Living In A Dark Place

 I’m a writer.  I look back now and see it as the one constant in my life.  My love affair with words started when I was very young, falling in love with the spoken word long before I understood the magic of those strange marks on paper.  From the beginning, words spoken by my mother, by my father, then by my teachers, held the power to send me flying into a realm of imagination that made my heart sing, made my life worth living.  I was writing long before I put words to paper.  There were always stories growing, blooming, becoming tangible in my mind.  I lived there as much as I could.  Maybe not a good thing, not being grounded in reality so much of the time, but that was who I was and who I am.  I am a writer.  I write.  I escape into the words, and if there is one thing that every creature, whether man or beast, needs, it is freedom.

Having that freedom curtailed is devastating, suffocating, a death sentence to the spirit.  And there will always be those who want to end that freedom.  Little boys who delight in pulling the wings off butterflies, small, hateful people who fear or envy the freedom that another has and will do anything to destroy it.  Someone has been plucking at my wings and it hurts.  It destroys my equilibrium, my peace, my reason for being.  I tell myself that anything worth doing, is worth fighting for, and most of the time I fight.  I don’t do it in a loudly aggressive manner.  I don’t understand how to do that.  It’s not who I am.  I fight quietly, passively, giving in on the surface and then quietly going back to who I truly am through another pathway.  But finding those alternate routes is sometimes hard, and sometimes I get tired of trying.

The one thing I know is that although I may fall down from time to time, and perhaps even lie there for a bit, I will not stop trying.  The day I stop trying is the day my heart ceases to beat.  I have been in a dark place for a while now, and trying to stand up again has been hard.  More and more, I have given in to just lying there, staring at the nothing around me.  It’s been a lonely place, a place without hope.  It’s been a bad place, but perhaps that darkness is about to be broken, to be flooded with light once again.  The light may only appear as prism beams, refracted and shattered, gleaming through broken promises and dead dreams, but there will be light.  Someday.

Word Count

I put a ticker in my signature line over on the Fanlit Forever writing forum.  It represents a countdown of words written, with the end goal being one million words.  I believe it was Alice who was talking about how many words a writer must write on the way to becoming a good, and hopefully successful writer, and I can’t argue with that statement.  Writing, and trying to learn to write better, has been one of the hardest things I have ever done.  I can only hope, and do on occasion believe, that I have improved my writing skills over the last year that I have been a member of the Fanlit Forever writing group. 

 In response to some hints that have been  bounced around over on my thread, I am adding up all my writing attempts of the last six or seven years, and of course, I can’t make this short and sweet and to the point, so buckle your seatbelt, hang onto your hat, and get ready for a tour of the writing maze I entered one day while sitting on the end of my bed and pecking away at the keyboard, blindly going forward into the unknown and totally scary world of writin.

And so we begin.

Finding Paradise–99,825 words–My first child.  It’s complete, but has major plot problems that would probably require a total rewrite to fix.

Tomorrow’s Promise–62,804 words–I started this one because I got stuck on the first story.  I had a vague notion of what this one was about and started writing with only one scene in my head, which probably explains why, years later, it is still not finished.

Touching Sarah–This one comes in at a mere 111,840 words–I started writing this when Sarah appeared unexpectedly as a character in the second story and had such a miserable existence that I became obsessed with giving her a better life.  This one is complete, although the word count alone points to a very real need for lots and lots of editing.

A Song Remembered–25,641–This story is based on a picture that my late grandmother bought at a garage sale many years ago.  It was a portrait sized photo of a young girl holding two puppies, and was probably taken sometime in the late 1800’s or early 1900’s.  I loved the picture as a child, and when I found out years later that the picture was no longer in our family, I painted my own version from a snapshot that I managed to obtain.  The story I started writing is about the little girl and who I imagined her to be.   

The Value of Trust–99,192–Yes, the naked man story.  This one is complete.  At least for the first go round.  Now, the challenge is to fix it.

Eyes of the Heart–My NaNo 2006 project–50,636 words–Even though it’s short, this one is complete, but has some plot gaps, and therefore, opportunities for expansion.

Right now, I’m working on Rainbow Promises and am up to 14,024 words.  I know I’m going to get at least a hundred words a day in on this one thanks to Gladys and her writing challenge.  It’s been amazing to see how absolutely obsessive I’ve been about writing every day.

Add to that my Avon contest entries which totaled 11,349 words spread out over seven entries and one really cute kids’ story about a flying cat coming in at 1005 words, and you have a grand total of 476,316 words written. 

That means I’m almost half way to my first million words written.  Here’s hoping that I continue to learn and improve my writing skills as I inch my way over the hump and into the second half of that first million. 

Granny’s Griping Again

Time out for a small rant.

I’m not a senior citizen! Yet.

I don’t want to be a senior citizen! Yet.

The idea of being a little old granny lady scares me. The day I see myself as such, I will have given up on life. I know that on many levels age is only a number and a state of mind, and as of this date, my mind’s not ready to shift into an old mentality.

Yes, my body is aging. The truth in the mirror is undeniable, as are the changes in my strength and stamina. But getting older doesn’t—shouldn’t—mean getting old. Check back with me in about thirty years. I will be eighty-four years old. Maybe then I will be old, but I’m not ready to go there today.

Heard enough? Wonder why I’m ranting?

It’s simple. Tonight when my husband and I went to eat at our favorite oriental restaurant, I noticed that they had changed their prices, going up forty-five cents on the price of their all-you-can-eat buffet. I was totally cool with that. It’s good food, and there’s plenty of it, and even with the price increase, it’s still a good meal value.

For years, it has cost $11.18 (tax included) for the two of us to eat. As I walked up to the cashier, I heard her tell my husband that the price was nine dollars and some odd cents. My first thought was that she had failed to charge us for our tea. Old honest me immediately tried to rectify the mistake. Unfortunately, there was no mistake. It’s cheaper when we both get a senior citizen’s discount.

As the little girl (yes, I know I’m showing my age with that description—she’s actually in her late twenties or early thirties and the mother of two children) explained that she had given us both their newly implemented senior discount, my husband started laughing, because not only does he love getting discounts, he also knows how much it peeves me to be included in any of those discounts. He’s six years older than me, and for at least the last ten years, has delighted in getting discounts based on his perceived age.

When I asked her at what age the discount began, she told me sixty years old. Um…I just had my fifty-fourth birthday less than two months ago.

I went straight to Wal-Mart and bought me a box of industrial strength hair color. And I bought a more expensive product than what I usually get because with that fifty cent senior discount I had just gotten, I could at last afford the good stuff.

T-Shirt Slogans–From Our Church Bulletin

I childproofed my house, but they still get in.

My mind works like lightning–one brilliant flash and it’s gone.

Every time I hear the word exercise, I wash my mouth out with chocolate.

Cats and dogs regard people as warm-blooded furniture.

On the front–60 isn’t old.  On the back–If you’re a tree.

Procrastination

Instead of writing toward my five day goal of five thousand words, I’m blogging.  Although blogging is technically writing, it doesn’t count for this particular challenge.  So of course, I’m blogging.

I’m also doing some self-examination.  Now, I know I just lost whatever audience I might have had, but that’s okay.  I need to work out a few kinks about writing and my inability here of late to do so with any ease or sense of accomplishment.  When Christina suggested the Left Behind Challenge, I was all for it, but I must admit I wasn’t very enthusiastic about it.  I haven’t been truly enthusiastic about writing anything in quite a while now.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it or that I don’t need to do it.  Even though the desire has been lacking, the need is still there, and as all us compulsive creatures know, you must feed the need. 

So I write.  Even when I don’t want to and feel that I don’t have anything word-worthy to say.

I’ve figured out a few of the reasons I’m having problems, so I’m going to put them on paper, so to speak, to maybe find a way to deal with these problems.  Kind of that name it and claim it ideology.  I’m still not sure what I’m supposed to do once I claim it, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

First problem is that I don’t have anything to write about.  By that, I mean I have nothing new to write about.  No new characters, no new plot.  There is nothing in the old noggin to pull from.  I’m running on empty.

Second problem is that as sweet and wacky as Ben and Tara are, and I do love those kids, I have nothing say about them, nowhere to take them and I don’t have an earthly clue of what to do with a stick, a string, and a button.  Don’t ask.

The third problem has to do with Sword Guy.  You know, if you haven’t been there yet, you really need to pay a visit to Fanlit Forever.  There’s so much to see, so much to read, so much good stuff going on.  But I digress.  Back to Sword Guy and the problem I’m having with him.  I did start writing about him, but of course I took off in a direction that took me to times and places I have no knowledge about which makes me feel like I’m writing in the dark, and I keep bumping into dead ends that don’t move.  That makes me NOT anxious to get back to it.

Now, let’s talk about what I can write about.  I can write, or rather revise, what I’ve already written.  That’s what I need to be doing.  That’s what I keep running from.  It’s too scary.  I feel too inadequate to tackle the job, so I’m over here blogging.  I want my work to be the best it can be, but when you come right down to it, I’m scared that I can’t pull it off.  So I avoid the whole thing, and nothing gets done and my work doesn’t improve.  It just sits and molders.  Hey!  That’s a line out of my work that I won’t work on.  Maybe that’s a sign.  If I do what my heroine did…well, let’s not go there.  She winds up naked but she also winds up with her very own HEA.

Okay, enough stalling.  I’m leaving now, and I shall be writing.  I swear it.

What Do You Say To A Three-Legged Dog?

This is Bill.  Bill has three legs, as you can see.  He came into the world with all four, but fate took over and dealt him a blow that would have put some dogs, not to mention some humans, down for good. 

For at least two reasons, Bill did not stay down.  The first reason has to be attributed to the obviously skilled veterinarian that saved his life.  The second reason is that no one told Bill he should stay down, or if they did, he didn’t listen.  But then dogs tend to do their own thing most of the time.

So Bill lived and learned to compensate for what he no longer had.  He learned to be a three-legged dog, and he does it quite well, although I would imagine that if he could be given the choice of having his leg back again, Bill would not hesitate to accept such a wondrous gift.  But since no one has offered him that choice, he lives his life as best he can, one day at a time, and three legs at a time.

Bill’s original owner was the one who helped him survive when goose hunters accidently destroyed his left front leg.  When Bill’s owner passed away, Bill was left in a weed choked yard with only the occasional visit from the person who dropped by to make sure he had food and water.

I had seen Bill before from a distance, watching him interact with his master, but when I saw him alone and waiting for the one who would never come back, I was touched by his loneliness.  There was no way to tell him that his life had once again been irrevocably changed.

 After several days and several phone calls, my husband brought Bill home for a trial run.  We already own one dog, a totally insane Labrador/Dalmation named George.  George is so intense and out of control that I feared for Bill’s safety, but surprisingly, although they got off to a rather cautious beginning, the two dogs seem willing to tolerate each other. 

And so, Bill has turned one more corner, made one adjustment.  Coming out of his shell little by little, he is growing a little more comfortable each day with his new surroundings and his new family.  What he doesn’t know is that he has a choice.  He could lie down and quit, refuse to eat, refuse to move.  He could simply wait to die.  People do it all the time.  But not Bill.

Bill lives.  He gets up every day, he eats, he naps, he accompanies me on my walks.  He even pees standing up.  I’ve seen him do it twice.  Once balancing on his right front and right back leg and once balancing on his right front and left back leg.  No one told him he couldn’t do it, so he did it anyway.

I think that’s probably the lesson to be learned today.  No matter what has been taken from you, or perhaps in spite of what you never had, be like Bill.  Find a way to do what you want to do, what you need to do to survive.  It can be done if you believe and perservere.  Just ask Bill.  He knows. 

Happy Anniversary, Mary Beth

One year ago today my mother passed away after a long hard-fought battle with cancer.  Last week, I dreamed about her, and for a few seconds as I was waking up, I actually forgot that she was gone.  Even after all these months, it was still hard when I finally woke up enough to remember the truth. 

But it’s a different feeling of loss now.  It doesn’t carry the sharpness of a year ago, even though it still hurts, and I imagine it always will.  The fact that there were, and still are, unresolved issues surrounding her life and death doesn’t make it any easier to deal with, but there are some things that can never be made right.  Those are the things that I have resolved to live with and try not to dwell on.

And so, as always, I move forward, refusing to let the past pull me down and, on occasion, failing miserably.  But this is not a whiny blog.  I swear.  I’m okay, and I know that my mother is okay.  She had a neverending supply of faith in God, and she had the promise of eternal life with her Lord and Savior.

In the days after her death, and at her funeral, people kept telling me that they were sure she was watching over us.  I kept saying that I hoped not.  I didn’t want her to have to deal with or worry about any of the craziness that is inherent with the death of a loved one. 

I chose to picture her safe in the arms of Jesus and so entranced by what she was seeing and hearing in Heaven that she would not give us a second thought.  That is still is my fervent hope.  I couldn’t wish for anything more than her eternal happiness, and I believe she has found it.

Someday I will see her again.  Until that day, I have memories and I have promises.  It will be enough and it will get me through.

Donna

Don’t Look At Me

Yesterday in Sunday school something happened that gave me pause.  When I came in, my teacher had little slips of paper scattered out over the table.  Each one had a phrase that stated something a person might be doing that was contrary to what a Christian should do and ended with a blank where you were supposed to write in your excuse for why you were doing it. 

The Sunday before, we had been the only two in class and had gotten started talking about how hard it sometimes is to find someone that you feel comfortable confiding in.  I told her that I have some friends that I converse with on-line and how much it has helped to be able to say some things that I might not otherwise feel comfortable talking about. 

Anyway, one of the slips close to me said something to the effect that “I devote more time to the internet/romance novels than to my spouse because…..”  Which made me remember that I had made a remark about not being happy in my marriage.  That’s not something I usually go spouting off about, but for some reason I said it to her.  I honestly don’t know whether she was surprised by my admission or not. 

My marriage has a rather long and colorful history which no one wants or needs to know about.  I deal with what I’ve got and go on with my life, for the most part.  So, was she trying to be helpful?  Was she trying to send me a message, or give me a subtle nudge in the right direction?  She’s not a busybody, and she even hinted at the fact that she and her husband had problems in the long ago and far away, so I assume she understands that just because you want things a certain way, it doesn’t mean you’re always going to get what you wish for. 

I’m rambling.  Forgive me.  There is a point to this.  I think.  What I wanted to say to the world at large, and to my Fanlit buddies in particular, is that while I claim to be a Christian, let me be the first one to say that I know I sometimes fail miserably at living a good example of that faith.  The last thing I would ever want to be is a stumblingblock to anyone else who is seeking the right path.

I know full well that I am in a state of rebellion right now.  Knowing it and stopping it are two separate things.  I think it has to do with my age, my personal happiness, all the crappy things that have happened in the last year, and probably a lot of things I’m not even conscious of.  So, for anyone who is looking to me for any kind of example of what a Christian should be, please don’t.  I don’t have it perfected, and from the look of things, I’m not working all that hard on it at the moment.

We’re all on a personal journey through this life, and while there will always be people along the way who help or hinder us, we ultimately make that journey alone.  It can be a fearsome and wonderful experience, and I will be eternally grateful to the One I know is waiting for me at the end.  I will tell you to take heart and soldier on, but I am really telling myself.  We can’t stop now.  The credits haven’t rolled.

Donna

Weigh Over The Top

How many fat girls do I have in the audience today?  Raise your hands.  Come on, now, don’t be shy.  You know who you are.  It’s not like we can’t tell by looking who is and who isn’t. 

How does it feel to be singled out on the merits of your physical attributes?  I’m going to take a wild guess and say the feeling’s not good.  I speak from personal experience that comes from being one of the fat girls.

Years ago, when I was much younger and thinner than I am now, I belonged to a young homemaker’s club, and a group of us had gotten together and gone to the annual state wide meeting.  The auditorium where the meeting was being held was huge and full of women of every age and weight, and we were seated way up in the nosebleed section.

As the meeting was about to commence, I noticed a set of bathroom scales sitting on the stage.  I’m sure one of the reasons I noticed them at all was the fact that they were completely out of place in that particular setting.  Another reason I noticed was due to my absolute fear of anyone ever finding out how much I weighed.  Sounds a little paranoid, doesn’t it?  And probably if I could remember what I weighed back then, I would give my eye teeth to weigh that today.

The man who would be our speaker came on stage and asked the state president of our organization to weigh herself.  I was in the balcony having kitty cats.  What if he asked everyone to weigh in?!  She jumped on the scale, jumped off, and announced in a loud voice “110 pounds.”  Everyone laughed, I sweated bullets, and the program proceeded.  I can’t remember what point the man was trying to make.  I probably couldn’t even hear what he was saying over the buzzing that was going on in my ears as I fought not to panic and run screaming from the room.

Ah, sweet memories…

One of our Fanlit Forever members has discovered a website that gives lots of good information on dieting, exercising and maintaining general good health.  Several of the Fanlit members, including me, have signed up with the site.  We’re even talking about forming our own support group.  I felt a little panicky when I signed up, because I am so afraid that it won’t work for me, but at least I have finally come to the point in my life where I can talk about my weight, and my problem with it, without feeling like a big fat freak. 

Most people don’t choose to be fat.  I’ve never met anyone that physically expanded by choice, but I’m sure there must be someone out there that has done exactly that.  To those people I say, if it makes you happy, go for it.  I do know there are people out there who say they prefer a fat partner for certain activities.  Again, if it makes you happy, go for it.

It doesn’t make me happy.  It never did, probably never will.  Apparently, though, I’ve never been unhappy enough to fix the problem.  I used to wish I was a smoker instead of an overeater, so I could quit cold turkey and be done with it.  Food addiction is a whole ‘nother story.  You quit eating, you die.  No cold turkey allowed, metaphorically speaking, since turkey, cold or otherwise, is usually one food allowed on most diets.  Maybe I should go out and buy me some, along with other healthful foods.  Knowing me, though, I would probably just keep eating it until it was all gone and defeat the purpose of the lower calories and healthier benefits.

I’ll check in from time to time to report on my odyssey in the world of food, and the regulation and portioning thereof.  Wish me luck and eat something fattening in my honor, but not too much.  Moderation is the watchword.  Chocolate is the secret password.  Catch you later.  Over and out.

Donna   

Now

Beauty is fragile and slipping away,

With every breath and every day.

Reach out and touch it.

Feel its smooth skin.

Once it has passed,

It won’t come again.