Memories of Music

I just sat down at my laptop to work on some revisions for a story I've been working on. I wanted to listen to some music while I worked and since I edit better when I'm listening to classical music, I started looking up artists on spotify that my mom used to play around the house. Eventually, I stumbled upon David Lanz's album Beloved.

I don't have specific memories associated with this album, but I actually started tearing up when the first track started because it sounded like home. I can listen to that album and I remember cold fall and winter nights at my home in Ohio and I remember sitting in the kitchen as I talked to my mom and she made dinner and I remember doing the dishes and staring at the large window above the sink as snowflakes drifted down to earth.

And that was all in the first track.

I don't know what it is about certain songs and certain CDs, but they have the power to take me straight back home immediately, even though I live on the other side of the country now.

A Few Words on Feminism

Okay, so maybe it's been nearly a year since I last updated my blog. And maybe some very significant life-changing events have occurred in my life. One day, I'll talk about those, but right now, I want to say a couple things about feminism. This is most for me. I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and I think it's time to put my thoughts on paper (er...screen?) and articulate how I feel about feminism.

So let's cut to the chase: I identify as a feminist. The funny thing is, feminism is a BROAD term. It means lots of different things to lots of different people, and I'm well aware that there are other feminists who probably disagree fundamentally with the things I'm going to say--but that's okay. Seriously. It's okay. I don't mind that other people might disagree with me. This is how I feel and because I'm a person (and a daughter of God) that makes how I feel important.

At least to me.

I know most of the people who read this blog are family and friends, so most of you already know that I come from a family of MANY women. I have five sisters and one fantastic sister-in-law. I have a (super-duper-awesome) mother, and I have aunts, and I have a grandma, and I have three beautiful nieces (which isn't to say that I love my nephews any less than my nieces). And on top of all that, I'm also a woman.

And being a woman, well, it rocks. I LOVE being a woman and I love the perspective I have on life, the universe, and everything because I'm a woman. Spoiler alert: men and women are different. From our biology to the way we process things around us, we're different. The perspective I have on things as woman differs from the perspective my husband, my dad, and my brother have. And that's okay--in fact, I'd go so far as to say that's awesome. I don't want everyone to see things the exact same way I do. For one, it'd make for incredibly boring conversation.

But here's the crux, people. Just because we see things, feel things, experience things differently doesn't make what I feel as a woman any less important than what a man feels as a man.

Sadly, I don't think society agrees with me on this one. Oh, they'll say that we have gender equality and that women and men have the same opportunities in life and that women aren't objectified in our culture, but they're wrong. I'm just gonna go ahead and say that. People who think we don't have sexism issues in our society are flat out wrong.

Last night, my husband and I went on a walk, during which we discussed feminism and during what he said that he really doesn't get feminism. He said that he doesn't understand why the movement seems to attack men and the patriarchy so much and that he would understand it much more if it were trying to promote positive images of everyone.

And that confused me a little, because while I understand that there are some feminists who do attack (rhetorically, usually, rather than physically) men, in my mind, feminism is trying to create positive images of everyone. Feminism is about expecting everyone to be better. It's about holding ourselves to a higher standard where we don't disregard the opinions or feelings of one group of people just because they're different than ourselves.

After our walk, we watched Man in the Iron Mask together off Netflix. Brian had never heard of the movie and I had vague recollections of watching it once when I was about ten. The movie was entertaining enough, if a bit cheesy, but as I watched, I started to get uncomfortable. In the film, there are two named female characters as opposed to the (at least) six named male characters. There are plenty of other women in the movie, of course, but every one of those women who has anything more than a few seconds of screen time is there for the sexual pleasure of a male character.

And it seemed to me that of the two named female characters, the entire existence of one was to show how evil the bad guy really was because he wanted to (and did) have sex with her and use her even though she was in love with someone else.

At one point in the movie, I turned to Brian and asked, "Why don't any of the girls get to have any swashbuckling fun?"

He wasn't able to give me a satisfactory answer.

And it bothered me. Why were almost all of the women in that film sexual objects? Why couldn't they have their own adventure--or help the men in their adventure? What sort of message does this teach young girls, when all they see in books, movies, and TV shows are women who are sexual objects?

Because women are SO much more than that and we're capable of so much more than that. I want my nieces and my little sisters and (one day) my daughters to be able to see examples of women who are strong and proactive in their own right in the media they consume. I want the girls and women in my life to see Hermione Grangers and Luna Lovegoods and Katniss Everdeens. I want them to see that they can be strong and smart and capable.

I want the girls and women in my life to know that they have value outside of what society tells them. That they are daughters of God and that gives them infinite worth.

I want the men and boys in my life to know that just because something is marketed towards women or appears "girly" or "feminine," that it is not somehow less than things that are marketed to men. That all the books and movies and TV shows that I love that are about the experiences of women and girls STILL HAVE MERIT and that it is not a shameful thing to like those things.

I want my nieces to grow up in a world where people are taught not to rape rather than to not get raped. I want a world where they are safe and where people will stand beside the survivors of sexual assault instead of blaming them and shaming them. I want my nephews to grow up in a world where they understand the power and strength that their sisters have and I want my nephews to be the sorts of boys (and men) who will stand up for girls (and women) when they see that power and strength being mocked and belittled.

I want the women in my life to know that they are more than just their bodies. Their worth doesn't lie in their appearance or their sexuality. They are daughters of God. They have minds and ideas worth sharing and they have wonderful bodies (no matter the shape) that will help them cultivate those ideas.

I want to feel that the choice to be a stay-at-home mom is one I make because I wanted it and not because it's what I'm "supposed to do." I want women to feel empowered in the choices they make and that, whether they have a career outside the home or not, they are doing what the love, that they're cultivating their talents, that they're actively striving to be the best version of themselves.

For me, that's what feminism is. It's the ideology where we create the best possible world for ourselves, for our daughters and sisters and nieces and friends--and also for our sons and brothers and nephews.

Communication Fail

So I have a cold right now (gross) and I want to tell the world that tiny chickens have invaded my head, but I know hardly anyone would understand me.

No one understands me.

Except for, you know, all the people who do. Which is probably a lot.

But if you want to understand what I mean about tiny chickens, see the videos below.

And also this one:

Also, the fact that I can click the youtube icon on the the "insert video" button on blogger and SEARCH VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE FROM BLOGGER is really cool.

A little bit profound (and a little bit not)

So I was just reading through some of my old blog posts (mostly because I've been at work for four and a half hours and there is no one at the library for me to assist), and I was impressed by some of the things I'd written.

I thought to myself "Dang, girl, you're pretty profound."

At which point I also realized "Dang, girl, you're also conceited."

I'm dating a member of a boy band

This morning, I was sleeping. Which is what I like to do in the morning. Especially since I've started my internship at CF, I've been having to wake up early most of the week. Thursdays are my day off. I don't work, I don't intern. I pretty much do whatever I want (like go look at baby ducks at the duck pond for a half hour) on Thursdays, which make them awesome.

My favorite things to on Thursdays is to sleep till 9:30 or 10:00 in the morning. That's my favorite time to wake up.

With that in mind, I was particularly dismayed when I got a text this morning at 7:55. I was happily dreaming (spy dreams--my favorite) and my phone buzzed, which always wakes me up. I rolled over and grabbed my phone. I had a text from Julie.

Julie: So have you heard of that boy band one direction? They were on the x factor last year i think?

I had heard of One Direction. They're a British boy band, modeled after the smash hit boy bands of the late 90s. Only better, I think. If you're unfamiliar with them, here's one of their more popular songs:


Me: Yes. And it's too early to be testing me. [editorial note: for the sake of realism, I am including my misspelling. Let that be a testament to how NOT happy I was to be texting when I should have been sleeping.]

I hovered around the edge of consciousness for a few minutes to see if Julie would reply.  I was a little curious as to why she'd be so excited about a boy band this early in the morning. She did.

Julie: Sorry. I forget how early I've been getting up. Just wondering if you were aware that brian is one of the band's members? Check fb when you're awake enough :)

Knowing that Julie had now safely passed on her message and would no longer be bothering me, I rolled over and went back to my spy dream until I woke up around 10 this morning. I laid in bed for a bit, just doing my thing (ie I was being lazy) and then I happened to remember the text that Julie had sent me about Brian being in a boy band. Curious, I grabbed my laptop and logged on to facebook. Julie had posted a picture on my wall.

Pay particular close attention the boy second from the left. His name is Louis Tomlinson. For those of you who have met Brian, do you see it?

If not, here's a bigger picture:

Do you see it now? Brian finds the resemblance so uncanny that he told me if he didn't know better, he would have thought this was a picture of him from a few years ago. He's even wearing a skinny tie (which is Brian's preferred type of tie).

For those of you who haven't met Brian, here are a few pictures of you to get the general idea. These are from freshman year because Brian isn't terribly fond of getting his picture taken, and it's only thanks to Emma's perseverance as resident photographer that we have any photographic footage of his existence.

This is the picture Julie thought looked most like
the guy from One Direction

His hair is short in this one, but look at their noses! So similar!

This one you get the hair

That's Brian on the right (ie not the trumpet player)

Let's not forget this one

I mean, let's face it. If Brian regularly Bieber-sweeped his hair like he used to (he told me his hair was much better kept freshman year), he could totally be the same guy.

Which makes me wonder: does my boyfriend have a secret life? Is he really a British pop singer in a boy band and he's just pretending to be an American college student to lay low from his adoring fans? It's totally possible, I think.I mean, Louis is the oldest member of One Direction by two years. He could totally be living a secret life.

And until I know otherwise, I'm going to say he is. So until further notice, I'm dating a member of a boy band.

A Note on Feminism

Today I was stalking McKenna's facebook, and I found this link: http://the-whiteleys.blogspot.com/2012/04/what-it-means-to-be-feminist.html. I read it. I was impressed with this woman's eloquence on the subject. I agreed with her opinions and her rationale and her fears for her children.

And then I read the comments. Most of the people commenting on her blog were intelligent, supportive people. People who realize that men and women are different, but we should be given the same opportunity to make the same wages, to work the same jobs. To go out into the world and do what makes us happy.

And some people were not supportive, intelligent people. (Okay, maybe they were intelligent, but they definitely weren't supportive). Now, none of these people were advocating a return to Victorian social structures, but they definitely thought the "feminism" issue was just a bunch of women complaining about things.

That second group of people, they made me kind of angry and upset. They said things like if women don't get paid as much as men, than they should say something. They should be as vocal as men about what they want. They said things like men are naturally more violent because they have more testosterone in their bodies. While I won't deny that that's true, I don't think men should be held blameless for violence because of a hormonal imbalance. They said things like women are just as much to blame for the sexualization and objectification of women in the media because we perpetuate these stereotypes among ourselves. They said things like girls should just be able to ignore the message sent to them by the media and believe in themselves--especially if they're parents have raised them the right way.

This bothered me. It bothered me quite a bit, actually. Especially that bit about the media and parenting. I won't hesitate to say that my parents are astounding and wonderful and mind-boggling awesome people. I think all of my siblings will agree with me that that's true. And as much as my parents have raised me to be strong and independent and to love myself, I still can't ignore the subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) messages that media is inundated with. I think it's probably safe to say that I'm not the only one of my sisters who feels this way, either. Society has presented women with a standard and quite frankly told us if we don't reach that standard, then we are somehow inferior and that we should try everything to reach that standard.

Regardless of how well my parents have raised me, I still have to contend with that. I still wear make-up to hide facial blemishes because women are supposed to have flawless skin. I still wear clothes that are uncomfortable because that's what society has told me is okay to wear. I sometimes worry that I'm too smart and that somehow makes me unqualified for romantic relationships. I sometimes worry that the fact that I want to have a career as a writer and that sometimes I think I don't ever want to have children makes me a bad Mormon woman.

I believe that gender is an eternal principle and that men and women have been given differences for a reason. I don't want to be a man. And I don't want men to be women. I like the fact that I can be emotional, that I'm genetically inclined to be more nurturing. I like the fact that my body has curves and that I appreciate beautiful things and that I literally cannot handle the cuteness of baby ducks. I like the fact that my hands are smaller and more dexterous than a man's. I like the fact that, while my upper body strength is somewhat lacking, I have legs that are strong and powerful and can take me places. I like the fact that my mind is a jumbled mess and that I can't compartmentalize my life as easily as men can and that I my mind can be everywhere at once. I like the fact that I can look at my sister or one of my friends and be able to communicate with body language that continues to befuddle the men I know.

I like all these things. I think they're good. I don't think that they make me any less than a man.

I'm going to honest (and a little conceited) here: as far as women go, I think I'm pretty solidly on the side of "strong" and "independent." When I was in high school, even though I realized that a lot of the boys I knew were intimidated by the fact that I was smart (what an odd thing to be intimidated by, anyway), I never once was tempted to "dumb myself down" to get attention from the opposite sex. The thought never even crossed my mind. I knew who I was. Other people could take it or leave it. I haven't ever thought that I needed a man in my life to make me happy. I do have a man in my life now and he does make me happy, but I could be happy without him. My sense of self-worth isn't grounded in what he or anyone else thinks of me.

But at the same time, I know there are girls and women out there who don't feel that way, and it kind of breaks my heart a little. Bethany and I have talked on several occasions about how we both feel very strongly about this issue, and since Bethany and I both plan to have a wide net of influence (her through her acting and me through my writing), we've talked about what we can do to help girls learn how to be happy by themselves. The world needs the influence of bright, intelligent women who can command respect and teach others how to respect themselves. The world needs women to be role models for young girls, to teach them that they are just as smart and capable as the boys they know. And the world needs role models for those boys--to teach them that girls are just as good, that being able to have feelings is a blessing not a curse, that one of the most important qualities in a man is his ability to respect others.

I realize that this post is mostly just me rambling and I hope you're okay with that. I just wanted to get my thoughts on the matter out there. In the end, I guess I believe we're all just people. Beautiful, flawed, imperfect people and I think we should all be treated as such.

It Doesn't Make Sense

So I was very fortunate in that I was offered an internship with the lovely people at Cedar Fort Inc. They're about a fifteen minute drive on the highway from where I live. As I don't have a car, I figured I could make use of my local transit authority (ie I'd take the bus to and from every day).

I got online to check what the bus schedules/fare would be like only I discovered that the bus that goes south from Provo (where I live) to Springville (where Cedar Fort is) only available between 5 and 6 in the evening and the bus that goes north from Springville to Provo is only available in the wee hours of the morning.

Now I'm sure this is great for all the kids who live south of Provo but go to school at BYU or UVU. The bus runs on a perfect schedule for them. For kids who need to travel in the opposite direction for any reason? Not so much.

But honestly, it doesn't make sense to me that you have a bus route that doesn't go in both directions in the morning and in the evening.

Back to the transportation drawing board...

Fact

Fact: On Twitter, you can find published authors talk about what a good writing day it was because they managed to write 1 or 2 thousand words.

Fact: This past Saturday I wrote over 10 thousand words.

Fact: I feel sooooooo good about my potential to make a career out of writing. FTW.

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, I had this real hankering for some citrus fruit. I think it mostly started because for about three days straight, everywhere I turned, someone was eating citrus fruit. And I could smell it when the pulled the peel off the orange/tangerine/clementine/etc ALL the TIME.

It was like the invasion of orange fruits.

Anyway, because I'm (mostly) an adult, I said to myself that the next time I went grocery shopping, I'd go and get myself some delicious citrus fruit. Because when you're (mostly) an adult, you can make decisions like that.

So a few days later, I was at Wal-Mart and I picked up some of those "Cuties" (which upon inspection of the box, I discovered are California Mandarins and not clementines as I previously supposed). I chose them mostly on the basis that they are easy to peel. I have a very poor history regarding my ability to peel/skin fruits/vegetables, and I can assure you with confidence that getting a nice spurt of citrus juice in your eye actually hurts worse than getting a chunk of salt off a soft preztel in your eye.

Though neither hurt as bad as putting a damaged contact lens in your eye. Go figure.

Anyway, so I bought the Cuties and satisfied my citrus craving and I felt all cool and responsible and like a real adult because I was eating things that were good for me etc etc. (Tangent: did you know that the ampersand (ie this thing: &) was originally designed as a symbol that was a cross between the letter E and the letter T to stand for the Latin word et, meaning and? I only bring this up here because etc is the abbreviate for the Latin phrase et cetera which means and so forth.)

Unfortunately, as proud as I was of my adult responsibility in eating good food, I kind of forgot about the adult responsibility that says you need to clean up after yourself. Especially clean up after your perishable foods. So while tidying up today, I happened upon the box of Cuties, which was now half full of moldy citrus fruits. And I'm talking legit mold here. Like they looked like little shrunken globes of the Earth because they were the right color of green/blue.

I'd show you a picture but I'm too lazy to take one and post it online.

I picked up one of the oranges (this one was only half-moldy and I grabbed it by the not moldy bit) and I tossed it in an empty granola bar box. Where it promptly exploded in a tiny mushroom cloud of mold spores.

At which point I decided it was probably safe to just throw out the box entirely.

The end.

As a side note: if you ever find yourself with an excess of time and want to be entertained, check out the Vlogbrothers on youtube. It's both informative and hilarious.

A Work In Progress

This past Wednesday, I had the fabulous opportunity to listen to a full-time writer and a full-time web cartoonist talk about their work and take questions from my class about the business of writing and anything else in the universe.

At the end of the discussion, someone brought up the idea of fear and its influence on art. They joked for a bit and talked about how fear can be a powerful motivating force. "Remember that food services job you had in high school?" they said.

I nodded. I remember Acme Fresh Market all too well.

"Well every time you don't want to write in the morning, remember how much that job sucked and how awful it would be to have to go back to that. The fear of that future should be enough to at least get you to start writing."

But then the discussion turned to a little more of a serious note. Howard the web-cartoonist said, "I have good news and I have bad news. The good news is that this applies to everyone. The bad news it that you suck."

He was blunt and he was straight forward, and those words sank into my bones. Howard and Dan (the full-time writer) talked about everyone starts out bad. No matter what you do or what you're learning, you're going to be bad--terrible, even--in the beginning. There's really no helping it. That's just the nature of things.

"The key," they said, "is to not be afraid of not being good. Always remind yourself: I am a work in progress."

And those words sank deep into my heart. I am a work in progress and I am the only one stupid enough to expect that I should be perfect now.

Sometimes things are rough and raw. Sometimes I feel that I am falling apart, that I'm being swallowed up in a cloud of chaos. Sometimes I stand on the precipice of a new phase in my life and I'm just so damned (sorry Mom and Dad) scared of what's coming next that I throw myself to the ground and dig my fingers into the dirt until they're raw and bleeding.

But I am a work in progress. I don't have to be finished and polished right now. I don't have to be in control of everything all the time, and sometimes it's okay to be scared. Sometimes it's okay to cling to the ground for a little until you're ready to face the precipice of newness. You just have to take a deep breath and remind yourself: It will be okay. Everything will be okay.

Maybe things aren't going to be what you want them to be. Maybe they'll be better and you just won't know it till later.

Sometimes you wonder...

I was just reading an article on Yahoo!News about gay parenting, and I came upon this gem of a quote:

"Gays and lesbians rarely become parents by accident, compared with an almost 50 percent accidental pregnancy rate among heterosexuals."

I really want to know how these same sex couples are "accidentally" becoming pregnant. Especially male couples. That one really boggles the mind.

Anyway, it really makes you wonder who edits these articles.

On Writing

The other day, I was in the children's publishing survey class I'm taking this semester and we were talking about different roles in the writing industry. Our professor asked people to raise their hands if they wanted to be an editor, then a writer, then an agent.

It blew my mind that not everyone had their hand in the air to say they wanted to be a writer. It didn't make any sense to me. At all. I'm still struggling to wrap my mind around the fact that there are people out there who don't want to write books. Which is silly. Obviously not everyone wants to write stories, but I guess some part of me felt that everyone in the world shared that passion with me.

As I've come to try to understand this little bit of information, I started thinking why writing is so important to me. I'm trying to understand the compulsion in my bones that draws me to my keyboard or to pen and paper. For me, at this point in my life, there is no greater release, no greater sense of satisfaction then crafting a good story.

It's like I have a set of friends who live in my mind, who whisper their stories to me and ask me to make them real. These characters are a part of me. They're the products of my creative mind and they are as real to me as my family, as my friends. Their pain is my pain. Their joy is my own. It's like I have access to a secret world that no one but me knows yet, like I have the adventure of learning their stories, their triumphs before anyone else. With them, I am never lonely, I am never bored. I'm grateful for the things in my life because I see what they lack. In writing, I learn about myself and the way I think and feel about things.

Writing is a greater rush than reading is. I could sit on a couch all day and read to my heart's content, but writing is powerful and emotional and hard.

And so very, very worth it.

Sometimes, when I'm working my way through a difficult scene or plot point, I want to pull my hair out. I want to give it all up, say nothing I'll write will ever amount to anything, so why even bother. I want to do something easy. But then there are times when writing comes to me as easily as breathing, when it's as steady as my heartbeat. There are times when characters spring from my fingertips, as alive and as fleshed out as anyone I could meet in real life. There are times when I can write thousands of words in the space of a few hours. There are times when creation swells in my bones and I know the beauty in all things. And in those moments, everything is right in the world. Everything fits together and my soul is at peace.

And I guess it makes me sad to think that there are people out there who don't get to know that thrill and joy that I do when I write. It makes me feel apart from the people around me when I realize I can do things they can't even fathom, and I can't help but think that the world would be a better place if people took the time to sit and think and write and create.

I don't know if I've done any of this justice. I probably haven't. Over the years, I've learned that I can't not write. No matter how hard it is, I keep coming back for more. I love the days when my only obligation is to sit and write.

There is beauty in the world all around us. Some people don't recognize it. Some people recognize it but can't communicate it. All I hope is that I never stop recognizing it and never stop trying to capture it with words.

A question for the new year

To write in first person or third.

Believe it or not, this is actually an immensely difficult dilemma for me, and I keep switching between the two of them, which makes for a very sloppy manuscript.

Alas.

But in the way of things for the new year, my goal is to have a finished and relatively polished novel in my hands by this time next year. Something polished enough that I'm ready to submit. 2012 is going to be a good year.

Remember When

Remember over the summer when I was doing blog posts about what I learned from Harry Potter? And remember how I never actually finished that list?

Well, someone has done it for me. http://www.totalfilm.com/features/50-things-we-learned-from-harry-potter/don-t-fear-the-reaper

This is a list of 50 things you can learn from Harry Potter. Some of them are rather tongue-in-cheek, but it's worth a good look.

Albert Einstein was a genius.

Albert Einstein was a genius.

Case and point, he said this: "I believe in intuition and inspiration. Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited, whereas imagination embraces the entire world, stimulating progress, giving birth to evolution."

There's Always Potter

So since I got home tonight, I've been cramming/studying extensively for an editing test I'm set to take tomorrow as part of the application process for an internship in Salt Lake. I decided to take a quick break to unwind a little and wanted to page through a book--something I could pick up and read a few pages from the middle of the book and relax a little. I scanned my bookshelf, none of my books looking appealing at all, when I spotted the shrine on top of my bookshelf.

Also known as my Harry Potter collection.

I smiled fondly while I gazed on the solid blocks of colors on the spines of the British editions. I felt my heart ease and my mind relax.

I've known it for a few years now, but Harry Potter has never failed to give me a boost when I need it. It's nice to know that it's still there for me.

Now, I just need to channel the spirit of Hermione and I will kick trash on this test.

Life as I know it

This is why I love NNWM: ten days into the month, and I'm two full days of the expected word count, I'm nearly done with the shirt I'm making in my sewing class, my Vic Lit professor cancelled one of our assignments and postponed the other (from being due in November to being due during finals week), my dishes are clean (my room will be too after this weekend), I'm up to date on homework and readings, I still have time to hang out with that rugged bear-wrestler of a man I call my boyfriend, I helped a girl who speaks English as a second language with a paper for her class, I spent time with my rad family last weekend, and Thanksgiving is in two weeks.

So yeah, life is busy, but it's awesome, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

A Little Out of Control

Maybe this is normal and it just seems super expensive to me for some unknown reason, but for the month of September my combined gas and electric bill was over $80. And that seems like a LOT.

Especially considering that when I lived at Cinnamon Tree, I was usually paying about about $9.00 for utilities.

Basically I'm just sad because my bank account is looking a little sickly these days. I should just set up a cot in the library and just live there.

Weird

It's really weird for me to get on facebook and look at pictures of my friends who don't go to BYU and see that their college experience is waaaaaaay different than my college experience.

And frankly, I prefer mine.

(P.S. Less than two days before NaNoWriMo. Brace yourselves.)

Not Quite the Same...

As you can see, I've made some aesthetic changes to my blog (though I will be the first to admit I'm not quite as handy with blog design as my favorite sister-in-law is). And I like the changes. It's very fall-y.

But there's a problem. There are some aspects of the design I'm just not too chuffed about. The spacing between the letters on the headers and titles, the size of the header at the top, etc. Just things like that. And this wouldn't be a problem at all only I've been exposed to InDesign.

InDesign is a magical adobe layout program in which I could change the spacing between the letters and the sizes of my boxes. I had five million fonts to chose from and I had actual font families with designed bold-face and italic text (not what everyone thinks is bold-face and italic). InDesign spoiled me when I'm designing things, and now it's just not the same...