Gasp! Shan is trying to draw!

Yes, that's right. I am trying to teach myself to draw. Be afraid; be very afraid. What am I trying to learn to draw? Well, roses. Yes, you read that right. Roses.

First Try drawing a rose...

Second try... Sorry the picture is dark.

Third try... Finished earlier today.

They aren't great, but hey. I don't draw a lot (although I'm working on fixing that). As always, constructive criticism is welcome, as well as pointers and opinions. (Which rose is your favorite and why?) I apologize for the significant lack of text in this post. Maybe one day I'll make it up to you?



WORD OF THE POST:
Abbozzo - preliminary sketch
(http://phrontistery.info/a.html)

You should also visit the Phrontisery when you're finished here. It's a simply delightful site.

-scribble, sketch, shade-
Shansie

Ever heard of Footprints in the Sand?

My posts may seem a bit unhappy for a while. Yesterday I went through a breakup. I'll spare you the details, but I don't hold a grudge against him. We both still like each other. I like him a lot, but life goes on. It doesn't help to dwell on the past. It hurts; I know it will for a long time. Everything happens for a reason. The world doesn't stop spinning because of how I feel, so let's skip the pity party.
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Something positive comes of everything, I suppose. It might be hard to see at first, but it's always there. When I'm upset, I tend to write better. I added a lot to my story yesterday, and today I wrote a thing that kind of relates to the Footprints in the Sand story. Yes, I am a Christian.This also made me rely on my faith more than usual. See there? That's two positive things.
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Guess what? You just met an optimist.


The Beach in my Soul
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Have you ever been to the beach? Not just any beach. I have, long ago. It's distant: a memory from my childhood. Remember the story of footprints in the sand? It is very much like that beach. It may even be the very same beach.
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In my dreams, I walked along the beach. The warm sand gave way beneath my feat and squished beneath my toes. The golden grains kissed my skin like tiny droplets of sunlight as I picked up a handful and let the sand slide through my fingers. I walked to the edge of the sea and let the waves wash over my feet. The wet sand wrapped itself around my toes; it begged me to stay. A small crab crawled nearby, shaking his claw at me. He looked like a little old man, yelling at a child to get off his lawn.
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My footprints had marred the beautiful perfection of the beach. That was when I noticed his footprints, parallel to my own. They were light and intricately detailed. No imperfections weighed down on them. However, there was a small red spot in the center of each print where he had bled. I knelt down to touch a print, and found that the bloodied sand had turned to rubies.
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I looked up and there he was, standing next to me. He reached out a hand, and I instantly trusted him. I took his hand and he let me into the sea. He baptized me there, in the sea by that beautiful beach, and I knew I was safe.
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It has been far too long since I visited that beach in my soul. He was with me always, guiding me, but I grew and didn't always listen.
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I dearly missed the peace I felt on the beach that day.
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Today, I revisit that sacred beach. I let the sand kiss my skin like little drops of sun. I let the sea wash over my feet while the wet sand hugs my toes and the crab shakes his claw.
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Today, I sit down in the ocean and wait for him. I pick up that little angry crab and rub his shell. I wonder what troubles him so. The crab looks up at me with his sad old eyes, and I can feel his pain.
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There is a hand on my shoulder. He kneels down next to me. The peace washes over me with the ocean, and the crab crawls away,no longer shaking his fist. I fall into his arms in a hug. I'm sorry that I didn't come sooner.
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He doesn't fix my broken heart. He doesn't erase the pain, nor does he heal my wounds. But he is there, and that is enough. He gives me peace. He makes my pain bearable. He loves me, even though I haven't given him the love he deserves all these years. He doesn't hold a grudge. I know he's forgiven me. I know I didn't deserve it.


Long Story,
Shansie

Inspired by a Pack of Pens

I received a package of pens as a gift yesterday. Now, don't think that's a lame gift. These are only the most amazing pens I have ever written with. The person who gave me them had some of her own that I have borrowed on occasion, and I loved them. They write very smoothly and don't drag at all. The best part is that you can get them at Wal-Mart. They are "@ the OFFICE" brand "gel pens." They are fairly thick and are fine point. They also come in lots of colors. I highly recommended them.

Once I had these pens, I was just itching to write something. I wrote two short little somethings, although I'm not quite sure what to call them. They are mainly just my thoughts at the time, filled with some metaphors and analogies. I might end up actually using them in something one day, but for now I'm happy with the way they are.

After the Rain has Passed

Have you ever noticed that the grass looks a little greener after a storm? The sun seems to shine just that much brighter. It's like Mother Nature's way of making it up to you after a thunderstorm.

Have you ever noticed that people are like that too? They smile a little brighter after you let them cry on your shoulder. They're a little nicer - a little more sincere. It's like a secret thank you. Even if no one else notices, they know how big of a difference that small gesture made. They want you to know that you made a difference, even if it's only subconsciously.

Moon & Sun; Yin & Yang

They are total opposites: yin and yang from each other. Like the sun and the moon. But what does that change? He loves her.

Have you ever seen the moon in the afternoon sky and wondered why he was there? He knows the sun will be there, so he rises early. Though he can't go near her, he watches from afar, eternally half a day away from her side.

The sun is beautiful, glowing, surrounded by people. They bask in her light and marvel at the beauty she creates. She is never alone, not knowing the love she is missing.

The moon reflects her light, banished to the dark cold of the night. He revels in the chance to visit the day. He is alone in the night sky: a crowded room of stars. None of them shine as brightly as his love, the sun. He is always lonely, but always faithful to the sun. Never has he loved another.

A crystal tear fell from the moon's face as the sun left his side and night set in. A shooting star was what we would see from our view down below.


Gellin' like Magellan,
Shansie

Part 1: A New Beginning

You know that thing where you write the beginning of a story, and mail it to someone, and they write the next bit of the story, and mail it back to you, and it goes on and on like that? One of my friends and I are going to do that, so here is the bit I'm sending her tomorrow.

Part 1: A New Beginning

By: Shansie Sherazi

Different shades of yellow silk and chiffon cascaded from her dress down over the leather. A young woman was poised side-saddle atop a large dark bay stallion with high white socks up to his knees, His coat shone with such health that it dappled in the sunlight and very nearly had a yellow undertone.

She held her reins in one hand, her delicate long fingers wrapped around the leather, as she ran a hand along the light flowing sundress.  At her command, the stallion stepped forward, relaxing into the long strides of a walk.

As they traveled down the side of the old dirt road, she saw a young girl ahead. The girl was sitting on the ground in tears with several boys around her. They taunted her rudely. The woman atop the horse narrowed her hazel eyes at the boys before making a decision. She urged the stallion into a trot, and he strode gracefully toward the group. He stopped right before the young boys; his neck curved elegantly as he looked sternly down at them.

“That is quite enough.” Her silky voice rang out to them. “Leave her be.”

The young boys gawked at her. “Y-yes ma’am.” They backed a few steps away. As her horse stamped a hoof lightly, they turned and fled.

The woman reached out her hand to the young girl and helped her up onto the horse in front of her. The girl had dirt on her pale face, and her blonde hair fell over her shoulders in soft ringlets while her tears left clear rivers on her cheeks. “Come on now, dear. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

So, that was my bit of a story. As always, constructive criticism is welcome. Hopefully she'll write back soon, and I'll get her part of the story! I love just writing for fun and not having to worry about specifics or anything.

Also, I've been trying to think of a plot line for the story I'm working on currently, involving a girl - Indigo Mai Verity - who absolutely loves to take pictures, and is fairly quiet. She is the one all her friends turn to when they need some advice or just someone to talk to. Even though the drama doesn't usually happen to her directly, the drama from her friends tends to involve her indirectly in some way.

Her roommate is a very strong-willed, colorful personality who isn't afraid to be herself. Her name is Symóne Accardi. She is going to be pure Italian. One of Indigo's closest friends is a black girl named Esperanza Verena Ardovini. Esperanza isn't completely black, but a motley of several cultures, black being the most prominent to show in her appearance.

Those are the only characters I have worked on so far, and I don't really want to create too many more before I have an idea of what should happen. I know what's going to happen with Esperanza, but it isn't large enough to write the entire book over. Any ideas would be greatly appreciated!

Letter writing,
Shansie