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Author, Historian, Storyteller

Change, LifeLeave a comment

I feel as if I’m standing on a precipice.  The great precipice of a deep canyon that falls precariously for miles and there are craggy rocks, and thorny brambles.  Stray branches to catch and tear at your clothes litter the way down.  Down.  Down through the mist and fog to the unnatural silence permeating the canyon floor where no living soul has survived to take a second breath.

At least that’s what I imagine it to be.  I wouldn’t know for sure, because I haven’t looked.  I haven’t looked because I have no fear that I will meet whatever lies below.  My focus is on the horizon.  The other side of the canyon.  The other side of the abyss.  I can’t see it, but I have no doubt that it is there.  I have faith.  Not faith in a higher power or a helping hand, but in myself.

Faith that no distance is too great if it is the path and direction that I have chosen for myself.  Today I stand upon a precipice at the end of the road that I have forged for myself.  I stand and I prepare to leap.  Not jump, leap.  Leap head first, arms wide and heart open to whatever may come, fully aware that my destination is unknown.  Inevitably it will be exactly where I am supposed to be.  Today I leap.

leap

Life, LoveLeave a comment

I tend to be very guarded in my personal life.  I’m wary to let people in before a certain amount of trust is established.  I’ve always thought that this was because I’m very selfish with my personal time.  Not only am I a writer – a solitary pursuit – but I’m an introvert.  I need time to myself to recharge my batteries so to speak.  However, I’ve recently decided, that I don’t think that that is the reason.  I think it is actually because I have a deep seated belief that the only reason that someone would want to spend time with me is because they want something from me.  I am constantly wondering what it is I have to offer to people.  What can I give them?  What can I provide?  What can I do that will make me invaluable? Because if I can’t fill some need, then they’ll find somebody else who can.

As I’m sure you can imagine, this creates a certain amount of stress.  If I’m already having a harried day, someone calling will generally illicit the reaction of, “Oh good grief!  What do they want? I don’t have the time or energy for this!”  Which isn’t really fair to them, and ridiculous on my part.  Maybe what they want is to chat, tell me about their day and hear about mine.  Why should that cause me stress?  And what if they do want something from me?  If it’s something that I’m willing to give, great.  If not, say no.  Again, why should this cause me stress?

I need to learn that sometimes people want to be around you, simply because they love you.  Not to get something or gain some advantage, but simply to share your company.  This is a crazy, messed up world that we live in, so why not let people love you?  Let them in without assuming an ulterior motive.  Let them love you, and love them back.  Written out it sounds so simple.  Let people love you.

Deep thoughts for a Monday, I know.

Life, Live and LearnOne comment so far

I’ve been making a concerted effort to pay attention to the things that I say to myself in my head.  Now I realize that that sentence makes me sound a little “Looney Bins” but go with me on this one.  I’ve been trying to notice the word choices that I make in my inner monologue.  I’m a word snob. I love the way that different words feel in my mouth and sound echoing through my head.  Words are so powerful and as Mark Twain said:

Mark Twain Quote

So I’ve been paying attention to my word choices.   This introspection was brought about because I realized that I kept calling myself a dumbass.  I forgot to put more paper in the printer before printing – “Dumbass!”  I accidently hit the 30 second button instead of the 1 minute button on the microwave – “Dumbass!”  I grabbed the wrong book off of my nightstand – “Dumbass!”  I tried to send an email before I put in the recipient’s email address – “Dumbass!”  And so on and so forth.  My days were filled with one dumbass quip after another.  Here’s the funny thing; I don’t believe that I’m a dumbass.  Quite the opposite.  I know that I’m very intelligent.  I’ve been accused of being elitist much more than I’ve ever been accused of being dumb.  So why call myself that?  And why put up with that?

If anybody else treated me like that, I wouldn’t associate with them.  I wouldn’t want anything to do with them, and quite frankly I would probably think that they were an asshole.  So why do I treat myself in such a way that I would never tolerate from anybody else?  In fact, I would never treat anybody else like that either.  I was basically being an asshole to myself.  Good times!  So I’ve been working on that, which has been quite the task because calling myself a dumbass has apparently become an ingrained habit.  So my inner monologue has sounded something like this:

“Dumbass! Shit!  Stop that!”

“Dumbass! Don’t say that!”

“Dumbass!  Stop being an asshole to yourself!”

“Dumb . . . hah!”

“Dum . . . well what am I supposed to say?”

“Du . . . Argh!”

“Genius!  Hey, that works better.”

“Genius!”

“Genius . . . well if I’m saying it sarcastically, isn’t that just as bad as dumbass?”

“. . .”

“Dumbass!  Damnit!”

“#@$#%#”

“. . .”

It’s a work in progress, but I am determined to be as nice to myself as I am to others.  And yes, my inner monologue does tend to swear like a sailor.  One of my many quirks.

Happiness, Life, Live and Learn, PermissionLeave a comment

I recently drank the Pinterest Kool-aid and opened up an account.  I am officially on the Pinterest bandwagon.  Now I had been avoiding doing this ever since it came out for a number of reasons.  First and foremost because I was fairly certain that the moment I started I would lose HOURS of time on there . . . and I was absolutely correct.  I am a collector.  I LOVE collecting things.  As a child I had a troll collection.  I’m sure at one point I knew the exact count, but all I can remember now is that there were more than 200 of them.  Now I collect elephants; figurines, stuffed toys, pictures, etc.  I try really hard to limit myself, and they’re still everywhere.  I like to think that they blend in pretty well, but if you look . . . EVERYWHERE.

2013-08-18_21-34-18_884

I am also very organized.  I once saw a throw pillow that had “A Place for Everything and Everything in its Place” in needlepoint on the front.  I wanted to make fun of it with my friends, but I couldn’t because secretly, deep down inside, I totally had a place where it could go.  So a website where you can collect things that you like, and organize them into categories speaks to my very soul.  And now that I’ve joined, it is everything that I ever hoped it would be.

Then a funny thing happened.  I have a board called “Beautiful Pics” where I pin mostly landscape photos that I think are beautiful.  Well the other day, I had pinned about ten pictures on there of sunsets when I came upon another one that was pretty, but not breathtaking, and my inner voice actually said, “You should skip that one.  After all, it’s not as good as the rest and you’ve already pinned too many today anyway.”

What?!?!?  When did that happen?  When did I start to internally limit myself?  As if there is such a thing as too much beauty.  The Pinterest police will come banging on my door because I have pinned too much and that is more beauty than one person has the right to collect.  Yes, there is such a thing as having too much of some things.  Ice cream for example.  If you eat too much ice cream, you’re gonna get sick and you’ll have to buy a whole new wardrobe.  So yes, by all means, limit the amount of ice cream you eat.  But there is no such thing as too many sunset pictures.  There is no such thing as too many pictures of adorable puppies – yes, that’s one of my boards too!

I feel like this is a societal thing.  We’re taught that too much of a good thing is bad.  Not just physical things, but emotions as well.  We’re taught to “play it close to the vest” and that we shouldn’t “wear our hearts on our sleeves.”  And quite frankly I call bunk!  Why should we hold back?  We should be telling the people that we love, not only that we love them, but also why we love them.  We should be telling them this early and often!

One of my best friends does this.  She regularly tells me how much I mean to her.  She regularly points out little things that I do that make her happy and I try to do the same.  Guess what?  Neither of us is hurt by this practice, nor does it ever get old.   Instead, we’ve become confidants and never tire of the other’s company.  No subject is too private, no topic too sacred to discuss.  It’s amazing, and I wish that all of my relationships could be this way . . . which I guess they can.  All I have to do is start telling people what they mean to me.  Not in the hopes of reciprocation, but because they should know that my life is better with them around.  So dear reader, thank you for making it this far: it means the world to me that you take the time out of your busy day to read my ramblings.  I hope that they brighten your day!

Life, WritingView all 2 comments

I present to you the inner monologue of a writer while meeting a friend for coffee who was given new pages to read earlier in the week.

 

Friend (F): Hi!

Writer (W):  Hi!  How are you?

Inner Monologue (IM):  So what’d you think?

F:  I’m really good.  You?

IM: Who cares, what’d you think?

W:  I’m good, kind of exhausted today. Coffee?

IM: Brilliant move!  Of course she’s not gonna talk about it in line, get the coffee and sit down first.

F:  Definitely.

IM:  Wait, why wouldn’t she want to talk about it in line?

F: Did you see?  I sent you that invite on Facebook?

IM: She didn’t like it.  That’s why she hasn’t said anything!

W:  No, not yet.  I haven’t been online today.

IM:  Oh God!  She hates it!

F: I think the date should work for . . . wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah.

IM: She wants me to be sitting down when she breaks it to me.

F: Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah wah wah.

IM:  She’s going to tell me that I have a better chance of becoming a professional under-water-basket-weaver, than a professional writer.

F: Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah.

IM:  And in a Starbucks!

F: Wah wah.  Wah wah wah.

IM: Well at least I didn’t quit my day job.

F: Wah wah wah wah, are you listening?

W: What? Oh, yeah, uh-huh.

IM:  Way to pay attention jackass!  Now you’re gonna be a crappy writer with no friends!

F:  Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah wah wah. Wah wah wah wah.

IM: This is so not fair!  Just tell what you thought.  Tell me that it was horrible or whatever.  I can take it.  Just tell me something!

F:  Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah.

IM: A word or two.  That’s all I need.

F: Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah wah.

IM:  Just ask her.  Drop it into the conversation.

F:  Wah wah wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah.

IM: Casually, like, “Yeah, that’s horrible about your uncle, but what did you think about the piece I sent you?”

F:  Wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah.

IM:  Wait, uncle? Crap!  I have no idea what she’s talking about.

F: Wah wah wah wah wah wah. Wah wah wah.

IM: I thought we were talking about an invite, what’s this about an uncle?

F: Wah wah wah wah wah wah. Wah wah wah.

IM: What?  Focus!

F: Wah wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah wah. Wah wah wah wah wah.  Wah wah wah wah.

IM: Oh my god!  You are my best friend and I love you, but it’s been over 48 hours since I sent you the new pages without a word from you about them.  So unless your uncle’s leg fell off and the doctors reattached it using only chopsticks so that they could make it into the Guinness Book of World Records for “Most Unnecessarily Complicated Surgery” I’m not going to be able to focus on A THING YOU ARE SAYING!  I AM THE WORLD’S CRAPPIEST WRITER AND THE WORLD’S CRAPPIEST FRIEND!

F: Oh, so I read your piece.

IM: Play it cool.

W: Oh, really.  What’d you think?

IM: What if she hated it? What if she loved it? What if it was just okay?  Argh! *flinches*

F:  I loved it.  It was amazing!

IM: * sigh *  I knew that.

W:  Thanks!

Snoopy writing

Characters, Poetry, WritingLeave a comment

As I mentioned yesterday, one of the character’s in my book is a poet.  Rebecca is an invalid, and as such is not eligible for marriage so she lives with her sister in Richmond, VA.  Unable to work, or be a contributing member of the household Rebecca escapes into the poetry that she writes.  It isn’t until Kady recruits her as part of her spy network for the north, that Rebecca realizes that she does actually have worth and can be useful despite her limitations.  Here’s one of her poems:

My country she is crying, but there is no one left to hear.

All her sons are off to war you see, against the brothers they hold dear.

The fathers all argue that where they stand is right.

The mothers all roll bandages to wrap the wounds good and tight.

The daughters we are left to mourn, the passing of the day: waiting, simply waiting as we look out across the bay.

My country she is crying, deep rivers of blood red tears.

My country she is crying, but there is no one left to hear.

Characters, Poetry, WritingView all 2 comments

One of my characters in my novel is a poet and has gotten me into a poetry sort of mood.  So here’s a poem for you.  This is one of mine, not one of hers . . . although I guess technically hers are mine . . .

 

Letting go . . .

Of what is right, of what is wrong

Of what is normal, of what is planned

Letting go . . .

Of expectations and anticipations

Of familial plans and childhood hopes

Letting go . . .

Of what should have been, what will never be

Letting go . . .

Of regrets and

Letting go . . .

To learn from mistakes, to see the good

To grow stronger, to improve

Letting go . . .

To revel in the moment, to embrace the now

To forget past pains, to let the future worry about itself

Letting go . . .

To finally hold on

Life, Live and Learn, WritingView all 3 comments

I find that it is so easy to get caught up in our day to day lives and where we’re trying to go and what we’re trying to achieve that we can lose sight of what we actually have in front of us.  I feel like I’ve been doing this a lot lately.  So today I wanted to stop and pause for a moment to think about the things that I do have.  Today I am grateful.

I am grateful for the people in my life that have moved beyond friends and are now a part of my family.  My band of sisters that I have collected through life and can’t remember what life was like before they entered, because it feels as if they have always been there.  I am grateful that I have a job.  It is not the job of my dreams, nor is it a job that I ever aspired to have.  But it’s a job and it’s a job that pays all of my bills.  That is more than a lot of people can say. Heck one year ago, it was more than I could say.  For that I am grateful.

I am grateful that I have the time to put words onto the page and spin tales of life, history and the theatre.  That I have an audience for those words, no matter how big or how small and that maybe some of those words will affect someone in a positive way.  For this I am grateful.  However, today I am most grateful for some advice that I allowed myself to hear.  Upon expressing frustration that I felt as if I was simply spinning my wheels and getting nowhere fast, a friend pointed out that maybe I wasn’t spinning my wheels. Maybe I was still in the same place because I was busy building a foundation around me.  Maybe I’ve already made it to where I need to be, but I’ve been so busy running for so long that I failed to notice.  So maybe, just maybe, I need to stop running and start enjoying the build.

I truly believe that everything happens for a reason.  I am not a religious person, never have been.  My mother was, and it didn’t seem to do her much good . . . but that is a conversation for another day and that conversation will take place between me and my god.  In the meantime, my spirituality remains ambiguous, but anchored in the notion that everything happens for a reason.  People, events and experiences come into and out of our lives to serve a purpose. We may not know what that is today, or next week, or ever, but on some grand cosmic scale there is a reason.

Maybe we needed to be low so that we won’t take the highs for granted.  Maybe we needed to start over because the path that we were on was no good for us.  Maybe we encounter more obstacles in the road than most because the wisdom gained in getting over each one transforms us into the person we need to be to do our best work.  Or maybe everything is so hard because we’re so focused on an outcome instead of the journey that we’re blind to the fact that we’re scaling a wall to get to the top when there’s a set of stairs three feet to our left.

Today I choose to take the stairs, and for that I am grateful.  What are you grateful for?

Dating, WritingLeave a comment

I’ve come to the realization, that as much as I may want to be and as much as I may try, I am not a daily blogger.  I think sporadic blogger is a better description, and honestly I don’t know why this surprises me.  Even growing up when I kept a journal, I never wrote in it daily.  Some weeks I would, and then I would take time off.  I guess I never really felt compelled to write for the sake of writing.  I had to have something on my mind.  A story that I wanted to tell or something that I wanted to work out.  That’s what writing has always been for me, a tool.  It’s one of the greatest tools that I have in my arsenal.  I can’t think of a single time that I had a dilemma or an issue that had bogged me down that I wasn’t able to work out by writing about it.  The simple act of putting it down on paper, stream of consciousness, has always helped me get to the root of whatever was troubling me.  Writing it out makes it clear.  Not to mention there’s a definite satisfaction to laying out all of your troubles and then ripping them to shreds!  If you’ve never done that, I highly recommend it, it’s very therapeutic!  Write out your troubles, your fears and your worries.  Lay it all bare, read through it, soak it in, then tear them to shreds and let it all go.

Or start a blog and put them on the internet for all to read . . . doesn’t really have the same panache, but it has a different kind of release.  So I decided that against all of the advice and how-to’s about how to have a “successful blog” I am no longer going to concern myself with keeping a steady flow of content.  I’m going to write when I have something to say and hold my tongue when I don’t.  That’s how I work, and trying to do anything else is going to come across half-hearted and insincere.  I’m going to do it my way, because that is the only way that I know how to do things that are meaningful and if it doesn’t mean something what’s the point?

Maybe that’s the real crux of the issue, I’ve never understood why people spend so much time and energy on things that in the end won’t amount to anything.  For me this especially shows up in dating.  I’ve never casually dated.  If I don’t see something in a guy that sparks my interest long-term, then I’m not interested short-term.  If I had a dollar for every time a friend has told me to, “Relax, and just have fun with him.  You don’t have to marry him,” I could probably pay off my car.  And I’ve tried, but I can’t do it, because inevitably I realize that instead of spending time with “Mr. Okay For Right Now” I could have been doing something worthwhile.  It sounds horrible, but I greatly value my time and I know where I want that precious commodity to go, which is not to “Mr. Okay For Right Now.”  I know, l know, loosen up!  I’m working on it . . .

Fathers, Life, Love, Mothers, VoiceLeave a comment

My father sent me a framed picture he came across of my mother in her senior year of high school.  Looking at that photo a bittersweet melancholy fell over me.  She was so young with that spark of hopeful anticipation in her eyes.  She had her whole life in front of her.  Little did she know, she had already lived almost half of her life.  Little did she know, a disease would so drastically ravage her body and mind her children would never get to meet that woman in the photo.  At her funeral, I sat and listened to people talk about a vibrant, head-strong woman I didn’t know.

My mother didn’t get to see me graduate from college.  She was not there to tell me how proud she was when I won my Emmys.  I will not have the opportunity to ask her what she did for her something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue when I get married.  If I have kids, they will never be held by their grandmother.  However, these are not the things that brought about the melancholy while looking at her picture.  It was really much simpler than that.  The melancholy was caused by the fact that I don’t know my mother’s voice.  I don’t mean the actual sound of her voice, but her personality.  Was she sarcastic, was she witty, was she a straight shooter?  What were her dreams and aspirations for herself?  For me?

So to the mothers and fathers out there I have a request.  Write your children a letter.  Not on the computer, but by hand.  Write them a letter.  Tell them that you love them.  Tell them how proud you are of them.  Tell them of your hopes and aspirations for their success and happiness.  Tell them of your hopes and aspirations for your own success and happiness.  Tell them of your dreams.  If you haven’t achieved them yet, tell them that, but you’re working toward them.  Tell them your favorite music, movies, sports, board games.  Tell them the story of the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.  Tell them of the bravest thing you’ve ever done.  Tell them a joke.  Tell them of the things that are important to you.  It doesn’t matter what you tell them, just let them see your personality.  Let them see you.

I pray that the letter will never be needed.  That it will go unread tucked away and forgotten in some drawer.  But life is unexpected and sometimes all too short.  Give your children the opportunity to know you, whether through your actions or through your words.  Write your children a letter.  I wager it will turn into one of their most prized possessions.  Even if it doesn’t get to their hands until after you pass away peacefully in your sleep at the age of 100.

Love You Quote