March 15, 2023. The day my family's life forever changed. After 22 years of faithful dedication, my father's military career as a Marine was officially over and yet still forever ingrained on our minds and hearts. You'd think that, with that specific of a detail, I would have had a more heartbreaking thing to share. My heart is forever with those who have lost their fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers to the service of their country. And yet, that does not make my father's sacrifice anything less than it was. For 22 years, from flying to boot camp 3 days after he turned eighteen to his retirement ceremony 3 months before he turned 40, my father dedicated his life to his country. And somehow, he has been raising ten children and has a successful marriage while also being considered 100% disabled by the military. He sacrificed his health for his country. And now, he is retired, able to help homeschool the children on a farm. As his daughter, I have witnessed so many things, the good and the bad. I've seen his deployment to Iraq, countless moves across the country (going wherever the Marine Corps commands), nights where he gets up and goes to work to fix something that has gone wrong, and so much more. Growing up, those nights he would not be there were always the hardest. Us children were always more disobedient those nights, as we lacked something--someone--very important. As I write this, it has been a year. A year since my father had to stay in California while the rest of us moved to Kansas, where they had bought a house before the costs went up. Those three and a half months, from December 1 to March 15 were among the hardest in my life. Even though I was seventeen and old enough to understand, I still struggled. I felt as though I had to be brave for my siblings, the youngest of whom was at the time a year old, and helpful for my mom, who was due to have another baby in May. I struggled emotionally, my mental health failing because I felt as though I could not be good enough. I could not be good enough for my siblings, who all hated me acting like a parent because I was not their father or even their mother, and I could not be good enough for my mom, who did not want me doing everything I wanted to do because she did not want to burden me more than I already felt I was. It was a painful dynamic, and one I would not wish upon anyone. I look back, a year later, and can feel keenly what I would not let myself feel then. And it is okay. It's okay to feel sad, and lost, and hurt. I know I sure did. But you know what? I am so proud of my father. I am proud of his love, his bravery, his courage. He is my hero. And that will never change.

Sometimes, a story can make all the difference. As someone who battles depression and anxiety, I understand what it is like to be facing mental health concerns. The illnesses in the mind are just as important as that of the body, and if the mind is not taken care of, then the effects can be detrimental. It's interesting, really, the things that can be going on in someone's mind. You can look at someone and think they have it all together. They are confident, perky, and they always have a smile. And yet, inside, they can be dying. Slowly, slowly dying from pain and heartache, both of which start in the mind. And sometimes, it just takes someone who sits there and listens, someone who has a comforting touch and soft words telling them that it may not be okay today but it would be okay one day. Sometimes, it takes a story of the things that can come from trauma that can impact another person's life, perhaps someone who is dealing with similar things. I am not someone who is a professional when it comes to mental health. I am a Communications major not a Psychology major, after all. But with my communications major, I intend to go into the publishing world, writing and publishing novels with themes of mental health--depression, anxiety, suicide, rape, and more. These are hard topics that need tackled with grace. For me, the stories that made the biggest impact on my life were the ones that talked of real issues in a sensitive way, and I believe that, perhaps one day, my words can impact others dealing with the same things I am in a positive light, giving them encouragement and hope that one day things will be better.

Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats Found: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44479/ode-to-a-nightingale My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,— That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain— To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep? Sing, Sweet Nightingale By Krisalyn Higerd “Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget what thou among the leaves hast never known” (831). Thus shares the poem “Ode to a Nightingale” by John Keats. A poem from the Romantic literary era, “Ode to a Nightingale” shares the emotional turmoil of the narrator as he struggles to handle the song of a nightingale, typically considered a song of joy. The narrator longs for respite from his numbing forgetfulness and wishes to feel the joy the nightingale’s song invokes, a demonstration of emotional ruling vying against logic (Landow). John Keats implements powerful allusions, metaphors, and imagery in his poem “Ode to a Nightingale” to emulate feelings of heartache, demonstrating the work as a Romantic piece. Keats’ use of allusions aids in developing the emotional state of the poem. Beginning by sharing the narrator’s numbness, he says, “One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk” (832). In Greek mythology, if someone drank from the river Lethe (the opposite of the river Alethe), a stupor of forgetfulness comes over them, and they forget their who they once were to ready themselves for death. Through this allusion, readers see that the narrator feels as if he has no past because he has lost his memory of who he is in his pain and instead feels as though he is readying himself for death. This is an emotional experience that readers feel deeply. Further on in the poem, the narrator considers turning to alcohol to drown out his sorrow. Similar to the mythical river Lethe, alcohol can often lead to forgetfulness. Fortunately, he eventually decides to forgo this path, choosing to “not [be] charioted by Bacchus and his pards” (832). Roman mythology features Bacchus (Dionysus in Greek mythology) as the god of wine, a form of alcohol. Through this choice, readers understand that, while the narrator longs to be free of his emotional turmoil, he has ultimately decided that losing himself in alcohol is the wrong decision. However, this idea leads to the narrator contemplating death, but he realizes that, if and when he dies, he will no longer hear the song of the nightingale, which is an allusion to the song of joy and what can one day be—or of what can never be. The metaphors woven into the poem add to the Romantic piece. Considering himself “half in love with easeful death,” he considers death a relief, a way to have an escape from life (832). When he says he is “half in love with” death, it points to the often-seductive nature of death. Despite his considerations of death, he comes to realize that this is a farce. He notes that he “cannot cheat so well” (832). If he chooses to commit suicide and die, he will have given in to his heartache and pain, but he will no longer have the opportunity to hear the nightingale’s song. Readers realizes that the narrator wants an escape, but this would be an act of letting his depression win, not a way to cheat. The nightingale’s song will continue, providing brief tidbits of joy to those who hear it, but the narrator would be beyond its reach. But even though he has chosen to not escape through death, he struggles to see the good in his life, he only notices violets folding up on themselves or flies haunting him (832). His heartache surrounding that does not see any way of escape, whether from death or alcohol. Even after considering these metaphors of escape, the narrator decides that there will be no relief. Stark yet strong imagery emphasizes the narrator’s emotional state. When describing his brokenness, he shares that he has “a drowsy numbness… as though [he had drunk] hemlock” (831). A highly poisonous plant, hemlock can both sedate and kill someone, depending on the potency of the drink. Through noting this fact, readers understand that the narrator feels as though he has been numbed like he ingested this poisonous plant. His emotional trauma has led to his heart feeling numb—he has become little more than a drugged, miserable person who embraces the melancholy when faced with the nightingale’s song. Later in the poem, Keats explains the aging of people, from birth to death, resulting in more strong imagery that emphasizes the narrator’s sorrow. Sharing that “youth grow pale, and spectre-thin, and [die],” the narrator continues by saying that “to think is to be full of sorrow and leaden-eyed despairs” (832). This emphasizes the narrator’s emotional turmoil, developing the idea that his pain and heartbreak has made him feel pale and close to death, although he has not given in to that temptation yet, nor does he plan to. The imagery points toward the narrator’s empty emotional state. The depiction of narrator’s depression is highly evident throughout the imagery, metaphors, and allusions. The Romantic elements build as the poem progresses, leading to the culmination of the narrator’s individual experience with his emotional trauma. With heavy emphasis on emotion, Keats develops this poem as a Romantic piece rather than Neoclassical through the embrace of the melancholy and emotion rather than on common sense and logic. Through the entire poem, readers see the strong emotion residing in the seemingly simple lines. As the nightingale sings its sweet melody, so also does the narrator pen his poetry, pouring forth a romantic visage that shares the story of heartache against joy.   Works Cited Keats, John. “Ode to a Nightingale.” English Poetry and Prose of the Romantic Movement, Public Domain, edited by George Benjamin Woods, 1916, pp. 831-832. Landow, George P. “Emotionalist Moral Philosophy: Sympathy and the Moral Theory that Overthrew Kings.” The Victorian Web: Literature, History, and Culture in the Age of Victoria, Brown University, 2012.

Every person has a story in their head, but few ever get the chance to share. They believe their story is no good, that someone else could write it better. After all, in today’s world, it is almost impossible to write a book and get published. It’s a unicorn story. Fictitious. Unreachable. As impossible as winning the lottery. For the longest time, I was in that category. Ever since I was a little girl, I have had stories literally writing themselves in my head. Up until I turned about twelve or thirteen, I would write them down and finish them. Then, I’d type them up, print them out, and staple them together. But something happened when I turned fourteen. I had multiple books I was working on, and one was set on being a full-length young adult novel. But then, the computer crashed. I lost everything. At the same time, I was handwriting a middle grade novel. But when I lost that book—which I was so proud of and actually hoped to try to get published one day—my words seemed useless. Unnecessary. Replaceable. We’ve all been there, haven’t we? We have all been the victim of self-doubt, fear, and anxiety. We believe we will never be good enough, so when something bad happens, everything dissolves and we give up. When I was sixteen, a girl named Cari Legere was in my history class. I always did extra credit writing assignments because, even though I would not write actual stories, I still loved to see my words on a page and weave them together into something wonderful. But whenever Cari heard my stories and reports, she told me I had to write a book. “I’ve tried,” I told her. “I just can’t do it.” But then, I found out that Cari was a published author. Something in my mind flipped then. If a girl my age could do it, then I could do it. I proceeded to finish that middle grade novel and, with the help of the students and instructors of The Young Writers Workshop, redrafted it over and over again. This book became known as With Eyes of Blue, and it was the story of a young Egyptian girl coming to grips with a personal tragedy, discovering who Yahweh is, and learning to be a leader in times of trouble. I published it April 4, 2023, under the pen name Erin Hylands (later Erin A. Hylands). Since then, I’ve published seven more books. Today, my dream is to take the dozens of stories writing themselves in my head and get them out in the world. God has called me to write Young Adult novels that are good, pure, and edifying because the current YA market is horrific. My current novel, The Ocean’s Call, is about a cursed siren who longs to be free from her curse and her mental health issues. Over the course of the trilogy, she learns to trust Elohim and allow Him to save her rather than trying to fix herself. I will not say my storytelling will change the world. However, I will be bold in saying that each book I write, each word I pen will get just a little bit closer. Just a little bit closer to filling the gap that the YA genre is facing. Just a little bit closer to readers finding books with characters they identify with. And when others start to see these books, then they might be bold as well. Bold enough to write their stories and start making a change in their readers’ lives.

My family is military. Every three to five years, we relocate, often across the country. When I was eleven, we were preparing for our second cross country trip (our first being when I was eight and we moved from Virginia to California) from California to North Carolina. I also have a large family. At the time, there were seven of us kids, and the hotel the military made us stay at forced us into one room with two beds (so we had lots of kids sleeping in one bed, air mattresses, cots, and a pack n play). Well, one one of the days there we were watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, trying to make the best of what appeared to be an impossible situation. When the dad in the show was building the car, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, he pulled the flue out of the chimney. I pointed at the screen and cried out, “Look! He cured the chimney of the flu!” My own dad, the one in our family to make all the jokes, lost it! His unending chuckles made me want to giggle, and soon everyone in the room was dying of laughter, all together in one small room watching a silly movie.

I am the daughter of a Marine. My dad is soon to be promoted to the rank of master sergeant in the Marine Corps. However, that means a potential move is on the horizon. I have moved many times throughout my life time, and every time we move I struggle with the major change. But I am striving to have a growth mindset during this upcoming time of transition. Although moving is hard for me, I look forward to making new friends. I have never had more friends than I do now, but many of my friends have moved or are unable to visit often. I look forward to the opportunity to make new friends because it helps me stay positive when thinking about the upcoming move. I also keep a growth mindset through imagining how I will grow my little crochet business when we move. Right now, I sell amigurumi door-to-door, but I have nearly reached the point where I will no longer be able to sell anything because I have sold to everyone I can. When we move, I plan to raise my prices and start over selling door-to-door, which helps me keep a growth mindset. Finally, I continue to have a growth mindset when I consider the idea of a bigger house. My family's house right now might seem big, but it really is not because there are ten people living in four bedrooms. So, a potentially new house excites me and helps me to keep a growth mindset. Having a growth mindset during a transition is difficult, especially for me. I hate change and moving to a new state is a big change. However, there are many benefits of moving, which I think upon in order to keep a growth mindset.

My talent is not obvious. I cannot sing, I cannot dance, I cannot run. And yet, my talent is something I enjoy much more than singing, dancing, or running. I crochet. Designing things with yarn is my talent, and I truly enjoy doing it. Nearly every day, I crochet something or start crocheting something, and I know that I can make it. I practice crocheting most days, and my talent continues to grow. At ten years old, I learned how to crochet. I did not enjoy crocheting because of the amount of time it took to make one thing. I preferred to play with my friends down the street and make bracelets with a wonder loom band set. One year later, my dad started crocheting because he desired to make something with his hands so that they wouldn't stay idle. I suddenly grew interested. This was something I could do with my dad. I began crocheting with him and selling crochet donuts door-to-door in my neighborhood at eleven years old. I was not great at crocheting, however. I made ugly blankets, lopsided hats, and half-finished baby booties with my friend Gabby. My mom always forced a smile when she saw the disgusting creations. Whenever she said I should follow a pattern and make something better, I would always say the project I had just made was good enough. I did not care to get better. I liked crocheting without a pattern and I enjoyed not having to follow directions when I made something. Today, I continually get better at crocheting. I create my own beautiful patterns because I eventually took to heart what my mom told me to do. They are beautiful. Selling door-to-door my crochet amigurumi, I make a good amount of money by practicing my skills at crocheting. And this all began because this was something I could do with my dad.

Just do it. That is a Nike inspirational saying, one that most people know about. In ninth grade, I joined a swim team and that became the saying that I remembered when I was nominated for athlete of the week. But other than swimming, I have many hobbies, including competing in science fairs and crocheting. In seventh grade, I competed in my first local science fair. I won third place by default because my project honestly was not good. Fueled by my disappointment, I studied harder the next year and won first place at the local fair. The science fair coordinator, Betty Bigney (a former Challenger astronaut candidate), advised my parents to take both me and my little sister Kinley to the regional science fair. My mom did, and I won second place there, second place at states, and was nominated a Broadcom master. In ninth grade, I competed again, winning second at the local fair, third at regionals, and a third place waterworks award. However, in tenth grade I participated again and won first place at regionals and was a Wayne Hanson Award nominee. Each year I grow and learn more as I participate in science fairs, one of my many hobbies. I have my own crochet business selling crochet amigurumi door-to-door in my neighborhood. Designing many of my items, I am quite talented at crocheting and love to showcase my skills by selling my items to my customers. I have been crocheting for five years, and get better each time I make something new. Of course, I have more hobbies than just swimming, crocheting, and competing in science fairs. However, these are my favorite. Crocheting, competing, and swimming have always been among my favorite hobbies. I have not just learned from them, but I have grown from them.

At twelve years old, I was diagnosed with growth hormone deficiency, which is a condition where my pituitary gland does not produce growth hormone for my body to grow. I knew I was short; I had been shorter than my peers all my life. I was also different than my peers, for I loved learning and disliked anything having to do with social media and the like. I had few friends, for I was socially awkward. Honestly, this is probably why my favorite book eventually became Princess Academy by Shannon Hale. Throughout this book, the main character Miri struggles with making friends, is smaller than everyone of the girls going to the academy, and adores learning. Like me, Miri struggles with making friends because she feels that because she is smaller than everybody and wants to learn, nobody will want to get to know her. At fourteen years old, she is the size of a twelve year old. She feels socially awkward around her peers, fearing that they will not like her because she is smaller than them. I am the same way. Plus, she study as hard as she possibly could so that she would win the award of Academy Princess and get to wear the most beautiful dress to the prince's ball. Similarly, I study as hard as I can so that I can eventually win scholarships and go to the college of my choice. While these may seem completely uncorrelated, I still find that I connect best with Miri in those ways. Princess Academy by Shannon Hale changed my view on friendship. I learned that I did not have to be like everyone else to be liked by everyone else. There is a distinct difference between those two things. Truly, Princess Academy is my favorite book.

My talent is not obvious. I cannot sing, I cannot dance, I cannot run. And yet, my talent is something I enjoy much more than singing, dancing, or running. I crochet. Designing things with yarn is my talent, and I truly enjoy doing it. Nearly every day, I crochet something or start crocheting something, and I know that I can make it. I practice crocheting most days, and my talent continues to grow. At ten years old, I learned how to crochet. I did not enjoy crocheting because of the amount of time it took to make one thing. I preferred to play with my friends down the street and make bracelets with a wonder loom band set. One year later, my dad started crocheting because he desired to make something with his hands so that they wouldn't stay idle. I suddenly grew interested. This was something I could do with my dad. I began crocheting with him and selling crochet donuts door-to-door in my neighborhood at eleven years old. I was not great at crocheting, however. I made ugly blankets, lopsided hats, and half-finished baby booties with my friend Gabby. My mom always forced a smile when she saw the disgusting creations. Whenever she said I should follow a pattern and make something better, I would always say the project I had just made was good enough. I did not care to get better. I liked crocheting without a pattern and I enjoyed not having to follow directions when I made something. Today, I continually get better at crocheting. I create my own beautiful patterns because I eventually took to heart what my mom told me to do. They are beautiful. Selling door-to-door my crochet amigurumi, I make a good amount of money by practicing my skills at crocheting.

At eleven years old, I made an embarrassing mistake. When I was selling crocheted amigurumi donuts door-to-door in my neighborhood, I mistakenly called a woman "sir." Needless to say, she had no desire to buy any of my donuts, no matter how cute they were. Today, I have learned from my mistakes and continue to sell crochet amigurumi door-to-door in my neighborhood. When I was eleven, I did not enjoy sitting and doing nothing until my mother made a cute crochet donut out of yarn. I was fascinated and actually started to learn how to crochet. Then, I sold them door-to-door. Perhaps it was my cuteness at age eleven, perhaps it was the donuts, but I made almost two hundred dollars during the two months I sold crochet amigurumi donuts that I designed myself. Four years later, I decided to try again selling crochet items that I had designed myself, including little mermaids, unique faeries, and various hats. Taking advice from my father, who has a degree in business, I began giving free baby sharks that I designed to those who ordered forty dollars worth of items. I also created a good quality book on Shutterfly that showcased my projects in the best light. Now, I make enough money to grow my business and buy the things that I both want and need. Of course, creativity comes differently for all people. I just happened to be creative at something that earned money. I love crocheting, designing new projects, and seeing the joy on my buyers' faces when they receive the item they purchased. For me, crocheting is how I apply creativity in my life.