Tainted Love

 

I’m  not really sure when the love/hate relationship began.  It seems like it’s been there forever, but surely when I was two it wasn’t present.  I am aware that by kindergarten it was firmly in place.  Somewhere between birth and the tender age of five I fell into the love/hate thing.  Always aware, always conscious that I  . . .was the fat girl.

I look back on pictures of myself in kindergarten, and know that my brothers tormented me calling me fatty fatty four by four.  Seriously,  I was a pretty average sized kid – but solid.  I’ve never been skinny, or  a waif.  By fourth grade I had pudged out to butterball proportions.  Indeed I became the labels that I was taunted with.

You know, it affects you hearing those names.   That old saying “sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me”.   That’s a big fat hairy lie!  Words hurt far more than being beaten with a cane.  Words last a lifetime, being beaten with a belt or cane, or switch only lasts a short while.  Bruises heel but the word scars cut deep.  It was enough to perpetuate a lifelong struggle with weight.

Regardless of other issues of dysfunctional family life, or abuse, over eating became a self medicating action.   Think I”m lying?  Watch a kid that’s upset inhale a ton of sugar then buzz around until they literally crash.  Talk about setting up your system for problems.  I developed a sweet tooth at a very early age,  Sugar is one of the most addictive substances on earth.

Anyway, the love/hate thing: it’s a total mental game that I play with myself.  I try to avoid the scale because based on where the needle lands, I will either be ecstatic if it drops down even a fraction,or crushed if it goes up a fraction. How many of you know that is a poor indicator?  Do you know the average woman’s body can fluctuate as much as 6 pounds within 1 day?  That is a roller coaster set up for disaster.  I weigh myself once a week.

I think many women, especially American women battle with the love/hate relationship with their body.

I have decided that it’s time to settle things with myself.  There was a time when I felt good in my own skin.  I felt confident, I felt strong, healthy, alive and energetic.  Age of course has bearing on all those things, but my goal is that feeling I had;  a feeling of confidence, of knowing that I was capable.

If you’ve ever watched any episode of Biggest Loser, you know the contestants  biggest battle is in their mind.  We play these horrible mind games on our self.  We tell our self we can’t .  We tell our self we aren’t worthy.  We tell ourselves we aren’t good enough.  We tell ourselves – we aren’t pretty enough, smart enough, rich enough, tall enough, and a whole slew of other things of why we can’t have the good things in life.  Talk about a self-defeating attitude.

I refuse to engage in the self-defeating mind games any longer.  Instead of why I can’t, I ask myself why and how I can.  I preach myself encouragement.  Yeah, you may have noticed a few rounds of encouragement on my blog here, thanks for joining me for the lecture.

I’m not making any land-speed record for weight loss, but i am making progress.  Slowly but surely.  I fear it’s slower than a turtle but there is progress never the less. the biggest progress is on the inside.  Stopping the self-defeating track that has played for so many years.

I Know I spend a lot of time discussing weight loss also, there’s a reason for that.  This is the  biggest issue, my biggest battle that I face.  It’s like I can tackle pretty much anything life throws at me.  Reworking three years of work that someone destroyed – yeah, I didn’t give up.  Handling multiple roles in life – not that I really have a choice there.   Being responsible and teaching my children to be responsible adults – well I don’t really consider that an option either.  But this weight thing – it has kicked my butt for years.

NO  MORE!  It’s going down!  This last outpost for the love/hate relation is going to be destroyed.

Why is it such an issue in my life?  As I figure out the answers to that question, the walls come down brick by brick.  Sometimes we have to understand how the wall was built-in order to destroy it. I’m laying siege to the last bastions of  ‘fat chick’.  She’s not bullying me anymore.  She’s not ruling over my body anymore.  Like the metamorphosis of a butterfly – I kind of look at this soft exterior I currently have as a sort of cocoon, a chrysalis that houses the  emerging beauty of renewed life.

Yeah, yeah, yeah,  – why do I get so metaphorical?  Because the manifestation of the reality of who I am is only an internal vision right now.  Despite the lack of youth, despite the fact that I’m not going to have anymore children, despite my battle scars of stretch marks from the children I have, this chick is going to rock this joint!  I’m going to be the bet ME I can be.  Never going to look like Taylor Swift – I think she’s too skinny anyway.  Despite what my husband desires – I”m never going to look like Valerie Bertinelli because  – well, I just don’t look like Valerie Bertinelli.  I am a one of a kind original, made in the USA, unique and valuable being.

OH, and I’ve figured out a thing or two over my time on this rock.  Like, the inner voices lie! I don’t know who planted that track there but I’m ripping it out one paving stone at a time.  No more love/hate relations with my body.  I’m going to own it!  That’s right , you heard me inner fat chick – you’re going down!

What things do you struggle with?  Do you have a bad self-image? A love/hate relation with some part of your body? Or your whole body?  don’t be shy, speak up.  Together we are stronger, and speaking up shuts up the self-defeating talk.

Write on my friends, write on!

 

 

Paranoid Delusions

I do not own this photo, it was a free wallpaper.

Ever have one of those major setbacks? Like a mid-season sports injury that ends the year for  you when this was going to be the year scouts were going to notice you and you’d get offered a scholarship to an ivy league school. Well no, I guess it  wasn’t quite that bad but it sure made things difficult for a good while.

One person is taken from your life unexpectedly, without  reason without warning.  Another betrays a trust, it can be nearly devastating.  Physical injuries from my car crash were easier to overcome than these things.  It took a good while for some of those injuries to heal, in fact I still have a huge knot on my knee, sore shoulder, some issues with my neck, and the two fingers that were jammed are ultra sensitive.  None of that compares to the loss of  a loved one or betrayal.

The grief of dealing with death is a part of life. It’s difficult, it hurts but the finality of it forces us to move forward even if it’s at a snail’s pace. The grieving process is not a fun journey at all but dealing with betrayal from someone close really knocked me for a loop.

I’ve been dealing with computer issues for a couple of weeks now, one of which was being locked out of my accounts, and having my personal accounts such as this one hacked into by a trusted person.  This same person destroyed – whether it was accidental as they claim or whether it was deliberate intent – it’s really irrelevant at this point.  Three years worth of work was destroyed.  Thanks to some great friends that have done some beta reading for me, I’ve been able to recover most of that.  Once before I had lost ten chapters, it was my own doing so I was just frustrated.  I rewrote it and I believe it ended up better than the first time.

I see some of my friends achieving their goals and am left sitting on the side of the road, unable to complete my race. Well this time around any ways.  I’m not going to just sit here and feel sorry for myself.  I’ve been in a bit of shock over this, and  had to take some time to regroup and refocus.

I will not quit will not relent.  If I have to rewrite everything from scratch I will.  It will be better, more thought out, less chaotic.  I still have my notes, my cards, partial files I can piece things together. If nothing I’ve learned some valuable lessons.  the biggest one being that I can not surrender my dreams ever again.  Nor will I allow a saboteur to steal them from me.

OK, supposedly it was an accident.  Well , sleep with one eye open because other accidents have been known to happen as well.  A trust betrayed will never be misplaced again. Opportunity abounds but closes for those who prove themselves untrustworthy. Never underestimate a woman, and especially a woman with a dream.

Write on my friends, write on. I certainly will be!

Conflict Resolution

If you argue and rankle and contradict, you may achieve a victory sometimes; but it will be an empty victory because you will never get your opponent’s good will.   

                                                                                       Benjamin Franklin

Why is it that we would rather jump out of a moving car than communicate with our  spouse, significant other, or partner and face reality to resolve our issues?

We learn our methods of conflict resolution by observing our parents.  We learn what we lived in the formative years of our lives. What things did you learn?

• discuss matters openly
• withdraw
• attack
• never discuss it
• give the cold shoulder
• pretend nothing happened
• discuss quietly after everyone calms down
• nag until the other person discusses
• snide comments and  sarcasm

The things we observed are compounded by our own temperaments. The  Type A personality is very unlikely to give cold shoulders or pretend nothing happened.  I have to admit, I don’t think I ever observed any quarrel that wasn’t dealt with in full force anger or rage, sarcasm, blame, yelling and screaming.   That was just on one side of the argument.  If left unchecked the anger will build and eventually kill relationships.

What causes quarrels and fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you?  You desire and do not have, so you murder.  You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel.  You do not have because you do not ask.

We are often driven by our inner passions.  Passion is derived from the Greek word for “hedonism”, the belief that pleasure is the sole or chief good in life.  We are wired to seek pleasure, but it should not be pursued at any cost. A relationship by nature demands that you set your self-fulfillment aside in consideration of the other person. That’s the main difference between single and being a part of a relationship.  In a relationship you take the other person’s needs and fulfillment into consideration as well.

Next time you have a disagreement think of some ways you can defuse the situation before it escalates into an all out war.  First of all, watch your language.  Words that can instantly escalate a discussion to a fight are:

never, always, unless, can’t, won’t, don’t, should, shouldn’t.

Words that diffuse a conflict are:

maybe, perhaps, sometimes, what if, it seems like, I feel, I think, and I wonder.

For being so small our tongue can set the world ablaze in the space of a heartbeat. Conflict is inevitable if you are any relationship for longer than  an hour.   Consider the cost, is it worth causing a conflict to bring it up?  Is it just a matter of how you would do things?  Are you demanding your own way with no regards to your partner?  What patterns or habits are you contributing to the problem? What is your motivation for the confrontation?  Are you trying to retaliate? restore? punish? pursue peace? Are you being truthful?

In the heat of battle I do not fight fair.  I go in guns blazing when sometimes all it would have taken was  soft-spoken words.  I have to choose my words carefully when I am angry, because my first response is to lash out and make the other person hurt, make them pay for making me hurt, or making sure they know my displeasure is a result of their actions or lack there of.  Yes, I have a sharp tongue that is doubly poisoned when engaged in a fight.  I don’t fight fair, I fight to win.  All rationality leaves my mind and my behaviour is more like the response of a caged animal.  Yes, there’s a whole load of psychology behind THAT one. Let’s move on.

Counseling suggests  a few things to help diffuse a battle before it escalated to the War of the Roses.

FOCUS ON                                                                                RATHER THAN 

one issue                                                                                   many issues

the problem                                                                             the person

behaviour                                                                                 character

specifics                                                                                     generalizations

facts                                                                                             judgment of motives

“I” statements                                                                         ”you” statements

understanding                                                                         who’s winning or losing

As you can see I remember all the things the counselor said.  The trick is applying them when you need them.  I’m still working on that one.  I’m doing better, getting less confrontational over matters that really don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

Another bit of advice was to remember why you chose to be with this person in the first place.  Sometimes it comes down to the pros and cons table, is it worth it?  Is it worth bringing up the fact that (fill in the blank) when he knows I  (fill in the blank)?  Asking myself some questions before I blast has saved quite a few arguments.  Unfortunately,  there are also things that I’ve just resolved myself to live with.

Remember:

• You can win the battle and lose the war.
• I can’t change him/her.
• Treat others as you would like to be treated.

I have to admit, I wouldn’t want to fight with me.  I wouldn’t want to be treated the way I’ve treated others out of anger.  It’s not something I’m proud of.  The good news is I can change this in myself.

How do you deal with conflict resolution? Have any of these points helped you to think about what part you have in the conflict?

Winston Churchill, the prime minister of Britain during World War II was known for his passion and brilliance.  His wife, Clementine, wrote the following letter to lovingly confront him about his uncharacteristically harsh treatment of others around him:

My darling,

I hope you will forgive me if I tell you something that I feel you ought to know.  One of the men in your entourage ( a devoted friend) has been to me and told me that there  is a danger of your being generally disliked by your colleagues and subordinates because of your rough, sarcastic, and overbearing manner.   .   .    .    I was astonished and upset, because in all these years I have been accustomed to all those who have worked with and under you , loving you – I said this and was told, “No doubt it’s the strain.”

My darling Winston, I must confess that I have noticed a deterioration in your manner, and you are not so kind as you used to be.

It is for you to give the orders, and if they are bungled . . . you can sack anyone and everyone.  Therefore, with this terrific power, you must combine urbanity, kindness, and if possible Olympic calm.  You used to quote “One can only reign over souls with calmness.”  .   .   .   .   I cannot bear that those who serve the country and yourself should not love you as well as admire and respect you. 

Besides, you won’t get the best results by irascibility and rudeness. They will breed either dislike or a slave mentality.

Please forgive your loving, devoted, and watchful Clemmie.

P.S. I wrote this at Cheques last Sunday, tore it up, but here it is now.

None of us are perfect.  We expect compassion and understanding from others,  we should extend it as well.  Extend a little grace to the one you love the most!

Write on my friends, write on.

Love and Romance: Why We Marry

The first bond of society is marriage.   – Cicero

Many still choose the traditional route of marriage, and often for good reasons. Yet the divorce rate climbs each year.

Marriage is not the ‘happily ever after’ that we were sold in the fairy tales.  It takes real effort to make a marriage last.  It takes a strong bond to survive some of the storms that life throws at us.  Some of our idealism comes from the fairy tales, some from our societal views, some from religious upbringing and sometimes from a deep caring of our partner.

In a 2008 survey on marriage and cohabitation, the following statistics are from a poll for why they married:

• love 91%
• companionship 88%
• to signify a lifelong commitment 82%
• security for children 79%
• to make a public commitment to each other 77%
• legal status or financial security 66%
• religious beliefs 62%
• response to family pressure 50%
• desire for a special occasion 45%
• arranged 27%

In American society it is the norm to marry for love, but this isn’t always enough to make a marriage last. Once past the honeymoon phase the couple has to learn to deal with sharing life with another individual.  The becoming or disillusionment stage is fraught with conflict at every turn.  From clothing left strewn on the floor to the toilet seat being left up, even the tiniest of things can cause conflict.  We learn our conflict resolution from observing our parents and how they handled things.

My mother was a hot head and blew up over the smallest of things out-of-order in her world. I was often out-of-order.  My dad was passive aggressive and I could write you a book on devious acts of the passive aggressive that provoke the hotheaded type A  into a fire-breathing dragon.  Neither approach worked well.  I can imagine psychotherapy attempting to fix their marriage.  The therapist would need a therapist. However, they must have done something right as they managed to last over 50 years together.  Trust me it wasn’t 50 years of wedded bliss.  There was bliss at times, but in between was vast stretches of death valley.

My own marriage has lasted over 25 years.  A milestone to be certain, but again not every moment has been bliss.  We try to work things out, try to be rational but there are times when rationality goes out the window and the gloves are off.  It’s amazing how infuriated the person you love the most can make you over seemingly stupid matters.  After the dust clears we can look back and realize how ridiculous we were, but in that moment of battle it’s on like donkey kong!

Lack of love is never an issue.  Lack of passion hasn’t been an issue either.  Misdirected passions often are.  Not the sort of infidelity passions, but misplaced as far as thrown into being right or getting our way.  It is just as important to BECOME the right person as it is to FIND the right person.  Learning to think outside of yourself is difficult, taking the other person into consideration isn’t our first nature.

Marriage is not about you.  It’s not about your happiness or your self fulfillment.  It’s not even about getting your needs met.  If that’s what your idea of marriage is you’d better hold off.  We are selfish beings.  You are and whoever you want to marry is also.

“Oh no, not my luvvy dovey benjy wenjy.  He’s the most thoughtful loving guy that ever lived.”

Honey, sit down we need to talk. If he/she is human then essentially they are selfish.   NO, no need to cry. I’m not making a personal attack on benjy wenjy. At some point the person you love the most will hurt you the deepest.  There is the true challenge in a marriage.  Working through the deep hurt and pain to resolve conflict and solve your problems together without killing each other, without accusing each other, without running back home to mommy or daddy, and without an all out war.  It’s difficult but not impossible.

Remember why you fell in love with them.   Remember the good times.  Never stop enjoying each other and remember that this is the mate you have chosen.  It is possible to work through the difficulties.

BUT, there sometimes comes a point when you’ve hit the wall, given all you can and tried everything you know of to try and just can’t seem to mend the damage that is there.  At the end of the day you have to be accountable for your own actions. We each have to make our own decisions, and live with the consequences of them.

I am not a marriage counselor, I am simply a wife that’s been married for 27 years.  I’ve made sacrifices and so has he.  When things are good they are amazing, and when they are bad, it’s the worst maelstrom imaginable.  I will emphasize one point – the person you love the most can hurt you deeper than you can imagine.  It’s part of making yourself vulnerable to another. That’s the part that is the hardest for me, exposing myself, making myself vulnerable.

You have to see that it’s a difficult scenario for him as well, it’s a minefield fraught with dangers; a damaged childhood, an independent streak, a rebellions streak, a mean streak – sometimes resembles a wild zebra! I guess all those rodeo trophies he has may count for something after all!

Whatever your reasons for marrying in the first place are, remember them.  Don’t be hasty to throw things away that can be repaired but don’t continue to put yourself in a  situation that is irreparable.  Abuse is abuse and any bit of it is reason to leave.

What does this have to do with writing ?   Romance? Love? Erotica?   I knew you were smart readers!

Write on my friends, write on.

 

 

All That Glitters

Sharing a bit of flash that was posted on Storytime Trysts at the first of  the month.  You may have noticed that I’ve been MIA; in all honesty I’ve been swamped with work from two jobs, trying to coordinate Christmas things, and final edits on Kiss of the Dragon.  I haven’t fallen off the earth,  I am still planning the big end of the world bash, and the post llamacolypse resurrection for the 22nd. Trust me – the Mayan throw down will rock!  And the post party will also.  Anyone got any nifty Mayan tunage? 

The chocolate fountain is procured, the tequila is purchased; the chips are in the pantry and the taco bar is planned.  Sewing Mayan costumes for the sacrificail dancing before effigy burning; and trying to find some sort of maks – may end up with headdresses.

So, while I busy myself with pre party planning, finish with my Christmas cards, and  print off the bills for the lucky individuals to receive here’s my flash contribution.

Putting the car in park I called my best friend Stacey.  “Well, I’m here.  I don’t see his car, but this is the place he told me.  I’m so excited. Do you really think he’s going to do it?”

 

“Yes!  It’s so romantic!  I’ve heard it’s the best restaurant in town.  Can you take a picture of it in the bathroom and send me at least?”

 

I turned the ignition off and checked my makeup.  “OK.” We squealed together before I ended the call.  Dmitri and I had dated for a year, tonight marking our one year anniversary.  It was turning out just like one of our conversations when he’d asked me about things I thought were romantic.  The holiday lights twinkled, the  snow lightly falling, and the crisp chill in the air contributed to the romance.  He couldn’t have made it more perfect if he’d had a movie set.  We had talked about a romantic dinner, then a sleigh ride together in the lightly falling snow as he proposed.  I glanced down the street and sure enough a white horse with an elegantly decorated sleigh with a man in top hat and long tails. 

 

I blinked several times to keep from crying.  It was absolutely perfect. I had fallen madly in love with Dmitri after four months. He was charming, kind, and had a great sense of humor.  I took a long slow breath as I walked carefully to the door in the new fallen snow.  Blowing out a steady stream of air, as I entered, I glanced around but didn’t see him.  Tonight he would make it official.

 

The maître de escorted me to a corner booth that had a single red rose in a vase.  I had arrived before Dmitri.  I sat nervously scanning the crowd.  The waiter brought my wine while I waited.  Ten minutes later he arrived with another woman’s hand in his.

 

“Sonya, I’d like you to meet my fiancée’ Claire.”  I stood and nervously extended my hand.  His fiancée’? He scooted into the booth, staying close to Claire, their fingers laced together.  I couldn’t help but stare.  Was this his idea of a joke? Claire was a lovely girl.  Physically the opposite of me in every respect; blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, and a rail thin body. I couldn’t help but evaluate against my own dark hair, brown eyes, olive skin, and curvy figure. 

 

Dmitri bragged to me that he had taken my idea of a perfect romantic evening to propose – to Claire. They had just returned from their carriage ride and he wanted her to meet his work associate that he’d gotten the idea from.

 

I wondered if she knew that the conversation came after a passionate night of lovemaking.  Could you even call it that?  Apparently it was just sex to him.  As she beamed, and he chatted on my mind went back over the past year to the date.  I looked for any signal that I had missed, but didn’t see one.  I was reeling, wanting to scream. At one point Claire had thrown out that they had dated for six months.

 

Claire excused herself to the restroom and Dmitri patted my hand and said. “Don’t worry babe, you’re still my little bit on the side.”

 

I was devastated. After a few seconds I gathered my wits. “No.  I am nobody’s bit on the side.  Thank you for clarifying things for me.  Also, thank you for remembering the date, however poor taste it is to ask me to meet you on our anniversary to find out you’re a two timing snake.  Does Claire have any idea that her ‘darling’,I put extra emphasis on it the way she had, proposed to her the way your “work associate”  using my fingers to quote the phrase, suggested after fucking your brains out?”  I waited just a couple seconds.  “NO?  I didn’t think so.”  I gathered my purse and scooted out of the booth.  I turned around to face him. “Congratulations. Thanks for clearing my schedule for me.  I certainly hope it doesn’t take Claire as long to see you’re a snake.”  I took two steps then turned.  “Oh, and don’t bother showing up Monday.  You’re fired.”

I heard Claire asking him what I meant by what I had said as I walked out into the snowy night. I managed to get to the car before the tears flowed, driving straight to my apartment.  I didn’t see that one coming.

Spawn of the Zombie Horse

  The Thestral - yes, borrowed from Harry Potter world is being used for your visual reference.  It is the closest thing to what is inside my mind at the moment.  Scary indeed, be happy I am not a phenomenon artist and this creature will stand in.

 

Time Management – I swear it is my arch nemesis. I sometimes wonder if the T virus isn’t somehow connected to Skynet, and the Terminator cyborgs  via time management tools.  The zombie horse has not only risen again, but produced spawn.  In version 3.0 I dropped a cultural awareness class I was taking.  It was an informal small group setting, not an academic thing.  What was promoted as an hour and a half class – figure two hours for travel – turned into a four or five-hour time vacuum. Hmmm, perhaps Skynet and the Umbrella Corporation are really one and the same.  *taps chin –  intrigued*

In evaluating my priorities, I determined that I couldn’t afford to give up four to five hours every week to the class, so I quit.  Tentacle Number one snaked out and wrapped around my wrist.  The facilitator called to let me know my absence was missed.  I was honest and up front about my reasons for dropping.   “Well, how much time does your ‘part time’ job require each week? And how much time does the writing require?   Can’t you just write in the evenings instead of watch tv?”

Excuse me?  Is that really any of her business?  NO!   However, I answered.  Why do we feel compelled to answer nosy questions that aren’t their business?

Tentacle two popped out, encircling and compressing my chest.  Now I’m getting miffed!  “How much time does  it take to write anyway?”  You know, if I decided to sit on my butt and pick my nose all day it’s not really anyone elses business but my own, and my nose’s! A third tentacle tried to snake out, I lopped it off right away!  Between my roles as parent, wife, employee and writer there just aren’t enough hours in the day!

Here’s the thing:  people always want you to do their projects.  I’ve spent way too much time expending my efforts for someone else’s projects.   If Donald Trump said “I don’t have time in my schedule for that.” Would anyone question him?  No, they would not!  Now, I know I’m not Donald Trump, but why should my time be any less valuable?

Making the call to pursue my dreams is not a popular decision. Ever notice how all the people you helped never offer to help you with your goals? Yeah, not a popular decision but sometimes you have to be selfish. I knew there would be resistance.  The whole point in hiring my coach Tasha is to be more productive with the time I have.  To make a concerted effort towards my own goals and to undo the years of bad habits that I’ve acquired.  It took me many years to be comfortable with myself, to accept my own unique talents and gifts.  There is much I want to change or improve in my life, but the essential part of me I’ve made peace with.

Evan Sanders has touched on something similar in his blog The Better Man Project.  He talks about authenticity.  He also mentions about being comfortable with himself.  At the end of the day I want to have a clear conscious, and a sense of accomplishment.  That’s never going to happen by doing other people’s projects and ignoring my own dreams.  This is such a simple thing, but I find I am surrounded by a whole generation that was never encouraged to pursue our own dreams.  We were told to be practical, sensible, and responsible.  It’s only through pursuing my own dreams that I discover that those three things can indeed overlap with pursuing the dreams that are within myself and give the sense of satisfaction that even a high paying professional career did not provide.

Self confidence is a powerful drug!  It also seems to be the antivirus for the dead horse strain of the T virus.  I have to admit, five years ago I would have folded, and given in to the “pressure”   – oh we need you, it’s a good thing,  whatever the catch phrase was that was essentially emotional blackmail to manipulate me into giving up my time for someone else’s cause.    They are often good things, not going to argue with that.  At some point though we have to evaluate is it the best thing for us?

Have you given your time up for someone else’s cause?  For their pet project while shelving your own plans?  Is this just a mom thing or is it deeper than that?  What is it about the Donald Trump’s of the world that never struggle with these things and how do I get it?

Please share your thoughts, your struggles, or any advice you may have on this.  Meanwhile steer clear of the zombies!

Write on my friends, write on!

 

 

Give or Take

Writing is a form of original art.  It’s an expression of the artist just as paint on a canvas, or the song by the musician. It is not every work that becomes a masterpiece, but that one special piece that plums the depths of their heart, the depths of their minds, their souls, their pain or joy. A selfish writer expresses the selfishness in his work.  It’s focused on him: perhaps he features himself, not necessarily by name, but he’s in the work because he’s egocentric.  ( You could easily place her in here for pronouns for my reference I am using him.)

They are the takers, it’s always all about them.  They boast about their own work on forums and groups.  They toss out their  “brilliance” in a conversation that the rest of us are expected to recognize as such even though it stops the conversation cold.  They never ask what others are doing, they could care less.  What someone else is doing has little bearing on them because they are takers.

Givers on the other hand make the best artists and writers.  They pour out of themselves, sometimes emptying  themselves in their work.    They share from their hurts in order that someone else might not have to go through the same pain.  They share the lessons they’ve learned, not to sound superior but that the new guy won’t have to start at the very beginning.  They ask questions in the group, not to steal ideas but because they view you as an equal.  When someone has a problem, they offer assistance  or tried to advise where to find the assistance.

We all know takers and the rare giver.  The piece doesn’t have  to solve world hunger, or even offer a cure for stage 4 cancer.  It expresses a compassion and a depth that the taker can never muster.  It speaks to the reader because the writer “knows” from their inner being the struggle, or issue, or topic they are addressing. Sometimes takers try to copy this, but it never lasts long because sooner or later it has to be about them and no pretense in the world can disguise a calloused, egocentric, uncaring heart.

Takers prey on the giver, like a parasite.  Sometimes it’s subtle at first, like an ambient host relationship, but eventually the taker begins to drain the life force of the giver to a degree that even the most naive trusting soul can see clearly what’s going on. I’ve been duped, taken advantage of and I let myself think I was helping.  It’s at that point of feeling drained when it finally comes together  and I realize that I feel like the biggest fool in the world.  The sad thing is I’ve allowed several takers to occupy a great deal of my time. I saw the signs in their writing, I should have recognized it.

I realize with the techno savvy crowd, and the uber  stylish that handmade, home crafted items are out of favor.  However, to some a gift made with love and personalized is often cherished above the commercially produced product that is cranked out in factories by the truckload.  I’ve made hand crafted cards, afghans, quilts, and various craft items that have been both appreciated and ridiculed.  Recently I spent a great deal of time learning jewelry craft, learning a Celtic braid, and making a handcrafted item.  The main part of the jewelry: the findings, clasp and the pendent itself were sterling silver.  It was a one of a kind piece, similar to another but yet unique.

At the point when I realize the person is a taker, and has been milking my sense of compassion they let it slip that they didn’t care for the piece and passed it on to another.  Usually not a big deal, except for the time and effort I put into the handmade item.  The statement was “I don’t know what jeweler you used but they are crap.”   OUCH!

I don’t expect people to like everything I do, or say, or make.  Normally it probably would be no big deal except for the recent revelations of their style.  It hurt to hear that my efforts failed, it hurt to hear that the person didn’t even appreciate the efforts, but what hurt the most was when I listened to their words, I realized I inferred a whole lot more than was ever there.  I guess that’s not really their fault, is it?

I can’t just stop wanting to give to my friends, because I  get a great amount of joy in giving to whatever capacity I am able.  I’m not buying anyone diamonds or rubies here so no great financial loss.  Maybe that was the bottom issue, the handmade is often interpreted as cheap. But, as with some of the handmade items, if I change one little word – handmade to handcrafted – they now have a higher perceived value.  Is it really any different though?  I suppose it depends on what you place your value on.  Friendship?  Relationship?  Money?

Takers will always take, and givers will always give.  It’s the nature of what they are in their inner being.  Once you know , then you can deal with it accordingly without getting hurt.  I won’t stop giving gifts.  But for the takers, perhaps I’ll stick to generic store-bought cards.

Write on My Friends, write on!

 

Deleted Scenes

 

Deleted scenes; every writer has them if they hae been writing for any length of time at all.  Wow, this is a hard one for me.  In the past, when I deleted a scene I really deleted it.  I was dissatisfied with what I had written and unlike in my handwritten notebooks, I could hit the one magic button and it all went away.

I have  a complete book that I have scrapped.  I was trying to “fit in” with the writer’s group I was part of. They were writing Christian fiction, so I wanted to write Christian fiction as well.  I had twelve chapters of a story that I felt needed to be told.  A romance between a sweet girl that had never known love and a man who had loved and lost, and was scarred from it. I had the characters in my mind. I knew them as if they were people that lived down the street.  I proudly brought my first part to the meeting, cleared my throat and began.  At the close of the meeting, one of the ladies presented me with the CBA guidelines of words that aren’t allowed in their publications.

When I returned from the restroom , there were comments about failing.  None of these seasoned writers would use the word “epic” but it was implied by the iciness in the air.  I returned home and cried, a failure at my dream.  I looked over the list, comparing it to the short bit I had and realized I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t write to their guidelines.  I live a real life, not a candy-coated, sugary sweet life wearing a false face.  The friends I have, the people I know, have real issues in their lives.  Real problems that polite society  would like to brush under the rug and pretend doesn’t exist.  I felt like a failure and a traitor.  My personal struggle with reality and what other people saw as acceptable were a constant conflict for a while.  I had to come to grips with one of two realities.  Either I forced myself into the mold of decent society, or I lived as the real me.  The real me that is gritty, blunt, matter of fact, and yes,  have lived a less than perfect life.  I couldn’t betray the reality of the life I’ve lived and the struggles of those around me.  If I was judged harshly so let it be.  Behind those plasticene masks  the other members of the group wore, I knew were lies and hidden secrets because we all have them.

I abandoned that first book, but not the characters.  They begged and pleaded for their stories to be told.  Sweet innocent Lexy does in fact meet with Kyle McIntyre, a man who’s been burned by love’s flames, but it’s not in the sugar-coated world that I originally tried to put them in.  Theirs is a world of chaos, a world of supernatural affairs, and ancient magic that will either tear them apart – spirit from body, or unite them in the bonds of love for eternity.

Here’s the opening scene for that book:

January

Kyle McIntyre was drowning.  Waves crashed over him as he struggled to stay afloat.  Lightning crackled through the black sky, allowing him to see the monstrous wave that threatened to bury him in it’s icy embrace.  Stinging pellets pricked his skin like thousands of needles.  As he struggled desperately to keep his head above water, his hand touched something floating in the water.

He strained to reach the object.  It was solid in his grasp, a large chunk of what used to be his sailing ship.  The clouds of confusion were beginning to part, and he realized what must have happened.  Panic tightened its grip.  The slithering tentacles of fear invaded rational thought,  enveloping him to drag him under forever into the black abyss.  Where was LeAnne?  What had happened?  The mental fog made his head ache.  In fact every cell in his body ached.    Just then another bolt of lightning shot across the sky, and thunder rumbled so loud that he could feel it in his bones, and he was surrounded by water!  His head threatened to explode with the lightning, and his mind muddled even more.  His vision was blurred, but Kyle couldn’t decide if  it was because of the rain, the salt water, or whatever led to his being in the water.  Another crack of lightning.  That was soooo not good.  He turned around trying to catch the outline of shore.  Another flash and he could see the faint outline of boulders ahead.  Had he been so careless to run into the boulders?

Moments earlier, or what seemed only moments he’d been laughing and smiling with his fiance, discussing plans for their future.  He’d seen the clouds building and decided to head back to the docks.  It was his last memory before gasping for breath, in danger of drowning.  He called out for LeAnn turning in circles, trying to scan the sea that surrounded him.  A tension built in the air, it almost hummed with electricity.  Another crack of lightning with blinding light.  Too close!  He had to get to shore.  He felt something against his leg, and grabbed for it with his left hand, still holding onto the debris of the boat, he pulled it up in front of his chest.

NO!  It can’t be!  Please God, NO!  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Kyle startled out of his dream.  He’d had the same dream many times since the accident.  It haunted him when he started feeling stressed.  He let out an exhausted sigh, realizing that his schedule was booked for the next five to six months without any breaks.  He really needed some down time.  That was a problem.  Kyle had agreed to this project at the urging of his Dad. A two year project that would become his Master’s thesis and guarantee a full time position at The University.  It was his Dad’s idea, not his.  Kyle didn’t have any real aspirations of his own, much less a plan for his future.

Le Anne’s death had left him hopeless and alone.  He was 26, in great physical shape, had a brilliant mind, but lacked the zeal or passion to make his own destiny.  He hadn’t been excited about anything in his life since her death.

Deep down he blamed God for her death, for robbing him of his chance at happiness, and his future children.  He never gave voice to those thoughts, but they were there. Buried so deep it was easy to deny them, easy to hide them under a carefully crafted veneer of indifference.  He didn’t allow himself to feel anything, that way there wasn’t any pain.

The investigation had been heart wrenching. Kyle clenched his teeth,  staring out the window as he remembered the accusations, the headlines.  How could they accuse him of murdering her?  He was tried and aquitted, but not before leaving bitter resentments over the whole ordeal.  He was through with love, through with plans, and through with unfullfilled  dreams.  Kyle had given up on life, on himself.  Nothing  inspired him.

Emptiness.  That was his constant these days.  Everything else was just a big waste of time as far as he was concerned.  Not like time in the gym.  That was time well spent as he could see the results, feel the strength in his own body.

No, he hadn’t given up on God, God had given up on him.  Maybe that’s why he’d agreed to this crazy project of his Dad’s.

After the trial, he’d thrown himself into this, glad to be leaving Scotland.  He shifted in his seat, glancing at the woman asleep in the seat next to his.  He turned to stare out the window again, into the pale blue sky.  Below was a dull brown carpet of dead grass.  A sarcastic chuckle escaped as he thought of the similarities to how he felt.  Cold and dead.  It was all just mindless motions.

Kyle let out a slow, steady breath and ran his fingers through his hair.  His thoughts raced around inside his head. Trying to focus on just one seemed impossible as the jumble of thoughts seemed to move en-mass in a blur.  He hated the down time he spent in flight.  It allowed time for all those crazy thoughts to push their way to the front and demand attention.  Thoughts of LeAnn, thoughts about this project, but mostly thoughts about what he would do once this project was over in roughly six months.

He knew that everyone expected him to be “over it” by now.  How could he be?   Life all but ended that day.  Sure, he was still breathing and walking, but he was hollow.  Keeping up the image expected of him, was wearing him down quickly.

He’d traveled throughout the UK, Canada, and across the U.S.  It didn’t seem to matter how far he was from home, his thoughts always caught up to him eventually.  All he could see was a dull, dry – dead like the winter grass in the fields below – future. Alone. Forever.  He had wealth and a good bit of it but what good was that with a lonely existence?

Sure, he could find companionship.  There were always plenty of ladies willing to fulfill his pleasures, for a time.  He wasn’t interested in that.  Fool that he was, Kyle was an old-fashioned sort.  He was a one woman man, and his woman had died.

Kyle paused and blinked back the emotions trying to escape.   ‘Wha’ am I suppose to do?   I’ve been dead in the waters since that day.  I can’t seem to kick start myself, can’t muster the strength to even try.’  He tugged the chain out from inside his shirt, staring on the gold band dangling from the end.  ’I don’t have any sense of direction or drive.  What’s the point really?  Is it too much to have asked for a wife and children?”  He stopped, his teeth clenched, lips tightened into his usual scowl, angry at the world.  Letting the unspoken words wash over him.  “Well, apparently it was!’

Carefully he eased the ring back inside his shirt, resting his hand on top of it, he gulped down the swelling emotions that suddenly seemed overwhelming.  Bouncing his knuckle against his tightly clenched lips, an action that had become habit long ago to stave off emotional release, he made a decision.  Whether it was desperation, or the result of hitting a personal rock bottom, he couldn’t say.

Kyle dared to squeak out a whispered prayer “If you are up there and have plans for me – lay it on me.  I‘ve got nothing so if you‘re listening,  I‘m open for ideas.  And if you do have another lass for me, could ya kindly speed it up.  I doona care if she‘s . . .”  He thought about it then corrected himself.  “I only ask that she love me.”

Hearing himself say it was almost a relief.  The barely audible words were out there now.  The core of his troubles laid on the line with  that simple statement it had taken him so long to speak.  “That’s all I’ve got.”

Kyle continued to stare out the window.  Moments later the announcement came that they were landing at Lambert International field in St. Louis, Missouri.

Yeah, I think the rewrite is much better.

Write on my friends, write on.

The Winner’s Circle

I have accomplished something that I have only accomplished one time before.  I feel like there should be a party or cake or something.  I am practically giddy with joy!  I could certainly get used to this feeling, and am encouraged to go forth and write more prose.

I have two completed stories!  Yeah me!!  My past record of unfinished projects is going to be put to rest, retired as I diligently pound out  little bits here and there.

Just as weight loss is a gradual thing, so is writing.  Typically you can’t lose a large amount of weight in a short amount of time.  It’s not healthy unless you are under doctor’s supervision.  Well, for writing you don’t need the doctor’s supervision at least.  A little each day, my goal is 1500 words a day.  Most of the times I meet that.  There are days that I don’t even meet that with two blogs, and if you count FB or twitter.  Come on you know you guys do it too don’t you?  Those days when you’re grasping at straws to get something written.  It’s not that I have writer’s block.

Often it’s that I have too many irons in the fire! I’ve got three projects I’m working on, and five more lined up for the future.  Ever have that moment when you’re itching to start that new project?  It’s calling to you.  Shiny, new, the creation stage.  *sigh*  I do much better at the creation stage than I do the follow through stage.

As much as I love the creative process, it’s only a small part of writing.  As in any field there is work involved.  The moment of brilliance, the lightbulb spark that gives a thousand jolts of mojo, the creative ‘sparkjuice”; is only the beginning.  That’s like the runner taking off when the starter pistol is fired. Remember the old adage that it’s not how you start the race?

Right, then comes the mad dash sprint.  The fast furious scribblings approaching madness as the thoughts flow through finger tips through keys or pen.  I usually  take my burst, and make a rough outline.  This is when I stop and get to know my characters, chat with them, find out their dirt.  I don’t want their resume, I want to know their dark secrets that they don’t want anyone to know, which of course I will exploit to the fullest.  What fun is it to have their resume when everybody knows everyone has secrets to hide.

I wonder if people take that into consideration when they ask me if I will make a character based on them?  I”ll bet they will now!

The rough outline then becomes my chapter outline, then a scene outline. From this scene outline I begin working.  I’ve found in many instances my initial burst was nothing more than back story.  I’ve also found that at times I wrote hundreds upon hundreds of words that were yep, back story.  I typically write by scenes, making a completed scene before I end a writing session.

One scene soon becomes ten, ten grows to twenty and eventually you have a finished product.  Just like in weight loss, 1 pound then another and another, and before you know it the scales show a 40 pound loss!  Woo hoo!

In weight loss you’re told to celebrate to small victories when you have a large amount to lose.  A five-pound loss is a victory!  A completed project that’s nota single stand alone article is a victory!

Faere Warrior:  Passion’s Price is the short story I”ve been doing on Storytime.  It’s not the same as my original outline, far from it in fact.  It is however a completed short story.  This is a prequel to my Celtic Ties series, Faere Guardian; Faere Warrior; and Faere Lover.  Working titles of course.  It’s an 8 week story, that’s a vital part of the Celtic Ties world.  the last chapter will be posted next Tuesday.

This is like winning your  event at the district meet!

I realize there are no medals, no trophies, no wild applause – yet.  But for me, this is a personal victory.

As I leave to crank up the stereo and have a little dance party, I leave you with my parting words.

Write on my friends write on!  It really does add up!

 

Virtual Tour Survivor!

YES! I made it to the end!  I completed the tour. During this tour I cyber visited Ontario, Canada; Victoria, British Columbia; Addison, Texas; Indianapolis, Indiana; Bedford, Kentucky; and I even cyber visited the UK!  Wow, no wonder I’m tired.

What an amazing adventure this has been.  I learned some valuable lessons over these past 16 weeks.  I learned some technical help that will hopefully help me with blogging in the future.  The true test will be when I have to do it on my own without having one of my tour buddies walk me through it.  I’m not exactly tech challenged, but not tech savvy either.

The most challenging thing to me was the writing on spec for this tour.  Each week we were given an assigned topic. Some were easier than others, as is always the case.  I wrote my first piece of flash fiction for Joseph Eastwood’s blog, and thought I didn’t do too bad for my first attempt.  Since then I’ve done a few other flash pieces that I may decide to post at a later date.  In the course of this tour, I’ve written quite a bit about Kiss of the Dragon. Everything from where I got my ideas, to my characters, to a blurb about my book.

I have interviewed several people for my women writer’s series, but hadn’t given any interviews.  My interview with Bruce Blake was a blast!  Apparently my unorthodox basketball techniques caused a bit of a stir.  LOL!  Shortly after that, I was interviewed for Satin Sheets Diva’s blog.

I am still working on my tricks and techniques that Tasha Turner  Coaching has been teaching us.  You’d think after 16 weeks I’d have it down but I don’t.  With practice though I just might get it.

I am proud of myself for sticking with it, there were times when I wanted to just quit.  Why is it that we get that desire, even when we make a commitment to do something, and it’s always past the drop date, or the half way point, or in my case shortly before the finish line?  It was nothing against the tour or the folks on the tour, but rather my own tendency to take on too much. When the week’s assignment is something you’ve never done before, and you need to get it to someone by a certain time; well it doesn’t seem like it would be a problem but there are a  few that about set me into orbit from panic.

Instead of tackling the next assignment, I was feeling a little stressed and started into panic mode instantly.  Once the panic begins, there’s no actual writing taking place until things reach critical where if I don’t start I will miss the deadline.  Sad isn’t it?

I have improved on my time management over the past sixteen weeks, but still have a lot of room for further improvement.  This tour has opened my eyes to some things I hadn’t considered in the past.  Thank you Tasha Turner, for all the work and patience you’ve put into this!  And to all my tour buddies – you guys(and gals) rock!

Until the next tour begins, Write on my friends, write on!

I’ve met some interesting people, made new friends, and learned more about some of my current writer frineds.