The Pen of a Ready Writer

     "Where have you been?"  My aunt's accusing voice startled me and I missed my foothold on the balcony.  I plummeted downward, saved only by my grip on the railing.  Somewhere, mixed in with the distant strains of a waltz, I heard the sound of my dress ripping.       Strength surged through my body, brought on by the fear of falling and the fear of my aunt, and it pushed heartbreak from my mind.  I swung my legs, caught the edge of the balcony again, and pulled myself to safety.       My aunt stood in front of me, her anger evident even under that smooth facade.  "You told the butler that you were coming up here to your room because you had a headache."      That was true.  And it was the sort of headache best remedied by climbing down from my balcony and running to meet Ian.  But I had a feeling it would not be helpful to say that out loud.      "You are a disg...

     Sooo...do you guys remember me telling you about my awesome boyfriend?  Well, I am pleased to announce that we are now engaged!  He took me on a hike this weekend and asked me to marry him.  And I said yes (after spouting out, "oh, my goodness!" about five times -- I was totally surprised even though I knew it was coming at some point).      The picture is from our hike (yes, he proposed at the top of a mountain).  The hike was full of adventures.  Mysterious fog.  Steep climbs.  Bears (yep, that's a great story).  Sunlight beaming down through the clouds.  Pretty cool stuff.      I'm not sure how normal people feel when they get engaged; but for me there is a huge churning of emotions, and my insides kind of resemble a washing machine.      I told my future-father-in-law that I was really excited and really happy and...just...a...little...bit...terrified.   ...

     "You're more poet than anything." I folded my arms and glared at Ian.  He sat perched on the edge of the roof, dressed like an adventurer.  I coveted every part of his outfit -- the breezy shirt made of course cloth, the sturdy breeches, the leather boots that laced up to his calves, the dagger on his hip.  Tomorrow he would set sail to a life I craved more than anything.  But did he appreciate his opportunities?  No. And I hated him for it.      "Do you despise poets, Ingrid?"  His voice was sad, but a grin twisted at the corners of his mouth as he finished his question.  Those blue eyes of his cut in my direction with a teasing flash.       "They don't DO anything."  My thoughts and emotions ran in torrents, but I could see his flowing smoothly and quietly.  Even in his uneasiness about the morrow, his face was a peaceful as a child falling asleep in his own bed.     ...