that impossible things can happen than going to bed each night satisfied that nothing did.

So let the tiger pace; it's striped and tawny and beautiful. Let people pass me by; they'll remember I smiled their direction. Let real photographers buy cameras; I just ask a small, friendly moment to capture the fragile beauties with my (now contentedly outdated) iPhone. Let real artists paint masterpieces; I just want my little, dusty watercolors and a brush not losing too many bristles.

Welcome to The Secret Life of Optimists, in Technicolor, 2015.

Introducing CARMEL.com

 

One of my great pleasures in being a blogger is getting to make friends with many other people whom I would probably never encounter without the internet. I have one blogging friend whom many of you might know as Bree Holloway of Tea + Bree. Bree and I have been around the block. We were blogging friends, I think, before either of us started writing blogs and have continued to pal around in the literary realm as well as beyond. Bree's real name is Carmel (emphasis on the "mel") and while she'll always be Bree to me, I am delighted to kick off 2015 with an announcement of the brand new, beautiful website that Carmel is launching. My lords and ladies, I present you with

CARMEL.com

CARMEL.com is a place where interests in writing, fashion, health and graphic design converge. It's a celebration of art and beauty and elegance. It's learning to be edifying and uplifting. It's life lived to it's fullest, bodies filled with the best, minds flowing with inspiration, mouths speaking words of wisdom and intelligence and truth. We're here to be the best versions of ourselves, and I welcome you to join. All the love. <3
And I got to sit down (virtually. We aren't that cool yet) with Carmel and tap her brain about the purpose. vision, and fun of this new place in the blog world.

1.) In four words, your vision for CARMEL.com:

Clean, Inspiring, Productive, Beautiful.

2.) You are already known to many bloggers as "Bree Holloway." What precipitated the switch?

I have for a long time struggled with the duo-identity that a pen-name entails. I’d thought on it for a while; I knew when I published my first book I wanted to do it under my real name; I had this budding idea under my hat: they all came together at once.

3.) Is CARMEL.com meant to be a platform from which you plan to explore new options and mediums or more of a rebranding of your current status?

I’m hesitant to say the platform is entirely new, since in many ways it is still just me, and the writing aspect of the blog will remain, as promised, unchanged. However, the other blog-aspects are new platforms, all tied so as to keep things neat. I’m always exploring more options. The categories listed are just the starting point; whatever art medium I find interest in I want to share with the world, and anyone who will listen. Basically, I’m widening the horizon of Tea & Bree to incorporate more - or all - of me.

4.) Number one things about CARMEL that excites you:

Fashion, hands down. I think it’s Kleon’s principle of phantom limb pain, and that one’s been shoved so long into the proverbial closet (har har) or the confines of Pinterest that I can’t wait to bring it to light on the blog. I don’t claim to have any great insight, but style & fashion are two things I’ve always heartily enjoyed, and to be able to share them with others without losing sight of my original blogging purpose - it’s pretty nice.

5.) How long as this project been in the works?

The original idea of it came to me around the beginning of last year (2014). For all of spring and summer I ignored/delayed thinking about it because I simply didn’t have time; it wasn’t until I cut my dance hours down drastically (from 15-a-week to 1-a-week) for the sake of repurposing my time and writing more, that I began to realise this was not a passing whim, but a real, steady interest that needed to be given some love. I spent the rest of the fall semester designing and fidgeting and inspiration-boarding (PIN ALL THE THINGS) in my spare time, and I can’t wait to show the product of my labor.

6.) In your biggest dreams, where do you see CARMEL.com taking you?

All over the world with a large packing case full of clothes, a trunk of books in a wide, white-windowed house, and lovely people all around me. Or to Europe. You choose. XD

7.) Are there any blogs or bloggers that have particularly inspired CARMEL.com?

Yes; many, actually. In principle, I admire the versatility of The Pioneer Woman site, though content-wise, we aren’t very similar. As for inspirational bloggers, there are too many to mention; I do particularly enjoy Wendy’ and Rachel’s where fashion is concerned, and of course there’s always The Crew (you know who you are).

8.) What is the biggest way Bree Holloway fans can support the transfer?

Spread the word. Comment. Give constructive criticism.

9.) What is the biggest way new followers can support CARMEL.com?

Join the community! One of my favorite aspects of blogging is meeting people and cultivating healthy friendships.

10.) Are there any upcoming posts for which you are particularly excited?

I don’t like to say too much; still I’m excited to share my Elegance “philosophy” (if you will) as well as a certain Spring Lookbook that’s been on my agenda for a while... 
I am so excited about CARMEL.com. From following Carmel on Instagram and Pinterest, I know that she has a great sense of style and since fashion has become an increasingly large part of my own blog, I can't wait to see what she does with it! Not to mention the whole recipes/pictures/DIY/writing side of things. Welcome to the internet event of the New Year: CARMEL.com.

L'chaim.

Hello! My name is Carmel, though you probably know me better as Bree, or Bree Holloway. That's alright, I'll still answer to it - I went by Bree on this little blog world for over 4 years, and in many ways it's become a part of who I am. But before Bree Holloway, or Blogger, or any of all this, it was just me. Carmel. I could tell you about how I'm different than most people you probably know, but I'm sure you've read that 100 times over. Instead, I'll tell you what I love.

My first pursuit is Christ; in Lewis's words, "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen: not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else." If I can lead one person to the saving grace of God, if this journey of self-discovery encourages others to join me, I've done something worthy, despite countless mistakes - and that's firstly what this place is about. As for the rest? I'm a prolific reader, writer of allegorical fantasy, ballet dancer, graphic designer, style-lover, bright-lipstick enthusiast and high-heel wearer. Chocolate is my love-language.