Dear Lucy Maud Montgomery,

Dear Mrs. Montgomery,
There are many authors who I could have chosen to write this first letter to; authors who I regard with more than a little awe. Authors who's work I have loved, that has inspired me, and makes me want to write- to create the beauty of those words strung together for my own. (Though at the same time striking such awe into me that it seems a desecration to even think of calling myself a writer, when they are called such.)

You were the only one I considered though. You have the first place in my heart, the first mention in my ramblings, and this, my first letter of October, belongs to you.

Your books have been such friends to me that through them I feel as if we were friends. I can imagine you wandering through the fields muttering dialogue to yourself, and sitting down to write. To write Anne, Emily and Valency, those characters so very real to me that they, as well as you, feel to be my very dearest of friends.

If I were ever to have met you, I would no doubt, have said "Mrs. Montgomery," in such a way as I begin my letter, and it would have been all that is most horrendously forward and presumptuous to even think of referring to you as "Maud." (Doesn't it make you just cringe when you hear someone who is writing an article or biography refer to that person by their first name? I always feel rather indignant "How dare you refer to Jane Austen, JANE AUSTEN, as Jane. As if you had that right. *indignant sniff* That's Miss Jane Austen, to you Sir or Madam." but as I am writing a letter, a letter that is already traveling back in time to reach you, I feel that it wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination to go back further to when you were a little girl and "Maud" and me being of much the same age as you, I would be "Emily." I think we would have been the best of friends.

I remember reading once that you always felt that you identified the very most with "Emily" out of your characters. Do you know, growing up she was one of my least favorite. I loved all your books of course, but back then I was especially attached to Anne and the Story Girl. It's been a while since I've read your Emily books (I have them on my nightstand, and I'm going to be reading them again next) but as I've gotten older I've appreciated Emily much more, and, I think, started identifying with her in a way I never did growing up. Maybe it's because Emily and I have much more similarity than I ever thought we did, that I always liked Anne better? You know, how you can be friends with the most dissimilar of people because you each admire the other for their strengths, while they might not be your own. Kindred Spirits, even though personality can be very different. Perhaps what draws me to Emily now is not personality (though there is some of that) but that Emily has more than just a liking of writing, she has this need to write. It was part of her- in that way that it is a part of me. I think too, that while Emily enjoys being surrounded with people, enjoys spending time with those she cares the most about, after a while she needs to be on her own and sort things out.

Your writing is beautiful, dear Mrs. Montgomery, I would read anything you wrote. In fact I think I've read practically ever story of yours (I especially love your short stories). I love reading stories about you too, but I couldn't read your journals. It would have been different if you had gotten around to editing them for the public, but those were yours, they weren't intended for any eye but your own. It almost makes me sick to think about prying eyes falling upon your heart and soul that you had transformed into words. I wish, oh how I wish someone had kept them from being published. I remember when I discovered them I read your recordings about your childhood days quite happily, and I was so happy to have discovered something about you in your own writing, but I decided after a while that you wouldn't have wanted me to read any further. So I stopped. I wouldn't have wanted anyone reading those words that I had clearly written as a way of thinking- a way of sorting through emotions that seemed impossible to understand and letting go of things that I had been bottling up inside. Those journals weren't for me to read, and they weren't for anyone else.

Much as I should love to keep writing to you, dear, I'm afraid I must finish off here. I only want to add how thankful I am that you wrote, and that you wrote such dear beautiful things as Anne and the rest. Thank you ever so much. You will always remain one of my very favorite authors, and have been ever since my Mom first read me Anne of Green Gables such a very long time ago. As I have grown older I have learned to love other books, but yours will always have that special place in my heart as being one of my first loves. Books that only get better with each reading.

Much Love,
Emily

My Nameless Little Friend

We were friends right from the beginning, she and I. She peered at me through a gap in the bookshelf, I put another book in it's place and smiled back at her. I pushed my cart of books through the shelves of fiction, finding at the end of them the same little round face; still peering at me from in-between the books.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh spying on you." She said casually. I knew then, of course, this little girl wasn't the round faced six year old she appeared to be. She was a spy. How misleading the short blond haircut and the ever so fancy princess gown! Why this little girl knew the art of shadowing someone, watching their every move from a safe distance, never to be seen- for the bookshelves hid her from sight of course!

We sat down amongst the board books. I shifted through them while the little girl perched on a stool and chattered away, secure in the knowledge of our fast friendship.

"And what do you think happened then?" She whispered and watched my expression expectantly.

I showed sufficient astonishment. "I don't know, tell me!"

"Why, I jumped of course! I stood up on that chair, put some flour on my head," (the flour was, she had already explained, fairy dust.) "I made my wish..."

"What did you wish for?" I broke in.

"A mermaid's lagoon, silly!"

"Oh yes, of course! How silly of me!"

"AND THEN I JUMPED!"  and to show me just how she had jumped in her story, she jumped again, this time from the little stool she had been sitting on.

"Did you fly?" I asked, open-mouthed.

"No," she sighed, "but maybe next time I will."

"Oh yes, I'm sure next time."

"That's what I thought." She looked smug and smoothed her dress.

I thought now was a fitting time to remark on the princess dress. "It is a lovely one." I said.

"I'm Cinderella." She nodded.

"I thought you were."

"Her hair was longer though."

"Short hair is nice for summer though. I always cut my hair that short during summer when I was your age."

"Oh yes. Short hair's better for exploring. Your head gets hot otherwise."

"Yes, there is that, and if you went to the desert just think how hot you would get then! You might faint!"

She grinned appreciatively at this. Yes, short hair was indeed better for exploring. We were agreed.

"My Mommy reads me lots of stories." She remarked, watching me alphabetize the picture books.

"What's your favorite?" I asked.

"Oh I like Peter." She said.

"Of course! Everyone loves Peter Pan!"

She ran across the room to get the coloring book and crayons from the table. On her dash back she stopped by her mother's side and listened to her conversing with the Children's Librarian.

"I like that movie!" She suddenly chirped up. "I want to lie down in a boat and be dead. They read a poem."

I couldn't help beaming at her across the room at this. I wanted to suddenly cry out "There she weaves by night and day, a magic web with colours gay, she has heard a whisper say, a curse is on her if she stay, to look down on Camelot!" Certainly, this little girl was quickly becoming my favorite person that I had ever met at the library.

She was back at my side again, I was going through non-fiction books that needed to be re-shelved. "Winnie the Pooh's my favorite!"

"Winne the Pooh's my favorite too!"

She bounced on her knees and started singing to me "Winne the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh, Winnie Nilly silly old bear, he's Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh!"

Even the best of things must come to an end at some time. I was pushing my cart of books in the direction of the adult fiction. "Bye!" I waved back to her as she turned and waved with one hand, while holding her mother's with the other.

"See you soon, friend!" She called to me, and then turning to her mother she said confidingly "I made a new friend today. She's nice."

We were the best of friends, she and I, my little nameless friend. Perhaps because she reminded me of the little girl I was, not so long ago. We loved books, we loved adventures, we bounced about in dresses and would always wear our hair in short little blond 'bobs.'

She smiled at me through the bookshelves, and we were kindred spirits.

A New Year- A New Blog

I have to say that the beginning of this new blog does rather have the affect of making me feel rather fickle-minded. Especially considering the vast amount of time I spent perfecting my last, but that is in fact the real reason I have decided to create a new blog entirely. I think most bloggers, when they get tired (as everyone eventually does) of their theme, or their title, or any other aspect of their blog, simply make the few editing changes and voila! enjoy the delightful newness of it all. (Newness doesn't seem like it ought to be a word, does it? I have just assured myself that it is indeed an actual word, in the dictionary no less, but still, there is a discordant sound to it. I'm not sure why this is. If I had not decided to remark on it I would most likely change my word choice, but having pointed it out the word shall stay.)

Of course, I could quite easily do as I was just supposing that other bloggers do; namely, do a little editing and change it all up. The trouble is, while I desperately want something new to look at and create posts for, I really do love my old blog. I spent hours fiddling with the settings, learning how to create it into what it is now. I went through dozens and dozens of pictures to find just the right ones to turn them into my header, and spent much thinking time on coming up with a title I liked properly. I don't want to let go of any of that, and I rather want to have it to go back to, thus my reasoning of creating a new blog entirely.

I don't mean for this to seem as if I were giving up on that blog- moving on is a better way to describe it.

I feel as if I were a different person, needing a different sort of blog and for a different sort of reason. (Not to mention my other blog was beginning to feel just a little cluttered to me. I wanted something with cleaner lines, simpler, less cluttered if that makes sense. I'm also going to try tagging my posts properly with this blog, don't even ask my about the tags on my other, they were a hopeless mess!) This year, my last year of high school, I want to spend some more time blogging, but writing up lengthier and more frequent posts. Perhaps they will be a little less well thought out, as I'm also planning on attempting to sit down and write and then post, rather than thinking over an idea for weeks and weeks and perhaps never actually writing it up (yes, this was a great difficulty of mine last year.) and I needed some change to inspire me.

Sometimes change is such a nice thing. (This is why I have a habit of moving my bed around the room every few months or so. I like looking at different corners of my wall. It feels like an entirely different room looking from the right side as compared to the left side. Really, it's remarkable.) I like the feeling of starting something new, of beginning over, of opening a new book. It's the most discouraging thing in all the world if you are to open a textbook from last year and have to start up in the middle. You have all your smudges and mistakes and misspellings to come back and haunt you as you turn the pages. Opening a new book though! A thing most delightful! Glancing through the crisp unmarked pages, taking out that first sharp pencil, it is those things that make starting up school again in the fall a thing of joy!

All this is to account for the reasoning behind a new blog.

Those ardent admirers of Lucy Maud Montgomery will note that the quote (and title that finds it's origins in the said quote) are to be put under that great lady's name. I always liked Anne's ramblings about the 'bend in the road' and 'one chapter ending the next begining' (she says something like that towards the end of Anne of Avonlea, doesn't she? It's one of my favorite scenes.) This particular quote is to be found in the first Anne book, Anne of Green Gables, if anyone happened to be in doubt. All of which reminds me (as did looking through my copies to find the right quote) that I really must reread all of my favorite L. M. Montgomery's sometime very soon. It's been too long. For now- bed. There shall be time for more post writing, quote infatuation, book love, and general ramblings tomorrow.