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Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

Why?

Posted in Blogging, Facebook, Inspiration, Non-Fiction, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writer's Block, Writing, tagged , , , on May 20, 2012| 7 Comments »

Support

Twenty…and a pregnant pause leading up to it. This may have seemed strategic on my part, but I really didn’t mean for there to be almost a week in between this and my last post. In fact, the delay pained me.

I could blame a cocktail fusion of bountiful duties, stresses and strains but those alone wouldn’t stand in my way. No…there was something else. Poison. Seeping in through breaks and pores and I, too hectic to see it.

Thoughts of redundancy crept in and took hold; feelings that what I had to say was useless, unnecessary, and, worst of all, uninteresting. After all, we can scoop out as much of the ‘useless unnecessary’ we want, but hand out uninteresting and the world stops. It stops, and so do the readers. Poison reigns.

As a result, this past week has been me, talking myself out of writing, telling myself no one will notice, no one will care…convincing myself it won’t matter. So, why slog on? Oh, woa-ez me.

My bouts with potentially potent poison have had me down in the fathomless folds of forlorn. Past visits to this dank, dark space have had me believing only I can get myself up and out and let’s face it, sometimes, the easy button just isn’t around; buried deep in the couch pillows or…under a slab of super thick cement.

This time has been different. It took me a while to clue in – I’m not alone. I have my interests, my thoughts, my words and a spot to call my own. I have expectant readers checking in, searching for fresh utterances. I have followers taking the time to comment, like and message and I have fellow bloggers gracing me with reblogs and mentions; all bestowing me with virtual high fives.

I love to write, but it can be an isolated endeavor. You are the antidote to the toxins that can sometimes course through my veins. I am truly grateful for your stake in my blog. I’m humbled by your interest in what I have to say. I am blessed that you inspire me to do what I hold dear.

You are why. I can’t thank you enough.

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Puzzlingly Peaceful

Posted in Blogging, Fiction, Inspiration, Non-Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , on May 13, 2012| 11 Comments »

I like punctuation…I love words. And, I take great pleasure pushing the limits in the ways that I use them. And although I have an aversion to puzzles, I enjoy writing immensely, undeterred by the fact that puzzling is exactly what I’m doing while assembling sentences.

Now, I’ve heard that to twist the literary rules, you should first be proficient in applying them. While I’m sure there’s truth to that, I bend that rule, because I don’t claim to be, in any way, an authority on the ins and outs of all things scribal. I go by instinct. If I think it sounds engaging, it goes to print, be it technically tight or not. After all, that’s the beauty of a blog, right? I’m in control of my publish button; unauthorized, reckless reading material unleashed…moonstruck, mad as a hatter muddles.

My endeavor begins with throwing the pieces on the floor. Some are bright, some muted, some are hefty, others are stunted, but one thing is consistent; there are always too many and I’m never sure they all belong in the same box. So, on the floor they go. I stare at them for a while, upset with the mess I’ve made. Disappointed with all the extra work I’ve given myself. All the sorting I will have to do.

You’d laugh if you could skim my first draft. Thank goodness you can’t. It reads like a child’s misguided decoupage.

But, I’m determined. I throw back the curtains, crack the window, and hunker down. The carpet is soft and it’s beginning to warm in patches where the sun is stretching out. I get comfy, don the glasses and get out the “goo-be-gone.”

I’ve been told it’s best to start with the corners of a puzzle as the frame is what pulls and holds everything together. So bit-by-bit, I fuse the bones and eventually master a skeleton, casting fragments and clinkers to the side, discarding unnecessary ulnas and tibias.

I try to extricate the pieces that have zing and zeal and descriptions that are born behind the barn. I mean really, how does born behind the barn work here? I don’t know, but it has arrived from that mystical place that sometimes blesses me and I’m using it.

I’ve always been a crafty girl. Back in the day, we’d eat off our laps as clearing the dining table of paper snippets, glue, scissors and stencils proved too exhaustive. As I mention in my bio, I’ve since traded the crayons and scrapbooks for a laptop and a disparate strain of creativity. It’s much less messy and our obliging dining room table was begging to see the light of day.

Everything about writing is enchanting and mysterious for me. It’s a license to whip up worlds and doctor domains. I don’t need schwag to partake, I use limited tools and I can jot with unbridled abandon. I don’t have to wear uncomfortable shoes or drive a fancy car. I don’t need to be an Olympic athlete or live on the coastline in the South of Wales. (although that would be nice)  I can live all that through my fingertips and I’m oh so thankful. It’s a spellbinding thing.

Now…how my focus ricocheted from a puzzle, to decoupage, to a skeleton and eventually resulted in a fleshy body remains unexplained to me and, I honestly hope no one ever divulges the trick. It would spoil the show.

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Over and Under

Posted in Blogging, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , on May 9, 2012| 9 Comments »

We walked along the foamy shore, stopping every few steps to skip a smooth, flat rock across the sea glass surface of the water.

The air was crisp and the breeze pushed through my hair as I pulled the light fabric of my jacket closer to my body and squinted, staring out over the soft-rippling sheath. The sun glinted off the mast of a sailboat in the distance, its white sail taut and strong in the wind.

He stopped again, slightly ahead of me, stooping to search for another flat rock. Finding one, he straightened, the flush slowly disappearing from his cheeks as the rush of blood retreated.

“I don’t think there’s much left to say.” he sighed.

My grip tightened and my jacket imprisoned my thudding heart. I kept my head down, eyes on the lick of foam coating the toes of his shoes.

“So, you’re just giving up?” I’d intended to sound indignant, but I’d come off sounding damaged instead.

The rock rolled over and under, back and forth between his long, slender fingers and I watched it for a while, wishing it was the only thing in danger of losing its position.

“I can’t be what you need.” his head sagged, a long breath escaping him as he continued to manipulate the rock.

I scraped my gaze off his shoes and looked up at a griping Gull. My eyes stung; salty sea spray mingling with briny tears.

A small part of me wanted to argue, to convince him to try. But a bigger part of me wanted him to fight. After all, if I had to persuade him, what was the point?

With a flick of his wrist the rock lost its footing, leaping headlong into the deep.

As it disappeared through the tear it made in the water’s surface a strong wind nabbed the sailboat, assaulting its sail, leaving torn flaps of cloth floating in its wake.

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Sucker for a Pucker

Posted in Blogging, Inspiration, Music, Relationships, Songs, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , on May 7, 2012| 12 Comments »

I soared through my grade two piano exam with flying colors and dropped it the day the certificate arrived in the mail, never plunking another key.

I stem from a long line of Irish singers and entertainers and there are times I can belt one out like an angel, although, the next note from my mouth could send you running for the hills. Clearly, I didn’t join the clan, despite the fortitude of flatteries flowing from my mum.

I grew up listening to my parents’ Beatles, The Police, Clapton, Joplin, Dylan, Richards, Hook and Van Morrison; the tunes blaring from the four foot tall floor speakers as I toiled through chores; the melodies making the tasks somewhat less agonizing.

Overjoyed to induct their longstanding turntable atop my dainty dresser at twelve, my age and stage soon drew me away from their vinyls and bewitched me with pop radio, spurring endless calls to the local station to request Bryan Adams’ Heaven.

Sleepy Saturday mornings saw my Dad and I devouring syrup soaked pancakes, butter-smothered toast and bacon, savory omelets with sizzling sausage all the while gorging on Celine Dion, The Rankins, Air Supply, Rita McNeil and Enya. Okay, it was a transitional time.

I cruised the strip with cavorting companions, consuming Sheena Easton, Pat Benatar, Whitney Houston, Van Halen, The Bangles and later, Queen, Yaz, The Cult, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Duran Duran, HoJo and Erasure.

I saw Purple Rain eight times and wished I could rock a Raspberry Beret…

I ate pizza, painted my nails and tied lace ribbon in my hair while memorizing the lyrics to Crazy For You…

My heart shattered, along with millions of other teens, as I croaked out Total Eclipse of the Heart alongside Bonnie Tyler, tears watering down my Coca-Cola float…

As a young adult I guzzled U2, The Eagles, Billy Joel, Sinead O’Connor, Jewel and the Eurythmics while harboring some kind of twisted half crush on Michael Jackson.

Despite my ambiguous relationship with instrumentals, I’m an absolute sucker for a rock ‘em, sock ‘em voice. I don’t always have to fall in love with the song, the genre doesn’t always have to be up my alley and I don’t even have to like the singer.

Something about the voice can convert me. If it prickles my skin, stirs superfluous surges, ravages my mood or awakens my senses, I’m in, and I’ve never seemed to give a busted string what song everyone else is singing.

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Two Is Better Than One

Posted in Blogging, Fiction, Inspiration, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writing, Young Adult Literature, tagged , , , on May 3, 2012| 20 Comments »

“Hey”, he sneered my way. “Hey!” a little louder, a little breathier.

I blushed. I always blushed; perpetually, painfully shy, continuously craving invisibility. I stared straight ahead, eyes on the board, palms and pits producing an instant hot sweat.

“You know…you gotta have the ugliest nose I’ve ever seen.” he hissed.

I leaned forward, hands flat on my desk; perspiration mixing with the Comet residue the janitor had left behind, forming a balmy paste over my flattened grip.

It was Valentine’s Day and the Carnations would be delivered soon. You could feel the buzz in the room. I tried to focus on that. Once my flower came, I’d be vindicated. He’d feel so stupid for taunting me. He’d realize I might be popular and that someone out there might think I was pretty.

The Carnations were a big deal at our school; a yearly tradition. They cost three dollars of hard-earned pocket-money so selecting the recipient was taken very seriously. Boys sent them to girls, girls sent them to boys, girls even sent them to each other. Most were fired off anonymously; the only ones signed stemming from legitimate daters and official best friends. No one else dared to be so outwardly presumptuous.

“I bet you think you’re gonna get a flower, don’t you?” he jeered.

I tried to lift my hand discreetly, bringing it up to camouflage my apparently hideous nose and my now stinging eyes. I would not cry in front of him, but the smell of the Comet coming from my grit-covered hand was burning my nostrils and losing me my battle.

“You think you can hide that big banana?” he laughed. “Good luck with that. Good luck with that and that grease-slicked skin of yours.”

I liked to think it was the fumes, but my eyes were brimming regardless of cause and I knew he would be sure he’d gotten under my skin, fumes or not.

“Are you crying?” he mocked. “God, you’re such a baby.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see his knee bouncing up and down. His leg jostled a mile a minute causing the frayed hem of his jeans to swing back and forth.

Although tears were the last thing I wanted him to see, they did make him back off.  No one wanted to be responsible for making someone cry in class. It meant a trip to the office and a call home, neither a favorable outcome.

I tilted my head and stared through the window. Outside was bleak. It had been a particularly cold February and the wind was whipping through the trees. I swallowed the lump in my throat and longed to be out there. Being outside in blustering gales coatless would be better than having to sit here, enduring him.

I tried to pay attention to the lesson being taught. I tried not to think of my rumbling belly, my chemically transformed skin, my imminent flower or the jerk next door. I had almost accomplished all of it when there was a knock on the door causing an eruption of excitement amongst the other students.

I simply froze. What if it hadn’t worked? Or worse, what if I had somehow messed it up and it wasn’t anonymous after all? The sweat magnified and became a fast-trickling stream flowing straight down my spine.

“You’re getting greasier by the second, loser.” he said in a snide tone.

My eyes were glued on the flower bearers. They were shouting out name after name and at long last, mine was called.

As hard as it was to have all eyes on me, I lifted my cement-stiff body out of the desk and forced my heavy legs to move towards the front of the room.

As I got closer, confusion set in. Two flowers were being held out.

“Do you want me to pass one to someone?” I whispered, my face flaming with prickly heat.

“Nope, both for you. Lucky,” the girl said enviously. “I didn’t get any.” It shouldn’t have, but it made me tingly inside.

The tingling shrouded the walk back to my desk and shielded me from the stares and snickers. I sat down in a trance-like state, eyes glued to the blossoms laid out in front of me. Their sweet aroma replaced the smelly Comet, their pastel shades swapped for the unicolor scheme outside.

A legit Valentine’s Day Carnation. I did a quick mental check; nope, I’d only sent myself one. I was sure.

“Two?” I heard him exclaim. “I don’t believe it,” he almost sounded wounded. “You sent those to yourself,” he guessed. “You had to!”

My face seared and my throat tightened. He’d managed to break through my bubble and yank me back to miserable reality. Only reality didn’t seem all that miserable anymore. Someone had thought of me, someone liked me.

The bell to end the school day rang and he got up quickly. “See ya later, freak show.”

I waited for everyone to leave, their chatter slowly quieting as they filed out one by one.

I wanted to pack my flowers in my bag without the other kids knocking around. I wanted to make sure they went unharmed.

As I swung my legs, now light, around the side of my seat, something caught my eye; a pink ticket that hadn’t been there before. I recognized it instantly and my heart skipped a beat as I quickly looked around. If anyone had seen it, I’d be the laughing-stock of the school, the butt of every joke, as opposed to now, being the butt of only most.

I reached down to grab the Carnation receipt, my fingers fumbling over the waxy paper. But, as I brought it closer to my face, I realized it didn’t belong to me. My name was boldly printed in the recipient’s box sure enough, but the printing wasn’t mine.  It was his…the jerk next door’s.

Okay, we all knew that was coming.  Except for…maybe the boys…                                                           

This short story is published on Ezine: http://ezinearticles.com/?Two-Is-Better-Than-One&id=7041636 

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Down Seven, Up Eight

Posted in Blogging, Hardship, Heroes, Inspiration, Non-Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , , , , , , on April 28, 2012| 12 Comments »

“Fall down seven times, stand up eight”

My post today was going to depict dog-eared folks who have beaten the odds. They’ve achieved success on bountiful levels despite battered introductions and experiences in this world.

It was going to be about those who have essentially clawed themselves free from what would be seen as unsalvageable ruin and rubble and found their way to a breathing hole. People who have taken ownership of the debris and repurposed it into a life of their own; a life to be proud of.

I was going to write about Kevin (The Kid) Lewis who persevered his sadistic, abusive parents and the debacle they called a ‘home’. He struggled with right and wrong, suicide and self-deprivation long past his escape from outside influences and went on to follow his dreams of acceptance, family, writing and movie production.

I would’ve written about Nick Vujicic; born with a rare disease called Tetra-Amelia Syndrome. Yup, no arms, no legs. Contemplating suicide at the tender age of eight, love for his family carried him through the tough times. Nick went on to achieve vast successes, large and small. He is a University Graduate with a double major,  a preacher, an inspirational and motivational speaker, the founder (at seventeen) of Life Without Limbs, a non-profit organization and an author. In February 2012, he married his sweetheart. Talk about getting up when you’re down.

I could’ve told you about Randy Pausch; Husband, Father of three, Science Professor and Childhood Dream Achiever. He trusted in optimism prior to his Pancreatic Cancer and it served him well throughout his life. His ‘glass half full’ outlook carried him, respected and accomplished, to his death. It also scored him three years as opposed to the original three-month prognosis.

When told he had three months to live due to his tumor-riddled liver, he simply continued on with his lifelong legacy; positivity, video logs for his wife and children, one last book and one Last Lecture.

I’d ‘ve brought to your attention, Elizabeth (Liz) Murray. She came into the world through poor, drug-addicted, eventually HIV positive parents.  When her Mother died of AIDS, Elizabeth, fifteen, was homeless and left to fend for herself. She graduated high school in just two years while supporting herself and her sister. Snagging the New York Times Scholarship for needy students, Elizabeth was accepted into Harvard U in 2000. She left in 2003 to care for her ailing Father, continuing her schooling at Columbia to remain close to him.

He succumbed to AIDS in 2006, permitting her to return to Harvard to complete her Psychology degree. Today she is a motivational speaker and founder of the company Manifest Living.

My post would’ve included Aron Ralston. Somewhat of a pro climber, Ralston took an ‘easy’ hike and became imprisoned Between a Rock and a Hard Place. After five days of hallucinating and sipping his own urine, he had little choice but to amputate his trapped right arm with the dull blade of a multi-tool. His fortitude and fight for life carried him up and out of the canyon to eventual safety.

Aron is now an expert rock climber, using various extensions for his prosthetic arm, one of them being an ice pick for glaciers. He’s a motivational speaker, an author, a husband and a father. If you haven’t read his book, I strongly urge you to do so. Not only is it can’t put it down riveting, it’s fantastically written. This guy had the moxie to survive and the writing chops to prove he was meant to tell the story.

I was going to write about these people who are brimming with negatives turned positives, who ooze strength, courage and determination, who have taken their pain and unfairities and spun them into the stuff dreams are made of…the material of Superman’s suit…hero producing, goal achieving champions of challenge.

I was going to sing their praises and draw your attention to their utter and absolute amazingness.  I was excited to write about all of them…and then I realized they don’t want me to speak for them. They insist on speaking for themselves.

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Unwritten

Posted in Blogging, Non-Fiction, Relationships, Songs, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , , on April 24, 2012| 13 Comments »

There are those who were latchkey kids, kids who didn’t have the ‘right’ clothes, were bullied at school, friendless…kids that endured self-indulgent, monstrous parents.

Some who had it rough. Like, real rough. Dirt poor, beaten, sexually abused, neglected, starved…abandoned.

There are folks who were never shown an ounce of love. Not nurtured, not praised, not cared for, not raised.

There’s the temptation to think; if only we had…which brings us to the people who had a solid upbringing, unconditional love…money galore and chose to piss it all away on material possessions and self-abuse…early ending lives. Spoiled and severely unhappy, lonely, effed up, tragic humans.

Then there are individuals whose success, fame and wealth seem to lead to a balanced and gratified existence. An existence suffused with paying it forward.

The world is full of different kinds of people with different principles, morals and motives. What makes us what we are? What makes us what we become?

At the risk of a cliché, life is what we make of it. It really is. We can let our journey make us, break us, drag down or define us, but the path we walk is our choice and every day is a new dawn because the rest is still Unwritten…

“I am unwritten

Can’t read my mind

I’m undefined

I’m just beginning

Pen’s in my hand

Ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words

That you could not find

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten” (Natasha Beddingfield)

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No Coupon, No Carrot

Posted in Blogging, Non-Fiction, Saving Money, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , on April 22, 2012| 4 Comments »

Seriously. Because we don’t have the little two by four inch flimsy scrap of paper we’re banned from getting the best deal? The carrot is dangling (that’ll be the last talk of carrots for a while, I promise) right in front of our noses and they’re not going to feed it to us?

Truth; I strongly dislike coupons. Okay, hard truth; I hate them. So, if you’re a voucher lover, you better look away because you’re bound to get nettled at some point during this post.

They drive me nuts. We, as customers, are supposed to search for them, cut them out, hoard them in our already bursting wallets and then make sure we remember to use them at the register. Am I missing something? Nope. We work for them.

It’s incomprehensible why, when we’re standing there in the flesh and want to drop a wad of dough, we need to have sought out these little dockets in order to get a discount.  Can’t we be rewarded just for showing up? For bringing in our business?

And, back to bursting wallets…are they bursting with the large amounts of cash we’ve saved using our coupons? Nope. They’re bursting with forgotten coupons and plastic cards, clever coupons in disguise.

Trickery

It’s ludicrous that we need to fill out forms, divulging our personal information (otherwise known as selling our souls) so that we can get the cheapest deal. Am I wrong? Don’t think so.

Understood. It’s advertising…a ploy to bring in more business, we get it, but we’re already there…and we’re not feeling good about it.

We’re putting down for a three hundred dollar meal and can’t have the free ten dollar appy because we didn’t scour the local paper wielding a pair of scissors before leaving the house.

Professional Coupon Cutter

We can’t get the ‘club prices’ at the grocery store we’ve been shopping at for years because we’re driving our spouse’s car and their key chain doesn’t sport the magic price fob. Urgh.

Coupons suck and frankly, ironically…they’re a rip-off.

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What’s Up, Doc?

Posted in Blogging, Non-Fiction, Relationships, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , , , on April 21, 2012| 5 Comments »

Follow Bugs Bunny’s lead by gnawing solely on carrots and the spray tan biz would go belly up. Devastating, and I for one am not willing to risk it.

Every person has something to offer. All hold a unique element to throw into the pot. As mentioned before, although we may very much like carrots, it’s with the help of celery, onions, peppers, garlic and even a little salt that they are brought to their full potential. Varied components, in the right amounts, infused in a favorable environment, compliment one another, making a balanced and strengthening soup.

Being able to relate to people on different levels brings out new and diverse aspects of our character. The ability to accurately measure ingredients, taking only what is needed, is a skill, not a compromise. “To each their own” is not just lip service.

Life is a melting pot for living and learning and there’s plenty of broth to go around. Give some. Take some.

Speaking of lip service, what better lips to mouth the words; “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get what you need.”

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Top Ten facebook Flogs

Posted in Blogging, Ezine, Facebook, Lists, Non-Fiction, Top Ten, Uncategorized, Writing, tagged , , , , , , on April 18, 2012| 18 Comments »

Like for a TBH…

The likes, the pokes, the requests, the comments, the followers and our (with any luck and a few brief encounters) overflowing ‘friends’ lists are virtual validation. Whether we admit it or not, to us they’re confirmation that we’re awesome human beings.

They’re our second chance; an opportunity to snatch some of the attention we missed in school, an enabler to hang onto the worldly, well-liked whippersnappers we used to be or a window for reinvention, in case our first draft wasn’t working out.

facebook exists under the guise of passive hobby, but in reality, there’s not much passive about it. Dynamic statuses are written, lively comments are made and shameless self-promotions are flogged. (one day I’ll share my page with you) And it’s all very much the opposite of passive. In fact, one could venture to say that facebook, or should I say, its users, can be downright aggressive.

For a platform that is supposed to be airy-fairy, it can carry the weight of a cinder block. Users preach from their soapboxes, post links and videos to support their stances, tag undesirable photos, type words that would never otherwise be spoken and, since we’re being honest, let’s be honest…being limited, blocked or deleted stings for more than a second. So why should we have it?

Top Ten facebook Flogs

1. Connectivity: It’s invaluable to have familiarity with family and friends you wouldn’t normally see and having it through facebook is different than an email or a phone call. It allows us off-hand inspection of pages. It’s informal and approachable.

2. New Connectivity: “Friending” someone new is fun. Especially when they’re someone we will probably never see in real life ever again. (?)

3. Visualization: Photos, words and personalities come alive. I went to my _ _ high school reunion a while back and I likened it to the figures in a wax museum walking and talking. Creepy…

4. Socialization: facebook allows for casual contact. Little or no commitment, while remaining in the loop can be a huge draw. Yes, sometimes we can be sloths.

5. Events: Users can create or be invited to an event, check out the details, scan the guest list, see who’s replied and whether they are not, maybe or definitely attending, all with a few clicks.

6. Optimization: It enables users to reach a large amount of people all at once, personally, professionally or promotionally. It’s also a podium that can intermingle and showcase all three appropriately. (there are exceptions)

7. Puppy for Sale: People have a need to belong and on facebook, most everyone does. No matter dispositions, idiosyncrasies, or quirks, there’s a place for all to call home. Groupers, gamers and go-getters alike will find their niche amongst the 850 million registered peeps.

8. Information Facilitation: A nice way of calling out the nosy parkers; facebook is a haven for users looking to catch up on the latest (and greatest) happenings in the worlds and minds of others. And of course, it’s there for the taking.

9. As Easy as: anything that’s not hard. It really couldn’t be much simpler to navigate. And, that’s me talking, which means it’s easier than easy.

10. Why not?  Overall, it’s just pretty darn amusing.

And, if you managed to stick with me this far, here’s a bonus flog:

11. Control: It’s so very satisfying to delete, ignore or squash a cruddy comment, like the bug that it is.  Just sayin’. 

*This article is published on Ezine

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