Just imagine how hard it must have been for Edmund sometimes, in Narnia. Those golden years of hope and dreams that he built with his brother and sisters. How he must’ve sometimes looked around and thought, what did I do to deserve this? And just imagine how sometimes some of the creatures of Narnia must’ve looked at him with distrust in their eyes and whispered ‘he was a traitor.’ And when Lucy and Susan and Peter get angry because they think it just isn’t fair, Edmund says that it’s alright.

And he’s just trying to remember he’s forgiven. But sometimes it’s so hard. But rather than letting it make him bitter, he lets it light him up. He lets the memory of his treachery make him compassionate. He lets the pain of it make him empathetic. He lets the lessons he learned make him wise and kind. He lets himself become merciful. And they call him King Edmund the Just.

Just imagine how hard it must have been for Peter in Narnia. He’s the oldest; he’s supposed to be High King and he has to know what to do. He’s just trying so hard, but he’s a kid, and how is he supposed to be a king? How is he supposed to take care of Lucy and help Edmund? How’s he supposed to guide Susan? And when he makes a bad decision and people get hurt, he feels responsible and lost.

And he’s just trying to remember that Aslan is always with him. Always there. But instead of listening to those doubts, he listens to his advisers. He learns. He fights. He grows. He becomes King Peter the Magnificent. And he makes the Golden Age his legacy.

Just imagine how hard it must have been for Susan in Narnia. She’s the logical one, the unimaginative one. She’s supposed to take care of Edmund and Lucy. She’s seeing things that adults tell her are impossible and silly. Imagine how she must’ve fought the horrible words ‘oh, don’t be silly’ almost all the time. She’s trying so hard to believe but her heart keeps wanting to doubt.

And she’s just trying to remember that nothing is impossible. The golden years start to wash it all out, and she learns to be compassionate and generous, and they call her Queen Susan the Gentle.

Now imagine how hard it must’ve been for Lucy in Narnia. Imagine how she must’ve fought for respect and for admiration, how she must’ve worked so hard. She’s in her element, she’s in a world of pure imagination, she should be more put together than this! She shouldn’t need to ask for help! She should be able to help her brothers to fight and understand the way they feel after battle. She’s been in battles!

And she’s just trying to remember that it’s not wrong to ask for help. So she learns. She becomes the one who makes treaties, who asks for assistance. She becomes the beloved brave lion heart that all Narnia can turn to in times of trouble. She laughs and dances and sings and brings joy to her siblings when they’re all alone. She fights in the battles and grows up. They call her Queen Lucy the Valiant.

Now imagine how they must’ve felt, walking back through that Wardrobe. Peter has been listened to. He’s been in control, and he’s taken care of his siblings for fifteen years. And all the sudden no one listens, no one cares. He’s in this clumsy, unfamiliar body, this body of a child, not the body of a warrior. Everyone thinks it’s just because of his age. But he’s lived for so much longer than this! He knows things, and why can’t they listen? Why do they do such unjust things in war, don’t they know that there are repercussions? Haven’t they learned?

Susan has learned to accept the impossible, to be gentle. She’s helped mothers with babies, she’s listened to the animals talk, and all the sudden, again, there it is, whenever she says something about Narnia; ‘Oh don’t be silly!’ And she’s been a beautiful queen, beloved. She’s been admired by men and princes. She’s had poems written about her. And she earned those things, can’t they see, she fought to be good, she tried just as hard as anyone else did! She listened to Aslan, she did the right thing, she had a life built and it’s gone. She’s learned to roar like a lion and suddenly she’s just a very confused teenage girl remembering dreams of glory which the adults around her tell her never happened at all.

Now imagine Lucy. Lucy has nightmares. She had them before, but they went away because it had been years and now they’re back, nightmares that Edmund never woke up after the witch stabbed him. Nightmares about Susan and Edmund and Peter and battle. And she fought to be brave and all the sudden she’s a little girl running from bombs again! And she saw Aslan and people are killing. People are killing and the gold stars just remind her of a golden mane. Lucy is fighting panic and terror which she overcame so many years ago and she feels like a coward. She’s earned respect and now everyone just treats her like a child, but she’s not, understand, she’s not a child. She is a physician. She knows what to do for wounds, let alone scrapes. She’s expected to be a sweet, adorable, easily pleased little girl and she saw wars.

Now think of Edmund. He’s the one who learned to be patient. But he’s come back and he sees bullies and they remind him of how he was, of his treachery, and he feels sick. They expect him to join back in, to tease and torture Lucy, Lucy who stood by him. They expect him to mock Susan who never got tired of telling him it was alright. They expect him to mock Peter who didn’t have to accept him, and did. He’s stuffed back into that mess, but he isn’t going to do this. No. He was in battles and his siblings stood by him and these bullies are messing with kids. He just sees the way he was and he is disgusted. So he isn’t let off the hook. He’s still a traitor. But he’s never going to betray Narnia or Aslan again.

Now imagine the way they do things for each other. Imagine Lucy, even when she’s upset, staying calm and making those same jokes to make Peter laugh. Imagine Susan, supporting and loving her siblings all the same. Imagine Peter and Susan sympathizing with each other after they are locked out of Narnia. Imagine Edmund, exhausted, but still valiantly coming to fight off Lucy’s nightmares and just falling asleep because he’s so bloody tired, and it helps even then because Edmund isn’t dead, he’s there. So Edmund and Lucy get closer and their mother has no idea how it happened. Peter isn’t a kid anymore and their father doesn’t know how Peter learned all of this. Susan is a woman and their parents are very confused.

But Susan is getting farther away and Peter and Edmund feel it, and Lucy is starting to hear ‘Don’t be silly’ again. It makes her chest ache, because doesn’t Susan remember? Doesn’t she understand?

It’s a breath of fresh air for Lucy and Edmund, going to Narnia, not that they understand at first why Eustace is there. They’re back in their element, back where they belong, and it feels amazing. They’re on the sea. They’re fighting battles. But Lucy’s learning that she’s got a few more flaws than last time, that she’s dangerously close, that she’s failed Aslan. Edmund’s telling Eustace stories and expecting Eustace to hate him for his actions, and instead it comforts Eustace, and that makes a lot of things better.

But it reminds them, and when they tell Peter he’s very happy for them and they go to the professor and reminisce the good old times and that’s when they meet Polly Plumber. But Susan doesn’t come. That’s when Lucy decides being pretty doesn’t matter. Being a Narnian forever matters. Or maybe she always knew it. But it makes her better than ever and Edmund and Peter see it and they’re so happy for her.

And they learn about Jill going to Narnia and part of each of them rejoices and yet part longs for Narnia more than anything.

But they grow and let go and they find Aslan in their own world, in their own way, even though they can’t see him. Their parents have three beautiful grown up children and one girl. But the three of them never get tired of letting Susan in. She was there for them and they should try to help her.

In the end, it’s sad. But the three of them are still royalty. They don’t act like the royalty so often depicted, but like true royalty, earning true loyalty from their friends.

Then it’s all over in a minute and they’re with Aslan again, with him again, forever this time and there’s nothing left in their way.

And maybe that’s what it takes to bring Susan back. I don’t know. You’d have to be a Narnian to tell me that.

You can probably tell that Edmund is like my favorite. I love him. I identify with his struggles a lot. He becomes such a great person, though.

C.S. Lewis had the great and unusual gift of teaching without preaching. I love all his books. These are just a few of the things I think would’ve happened at some point or other in the Narnia books.

Part of the thing about Edmund coming to help Lucy feel better in the aftermath of nightmares comes with a cute and hilarious idea that the first time Lucy wakes up screaming (which would be in Narnia) Edmund and Peter come into her room armed with bedhead and candlesticks thinking “Oh my gosh, Lucy’s in trouble!” And Peter trips on the rug and sprawls headlong on the floor and suddenly Lucy’s laughing so hard she’s crying, because her brothers are hilarious and great. And it ends in a midnight party of hot chocolate and toast and stuff and they keep shushing each other, because “Don’t wake up Susan, she’s an absolute bear at one in the morning!”  (I might just write that as a short story.)

I just love the Narnia books so much.

Thank you all for bearing with my utter insanity, and God bless, and don’t get sick! (I’m sick, that’s part of why this is so incoherent. It always is when I’m sick.)


More of my ridiculousness

Funny things happen to me a lot, it seems.

So, I was drinking tea and my dad was saying how I kind of drink a lot of tea and I glared at him and said;

“Tea is my elixir of immortality. Do not disrespect it, Mortal.”

My mom thought it was the most hilarious thing ever.

Also, I thought you might enjoy an exchange between two of my characters, Arden and Brynn, who are sweet and adorable and I love them. I haven’t written the scene yet, just the lines I thought of.

Brynn: “So my name is both a compliment and an insult?”

Arden: “Yes! Particularly insulting when you’ve done something stupid!”

Brynn: “No wonder you use my title so much.”

Last Dance

Okay. I don’t even know if this is good or not. No real spoilers for any of the Avengers Movies except Captain America, and if you haven’t watched that, why are you here? Go on, go on, be off with you, go watch it right now.

Summary: The world is a mass of rubble and destruction. Peggy Carter comes to collect her dance.

                The streets were sparkling with snowflakes of ash and swirls of smoke and broken concrete rubble. Guttering, fading flames illuminated the half-lit street. The pale rose of dawn was just edging the sky in ruffled lace and ribbon.

                Peggy Carter was coming to collect her dance. If she didn’t look too closely at the rubble, she very nearly thought it was 1944 again and she was going to comfort a broken Steve Rogers mourning his best friend in a bombed out bar, or wandering the streets of Germany after the blitz. There was too much glass here, and too much metal, and too much concrete, but all rubble looks the same unless you inspect it carefully.

                There were no survivors to gather the dead here, but the battle was over and the war was won. And the burial was halfway complete already. There were no cries of babies left alive. There was no wide eyed child screaming. The destruction was utter and (almost mercifully) complete.

                There were, however, a few of her people wandering. After death one leaves immediately. But the impulse is to come back, to observe, if only for a little while. A child was watching the sun peek at the edge of the sky. Peggy stared at her for a long time.

                Then she climbed up through the rubble. A mass of bodies were closer together. Bloody and shattered, injured beyond repair. Peggy bit her lip and turned away from the sight of a body—not Steve, he wasn’t there anymore—lying on top of a body—not Bucky—a last, characteristic act of protection.

                And there, at the very top of the mountain, the two boys sat together, staring at the rising sun.

                The streets were floating with ash and rivulets of red and silver. The world was in embers, and stars were winking goodbye. Peggy Carter had come to collect her dance.

Um. Yeah. I’ll just go now.

Love you all, God bless. Have a great day.

Reflections of a Reader

Is reading my hobby? Do I like to read? “You must like to read.  I see you with a book, every time I see you.”

I don’t know. Do you like breathing air? You must, since you’ve been doing it all these years. Do I like reading? I must, since I’ve been doing it willingly all these years. I must, since I have found beauty in words and have fallen in love with them.

Reading to me is probably not what reading is to you, either. It is a singularity, much like every person and every love is. I read, and I enjoy it in a way solely my own. I read it, and it is therefore my book, a series of reflections of an author, a few characters, which have become my reflections, my friends through this simple reading.

My little sister is just beginning to read. I am looking through old picture books and reading her the old stories, and I am not ashamed to admit I love these picture books. But the way I miss them is not the bitterness of missing a person who is gone forever, or who you will see rarely; instead, I miss them with a warm, sweet remembrance. I miss them with nostalgia, and want to share them with my little sister.

I can’t remember how or when I moved from reading picture books and into the spectrum of novels. I just know I wish all partings could be so sweet.

“The Salamander Room,” “The Weight of a Mass,” “How Pizza Came to Queens,”–these books shaped me a lot. From there it went. Novels–the first I really tried, probably, was Redwall, by Brian Jacques. Then came the novels I had read at bedtime with my Dad–Reb and the Redcoats, the Tale of Troy, Kidnapped, etc. Classics. I read science books and short history picturey books. Then my Mom gave me the Away Goes Sally books. For most girls, the Little House books are very beloved. I liked, but didn’t love them. Instead, Little Women, Little Men and Jo’s Boys were defining moments of my childhood. I had listened to the abridged version of the first. But when I read the entirety I began a whole new chapter in my life surrounding them.

I was introduced to Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfield. This was a whole new side of reading for me. Girls were depicted honestly; flaws galore, fighting with each other, disliking people, taking responsibility for their own actions–it meant a lot. They had to deal with the results of their own actions. Besides, it was girls doing ballet. What I did.

I wanted all her books, and I began to ask for more books to read. I asked for more of the history books I had begun to love. I checked out books from the library. It was a whole new world. I would have to say that books began to define me. Meet the Austins for sure.

I am dyslexic. But I love to read.

Books are a part of me I wouldn’t give up willingly. I started with simple books and here I am now, writing my own stories and drinking up words.

Books express a lot of culture. They are immortal. When we’re dead and gone, there will still be the wealth of knowledge we penned for future generations to read. Books are incredible.

May you be blessed with many books in your lifetime. Farewell, my readers, and God bless.

Dream again about the Dreamers

Dream again about the dreamers;

Write me a story about the saints.

Sing me a song about the singers;

Paint me a picture with dreamed up paints.


Tell me about the broken children,

The ones who went astray;

Tell me about the lost, forgotten sinners,

About the ones who found the way.


Remember the shadows of the people

Hidden in the darkness of time;

Remember those old wise prophets

Who traced the scarlet rhyme.


Do not forget the fallen martyrs;

Or the children of the elder days.

Do not forget the Seraphim

Who wrote the old pathways.


Don’t forget humanity

Which everyone forgets.

Don’t forget the beauty

Exhausted, it desists.


There isn’t much to say

At the end of all of time;

There isn’t much to say

When the world has lost its mind.


But keep dreaming, darling dreamers;

Keep singing silent songs;

Keep beating, broken heartbeats;

Your home is singing strong.

This one doesn’t have a very strong rhyme scheme and definitely not a very strong rhythm, but I like it.

I’d love to hear from you in the comments, all you lovely folks! Thank you all for the time you spend in reading my blog. I hope it’s worth your time.
God bless and have a frabjous day!

Funny Family Story Time

I have two aunts, my dad’s older sisters. Dear old ladies. One of them is a gardener, and one of them is into jewelry. But this is a story about when they were kids. They used to answer the phone, see. And you know how they’d answer, for those annoying telemarketers benefit?
“Hullo, this is the _______ Mortuary. You stab ’em, we grab ’em.”
It’s easy to see where my parents got me, I think.

Another funny story. My big brother. He used to be part of this little boy’s Christian group. So there was this one skit they did–can’t remember which Bible story they tore apart and put back together little boy version (I’ve heard wild stories about Noah’s Submarine) and there’s this one quote, this one thing that we still joke about even now.

“HELLO! This is Achmed the terrorist, how are you doin’?” (This, of course, must be said with great enthusiasm and a Turkish accent.)

Last funny story for today (Enough is as good as a feast) is about me, while I was at summer camp. (All girls.) We did a skit. It was supposed to be a funny, Christianized version of Cinderella, with an angel instead of a fairy godmother, and with Cinderella entering a convent rather than marrying the prince. There were some really great lines (“This is Trippy, the rock angel.” “Yo.”), but my favorite still remains the one where the Prince (a hilarious girl named Chloe who did this absolutely fantastic, ridiculous, Russian accent) says “Hello ladies” and accidentally tosses her sword across the stage. This was not intended, though it was really great. Then I (I was a servant) scolded the Prince, and she said the line that made the entire skit great; “But I was just trying to make a dramatic entrance!”

Starfleet Files Snippet

Fisk swore at me politely for a minute to get it out of the way.

Then he offered me a cup of tea. I responded to the affirmative.

“It’s good to see you, Rogers. I hardly see my inferiors just now.” Fisk said.

“Thank you, Sir.” I said. “It can only get worse from here, though, I imagine.”

“You imagine right enough. If I ever make Admiral, it’ll be dreadful as dreadful can be.” Fisk sighed and slouched in his chair. “Have a seat, Rogers.”

I obeyed.

We sipped our tea for a minute, and I waited patiently. Fisk would tell me why I was here in his own good time.

“Kyle,” Fisk said. He said Kyle in the way you say a boy’s name; Ky-ll, not like my name, Ky-lee, but I didn’t mind that awfully. It was just his way of addressing me, like a Sergeant in an infantry outfit affectionately and pugnaciously calling his charges ladies.

Eh, I’m bad at titles.

To give this scene context, August is blind.

            Violet waved a hand at him, just to see what would happen if she didn’t accompany it by sound. August turned to her with a raised eyebrow, and smiled at her. “Hello to you too, Vi.” He said.

            Violet stuck out her tongue at him.

            August stuck out his tongue at her.

            Arvin turned to look at him. He gave her his most innocent look.

            Arvin gave him the same quirked eyebrow he’d given to Violet. “Oh dear. I do believe I have missed my friends’ antics completely. I have been bamboozled.” She deadpanned. Then she handed August his plate and sat down on the counter to eat her toast.

            “How does she do that?” Violet asked.

Funny Story

So, my little sister is a regular kid, right? Says unbelievably funny things, really.

For example, my Dad told her that if he did a certain thing, Mom would have kittens.

Know what she said?

“What kind of kittens? You’d better do it then. I want to see her kittens.”

I think this encapsulates the kid’s character pretty well on the whole.


With the earth as my companion

And the sun as my friend

I follow the wind

Guided by the unchanging sky.

I am as mist

Or dust

Moving forever

Never stopping

Always moving on.

Rivers flow ever onward

Hearts begin and end

But the same pulsing rhythm remains

And I wander on.

So lead on, wind

And darken, sky

And wander, wanderer

Brethren we find.

Blood is thicker than water

They say


The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb

Is what it means.

So I find my own kindred.





Wander, wanderer.




To wherever

The morrow