So, for those of you who are aware of 4-H, you would know what a Record Book is. And for those of you who are not aware of what 4-H is, then know that a Record Book is exactly what the name implies: a book a records. And I mean any and all records: what you cooked for your first food and nutrition contest, how many hours of community service you spent at the local food pantry, how much leadership you gained while preparing your main project.
So, for all of us 4-Hers out there, Record Books are like the bane of our existence. I'm not saying they're bad--quite the contrary for they help with a lot of college scholarships and applications when you actually need all those records later on. But to say that they're helpful does not mean that they are not painful. Because they are! Pure, all-in-all, computer difficulties thrown-in pain!
Anyway, last night, we went to a Leadership Night and someone from our District's Office spoke on the new changes going into Record Books this year. This woman was a very good speaker, and I enjoyed listening. But, given that I didn't go to bed till 5:00am that morning [I'd been at a sleepover with some friends] and just had to give a presentation on a 4-H Teen Retreat with the afore mentioned friends [and if they're reading this, I just want to say that I love y'all! Sorry for my grumpiness] I was tired and was moody--to put it loosely.
And about halfway into her long talk about all the new changes, I started scribbling on my paper of Summary of Activities and Accomplishments. I must have been very spaced out, in light of what I scribbled very randomly. I'm sure everyone thought I was taking very detailed notes [shhhh--don't tell].
Anyway, I have taken a best friend's advice and decided to grace you with these notations so you can see what a frantic author scrawls when very stressed out. Here is a picture of my ramblings.
I started writing along the top of the page:
I ran, not looking back or glancing over my shoulder––never pausing for breath, forcing my lungs to expand and contract w/ burning pain. I couldn’t stop.
Next part goes down the right side of the page:
Just had––had to keep going. My side throbbed w/ a sharp ache. Where––where the devil was the river? A sharp hiss rent the air and I felt a fiery agony in my calf. My leg gave way and I sprawled on my face, blindly scrambling and clawing to get back on my feet. My breath came in gasps as I stumbled forward a few steps. I could hear them––hear them getting closer.
Now there’s a big arrow going to the middle of the page in between the boxes marked out for Personal Journal and the afore mentioned Summary of Activities and Accomplishments:
Hear them––the ones who wanted my blood, would do anything to kill me. I HAD to keep going.
Then there’s an arrow to the bottom left side of the page:
Cursing, I kept going, pushing myself forward––always forward. I could hear them growing louder––the pounding feet, clanking armor, and always the hiss of deadly arrows searching for my flesh. And the baying of the hounds, getting closer––always closer. And there was nothing I could do.
An arrow pointing to the top left side of the page:
I was giving up. I had too. I hurt––everything hurt. I couldn’t go on––go any farther. And they got closer––closing in for the kill.
So there you have it: what I was scratching [un-edited] so furiously at during a speech on Record Books, of all things. I really don’t know what inspired it––perhaps I will use it someday in a book. But that’s what you get when I stay up late, have to speak for the program, and am very frazzled.
Don’t know what it says, but I’m a writer––and writers are weird, at least in my opinion.
Sincerely,
R.D.
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