tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12770290223542480532024-03-13T05:02:24.965-04:00The Writing ExperimentEliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-85500183670785076612011-07-18T12:44:00.003-04:002011-07-18T12:51:04.161-04:00Experiment 14 - Teaching<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Soon I will be teaching two English classes in my community. My plan is to write my notes on this blog so that both my class and others can follow my unique teaching techniques.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><strong>I believe that writing itself is an experiment.</strong> Hardly ever does it come out right the first time. Every one of us has had our papers marked straight through with so much red pen that we feel like we have a physical representation of the bloody end of Hamlet.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">But, as with Hamlet, <strong>no great work is created without that kind of blood.</strong> My UCLA screenwriting instructor, Brian Price, put it quite nicely. He said that if we ended with the same story we had at the beginning of the class, he hadn't done his job. Writing must change. Otherwise it becomes stale and boring. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">How shall we begin what seems like such a painful process? <strong>Experiment.</strong> Like a cook, we must find the essential ingredients, then find the right amount of each. If we view writing correctly, we will rejoice when the red pen tells us there is room for improvement.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">To be a </span>great writer you must accept critique of your work</strong>. Perhaps if you were perfect then you would not have the need to have critiques. But you're not. Trust me. There is always room for improvement. Always. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Zena Dell Lowe, a Screenwriting Professor at Covenant College, said that there are no finished works, only works that are satisfactory. As the famous phrase goes,"Writing is about rewriting". </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><strong>That is so intimidating. </strong>Well, yes. <strong>But it can be done.</strong> People have been writing novels, plays, screenplays, and articles for years. If you want to write, you can. One of the most important things a writer must have is <strong>drive</strong>. Sounds too much like a Disney movie does it? <strong>If you believe in yourself, you can do it.</strong> Eh, Disney got that part right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Writing is not about getting published or famous. <strong>Writing is about understanding yourself and the world around you.</strong> If you believe that you have a unique vision of the world, which you do, then write. Other people want to know, understand. Writing is just like a conversation with a captive listener. </span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: Courier New;"><strong>You have a captive audience. Why not talk to them?</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><em> </em></span>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-14229096044919783102011-07-09T17:51:00.002-04:002011-07-18T12:50:21.262-04:00Experiment 13 - Green<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><div style="height: 500px; position: relative; width: 500px;"><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/green/set?.embedder=2560273&.mid=embed&id=33787521"><img alt="Green" border="0" force="1" height="500" src="http://embed.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/cid/33787521/id/AKqnjXWq4BGf0C5qq2kGnw/size/x.jpg" title="Green" width="500" /></a></div></div><div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"><br />
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<br style="display: none;" /></div><div style="clear: both; margin: 0em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/thing.outbound?.embedder=2560273&.mid=embed-imagelist&id=36950322" rel="nofollow"><img align="left" force="1" height="50" hspace="4" src="http://cf1.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-thing/size/s/tid/36950322.jpg" style="background-color: white; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px; padding: 2px;" width="50" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 8px;"><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/thing.outbound?.embedder=2560273&.mid=embed-imagelist&id=36950322" rel="nofollow">Amazon.com: Board Dudes 18"x24" Painted Black Framed Cork Board...</a><br />
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<br style="display: none;" /></div><div style="clear: both; margin: 0em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/thing.outbound?.embedder=2560273&.mid=embed-imagelist&id=4859117" rel="nofollow"><img align="left" force="1" height="50" hspace="4" src="http://cf2.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-thing/size/s/tid/4859117.jpg" style="background-color: white; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px; padding: 2px;" width="50" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 8px;"><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/thing.outbound?.embedder=2560273&.mid=embed-imagelist&id=4859117" rel="nofollow">Mint Truffles, Charbonnel et Walker</a><br />
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<br style="display: none;" /></div><div style="clear: both; margin: 0em; padding: 0px;"><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/thing.outbound?.embedder=2560273&.mid=embed-imagelist&id=20120290" rel="nofollow"><img align="left" force="1" height="50" hspace="4" src="http://cf1.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-thing/size/s/tid/20120290.jpg" style="background-color: white; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); margin: 0px 8px 8px 0px; padding: 2px;" width="50" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 8px;"><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/thing.outbound?.embedder=2560273&.mid=embed-imagelist&id=20120290" rel="nofollow">Amazon.com: Apple iPod shuffle 2 GB Green (2nd Generation) OLD MODEL:...</a><br />
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Check out my layouts! - eli.b</small><br />
<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"></div>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-35566544849048377972011-06-16T23:58:00.001-04:002011-07-18T12:54:12.595-04:00Experiment 12 - Fashion Layouts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyerD1QzFKmvSvujH7uESni7oV7hWM7TH7xuPPwIvbeXv5q2_OBXGsmfTEjzGIABdAnF_jRy4KTK4n4yFAqpBJOgDVfsyEWGZYAeAxFCTgrfuKfXB_3MgO4gLf0F5axG_TWtsWEDTq7XY/s1600/Alice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyerD1QzFKmvSvujH7uESni7oV7hWM7TH7xuPPwIvbeXv5q2_OBXGsmfTEjzGIABdAnF_jRy4KTK4n4yFAqpBJOgDVfsyEWGZYAeAxFCTgrfuKfXB_3MgO4gLf0F5axG_TWtsWEDTq7XY/s320/Alice.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Yes, yes, I did.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courier New;"> <a href="http://www.polyvore.com/">http://www.polyvore.com/</a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courier New;">This is based off of my Senior Integration Project on <u><em>Through the Looking Glass</em> by Lewis Carroll: Society Through the Eyes of a Child</u>. It was a historical and biological criticism of Carroll's book.</span></div>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-41391614073587881872011-04-13T21:21:00.001-04:002011-04-13T21:29:01.104-04:00Experiment 11 - The Same But Different<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Today I walked home in an altogether musical, bright, sunshine attitude. This was hardly surprising since the weather was warm with no traces of sticky wetness in the air or the temperature precursor to hellfire madness. I had the pleasure of a full 15 minutes walk to my apartment. I realized, in a very Our Town sort of way, that I had walked this path so many times and was completely unfamiliar with what surrounded it. So, I purposely sidestepped the path.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">I was happy I did. I found some wildflowers and a wonderfully gnarly stick that looked intimidating. The bark was peeling off, but my chief concerns were, did it have ants and was it rotted?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Since the answers to these questions was a negative, I proudly carried my rather cumbersome stick, or the adventuresome staff, toward my homestead. </span><br />
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<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">There used to be an old house right next to the soccer field. I had always wanted to visit the demolishing site. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">So I trudged forward, almost afraid that I was on forbidden ground. I found fascinating bits of house. It is sad to see such a small representation of something that used to be permanent. Well, it was permanent in the sense that I never expected to see it demolished in my lifetime. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">There were red painted circular shaped stones that had broken in two. These I couldn't connect to the house in my mind. The ideas of secret societies and hidden treasures played around in my mind long enough for me to recognize...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">A stone part of the wall flung into the foliage just beyond the clearing. I thought I might take it home as a souvenir. Unfortunately, as I turned it over, something moved on it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">It seemed odd for there to be something amber moving along, but there they were, an army of ants scurrying in and out of a hole in the stone. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">I felt I had invaded a private party and almost apologized audibly to the ants as I tossed them back. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">I shook it off and gazed upwards. There was something anchored to the ground that resembled a high jump. But if any jumper so dared to jump it, they would have a quick and fatal meeting with the trees just beyond it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">It was then that two guys hurriedly came toward the empty lot. One on a bike, the other keeping up on foot. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">The first kept riding up the hill and looking at me with a quizzical eye. The second slowed, unsure of himself. "We are supposed to meet here right?" He asked the first.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">"Yeah he said in the e-mail we were meeting here." The confidence in his voice was slightly shaken. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">I lowered my eyes and walked toward the soccer field parking lot. I tried to glance back at the two guys surreptitiously, but even fake spying was never my strong point.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">The silence was palatable, pushing me away.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">I wondered for a bit if I could sneak back later and discover what the secrecy was about. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;">I realized though, I would much prefer a nap.</span>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-89307207838712735362011-03-18T00:54:00.001-04:002011-03-18T01:02:00.795-04:00Experiment 10 - My Horrible Dear<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I have always loved you. You have cut me deep. You isolated me. Tearing my heart until all I could do was bleed. I felt a hollow joy when you reigned in my heart. All the things I saw through your eyes were sickly gold. Now my world is deep colors. I am independent from the plans you had of fame and status. I have no flash, nothing to set me above. You think Checkmate. But I don't play chess anymore. I am apart. Those who love you cannot see me. You have always hated me, and now you make no pretense to your feelings. But now I can dance without fear. I can sing to the heart. I know that my new hope is only a baby and that you are strong, but those painful and calculated steps are more beautiful to my Lover than any mountain I can climb. So, my pride, I hope we become enemies. </span>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-25494474140209685452011-03-14T15:59:00.000-04:002011-03-14T15:59:24.945-04:00Experiment 9 - Alone<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">There is one moment in the day where I was completely alone. When you feel completely alone it is not all about the space in which you are put. I was, incidentally, in a very large space with an adequate stage in front of me. There was something about the room that was so full of emptiness. If I can describe it, I will think of myself as having conquered something. It was only for as long as one can think, "I am alone" that I was actually alone. I felt forlorn, like I needed to move from this awfully empty space, yet, when someone came in, I felt as though they were entering into my private sanctuary, encroaching on my solitude. Some may call this bipolar. I think it is an experiment in positive and negative space. When I was alone I felt the negative space repelling me. When someone came in, I felt the positive space fill up so much room that the other person could not possibly fit. And, yet, the physics of my mind was overturned, and I...had a classmate.</span>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-31147614168436954272011-03-14T08:40:00.002-04:002011-03-14T08:45:20.292-04:00Experiment 8 - Present Tense Picture Monologue<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The assignment was to pick a scenario described in our book and write a monologue about it using pictures in our mind of what is happening. This stretched me as a writer because I generally don't write like I am presently seeing something. This monologue felt more like the action section I am used to putting at the beginning of each scene in screenplays.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>The flames are just starting to be visible. 5. Coming out the windows and lapping up the sides onto the roof. 4. They caress the houses on both sides. Houses are crashing like dominoes. 3. Big Ben tolls and flames dance at its base. 2. London Bridge's wires snap and flail as it falls into the Thames. 1. Ash billows over London. Now I can only see the cloud.</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">So, my character was supposed to be having a dream about London burning and was counting down until its destruction.</span>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-69385157550012355342011-03-13T09:22:00.002-04:002011-03-13T09:22:31.968-04:00Experiment 7 - A Trailer<a href="http://www.sony.com/smimages/priesttrailerchallenge/sharer.php?vid=3776">http://www.sony.com/smimages/priesttrailerchallenge/sharer.php?vid=3776</a><br />
<br />
I made this trailer and am pretty proud of it.Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-27886498200544402892011-03-11T23:03:00.001-05:002011-03-11T23:08:54.485-05:00Experiment 6 - Questions<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Can you stand close to someone but not feel that they are there?</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">What would life be like if we were judged by the appearance of the body on the inside rather than on the outside?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">What happens when there is no hierarchy?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Is there ever a time when that happens?</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Can love run over you?</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Can it crush you? </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Can you get tired of macaroni and cheese? How professional is too professional? </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Is there such a thing as too professional?</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">If Ann of Green Gables lived today, how would society change her life? </span>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-30150312526420762652011-03-11T13:04:00.001-05:002011-03-11T13:13:09.904-05:00Experiment 5 - A Prayer for Japan <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="225" q6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOcCezJF1gPNCDKUcxlrm3SZDCEO97ZhkzX6KsxA6eCodvjscKdi3DXS0X4L7R7ufzlElCH2s9OeCVjS20m6r8DQqqKnW8kmmFWrtWASJcbipUKAKHe9sC6GbGAo7kJLUPIrcEGCj5ps8/s400/_51636177_011498990-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-pacific-12709791">Japan</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Dear God,</span></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Courier New;">Please heal all of the broken hearts and bodies flooding Japan, much greater than any wave could be. Thank you for allowing many to escape. Heal their will and hope for life. May pain bring them to the Healer that You may heal the wounds only now revealed physically. Baptise them with more than water.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-68088924310627121972011-03-11T06:17:00.001-05:002011-03-11T06:17:59.688-05:00Experiment 4 - Insomnia<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Good morning world. My eyes squint and my body clearly wants to remain horizontal. Although my eyes refuse to open, they equally protest relaxation. Morning heaves me out of bed with a sigh and a trip. Facts are confused with dreams. The real and unreal mingle. The creative is born.</span>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-51709262604522243912011-03-10T18:01:00.000-05:002011-03-10T18:01:18.711-05:00Experiment 3 - Free Write<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I need to write. It isn't something that I do because I love it. I do, which makes it much easier. When I write I can be myself, but I also can make all of the snarky jokes that I will learn to have the guts to say. For example: </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><strong>Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><strong><em>Not until now.</em></strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><strong>Are you in the library? Because I want to check you out.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New;"><strong><em>I am in the reference section.</em></strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">I suffer from a servere case of the niceness silencers.</span>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-320760854951163102011-03-10T15:49:00.002-05:002011-03-10T15:54:59.460-05:00Experiment 2 - Juxtaposition of Joy and Grief<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Bird's high notes of a song</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">Deep sobs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">The bird sad</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">The tears hollow </span>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1277029022354248053.post-55567256603146450862011-03-10T09:42:00.000-05:002011-03-10T09:42:07.032-05:00Experiment 1 - Thoughts on William Blake's Augeries of Innocence<span class="goog_qs-tidbit-0"></span> <span class="goog_qs-tidbit-0">To see a world in a grain of sand,<br />
And a heaven in a wild flower,<br />
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,<br />
And eternity in an hour.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="goog_qs-tidbit-0">-William Blake</span><br />
<br />
<span class="goog_qs-tidbit-0"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The world is such a vast place that to think of it in a grain of sand makes one stagger at the thought of an hourglass. And, yet, such things are entirely possible. Perhaps, when we are overwhelmed by our insignificance, we should use a magnifying glass. </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="goog_qs-tidbit-0"><span style="font-family: Courier New;">Joy can be in the small things, like a wild flower. We all agree that nature is beautiful, but there is a reason why the phrase "Stop and smell the roses" has been used. Because we do not enjoy the little things in life, even the larger things do not have as much weight as they could. If we can allow ourselves to forget the world for even a second and truly look at something beautiful, it changes us. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="goog_qs-tidbit-0"><span style="font-family: Courier New;">Step out of time and savor the small.</span><br />
</span>Eliza Pritchardhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09153656923550070158noreply@blogger.com0