Tag Archives: time



I remember where I started. I was a creative wriitng major whose time was consumed with course work which kept me from doing what I went to college to learn how to do well: write.

I started a blog to force myself to write.

And I have. I have written every day for four years.

Is writing easier now? Writing is never easy. Writing is hard work. Writing takes time and dedication and craftsmanship, all things which I’ve not always been able to apply here. Sometimes I wrote posts in the last thirty seconds before midnight. Sometimes I wrote posts days in advance. Sometimes I wrote with passions about something really important to me, and sometimes all I could brain out was a list.

But it is much easier to write what I really think. It is much easier to be honest and objective with myself than it used to be.

This blog has helped me realize I am far better at creative nonfiction than fiction. Far better at poetry than at short stories. Far better and pantoums than song lyrics.

Far better at being me than being anyone else.

I will not post tomorrow. I’m not entirely sure when i’m going to post here again–I haven’t gotten that far. I plan to publish the first post on my new blog on Friday, but the best laid plans of mice and men, so they say, oft go awry. If I start the new blog on Friday, I’ll be sure to put a link here.

I may not post. But I will write. I will always write. Old habits die hard.

I can’t stop now.




I’ve been blogging for almost four years, and I didn’t even start a countdown.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about who I was four years ago. I’m not overfond of that version of myself, but one can’t deny one’s own history.

The me from five years ago…how that was a girl. Six years ago and my, my, you wouldn’t know me. I had so much fire.

Four years ago, I had no idea who I was anymore. I had my walls torn down and my foundation cracked and I was so confused. I had to start all over from the beginning.

That’s when I met me from three years ago. That’s a me I never want to forget. That’s a year I never, ever want to forget.

And the thing is, I won’t, I can’t. Because it’s all here, on the blog. Every day. There’s a snapshot here for every late night, every early morning, every road trip, every escapade. I even saw me fall in love on this blog.

This blog saw me graduate. This blog saw me start my first full-time jobs. This blog saw me married.

Me from six years ago wouldn’t recognize me now. I had so much fire then. Now I have coals.

But goodness knows coals burn hotter.

An Announcement


Hello, friends.

It’s been awhile since I’ve sat down and written a real post. A real, honest-to-goodness, put my fingers to a keyboard and write something post.

I haven’t actually touched a computer in two weeks, except for the purpose of watching a movie. My writing brain has been completely shut off.

Well, not shut off. I’m always observing. Always inventing imaginary scenarios. Always making mental notes and taking mental photographs.

There’s been a lot of pictures taken, recently, with bright colors and vivid resolution.

Everything about my life has changed. Even my name has changed.

This blog is about to change.

Perhaps I should say that this blog has been changing. For some time. It’s evolved with me. This blog has seen me through some of my darkest days, as well as some of my brightest. I have not missed a post for almost four years. That’s the entire length of a college career.

In fifteen days, The Risible Rambler will reach its fourth birthday. This blog has served its purpose. It has kept me (and hopefully, my beloved readers) laughing and thinking for four long and beautiful years.

It is time for The Risible Rambler to retire.

Now, by retire” I do not mean “cease to exist or function.” Not at all. That is not what retirement means. Just ask anyone who’s retired. They still exist, and they still have adventures, and they still do wonderful and influential things. Retirement just means a change in focus.

I will still post to The Risible Rambler. I will probably post about the hilarities of married life or write about changes in life or humorous happenings. This will also remain my default blog for fiction and poetry. But I will no longer post daily. I will post once or twice a week, tops.

I made this decision many months ago. I discovered new passions and new areas of interest that my fingers want to write about and my mind wants to research. I want to write a blog that will turn into a book–hopefully the kind of book that might change some lives, or at least some minds. This new blog will be a blog with purpose. It will take more effort and concentration than I am able to give to this one. It will require a different appearance, stronger internet presence, and more intentional focus.

I wouldn’t force that kind of restriction on The Risible Rambler. Not for the world.

So in fifteen days, I will start a new blog. Please follow me there. I’ll need you all more than ever.

Risabella Rambler will ramble on as she always has. But she has more to say than ever before. And she’ll need a new place to throw her words into the air and hope they’ll catch the wind.

Another Saturday


This Saturday was wide open. Free as a bird. I have a mountain of things to read for classes, not to mention a mountain of things to write.

Yet there was grocery shopping to be done. And an obligation in the evening. And a sale at Hobby Lobby for wedding decorations that ended today. And a Shakespeare play to read. and a book for marriage counseling.

So all that reading I was going to get done today? Didn’t get done. I did things. Necessary things. But not school things.

I’m a little relieved that I have arrived at a point in my life where not everything has to revolve around my grades. Yes, school is a responsibility, but it is a responsibility I have chosen for myself. Grad school was not required. Grad school was my choice.

Everything I do is a choice. Even my responses to circumstances are a choice. Pursuing and accepting a new job was my choice. Getting married was my choice. My church involvement is my choice. Scheduling time to work out is my choice. These life decisions are as much my choice as the items I put in my grocery cart today. I will take these choices home, consume them, and let them shape who I am.

Everything I do is my responsibility. Every action I take, I will have to give an account for. Whether it’s five minutes reading an article on the benefits of coconut oil online or whether its four hours chaperoning a dating outing.

The question is no longer “will this activity take time away from my studies” but “will this activity glorify God?”

That’s infinitely more important.

Spring Has Sprung


I wore a coat today. Then I wondered why I bothered. The forecast said to expect a high of 46 but we got up to 64 today. Because Anytown.

I went to the library tonight and didn’t get frostbite on the way in.

The air smelled of hope and daffodils. There were no daffodils to smell after last week’s snow, so I’m still trying to figure that out. But there were daffodils.

I could walk to lunch without needing to tuck my chin into my scarf and shiver. In fact, I didn’t shiver at all today.

The weather made up for the fact that it’s Monday, and Mondays should be banned.

Spring is back. I am eager for the green that is March, the blue that is April, and the blue that is May.



Today I wrote a play in exactly five hours and 18 minutes. I submitted it to a speed-play-writing competition…the same one I won back in the spring.

That’s quite enough writing for one day.

This time, I feel no pressure to win. Which is good, because I won’t, so I’m prepared.

It was one of those “do it while you’re young” things. So I did it. Because I’m young.



In order to make time slow down, I will reflect on things that somehow got accomplished this week. 

  1. Ran four miles, total. 
  2. Went without coffee for three days and counting without a single headache. 
  3. Made a movie trailer. 
  4. Moved (sort of) smoothly from reverse warrior pose to triangle pose to extended tree pose to warrior three. 
  5. Finished summer inventory at the library. 
  6. Cooked me some super awesome chicken. 
  7. Cut waaaaaaaaaay back on sweets. 
  8. Socialized. Of my own free will. Several times.  
  9. Started writing a short story. 
  10. And I’m one chapter away from finishing the one novel I’ve had time to read this summer. 

I’ve got a week to go. i wonder what else I can do. 

Dear Time


I never said you could accelerate. You do not have my blessing to be moving as quickly as you’ve been moving these last several weeks. 

Just stop. I want to enjoy this. This phase of the adventure is pretty stinkin’ awesome, and I don’t want to miss a bit of it. 

So stop being a brat. Hold your horses. You’ve never galloped this fast before, and I won’t have it. I will not let the days run together. every day is unique and brilliant–as unique and brilliant as the people in it. You won’t trick me by blurring them together, by making me wish them away. 


I refuse. 

Good day, sir. 



Nine Minutes


Nine minutes until tomorrow. 

It’s August now. It’s been forever since June. July always feels like the longest month, but then, so does January. July is summer at its hottest and January is winter at its coldest. No wonder they both feel so long. 

Seven minutes. Apparently I am a slow typist. 

August sets things rolling. People start trickling back into town in preparation for the new school year in August. Meetings start happening. Lots of meetings. 

Six minutes. That’s even after stopping ten times to fix typos. 

I like August. It’s a hopeful month. There are back to school sales and late summer fruit and final vacations. It brings us that much closer to September with its autumn breezes. 

Four minutes. Should be long enough to brush my teeth and go to bed. 

Good night. 



In ten days, I will have written a blog post every day for three years.

My faithful followers will know that this can only mean one thing: there must be a countdown.

So over the next ten days, I will list, in no particular order, thing’s I’ve learned from blogging (and while blogging) that I did not expect to learn.

One of them is that I can stick with something. I was always the girl who bought a ton of journals and never filled them. Started crafts and never finished them. Started books and never got to the final chapter.

In many ways I’m still that girl. Mostly because there’s not enough hours in the day to do everything that I want to do.

But here’s what I can do: I can write something. Anything. Every day. Even if it’s crud. Sometimes I write something I’m really proud of. Sometimes I write something I hate, yet everyone on the internet likes it. And I’m okay with that.

The point is, The Risible Rambler went beyond finishing something. My goal was to write every day for a year. Now it’s been three.

I didn’t think I could do that.

What a pleasant surprise.

Let It Begin


There aren’t any books on my bookshelves, but the kitchen is organized and clean. There’s even shelf paper in the cabinets. I even have things to put on top of the shelf paper: brightly colored dishes and brand-new drinking glasses, as well as food and mugs and boxes of tea and coffee filters.

I unloaded the two boxes of cookware that I’d saved from my late grandparents’ kitchen. It was a bit like Christmas, finding all the things I needed in those oversized cardboard moving boxes. Stoneware mixing bowls, vintage spatulas and mixing spoons, even a crockery pot to keep them in. There were baking dishes, pots, and glory hallelujah, there were two pie plates. My grandmother’s massive turquoise-green mixing bowl now adorns their dining room table, filled with our collection of fruit and sitting atop a brightly colored placemat. My grandmother would be so pleased.

I’m playing big band music in the living room, just for her.

I haven’t put my clothes away, but I managed to make my bed. The kitchen took longer than I’d planned. Of course, when I made my bed I realized I’d forgotten to bring my pillow. I always forget to bring my pillow.

We’ve got a coffee table with matching end tables. There’s a futon and a floor lamp. We’ll have shelves soon, once I put the kit together. Except for the bare walls, it almost looks like a home. Needs more color. Pillows and throws will do the trick. It’s beautiful, small, and homey. I love it.

My roommate’s out for the evening, and a strangeness fills my mind. Not quite loneliness, but I’m not sure what it is. I’m looking around at everything and I’m wondering what the future hold, and what my younger self would have thought of this.

Now “Moon River” is playing from the speaker on the end table, and I know I’m not alone, nor will I ever be.

It’s not easy to be excited, and it’s even harder not to be apprehensive about this whole “adulthood” thing. But regardless, I’m content. I know I’m where I ought to be.

And that’s enough. 

Good Start


Here’s what I didn’t do today:

Blow up my place of employment through some tragic misstep originating from my typical first-day-of-anything nervousness.

Here’s what I did do today:

Spent hours hunting for missing books.

All in all, I’d say it was a pretty good day. I found some of those lost books. And I got to handle books printed in the 1800’s. I even got to smell them.

I barely spoke all day long. Of course, people asked me how my journeys have been this past month. And there was a lovely conversation about Doctor Who and Thor (mostly Loki but disguised as a Thor conversation–fangirls, you know how it goes).

I visited my apartment, into which I’ll be moving this week. Here’s hoping I’m settled in by Saturday. Settled enough to go buy groceries, anyway.

And I managed to avoid sugar all day long. except for that slice of cheesecake. Okay. so I didn’t avoid sugar.

But tomorrow is another day.

A Message to the Wandering


Hey, there.

I’m going to assume that if you’re reading this, you’re the sort of person who blogs. You write to survive. You write to sort the things out that are all jumbled and muddled in your mind.

I mean, it’s possible that you write because you’re a blissfully happy person. I know some people who write from the joy in their souls not every so often, but all the time. I love reading writing by such people.

The truth is that such is not the case for all of us. Most of us write because we are trying to sort things out.

So you, fellow writer. Or you, late-night surfer of the internet. Or you, subscriber–and you too, twitter followers. All of you writing wanderers like me. I have a message for you.

Whatever it is that does not make sense at the moment will one day resolve itself in perfect clarity.

Whatever thorn you’ve got in your foot on your journey will be removed.

And one day the pain will make sense. You’ll see why. And the freedom that comes with the clarity is breathtaking.

If nothing else, learn from what has happened. Write because of it. Grow because of it.

Just wait. I can assure you, fellow wanderer, that it will all make sense.