There is a story inside my bones today. Trembling beneath the surface, trying to get out.

I don't know what it is, or what it's trying to say. I only see it, in the words I read, in the stories I hear... an urge to tell a story as beautiful as the ones that surround me, an aching thought in my head that whispers to write like her, write like him, inspire beauty and a sense of restlessness, of exquisite longing to enter their worlds and never return. To brush the curls back from the foreheads of the ones I love but cannot reach, simply because they do not exist.

My fingers itch to make you read and weep, for you did not know you could love a character so much until you read of mine. I itch to make you feel as if you know them better than you know yourself. I itch to make you bleed as I bleed, to understand the joy and the pain of living in a world that is not your own. I want you to want to live in my worlds, to hear the music and see the colors, to love the skies and the sorrows, to experience the joys as vividly as your own, to breathe in the smells, like fall and sunshine and apples, I want you to grasp the hope. I want you to hear the tired old song that is the melody of my life and feel utter joy as you see it all.

I want to write the stories that sing you to sleep and keep you awake, that you dream about, that even if you forget them you never stop loving them.

~~~~~

I grew up in a world of fairies and light. I was a phoenix, a young girl who won wars and saved the world, I was like Lucy Pevensie – I could do anything. And I was happy to do it all. I only saw magic and beauty and light – I always found hope. I didn't even notice that other people around me had lost hope. I could believe in God without doubting for a second. I was completely and utterly alive.

In 2009, almost five months after my mom's last miscarriage, my dad lost his job. It was dark, but even then, I did not let darkness enter my mind. It was then I became the Baker's Daughter, when he lost his job but gained time, went back to his roots, and began to perfect what he loved. And he taught us, too. I can't say either of my brothers or myself wanted to become bakers, too, but I wanted to learn.

As it became his job and soon a business, I did learn. I, a clumsy young girl whose head was full of stories and not much else, a girl who couldn't understand the necessity of being precise, started to learn the art of baking. This only fueled my on-going love affair with food and my fire to write.

Sometime around high school darkness finally did creep in, blotting out sunshine, but I held on to what I could. Despite the pain in my heart I managed for a while to hold on to hope, or at least the desire to give others hope. It broke my heart to hear my mother say, “You used to be so carefree and happy. I just don't want you to worry anymore.”

I've never been the same – depression is an evil thing and it took a little girl's light away. Of course, I haven't been constantly depressed since high school. No, it comes and goes, like any person, and I don't have to take medicine for it, but I'm not that happy little girl anymore. Now, more often than not, I see the world the way it is, rather than the way I'd like it to be. Or even worse, an entirely different, darker reality.

But there are some days where I still get that feeling of life all in me. And I treasure those days, the days when I can laugh at everything, the days when I don't feel broken, only filled with joy.

The days that are given to me when I conquer fears, when a story captures me entirely, when a sight inspires me to breathe, when the smell of spices and coffee awakens my soul, these days are joy.

These last few months have been great – I can only count two days that I actually remember since May to be filled with anxiety and depression, which, compared to last October-April, where I spent every day fighting my mind, is nothing. However, they were both relatively recent. And, both times I became afraid that I would have to once again spend seven months in an invisible war against my own mind. Thankfully, that hasn't happened.

It did make me aware of myself, though. I began to examine the way I live my life, as I discussed in this article. I began to seek out joy, I think.

The Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary defines joy as “the emotion evoked by well-being, success, or good fortune or by the prospect of possessing what one desires / a state of happiness or felicity / a source or cause of delight.”

When I talk about joy, I of course mean these definitions, but I think joy is deeper than that. I think joy goes hand-in-hand with gratitude and humility. Now, I'm not saying that I am joyful all the time and grateful all the time and a really humble person. In fact, I'm not those things. But I'd like to be. So, I'm delving into the things that bring me joy. To understand them better, to be grateful, to be humbled, to love better.

I'm doing this because the truth is that sometimes I do get sad. Sometimes I get hurt. But there is still joy.

Over the next month or so I will be writing about things that give me joy. I hope you don't mind me sharing it with you.

Inspired by:

Terry Pratchett, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis, J.K. Rowling, Marcus Zusak, Jeannine Birdsall, Jeffery Overstreet, Tad Williams, Lois Lowry, Robin McKinley, Charles Dickens, Helene Wecker, Stephen Lawhead, Kate DiCamillo, Elizabeth Peters, and every other author who ever made me believe in magic.

Also inspired by my father and mother, for teaching me to understand joy, and what excellent food can do for the soul.

Also inspired by the Pachelbel Canon, for being utterly transporting every time.