Life in the Freakshow Lane

our new truck! A fabulous F100 1965 Ford!!!! Such a classy way to get around.

 

Life is full of strange things. Strange events. Strange people.

 

Quite often you encounter all of the above at some point in your life. All too commonly, you find yourself stuck smack dab in the midst of the threesome.

 

And sometimes, you just happen to be a major component of the strangeness yourself.

 

You're not just one of those strange people, you're an anomaly.

 

You just don't fit in.

 

Whether or not you want to mesh with what the world around you is doing doesn't matter. Because no matter what you try, you always stick out like a sore thumb. You're always swimming against the current, you're the fruit loop in a bowl of cheerios.

 

Am I sounding melodramatic, just a tad?

 

Who am I kidding. Of course I am.

 

I would know about what it's like to be an odd soul. And to be honest, I embrace my weirdness.

 

But sometimes it gets to be a little much, even for myself. Sometimes I not only drive the people around me insane, but my own self gets perturbed by my unexplainable mannerisms and anima.

 

I puzzle myself, frankly.

 

They say it's not uncommon for a young woman my age to have issues dealing with emotion. They say it's perfectly normal, in fact.

 

But sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I deliberate if I somehow ended up with 300% more emotion than I should have for my stage of life.

 

I'm going to be honest and transparent, here. You've been warned.

 Earlier this week, I felt like a freakshow. Detached from reality and all that is normal and acceptable. When you end up in emotional breakdowns in front of your entire family (which composes of five males and only one other female, by the way) over and over, and have no control over each event whatsoever, you start feeling terrible for those dear people who must endure your traumatic episodes. When they ask you why you're always crying, you feel like an alien. Because there's no way they'll ever understand.

 

You start to hate yourself for being so different, for feeling things the other have no idea about.

 

This is my struggle. I am my greatest enemy - aside from satan, that is.

I can't overcome myself without Christ. The only way I've found to pull myself out of this mire of self-hatred, depression and confusion is to stop and hand it over to my Maker. Because He's the only one who'll ever truly understand how I tick, what makes me who I am. With His help, and through dwelling on His Word, I see that I'm not really such a freak even though I feel like one time and time again. I see that I'm so incredibly blessed beyond my understanding, and that I have an overabundance of things to be grateful for 24/7. Most importantly, I learn I mustn't dwell on myself. I mustn't give rise to the flesh which demands I hate my own existence. It's a satanic notion, self-hatred.

 

Bottom line? How comforting to know I can always go to Christ, no matter what the circumstance. And as His daughter, I am also an overcomer. I may fall down, but I'll always be able to get on my feet again because "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

 

Don't let the number of times you fall outnumber the number of times you stand back up.

 

random photo from Brooksville that I found and thought looked neat.

 

 

Anywayyy. End of random rant concerning the internal struggle of life...that probably either bored you to death or freaked you out...erm. Yeah. Moving on!

 

Last week, we at Southern Lights had the privilege of getting to play up at the Olustee reenactment. The battle of Olustee/Ocean Pond was the largest battle that took place in Florida during the War Between the States. Naturally, this is the therefore the largest Civil War reenactment in the Sunshine State.

 

It was incredible.

We interrupt the regularly planned programing for an awesome map of my Reheboam world, made on GIMP by Brian McBride. ^_^

 

That weekend, my parents left on a business trip to Louisiana, leaving me in charge. Of course, I couldn't bring the boys along on the Olustee excursion, so my wonderful grandparents came to watch them while I was gone. Thank you Mammy and Pappy! ♥

 

My day Saturday started at 4:00 in the morning, unintentionally. I set my alarm for 5:30 but somehow woke up miraculously early...don't ask how. Of course, I also had trouble getting to sleep Friday night, so maybe that had something to do with it. Pre-reenactment bubblies and excitement I guess.

My lovely friends and I with the kitchen as a fabulous, historically accurate backdrop...hahaha

Mammy snapped this and I didn't even know it. Hahaha, I guess we were just getting ready to leave the house.

 

 

The weather was awesome - chilly, just the way I like it. When you're lugging instruments around most of the day and wearing a lot of fabric, you tend to appreciate the cooler weather.

 

It's a no-brainer why we don't have reenactments in the summer here in FL.

Spectators waiting for the battle to unfold.

We were blessed to get to play at the Ladies' Tea in front of an audience of 70 or so women and girls. Also, we played in the sutlers area and people seemed to enjoy our music. It's so wonderful to know that you can make people smile and be blessed through your work!

 

We even got a good deal of tips, which helped with the gas and food costs later.

so much epic cavalry-ness

man I love this picture. That gun!

artillery

 

The actual battle was epic of course. Only, since they were trying to show a little of how it actually happened 150 years ago, most of the soldiers were fighting out in the woods where we couldn't see them. Which was a bummer. Thankfully they ventured closer at times. And the cannons were always going off.

 

Two of my favorite things at reenactments are the artillery, and the drum and fife playing as the units do their processions through the camps.

I like the composition of this one.

BOOM! I hope they're wearing earplugs!

Rebel pride.

Emerging from the haze.

 

And here is the one photo that I found decent of at the ball later in the evening. Kay took it, you can see Maygan there in the middle.

 

The map I used for my route to get to Olustee. I do love maps. They've always fascinated me, and I tell you this - I'm not a GPS person. I will use a good ol' fashioned map over one of those unpredictable devices any day.

 

Ahh, and speaking of driving. Arguably the most traumatizing element of the whole day and trip was the time spent in the car. It was about a two hour drive up, since we got mixed up and went down a wrong road when the actual event location was less than a mile down the street. -_-

 

And later, as we drove to Lake City to get some grub for supper, (we went to Chick-fil-A again as that is our refuge for reenactment excursions now) it got extremely stressful.

 

Let's get a couple things straight. See that little box on the map along the highlighted route, which reads "231"? You'd never know such an innocent looking road could be so treacherous.

 

For miles and miles it was one big stretch of absolutely nothing. Literally no signs of human life anywhere, and this is no exaggeration. All you see is an endless stretch of pine trees on either side of the road...it's smack dab in the midst of a national forest. In the daytime it's tolerable, but at night in the dark? Nooooo.  It's hard enough driving in a place you're not familiar with.

 

See, somehow we got off the original road (90) and went down 231 towards the homeward-route. Basically wasted a good bit of gas on a completely-out-of-the-way passage.

 

I ended up having a panic attack halfway down that blasted road, as we left Lake City to get back to the reenactment site for the evening ball. It was ridiculous. I was literally desperate to see another vehicle or some lights or anything. It was a mini praise session when we finally got back to the little four-way in Olustee!!!

 

I will never forget the horror of driving down that vile road.

 

But the ball was worth all the trauma of 231. I got to dance the entire evening! Learned many new contra dances and had a genuinely wonderful time. I did end up getting asked out, which threw me pretty bad, but ehhh such is life I guess. New experiences to add to the book of life, right?

 

But seriously for anybody who might be wondering...no, I'm not looking for a boyfriend. I don't do the whole boyfriend/girlfriend thing. It doesn't even make sense to me. And when the time comes that I do start 'looking', it will be for a Godly man who I will spend the rest of my life with. Not just a boyfriend.

So are we clear on that? Good.

 

 

Last but not least, I present a little photomanip/collage I did of some of my favorite characters from If Dante Had Wings. 

Speaking of which, I'm now on chapter six of that. My writing moments ever since January have been devoted to this novel, and then recently I started rewriting The Rebels of Florida.

 

Ever since I began revamping some of the basic plots in TROF, drastic changes have unfolded. Characters have evolved - changed so much it's almost scary.

 

Zephyr, who used to be "Emma", the main character girl for example. She's gone from somewhat wall-flowerish, fantasizing softee to outspoken, overly-emotional survivor. Basically, her new self is a lot more kick-butt. All the characters are, really.

 

One of TROF's characters - Sybil. The picture on the right shows her 'before-revamping' version, and the one on the left her 'current' state.

 

Not kick-butt in the sense of the modern day 'strong' female lead that always has things under control and never sheds a tear(gosh, don't we all hate that stereotype?) but in the sense that, if you lived in this state during 1863, you had to have grit, and lots of it. Florida for most of history has been a wild, undeveloped jungle overflowing with peril.

 

Women didn't wear big fancy silk ball gowns and trounce around with slaves doting on their every whim and wish. The term 'southern belle'? Not applicable in this state, sorry. Unless your definition of southern belle is a trouser-wearing ranch woman who could cook anything she put her mind to (snakes, raccoons, wild pokeweed shoots, etc.) for the sake of the basic survival of her family. If she owned a dress it was probably made of calico or some other cheap fabric.

 

This is a general assumption of what I've read of pre-development Florida culture.

 

And this is what you'll find in TROF, for the most part.

 

Anyway! So where was I going with this? Oh yeah. Character development - er - change. It's certainly made the editing/rewrite process of TROF way more interesting.

 

So there you have it! A fairly detailed account of some of the most notable events that have happened in my life recently.

 

I leave you fabulously patient people with an awesome song from Imagine Dragons that you've probably not heard before because for some weird reason it hasn't really been promoted that much apparently.  *shakes head*

 

 

Hope y'all are having a blessed week! ♪



Rehoboam Snippet & Boadicea Sheet Music! {WriterlyWednesday}

 

Welcome, welcome... to a long-neglected WriterlyWednesday post. I have some fun and exciting things to share with you today...er, this evening, so stay tuned.

 

One of them namely, is music related.

 

A fellow writer from GTW, Sam Graber, transposed my arrangement of Enya's Boadicea!

 

Sooo, you can now grab your own PDF sheet, right here! Isn't that exciting? I'm really thrilled about it- it's the first of my covers which has been officially made into sheet music. *does happy dance*

A big shout-out to Sam for taking the time to do this!

 

Let me tell y'all - for you people that are already playing piano, this song should be a breeze for you. And yet, even though it's so simple and easy to play, it still has that awesome Enya ambience to it. So it's a win-win situation! (Go check it out!)

 

Now. Just the other day, I was asked to expound a little on Arden and the Rehoboam medieval-fantasy novel which my song "Marred Legacy" was inspired from.

 

I wasn't originally planning to post anything directly from the manuscript, not for a while anyways, but after a bit of work on it today, I figured - heck, why not.  I'm pretty pleased with it so far.

 

So, here you go, guys. I hope you enjoy it! Please don't be shy about giving honest feedback!

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

Things have not always existed as they do today. 

History repeats itself, but change comes in a variety of different forms.

 

Just as castles crumble to dust within the passing of time, so the purity and perfection of mankind has dissolved since the day that we allowed ourselves to be deceived by a Serpent. 

 

Change can be an evil thing, and all too often it is thus.

 

But in years long past among the souls of the great country Apriori, it was not so.  A change of a good tide had rolled over the nation’s great borders.

 

Swords were exchanged for plows and tilling tools and fields of corn stretched for miles underneath the giant golden sun.

 

The great land of Apriori had just awoken from a dark age of war against one of the most fearsome enmities in its world. Apriori was free once more, and no longer did its people lay to disintegrate in great seas of crimson blood.

 

Rosyar was a peaceable man, in those times.  In that age, he was a man content on going about his own business, and he didn’t care to mingle in the affairs of others.  His heart retained good and mercy, even though he was a man of few words and generally approved of keeping to himself.

 

 

Now it happened that one day; this solitary fellow was going through town making his routinely errands, when he spotted a thing that normally would have not have caused him to take notice. His eyes beheld the weekly auction taking place. 5 young children stood, fettered, in the center of the meeting place courtyard - a small crowd gathered around, talking amongst themselves. 

 

For a moment Rosyar didn’t take much thought of this, and silently he kept walking onward.  

But for whatever curious reason, he found himself stopping; looking at the small younglings huddled together with pieces of iron bound on their wrists and ankles.

 

A chill entered Rosyar’s being, and the man stood motionless, haunted by the scared-looking little faces in the courtyard. What a peculiar thing this was, indeed – many a day had he quickly observed the events at the public auction, and many a time had slaves been sold before his eyes. Why was this moment any different than the others?

 

But somehow, it was. He decided to venture over to the crowd of onlookers, and observe quietly the outcome of the children. 

 

He watched keenly, captivated. Maybe it was the protective arms of the older girl, clinging to the baby against her chest. Or perhaps the middle-sized boy, holding the hands of his younger twin sisters.

Rosyar had never been very acquainted with youngsters. He could only remember one relative, a niece, when she was a baby. It was nothing phenomenal and hardly even remained a point in his memory.

So thus he did not recognize any of the children to be from any state of importance, let alone very different than the usual street urchins. Still he was drawn to them, for a reason unidentifiable.

 

He tarried, absorbed in studying the five, and was about to leave when he heard someone call out a bid.

 

“80 shekels for the two elder ones together” A voice penetrated the low hum of voices. The older girl’s free hand instinctively reached down, encircling her other siblings protectively.

 

Rosyar’s heart was pained suddenly at the sight and realization the children would be split up if this person were to obtain them.

 

“What of the other infants? I want them all to go together so I may be rid of them entirely.” A thick, masculine-in-appearance woman said firmly. Rosyar studied the female quickly. She must have been the owner of the five.

 

The person who had previously inquired shrugged, but raised his hand higher to confirm his bid. “I still want them. I can always turn the littles out in the forest if need be.”

 

“Fine.” The woman replied, emotionlessly. “Anyone higher than 80 shekels? Do I hear 90?”

 

Rosyar‘s hand rose up, almost involuntarily, in fact. All eyes turned to him. He swallowed, realizing what he had just done. What in the world had gotten to him? He looked at the big-eyed children, standing there in the midst of a sea of strangers.

 Suddenly he felt a resurgence of compassion for them, even though he had no clue what in the world he might do with the little family. “90.” He announced, clearing his throat.

 

The woman appeared pleased. “Anyone higher than 90? Do I hear 95?”

 

A hand rose.

 

The woman inquired again, “Do I hear 100?”

 

Rosyar released a long sigh. What was he doing? 100 shekels wasn’t a small amount of money, and it would take him a good while to earn it back.

 

“Going once…”

 

Besides, what would he do with these little peasant children anyway? He had never raised a child in his lifetime, let alone five.

 

“Going twice…”

 

But that didn’t really matter. Besides, he could always use them to help with farm labor and such.

He raised his hand.

 

 “100.”

 

So there the fellow was, going up and asking that the children be unfettered.  

He had bought them, now they were his responsibility. But whatever would he do with them? Especially the 3 littlest, a baby and two toddlers? For the love of Zenith.

 

Examining each member of the clan, he quickly escorted the children from the bustle of the auction.

 

 “What’s your name?” He asked the oldest girl, a dark haired child with searing ice-grey eyes.  

 

“Kelita.” She answered quietly, still gripping the infant as tightly as before.

 

“Kelita?” Rosyar repeated. That sounded awfully familiar.

 

His heart sunk, as the girl nodded distrustfully.  A sick sensation plagued his stomach. O, it couldn’t be!  Suddenly he realized the connection. Was it possible this scrawny girl standing in front of him now was the baby niece he had held in his arms years ago? The daughter of his brother Rudekk? 

 

No, it couldn’t be.

 

 Why would she be here, now? Whatever did happen to Rudekk and Virgata, anyway? And who were these other children?

 

“Are these your kin?” He inquired of Kelita.

 

“Aye, my brothers and sisters.” The girl replied, undaunted.

 

Rosyar stood back and looked at the group again. Sighing, he pondering to himself the possibility. It was true, yes quite true that the last time he’d seen Kelita was when she was a baby. Thus he didn’t know what she would have looked like in the present day, if he were to see her again. There was no way to know since he had not gone to visit Rudekk and Virgata since the war’s beginning. 

 

There was a slight chance….maybe….

 

“Do you have any parents?” He led the group away from the town’s commotion, to his own abode in the woods.

 

“We did…”

 

“Where are they now?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Are they alive?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Where did you come from?”

 

“Sabatia.”

 

“Isn’t that a rather dangerous place for such young children?”

 

“We had to escape the soldiers.”

 

Rosyar’s eyebrows furrowed. Was this child telling the truth or was she simply attempting to give her new master the hardest time she could muster?

 

He didn’t recall Rudekk’s family residing within the realm of Sabatia. Maybe this was indeed a wild, insane notion after all.

 

“What were your parents’ names?” Still, he must at least know a bit more exposition on these children, if he was to keep them under his own roof.

 

Kelita was silent, her eyes shifty and doubting as they stared up at Rosyar. The girl was clearly distraught.

 

“Please tell me child, I may know of their whereabouts.” He lied, hoping to gain her trust.

 

The man thought he saw Kelita’s eyes almost light up in hope. “Honest?”

 

He smiled, persuasively. “Honest.”

 

“Rudekk and Virgata.” She replied slowly, as if the words were knives cutting her tongue as they slipped across.

 

Rosyar caught his breath, and his gaze shot away from the children, absentmindedly.

Was he hearing things? How in the world…. Was it just some incredible coincidence that this girl happened to have the same name and parents’ names as did his kin? It didn’t seem possible…but what else could it be? Could it truly be his little niece?

 

“Do you have any relatives?” His heart rate increased in dread.

“Such as cousins?”

 

“No…aunts, uncles, that sort.”

 

“Well, mother said once I had an uncle still alive somewhere,” The girl’s tone was as indifferent as her facial expression.

 

“Did she tell you his name?” Rosyar found himself swallowing, none too happy with the way things were looking so far.

 

“Rosyar.”

 

The words fell as if they were a rock, a great heaving boulder.  Rosyar almost choked stifling a cough, feeling like a tremendous force had slammed through his body.  This was simply impossible.

 

Arriving at the front door of his homely bungalow, the fellow turned around quickly, his long black tresses swinging over his shoulders.

 

He hadn’t intended for any of this to happen. None of it, none at all. This event was the last thing the introverted man had needed to enter his life.  

 

“Did you ever live in Bloodwort?”  His voice snapped, agitated.

 

Kelita nodded subtly, staring up at him with fearful eyes.

 

“What happened to your father?” Rosyar whisked out his house key from a side pouch on his left hip, and inserted it into the front door’s keyhole.

 

“He… was called away to fight.” Kelita wrapped her petite arms more protectively around the miniscule baby, as it started to whimper.

 

Rosyar swallowed, pausing a moment. Rudekk…his brother…could easily be dead this very moment. For all he knew, he’d been dead for years.

 

Rattling the iron key roughly in the keyhole until it finally caused the door to open, he growled

“What of your mother?”  The man swung open the door with such force it slammed against the wall, startling the infant, who let out an ear-piercing wail.

 

“She stayed behind to distract Varchess’ soldiers...” Kelita began rocking up and down on her small heels, in an attempt to comfort the child. “…So we could run into the forest.”  She continued to stare at the ebony haired man, in a mixture of contempt and distrust.

 

Rosyar closed his eyes, taking in the news. He didn’t know quite rightly what to say. It was very likely both Rudekk and Virgata were now dead –leaving Kelita, and apparently his other nieces and nephews, permanently orphaned.  What a fine fix.

 

In those days, Rosyar was a man who would risk his life to save another’s, but only if it proved the utter last resort. The fellow wasn’t fond of heroic efforts or patriotism, nor did he stick his neck out for just any person that cried for help. Why in the name of all the heavens had he done such a rash thing, on this day? What insanity had stirred within his indifferent heart, that such a choice would be made?

 

The man let out a long sigh, resting his arm against the pine door frame and letting his head sink against it.

 

Rosyar Seosamh wasn’t created to be a father.

 

---



 

 

And there you have it! Hope you enjoyed!

 

Have a blessed day,