What happens when you work with people.......They post this on their wall: "I wanted something a little different with an anchor and had someone make one up for me...its not exactly what I was hoping for but it works."

February 24th, 7:13pm

Hi Kelli! Thanks for the message! I'd love to help you with a design :)I have pre made designs starting at $20 and then my custom designs start at $40, and I take a $30 deposit to start. You can have up to 4 different samples ($10 each after the first) and then as many reworks as you would like ($5 each). Can you give me a little bit more detail about your business and how you want the logo to look?
www.facebook.com/arastancalligraphic

Calligraphic Designs by Arastan Photography

If I come up with an example of how I want it to look can you make it? Or do you only have certain things you can use to create it?

I use photoshop to create my designs, and I can't copy other designers work exactly. But if you come up with something, I can probably get pretty close to it

Ok!

Tuesday 4:42pm

Hey hun. Sorry its taken so long to get back to young its been pretty busy here. How much would something like this be?

Not sure why that's upside down.lol

I'm not sure on coloring yet though.

I was thinking shades of teal and brown? Or purple and brown? Also I want the inside of it colored too but really really light(as if you lowered the opacity) so that if I put it over a part of the picture and lowered the opacity of it you can still see the picture behind it but its still colored. Does that make sense?

Yes, depending on the type of editing software you use, that is generally how a watermark works.

I can totally do something like that for you!

Would you like me to send you an invoice and get started?

Yes please. I won't be able to pay it until the end of the week though when we get paid.

Okay I'll just need your email, and then you can send a quick message when you are ready for me to get started

Ormskell@yahoo.com

Thank you!

Wednesday 5:10pm

just out of curiosity, how long does it usually take to get the logo/watermark back after I pay the invoice? I might just transfer money now to pay you so I can have it sooner. It doesn't have to be exactly what I drew up. The 3 main things I want in it are the "Anchored Heart" in cursive and swirly and the "Photography" part in regular print(and maybe with swirls on the g and y?), an anchor with the rope around it or somehow underlining it, and for it to be shades of teal and brown.

that's my current one(but I usually have the words in white on photos). so I want the words similar if possible.

Usually next day or same day deoending on how complicated the design is

ok! I'll pay it now.

I actually am at a photo shoot so I can't send the invoice until around 7, is that okay?

you already sent it to me. $42. Will it be different or is that the correct one?

Oh no thats right! Sorry ive got several clients right now

lol it's ok

23 hours ago

Okay, now I'm home! Give me a quick rundown again of what you want the logo to say?

You want Anchor Heart and the photography below? and do you want me to do a different graphic?

I sent a quick example of an idea I had above.

Do you want it exactly like that I guess is my question

Something similar

Okay I'll get started in just a bit!

I should have a sample ready later tonight or first thing in the morning

It doesn't have to be exactly what I drew up. The 3 main things I want in it are the "Anchored Heart" in cursive and swirly and the "Photography" part in regular print(and maybe with swirls on the g and y?), an anchor with the rope around it or somehow underlining it, and for it to be shades of teal and brown.

Ok. Thank you! In excited to see it!

teal brown, got it!

I'm*

Feel free to put your own spin on it and try what you think looks best. I'm not dead set on any certain design. Just as long as it goes with the name.

Don't worry, I've got some fun ideas

8 hours ago

Okay here is your sample!

The font can be changed if you like

The wording is good but now that i see it I'm not sure i like the brown. Maybe black? Also can you make "photography" a little bigger with the rope going around the words in an oval shape?

And do you have an anchor similar to what I drew? I don't like the curly part.

I like the pointed tips.

Oh that image didn't come through originally, I'm sorry

yes of course

do you want photography in plain text or similar text?

Ohh lol sorry! Here's some logos I found that I liked that might give you a better idea of what I like.

so, do you want it like the one you drew or like these?

I got creative with the shape of the anchor after I made it because of the "heart"

I kind of like the look of that last picture I sent. Can you do something like that but with the anchor tilted inwards towards the words. I was thinking to incorporate the heart you could make the circle part at the top of the anchor in the shape of a heart like the one I drew. And the anchor be a light teal similar to in the second picture.

Sorry I know I'm being kind of picky lol

Sure, I can do that

Thanks! Sorry again for being a pain but one more thing, is it possible for the wording to be a light brown? Maybe that would look better? The wording for Anchored heart was perfect though. Its similar to what I already use. My current logo is white with a red heart. It used to be black like what i sent you but i learned it was harder to see in photos. Its much easier to see in white. So I want it light enough that you can see it with dark backgrounds.

I think that's why I didn't like the wording in dark brown.

Honestly, you are going to want to use either white or black with your watermark, and have the color version as your logo. My policy is that yo hare responsible for use of your design, but I'm always surprised how many clients come back saying they can't see the color on their pictures. So word of advice for you

Much better but can you make that rope and tilt the anchor the opposite way(like have the bottom go inwards)? And I think your right. It will probably have to be white for the photos.

Here to save you from having to keep changing it, why Dont I draw up exactly what I want and you can just make that. I don't want to waste your time and have you keep making different things.

Ohh, I thought you meant tilting inwards like that

Technically I'm supposed to charge for reworks lol

And what rope are you referring to?The one you drew?

If it tilts the way you want, the shape of the rope won't make sense

Well you said you didn't get my original picture, so what you made wasn't what I wanted and paid for anyways. I can draw what I want for you to make but if I have to pay more just forget it. $42 is a lot for something I didn't even like anyways. So I want something I'm actually going to like.

Kelli, calm down. I wasn't saying I was going to, hence the lol... The original image didn't come through, that isn't necessarily my fault. I am wiling to keep working with you, and I'm also making recommendations based on my knowledge of design

Ok. well when I get home later I'll draw something up for you to work on.

Please be honest with me, if you really don't like it, you have to be honest so we can get it to what you do like

Also if I do one in white/black for the watermark and one in color for the logo does that cost more or do I get both?

No, you get both types in png format

Ok cool!

Okay, I Just recreated what you sent me

If you want, we can use the script from my original proof, or this one. And the rope can be changed, but I tried to keep it as close to what you drew as possible. I'm going to work on a rope similar to the other example you sent me, I just need to go feed and take care of my kids lol

That anchor is perfect! But yeah my rope wasn't very good. I did it really fast.lol if you can make the rope go around it like that but use a rope more like your first sample and more rounded and then make the anchor a light turquoise color and maybe make the heart a darker turquoise I think that will be perfect!

Okay, now we are on the same page

Sorry I was making it difficult...should've just stuck with my original plan.lol

It's okay, I understand

5 hours ago

The rope can be black, brown or white

probably brown

a lighter brown though

k

and if you can make the teal more this shade I think we will be good.

just not as neon I guess if that makes sense

yes!!

also the only thing i noticed with that one is there were a few white spots on the rope on the anchor part that wasn't colored in.

that one is perfect! Thank you!

Okay good

What email should I send it to?

ormskell@yahoo.com

Okay, sent!

about an hour ago

Hey Kelli, in all fairness, you may want to mention I designed two other logos for you at my expense, and then copied your design almost exactly. I do like my clients to be satisfied with their finished product, and I hope that you understand how important my business is to me, especially when my children are destroying my house while I am reworking lol. Thanks again for letting me design for you.

I'd hate to be a pain but how much extra would it be to have you change the A in anchored. I've had a few people comment about how its hard to read and looks like it says orchard heart I liked the wording but if its too hard to read I may have you change it and I'll pay a little extra.

Did you happen to read your email?

I've actually been so busy I haven't even had the chance to look at it and use it. I had saved the image you sent me on here and posted it asking what people thought. I'll look now though.

What is it that I'm looking for? It says if its not spelled correctly you'll fix it for free but since it is spelled correctly but hard to read I wasn't sure if I'd have to pay more to change the font since you keep mentioning how you had to make 2.

Kelli, I have 5-6 clients a day and two kids. I have to charge for my time. I did make three designs and didn't charge extra, the reason it would be a new design is because I flatten the design once approved and completed.

Then never mind.

I hope you understand, you wouldn't want people to expect your photography services for free

And I have been very cooperative and patient with every rework. You told me the final design was perfect

Attack of the Theist

I think differently.

I have different opinions.

I don't agree with some people.

Am I allowed to talk about it? Share it? Be passionate about it? Why not?

Ever notice how theists have a strange double standard about sharing beliefs and what is sacred? They become to angry and defensive when anyone says anything that might contradict, mock, or challenge their faith. And yet, demand ultimate and complete respect for what they say about non believers (sinners). I just don't get it.

Do I consider myself an atheist? No. Because I still hope for a deity and a life after death. So I guess I'm more of an agnostic. Kind of on the fence. Because I like things about religion, and I there are some things I don't like. I believe in being kind and charitable to everyone, for allowing everyone to share what they believe and live the way that makes them happy. But to do so without fear and without judgement.

Coming from a very religious background and family, it is very difficult to openly share what I believe without making them uncomfortable or upset. They resort to attacking my character, saying that I am openly mocking their faith by sharing what I think. They delight in misinterpretation, or misconstruing what I mean. How dare I say something that would belittle their sacred religion? It becomes very hard to be honest about what I think because I'm always so scared of offending them, and opening up a theological airstrike all over my Facebook page. I can't say anything that I feel or believe, even as civilly as I do, without them coming after me. And yes, I admit, I do become equally nasty when someone attacks me as a person. Attack my ideas fine, but don't attack me.

So tell me, is this what religion teaches? To publicly scorn people who think differently? To bring people down by attacking who they are as a person instead of their ideas? If it is okay for someone to "Defend" their beliefs, why am I not allowed to do the same thing?

I have never, not once gone onto one of my religious siblings walls and attacked their beliefs as they have so publicly done about mine. I have posted a total of two things to share my opinion. One of them I removed because of how ugly it got, and how embarrassed I was that my friends would see my family treat me the way that they did. The second one, I merely said I thought a bolder move by the church would have been to not excommunicate a member for "apostasy", but again, people got defensive, twisted what I meant, and attacked my character. Is this truly what religion teaches you to do?

And then I realized, yes it is. Part of religion is about shaming a person into repentance. You are a sinner, imperfect before God. You must repent of your wrong doings and come unto God. You must defend your beliefs, even if it means hurting those closest to you. Because in the end, if you lose your family, it doesn't matter. All will be made well in the eternities, and God will reward you for hurting someone you should have loved, because it was in his name, and lets face it, for their own good.

Do you see how religion can be a very ugly thing?

I am very passionate about what I believe, and I am going to keep sharing it. Because I hope, just as any theist hopes, that what I share will have an impact for the better. If I were sharing negative things about Warren Jeffs, of course people would agree with me. But his followers would be mortally offended, and they would say to me, you cannot shake our faith, because we know he is a prophet. The problem is, every religion feels that exact same passion. And what they don't realize, is those of us who don't believe, or don't believe fully, are just as passionate.

I believe the unfair treatment of women in theology is wrong. I believe the unfair treatment of homosexuals, and in the past, different races, is wrong. I believe that excommunicating a man for his beliefs, while totally up to the organization, is counter productive. And I am going to share it. I don't understand how me sharing what I believe is any different than religious people sharing what they believe. There is just such an arrogant attitude of "we are right, you are wrong, you offend God" among theists, that they will use empty rhetoric to tear you down for sharing your belief because it contradicts their own. They will attack opposition to their faith wherever they can, even if it means harming someone they should love.

I am embarrassed about my family's (certain members, not all) conduct. And I am saddened by the nasty, snarky, arrogant personal messages attacking me as a person, and saying that I am the one in the wrong for sharing what I believe. I am saddened by the untruths and lump statements used to misinterpret what I am saying, or to accuse me of something I haven't said at all. They keep tacking on, but it's up to you, you can believe what ever you want. Except, I can't share it, because if I do, I know the reaction I will get. I have to be secretive about what I feel. I can't be open about it. I can't discuss it. I can't be honest and seek support. Because then I might offend someone. Do you have any idea how lonely that feels? To feel completely ostracized from your own family because you don't think the same way they do?

One family member even went so far as to say I continually post anti religious things on my FB wall (pretty sure she meant my husband, but is so indoctrinated into the church's teachings, she assumes I do his bidding??). I do not. If you need proof, scroll through my profile, you will find one, about John Delin. And it was not rude at all, it was  very neutral!!! The only controversial things I post are about vaccinations! VACCINATIONS! Because I think kids should be vaccinated. Good Lord people, actually read what I'm posting before you accuse me! I commented on two friends posts that were gay bashing. TO DEFEND GAYS! How is that wrong?? Holy crap, am I just blind and stupid, or is it actually wrong to discriminate?? (In the name of religion yes, which is why doctrine of the church used to state "The Negro may make it to the Celestial Kingdom, but as a ministering angel in an eternal servitude to his God". Messed up, right?? )

And guess what? Theists offend me! And the only time I have spoken up is when something was particularly harmful, like telling gays they can't live in certain homes or purchase from certain businesses. That is wrong, and I'm going to say it. And I know some people aren't going to like it. But I am trying to change that, I am trying to fight for the rights of all people to live happily and not be afraid to be who they are of share how they feel. Religion doesn't allow that. It doesn't allow you to think for yourself. You have to believe what the leaders say, you cannot question. And if you do, you will be publicly humiliated, shamed, and eventually expelled if you do not shut up. But it will all be turned right back on you, telling you are in the wrong, you are the bigot, you are the one humiliating people, you are the one causing harm. It's funny, because you are also the one that was attacked.

I'm not going to shut up. In the words of Tracy Edna Turnblad: Things need to change. And I won't stop trying to change them.

Chapter 2 & 3

Chapter 2

            “Are you insane? There is no way on earth he is keeping that thing!”

            “Lydia, please calm down.”

            “We have no idea where it came from, who it belongs to, and why it was in your brother’s ashes!”

            I sat in the back seat, fiddling with my newest possession, while my parents argued about how ethical it was for me to keep it.

            “Maybe it was my dad’s and he was trying to keep it safe,” my dad suggested.

            “Or it belonged to that person in the burning apartment, and—“

            “And the coroner just happened to scoop it up with Paris’s remains? You don’t think they would have noticed?” my dad scoffed.

            “And you think your dad would have kept such a valuable item a secret from his family for all these years?” my mom asked.

            “A man is entitled to his privacy, Lydi,” he shrugged.

            “Well, I still think it’s weird, and I’m not comfortable with it,” mom grumbled, slumping into her seat. My dad made a left turn onto main street, we were heading to the county building for grandpa’s will reading. I did not want to see Beth again.

            “If it will make you feel better, we can ask if there has been any missing reports for a bird pendant,” my dad suggested.

            “Fine,” mom agreed.

            “Isn’t anyone going to ask me what I think?” I spoke up.

            “You’re 17, you don’t get to think,” mom said.

            “Gee,” I muttered. I held the pendant in my hands, twisting it, turning it over, catching the light from the window on the stone. It was very primitive looking in its craftsmanship, but very beautiful in its design. I wondered how grandpa Joe had acquired it, or if it really was some sort of mistake by the coroner. Though that did seem very unlikely. 

            “If no one has filed a claim, I will personally take you to get it appraised,” my mom added, probably feeling guilty for snapping at me.

            “That’s fair, I guess,” I responded. So we drove, and I ran the chain through my fingers over and over, contemplating just how much it was worth, and how quickly I could spend it. As I was thinking, I ran my thumb over the stone, and for a moment, I could have sworn it felt hot.

            “Look out!” my mom screamed. I barely had time to react when my dad threw the wheel to the left and, me, not buckled, was thrown into the door.

            “Paris!” my mom yelled.

            “What’s going on?” I shouted, feeling the car begin to spin. The image out the window became a colored blur of buildings, cars, and people, all watching as we spun helplessly out of the road and up onto the sidewalk. The adrenaline coursed through my veins, shooting my heart rate into overdrive and bringing my senses to maximum. Everything appeared to slowdown, as I gripped the door in an attempt to remain upright.

            It must have only been a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity, before we smashed into a light pole. With a loud crash, it snapped from it’s base and toppled to the pavement beside us. I was shaking. There was smoke.

            “Paris, son, can you hear me?” it was my dad. He was leaning over his seat to look at me. I realized I hadn’t let go of the door handle, and my hands were turning white from the grip. I let go, which sent pain shooting from my shoulder into my hand, and I realized the door and I must have collided.

            “What happened?” I asked, unsteadily, shifting around in my seat. My mom was feeling her face, staring at dad. I looked to the other side of the backseat, and my heart thumped aggressively when I saw the whole door had been completely crushed inward to the middle of the car. The base of the light pole was sticking out of the pavement beside me.

            “There was a man, he just jumped out in front of me, I-I didn’t mean, I didn’t want to hit—“

            “It’s ok,” my mom said, her voice betraying her calm gesture, as she reached for my dad’s arm. I could see a little blood dripping from her chin.

            “Mom,” I let out. “Mom, you’re bleeding.” She touched her cheek, and then looked down at her hand. My dad turned her face towards him to examine what had happened.

            “Just a little scratch, probably from the window glass,” he said. Suddenly, mom threw herself onto him, sobbing uncontrollably. I myself was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed as the adrenaline stopped.

            Just then, someone banged on the window beside me.

            “Hey! Hey, you okay in there?” I turned to see a man, maybe mid 30’s, wearing a blue jacket and giant brown boots. His eyes were wide as he stared at me. I quickly shoved the door open and stumbled out, the man catching me before I could fall over.

            “Easy there, son,” he said to me. My dad was out a moment later, helping my mom through his door because hers was dented in as well.

            “I called the police for ya,” the man said to my dad. “Saw the whole thing! Holy cow, crazy how well you recovered!”

            “Thanks,” my dad breathed, leaning on the side of our mangled car for support. I pushed myself away from the man’s grip, rubbing my arm where a large, purple bruise was forming from slamming into the car door.

            “You are very lucky,” the man said to me sympathetically, but he was smiling.

            “Sure, yeah,” I let out, not really caring what he thought. The man was still smiling, but he turned his attention to the ground next to me, and immediately went ashen. I looked down to see my pendant laying in the gutter.

            “Grace,” the man whispered. Yeah, I guess I’d be praying if I saw something like that too.

            “Oh, that’s mine,” I said quickly, reaching down to pick it up. I wiped the grime off with my shirtsleeve before placing it safely in my pocket. The man continued to stare, and I was beginning to get uncomfortable. “My grandfather left it to me,” I felt the need to clarify. “He passed away a few days ago.”

            “Oh, my condolences,” the man said.  “I lost my granddad a few years back as well.”

            “Sorry to hear that,” my dad piped up, wiping his brow. My mom was leaning her head on his shoulder.

            “He was ill, it was time,” the man shrugged. “I sure didn’t get anything from him though! My stepmom got the whole estate. I’ll just go ahead and wait around with you, if that’s okay, the police will want a witness’s testimony as well.”

            “Thank you so much,” my mom responded breathlessly. The man walked over to my parents, extending his hand out to them.

            “My name is Troy,” he said. My dad shook his hand.

            “Pleasure, Troy,” he said. “Did you see what happened to the man in the street?” Troy shrugged his shoulders, looking behind him.

            “Saw him take off in that direction, he looked pretty shook up. Not sure what he was doing in the road,” Troy answered. I looked off in the direction he had indicated, seeing down a long alley between two buildings. One was a questionable looking pawnshop with black bars in every window, the other was a woman’s shoe and purse boutique. Interesting paring, I thought.  A small crowd had formed along the sidewalk in front of the shop, with gawkers and onlookers watching us carefully. One older woman in particular in a pink and orange floral muumuu, clutched her purse to her chest, and gaped as us with crooked dentures.

            About a minute later, we heard sirens. That close to downtown, we were also very close to the police dispatch, so it didn’t take them long to arrive. But I wasn’t much use to anyone; no one cares what a teenager has to say. I ended up slumped over on the curb, scratching my arm where the giant bruise had taken up residence. As I sat there, staring over at the people in front of the pawnshop, I got kind of a mischievous idea. Sneak away and see if I could get a decent offer. Mom and dad were fervently talking to the officer, an older man with a thick grey mustache and trousers that looked a little too tight. He was scribbling away on a note pad while mom made large gestures with her hands, tears going down her face, and intermittently complaining about the will reading she was missing. I realized they were a little preoccupied and probably wouldn’t notice me gone for a few minutes.

            I rubbed my left shoulder with my hand, almost able to feel the deep bruise actually forming, and peeked across the street at the pawnshop. I knew my mom would hate me if I sold it, but I think she would also be happy not to have the responsibility anymore. It was worth a try, because I didn’t think any reputable jewelry shop would take it. I supposed I could take it to auction, but shook my head, realizing how complicated this was getting.

            Making sure my parents had their backs to me, I gave Troy a quick nod and darted across the street. The majority of onlookers had already gone on their way, leaving the door to the pawnshop exposed. There were two small windows on either side of a rusted looking door, both ornamented with black bars and what looked like chicken wire. I read the name painted in bright gold lettering “Slick Neck Pawn”.

            “Huh,” I shrugged at the bizarre name and slowly pushed the door open. A little bell over me jingled as I stepped in, alerting all three patrons and one very large cashier to my presence.

            “Hey, hon, what can I do you for?” the cashier said to me across the room. I have to admit, as I made my way towards her, it was very strange to me to see a woman pawnbroker. The shop wasn’t very big, more like a long corridor lined with glass cases and one big counter down the middle. Assorted this and that was haphazardly placed without rhyme or reason in every case, from cameras to necklaces to antique looking guns. Some things had visible prices, others didn’t, and it occurred to me I might not get a very good offer here.

            “Hey, I wanted to get a quote,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. The pawnbroker beckoned me to the counter with a wave of her hand, so I stepped quickly towards her.      

            “Whatcha got?” she drawled, clicking a toothpick against her teeth with her tongue. I fought the urge to make a disgusted face, smiling as widely as I could. She just stared.

            “I’ve got a pendant, gold, and then some sort of stone,” I said, reaching into my pocket to pull out the pendant.

            ‘That much, eh?” she said.

            “Oh, no it’s just this one thing,” I clarified, laying my hand down and allowing the gold chain to tinkle on the counter. Immediately, her eye grew wide with amazement as she stared down at my open palm. I started to feel even more uncomfortable, thinking she might snatch it up before I had a chance to run.

            “Now isn’t that something?” she cooed, mesmerized.

            “Yeah,” I agreed impatiently. “Can you give me a quote?”

            “For pawn or sale?” she asked, reaching her finger out to touch it. I quickly pulled away, holding the pendant close to my check defensively.

            “Sale,” I said.

            Maybe it was because I was already on edge, but the minute that little doorbell tingled, I about jumped through the roof. A moment later, I heard the soft clicking of a woman’s heels, and as I turned around, I saw possibly the loveliest creature I had ever set eyes on.

            She was tall and slender, dressed in a loose fitting black pant and a deep burgundy shirt. The tight sleeves came down to her wrists and the collar cascaded around her chest. Her hair, a very rich auburn color, flowed over her shoulders in long, delicate curls offsetting stunningly bright green eyes.

            “You better close your mouth or you’ll be eating flies,” the broker said behind me. I snapped my mouth shut, feeling like complete moron. “Hi there, Miss Avery.”

            “Hi, Lori,” the girl, Avery replied.

            “I’ll be with you in a second, darlin,” Lori said, turning her attention back to me. “So, sale? You’re going to have to let me take a look at it.”

            “Oh, oh right,” I stammered, keeping Avery in the corner of my eye as she aimlessly wondered, looking into different displays. I reached over the counter and handed the pendant to Lori, my heart racing at the thought of letting it go. Lori, taking it carefully, held it up closely to her eye, inspecting it through a jewelry glass.

            “Well, it’s definitely gold,” Lori said, putting her glass down. “I’m not too sure of the stone, to be honest. It looks like a ruby, but might be too pale. So a diamond is also a possibility. Though I’m only going to offer you for the price of a ruby.”

            “Okay,” I said, leaning on the counter. “So what are you thinking?” Before she could open her mouth, the door bell jingled, and I hear an all too familiar shriek.

            “Paris!” my mother gasped at me. Turning around sheepishly, I saw both my parents standing in the doorway, glaring. They looked super mad.

            “So, you still want that quote?” Lori asked uncomfortably. I shook my head, taking the pendant back. Then I dragged my feet all the way to my parents, passing a perplexed looking Avery.

            “You may want to hold onto something like that,” Avery said melodiously as I passed her. I didn’t stop, but gave her a quick look, unsure of why she was talking to me and suddenly defensive over my pendant. She kept watching me as I walked the rest of the way to my parents, who swooped over me and hurried me out the door.

CHAPTER 3

Mum remarried when I was very young. My dad was a merchant, and bandits attacked his caravan on his way east. I never knew him. But the man she remarried, was as near to a father as I ever experienced.

            When I was 12 years old, plague struck our village, my stepfather was the first one to die. It tore my mum apart inside. I remember sitting in our small hovel beside the hearth, warming a little broth for him, when mum came in and told me he was gone. By the next morning, the fever had taken her.

            “Avery,” she said, holding my hand. “I must go out, please stay in the house, do not follow me.” I was afraid. I could see the terror of death in her hollow eyes, but she was insistent. Leaving me, she crawled out the door, dragging her feeble, sickly body behind her.

            I waited. For hours I waited for her to return. My footsteps traced worried circles in the dust of our dirt floor as I paced back and forth. My fingers became numb for ringing them together over and over.

            Just when I was about to go out after her, she pushed the door open and collapsed before me.

            “Mum!” I cried, running to her. She was breathing hard, her face ashen and her eyes weeping.

            “Avery, my love,” she struggled to say. “I love you my girl, and I never want you to experience the grief of death as I. I have made a deal, a deal that will keep you beautiful and happy.” I was confused, shaking my head at her words while holding her head in my lap.

            “I don’t understand,” I pleaded. She reached into her rag of a dress and pulled out a pendant attached to a gold chain. I recognized it. It was the pendant my father had brought for her from his last return to the Orient.

            “Take it, girl,” she said holding it out to me. “Wear it and live.” I took the pendant in my hand, the beautiful gold and diamond bird of fire, and placed it around my neck. When I looked down at mum, she was gone. And I was alone.

7 years of Christmas Together

Christmas Over the years. This is pretty funny :)

One man's salvation is another man's damnation

There are a bunch of things I have been thinking about lately, and one of them has been the concept of agency and moral objectivism. And my conclusion is this: if God exists, I don't think even he believes in moral objectivism, and he certainly does not believe in agency.

Let's step back for a moment, and argue within the realm of theology, and then afterwards we can go without it.

When I say, one man's salvation is another man's damnation, I mean that what God commands one man to do would not be acceptable for another man to do. For instance, God commanded murder, and yet there is a commandment specifically states not to kill (David and Goliath, the genocide of an entire group of people in the Bible, Nephi and Laban). God condoned certain persons to lie, (Esther about her identity, Mary and Joseph about her pregnancy) and yet many Christian religions maintain that God viewing lying as a sin. Eating pork during the law of Moses was a sin, while drinking wine was not. Today it is the opposite.

One thing that always bothered me about "commandments from God", is that they seemed to constantly be changing. And a lot of them reflect social trends. Having grown up with the view of moral objectivism (that things are moral or immoral regardless of people practicing them, and they exist eternally, independent of God), it was very confusing to me why one person would be commanded to kill, and another person would be condemned to hell for it.

Then I realized something. There is no such thing as a moral absolute. It is never absolutely wrong to kill, and it is never absolutely morally right to turn the other cheek. Which is why God commanded wars while at the same time commanding charity and love. There is no such thing as black and white. There is only gray. And anyone who thinks differently, is not seeing reality for what it is. And if God exists, he understands that. Simply put, arguing from a theological perspective, a person's entrance into eternal bliss is dependent upon one thing: obedience. Not objective morality. But obedience to God's ever changing whims. So, going from an LDS perspective, the test was to come to earth to see if we would obey God in whatever he commanded us to do. From large orders to entire groups of people, down to the little man commanded to slay an unarmed drunken aristocrat in the street.

Now the real question, how on earth does this make sense? Shouldn't the pathway to salvation remain the same regardless of the individual, regardless of the century, regardless of social media, scientific breakthroughs, genetic studies, and anthropological publications? If God is an all knowing, omniscient, perfect being, then why are his commandments and methods and tolerances in a constant state of flux? Saying that salvation is a personal thing is unfair, and unjust. One person needs to die from ebola, while one person needs to live in a rich mansion and give away millions of dollars to charity to maintain a decent image in the public eye. How is it fair to give them a similar reward if they didn't come to it under similar circumstances?

Basically, theological salvation hinges upon obedience to an unseen being's subjectivity.

The next problem is agency. I know not every religion believes in agency, or free will the same way the LDS church does, but that is the viewpoint I will speak from, because it the one I am familiar with. It is taught that each man is given the ability to choose right from wrong. Though now we can see how right and wrong are a little skewed and really, there is nothing objective about what is right and what is wrong. (Christmas example: A child out of wedlock with an individual that is not the husband in an era where it was perfectly okay to stone [murder] a woman for such actions by religious law. [Thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not commit adultery or fornicate]). But back to the concept of agency as it is understood, is actually a complete paradox. Most religions believe in an omnipotent, omniscient God. Roughly translated, it means God knows everything, past present and future. If this is the case, God always knew and always knows what we are going to do, even when we do not. And yet, creates commandments, rules, and restrictions for us to adhere to, knowing perfectly well when we will and when we won't. We are then punished eternally for not adhering to the subjective commandments of a being who already knew we wouldn't obey in the first place. Thus, the concept of agency exists only in the mind of the individual experiencing it, and therefore cannot be an eternal truth. How can we say we can always choose when what we will choose is already known by the one condemning or saving? Seems a little rigged. Like the whole system was created for the eternal one-per-centers to stay on top.

And if we are going to talk about what is moral, how can we in good conscience accept a an eternal being who treats different groups of people differently? Who has favorite races? Who condones the continued unfair and chauvinistic treatment of women? Who commands love for all, but condemns love when it exists outside of what is Biblically acceptable in terms of family? And who, above all, allows imperfect men to make all the decisions in his kingdom on earth? Where individuals are looked at differently for having tattoos or multiple piercings, but not for abusing prescription narcotics because it comes from a doctor. Where an abusive husband is valued more than a gay couple. Where the only life that is sacred is a week old fetus and not an enemy civilian murdered in the horrors of war, or the countless animals that are killed and used at man's leisure.

So tell me then, how can objective morality possibly exist? And how can we ever believe we are free to choose anything? I'm not saying life is a free-for-all and "I was going to kill him anyways".....but I'm saying eternal damnation and salvation can't happen the way religion teaches it based on the facts that agency can't exist with an omniscient God and everything of that nature is subjective. The only things that aren't subjective? Math.....and yeah, math.  2+2 always = 4

My greatest dream is to write a book

So here's the first chapter of my most recent undertaking. I have two others I'm working on, and one I finished. But this one I have to say is quickly becoming my favorite. Just in case you were interested :)

PROLOGUE

Sometimes it’s like waking from a dream. Sometimes it feels like deja vu. And sometimes its so mind numbingly painful I wish I were dead, again. But death never comes when you want it, not for me at least. That’s life, I guess.

That’s exactly how I felt the first time I saw Paris. The first time in this life; I knew we had met before, and I was fairly certain we’d meet again. But the first time this time around, he was sitting on a park bench, outside of the city cemetery, slouched so far back I thought he would slide right off. His sandy colored hair was neatly groomed, but messy enough to look stylish. He wore a blue-collared shirt and black dress pants that fit his legs perfectly. I felt sad for him, sad because I knew we had experienced this before. I wanted to comfort him.

Even then, instead of going and introducing myself, I just walked away. I was determined not to get involved, not this time. Of course, fate had other plans for us.

CHAPTER 1

Grandpa Joe was always my favorite. So standing at his gravesite, ground still open, next to my sobbing family, I felt a little weird at, well, feeling nothing. I guess it just hadn’t hit me yet. That or maybe I didn’t care as much as I thought I would. Still, it was unfortunate that here we all were together, saying farewell to a man we all loved and would likely never see again. Unless, you know, we decided to dig him up.

            Sorry for being morbid. Maybe that’s my way of coping. But like I said, Grandpa Joe was always my favorite. No, he wasn’t some crazy dancing lunatic like from Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, but he did take a special interest in me. We did everything together, from fishing, to throwing water balloons at Mrs. Hempkins across the street. Grandpa said she was a sad old bag that needed some cheering up. And of course, that is exactly what I think of having done to me when I’m in a bad mood. Luckily for Mrs. Hempkins, Grandpa was a terrible shot. I however wasn’t.

            She was there too, standing beside my mother, arm around her shoulder with a consoling look on her face. I had a water balloon in my pocket, you know, for grandpa. But for some reason, instead of chucking it at her as soon as the preacher said “Amen”, I simply walked over and handed it to her. With kind of a half smile, she took it from me, and surprising everyone around by being as irreverent as possible, she threw it at the lowering casket as hard as she could and screamed “take that you old coot!”. I gave her an approving nod, and she clapped me on the shoulder.

            “Kid, I’ve got to say, it’s going to be a little boring not worrying about ducking for cover every time I walk out to my car,” she said to me. I laughed.

            “Just because Grandpa Joe is gone doesn’t mean I am,” I said back. She smiled.

            “I’m glad to hear it.” My mother was glaring at me, so I shrugged. Mrs. Hempkins needed it.

            “Paris,” my mother scolded, pulling me aside as everyone else mingled, shook hands, and cried. “That was completely inappropriate.”

            “Mrs. Hempkins liked it, and grandpa would have too,” I said, without any hint of apology. “It was sort of closure for her.” My mother huffed a disapproving sigh, but left me alone to go and talk to some of grandpa’s older, much much older, relatives. It was amazing that they were even alive. Although grandpa did have a stroke. When had I asked my parents how it happened, they both got an uncomfortable look on their face, and my dad muttered something about him straining too much.

            “Oh, like he was lifting something heavy?” I asked.

            “Not exactly,” my mother trailed off.

            “Oh,” I said, realizing the hygienic nature of his passing. “Well, at least he died like a man.” My mother groaned at me.

            Grandpa loved me most. Or I like to think he did. I was named after his second son, Paris, who died tragically the day before I was born. He was a firefighter, and was caught on the 3^rd floor of an apartment building while trying to save a young mother and her twins. They made it out the window just fine, he did not. What’s worse is there wasn’t even anything of his body left to bury. I think honestly the “ash” at grandpa’s house is really just charred wallpaper from the apartment that the coroner scooped up and put in a fancy urn. But it served a purpose in giving grandpa some comfort. And I liked the idea of being named after a hero.

            So there we all were, mom, dad, and me, watching as the cemetery folk threw dirt haphazardly over grandpa’s casket until there was a little mound in front of his granite headstone. My mom placed the bouquette of white roses she had been cradelling like a baby on the mound gently, before turning and walking towards the car.

            “Come on son,” my dad said. I shoved my hands in my pockets, starting to feel a little angry, which may have been a manifestation of sadness.

            “’Bye gramps,” I said to the mound, and followed after my mother. We had parked in the cemetery, along the little cobble stone path that lead out to the street. As I slumped into the back of my parents Volvo, I tried to keep my mind occupied with other things, like soccer and girls.

            “We’re going to go over to grandpa’s to pick up a few things before the sale. Is there anything in particular that you’d like to keep?” I heard my mom ask me. I looked up briefly and shrugged.

            “Well, think about it. He said in his will you are allowed to pick one thing for yourself, anything,” my dad added.

            “I hope he had a treasure chest or a safe,” I muttered.

            Granpa Joe didn’t live in your typical old person abode. It was a pretty contemporary home, redesigned and destroyed by his youngest daughter, an aspiring architect going through a post divorce midlife crisis. Auntie Beth was a little kooky in my opinion, but I’m all about letting people be happy however works for them. The home had actually been bequeathed to her, to do with what she liked. So before she brought in her wrecking ball, mom and dad and I were going to empty it and have an estate sale of the items no one wanted.

            As we got closer, I started mentally going through the home, trying to decide what I wanted for myself.

            Honestly, that house was an eyesore, and I could see it all the way from the turn off the main road. It was the last house on the block, and it looked like the underside of a rusted, barnacled ship. Aunti Beth insisted it was modern, mom and dad insisted it was garbage. Grandpa Joe loved seeing his kids squabble.

            “Watch this,” he’d chuckle as soon as dad and Beth started arguing. “I put my money on Remy this time. He’s got the homeowners association on his side.” As we pulled into the driveway, mom sighed something about the city hopefully taking the matter into their hands.

            It was weird walking up to the front door and knowing the house was going to be empty. And when I say empty, I mean Grandpa Joe-less. I still had no idea what I was going to pick. Next to me, dad fumbled around in his pockets for the keys to unlock the door, while mom tapped her foot impatiently.

            “Hurry up, Remy, I want to be out of here before Beth shows up,” mom said agitatedly.

            “I know I brought them,” dad said, biting his tongue visibly out the corner of his mouth. A second later, we heard the jingle of keys and dad held them up proudly. “They got stuffed in the tiny pocket,” he laughed nervously. “You know, that little one by the cro---“

            “Yes, I know,” mom brushed him aside, taking the keys, and unlocking the door. Together, we walked in to the eerily quiet parlor. Grandpa’s coffee cup was still sitting on the side table next to his faded blue armchair. I tried imagining his last few moments, sipping coffee, reading the morning paper, and then getting the sudden urge to go die. I hoped I didn’t go like that. I hoped my passing was a little more dignified than being found on the John.

            “You-hoo!!!” we heard the familiar trill of Auntie Beth’s voice.

            “Oh Lord,” mom sighed, before she turned around with a fake smile. “Beth! So nice to see you!” Beth was clambering up the driveway from her brand-new purple minivan. I could see her five children all pressed up against the windows staring at us.

            “Sorry we didn’t make it in time for the graveside services,” Beth huffed when we made it to us. She absently straightened out her frilly collared shirt, smiling at us. Her hair was an atrocious mess of frizz, which unfortunately was stylish on women. I thought it looked like a rat’s nest. But I smiled anyways.

            “At least you were at the funeral,” dad said. Beth shoved past into the room.

            “Well, the kiddos got the munchies halfway to the cemetery, and well, we just couldn’t pass up a lunch at the Micky-D’s. Dad would have loved it too,” she said melodically, running her finger over the dusty mantel around my uncle Paris’ urn. Mom sent me a sideways glance, and I shrugged. What did a dusty mantel matter to anyone?

            “So, when are we going through the will?” Beth asked, turning to face us. Dad had sat down in the armchair, and mom was still standing next to me, barely out of the doorway.

            “Later this afternoon,” dad answered. “After we go through the house and figure out what Paris wants. That was the first line of the will, dad’s lawyer said, and needed to be done before anything else.” I suddenly felt very special. Auntie Beth sent me a very forced smile, and I could tell she was about to explode in her overpriced panties.

            “Well, isn’t that just, special?” she said through clenched teeth. I shrugged.

            “Ok, Paris, go ahead, we will wait,” mom said to me. I felt a little strange picking out an item from my dead grandfather’s home with all of them watching, so I walked off to another room. Just off to the left, through the very outdated kitchen, was grandpa’s living room. It had his antique TV, the kind with dials on either side, a very long bookcase with dusty books about the wars, and a hand carved coffee table stacked with sport magazines. Nope, nothing in there. So I continued through to the bedroom. I peeked under the unmade bed, went through the shelves in the closet, and all I could find were boxes of clothes, old magazines, and shot glasses. Geez grandpa, I thought.

            Disappointed, I walked back into the parlor, to find dad and Beth arguing about what was going to happen to the house.

            “I’m going to knock it down,” Beth said. “And build an apartment building. It will be great for the college kids in the fall.”

            “Oh wonderful,” dad seethed. “Let’s make a profit off of dad’s death.”

            “Hey, this life is for the living,” Beth said, with her hands on her hips.

            “I can’t believe you!” dad thundered. “You wouldn’t even give us any of the money if you did it.”

            “Remy!” mom said.

            “I would if you would support me for once, but I’ve also got all my kids to think a bout,” Beth said, examining her nails.

            “Oh yes,” dad sighed, “the kids you left boiling in the car in the driveway.” Beth made a weird gurgling noise in her throat.

            “Ulgh,” she sighed, throwing her hands up in a very overdramatic gesture.

            “Look out!” mom screamed, but Beth was way too clumsy. She had thrown her hands out so wide, that she bumped uncle Paris’ urn. And poor dad, he just wasn’t fast enough. As he lunged, the urn slipped right past his out stretched arms and landed with a loud clash on the hardwood floor, sending clay shards in every direction, and showering us all in a cloud of ash.

            “Ohhhh,” my mom shuddered. Beth looked very uncomfortable.

            “Oops,” she let out, wiping the ash from her face. Dad just buried his head into the floor.

            “Wait,” Beth said, sniffling slightly.

            “What?” I said.

            “What’s that?” Beth said, pointing to the largest part of the urn that had survived and landed next to my left foot. I looked down, wondering what she was talking about and nearly fainted. There, right beside my foot, was the largest ruby I had ever seen. Well, I don’t know if it was a ruby, but it was a giant red gemstone. Entranced, I bent down to pick it up before Beth dove at me. The ash over it had concealed the golden pendant it was set into. It fit into my palm comfortably, a golden bird of some kind. The stone took up the entire body of the bird, and the carved out tail curled around the body resembling what I thought looked like flames. It was attached to a thick chain, also of gold I assumed. It was very beautiful, and I felt my parents’ and Beth’s eye boring holes into my back. I held it up into the light for them to see.

            “That is absolutely—“ Beth started

            “What I pick for my one item,” I finished.