Today is this blog's 2nd birthday. When I clicked that link two years ago today I could have never imagined it would end up like this, with viewers in the dozens and commenters in the twos and threes. I never thought I'd get a chance to say this but..... I'd like to thank the Academy. *sniff* My friends and family.....my mom, *sniff* my sister Faith (you are my rock Faith), and my haters.....*sniff*......for inspiring me to be better......*sniff* I am what you all have made me. *sniff* Thank you all.
~Margaret
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Monday, October 12, 2015
Monday, October 13, 2014
Happy Birthday
Today is October 12th, and this blog is officially one year old. I don't have the wherewithal at this point in time to put into words, as I would like to, how grateful I am to all of you who have offered me encouragement and uplifting words over the past twelve months. You guys brighten my days, and I am thankful for each one of you.
~Margaret
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Happy Birthday to the Bard
Hello Blogosphere!! Welcome to another instance of I should have posted this yesterday.
To provide a little context to this post, I love writing in iambic pentameter. I'm a terrible poet, (though it doesn't stop me from trying) but I have a fascination with this form of verse. Perhaps it is simply because it was Shakespeare's preferred style, but I believe there's something beyond that. I love the way it reads and the way it sounds when read out loud. How at first glance it would look like normal prose or dialogue, but there's a distinct undercurrent of rhythm beneath the words. I love it.
So, I write a lot of it. And probably not well at all.
So last night, (being Shakespeare's 450th birthday anniversary) I was thinking about the way I write it and the feeble way in which writers can attempt to emulate Shakespeare, but are always sure to fail quite miserably. It kind of made me laugh, because I think we can get so caught up in imitating an author or a distinct style, that we lose all originality that was ever ours. So this is what came out of it, a humble attempt to make fun of myself. Again.
To provide a little context to this post, I love writing in iambic pentameter. I'm a terrible poet, (though it doesn't stop me from trying) but I have a fascination with this form of verse. Perhaps it is simply because it was Shakespeare's preferred style, but I believe there's something beyond that. I love the way it reads and the way it sounds when read out loud. How at first glance it would look like normal prose or dialogue, but there's a distinct undercurrent of rhythm beneath the words. I love it.
So, I write a lot of it. And probably not well at all.
So last night, (being Shakespeare's 450th birthday anniversary) I was thinking about the way I write it and the feeble way in which writers can attempt to emulate Shakespeare, but are always sure to fail quite miserably. It kind of made me laugh, because I think we can get so caught up in imitating an author or a distinct style, that we lose all originality that was ever ours. So this is what came out of it, a humble attempt to make fun of myself. Again.
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
The Longest Day
I know the thought going through your mind right now. This is either a long and boring critique of a well-known war film, or she's trying to be funny by making a reference to ancient pop culture that applies to something in her own repertoire of experience. I am glad to inform you that this post falls under the latter option, and that whether or not you wish to hear, you are about to learn of my run-in with what I like to call: The Very Long Day. Rather impressive, isn't it?
I'm going to recount my experience with the use of italics, because it's more dramatic.
March 18, 2014. 4:39a.m.
I stumble out of bed, half-awake and bleary-eyed, with my coordination skills still asleep. After some hasty make-up application, I climbed into the car with Faith, Claire, and my parents, who were looking remarkably awake for it not being morning. It was a little after 5:00.
5:45a.m.
We arrive at the hospital. After an unremarkable elevator ride, we walked down a corridor to stand before double doors, locked. Dad picked up the phone on the wall and said, with all the calm of past experience, "Stephaney Carpenter is here to have a baby."
I'm going to recount my experience with the use of italics, because it's more dramatic.
March 18, 2014. 4:39a.m.
I stumble out of bed, half-awake and bleary-eyed, with my coordination skills still asleep. After some hasty make-up application, I climbed into the car with Faith, Claire, and my parents, who were looking remarkably awake for it not being morning. It was a little after 5:00.
5:45a.m.
We arrive at the hospital. After an unremarkable elevator ride, we walked down a corridor to stand before double doors, locked. Dad picked up the phone on the wall and said, with all the calm of past experience, "Stephaney Carpenter is here to have a baby."
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
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