The prompt: Giving birth doesn't have to be literal. So far in my life I have birthed...
...A lot of pretty good marketing ideas and advertisements for both non-profit and public sector organizations, and a whole bunch of them for a couple of corporations.
...Various reinventions of my life depending on where I was, where I wanted to go, and/or what was necessary at the time -- like coming to California 18 years ago
...Two daughters, neither of whom came from my womb, but who grew in my heart.
...A nice portfolio of newspaper and magazine clips of stories about people, places, events, and more -- starting many decades ago. I no longer write 500-word ledes, by the way.
...Ideas, advice, friendships, relationships. It's a growth process, never a completed journey.
...Myself. Learning to be who I am, one day at a time, and figuring that out.
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label writing. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
April Moon, Day 1
"That's when I knew that this chapter of my life had ended. And now I was free to.."
That's the first writing prompt for the marvelous 2015 April Moon series from wild wonderful writing woman Kat McNally, she of Reverb and August Moon.
It's a little different this year, she explains. It's a story-starter, really. I'm a bit late in beginning this one, but it'll work no matter when I begin or end!
While I can think of several chapter endings, at least a few of them are not appropriate for a public forum such as this (although they're great stories). But let me tell you about the end of my freelance career....
It was January 2010 and we'd been to see one of the traveling Broadway-style shows that Redding regularly featured at their Civic Center -- "The Wedding Singer." Actually, we hadn't subscribed to the series for a few years since Tony was working in Chico at that time, and the plays were always on week nights, which made for a very long day of driving for him. These were gifted to us by friends who couldn't go.
After the performance, we headed, hand-in-hand, back to the truck in the parking lot. It was dark and the lot was dimly lit. As we got to the back of the truck, we parted -- Tony to the driver's side, me to the passenger's. There was not a light near the truck, so I was walking mostly in the dark. I came past the tailgate and headed down the side of the truck.
"AHHHHHHHHH," I yelled as my toe struck the concrete parking curb stop which was partially hidden under the truck bed. There was nothing to grab. I flew sideways and landed on my outstretched right hand, then my hip and body followed.
I crashed onto the blacktop and just lay there for a minute. A couple of people from nearby cars came hurrying up to help; Tony came around the end of the truck, and they tried to help me sit up.
I knew my wrist was broken. It was in an unnatural s-curve, although it didn't hurt. "It's broken," I said, holding it close to my chest. "Maybe not," said Tony, as he helped me stand, along with two other men, and then together they boosted me into the truck since there was no way I could grab onto the strap to pull myself in.
I thanked the others and we headed for the Mercy Hospital ER. I had the presence of mind to take off my rings since my hand hadn't begun to swell yet, and also directed Tony to the hospital.
They took me back immediately and it wasn't long before they shot me up with painkillers and an anti-nausea drug. X-rays showed several pieces of shattered bone. Long story short: It was splinted that night; a week later I had surgery and the wonderful orthopedist put it back together with many screws and a plate.
But even that night I knew I wasn't going to be writing stories anytime soon. It was my right hand. My note-taking hand. And there's no way I'm typing stories with just my left hand.It hurt, and I had no idea how long I'd be in a cast. Certainly I wasn't going to meet deadlines any time soon.
It was over, those freelance gigs. And I wasn't too upset about it, actually. I loved the interviewing, the getting to meet new people and find out their stories and how they got to where they are. But the deadlines? Meh. The stress of trying to tell their story accurately and yet still making it enticing in a mere 500-700 words? Very hard. I would sweat blood over the story and always ended up paring it down, hopefully not losing the essence as I chopped words. I would not miss that part.
The next day I called my editor to tell her I was out, but that I had a replacement in mind, a local friend who had no freelance experience but whose writing was clean, interesting, and sharp. They both agreed -- and my friend Melissa is still writing for them, five years later.
I was ready to be done, apparently, and the Universe took a rather drastic way of letting me know that. I needed to get out of the way to allow Melissa her opportunity.
While I know I could have resumed freelancing once I'd healed, it never felt right again.
That's the first writing prompt for the marvelous 2015 April Moon series from wild wonderful writing woman Kat McNally, she of Reverb and August Moon.
It's a little different this year, she explains. It's a story-starter, really. I'm a bit late in beginning this one, but it'll work no matter when I begin or end!
While I can think of several chapter endings, at least a few of them are not appropriate for a public forum such as this (although they're great stories). But let me tell you about the end of my freelance career....
It was January 2010 and we'd been to see one of the traveling Broadway-style shows that Redding regularly featured at their Civic Center -- "The Wedding Singer." Actually, we hadn't subscribed to the series for a few years since Tony was working in Chico at that time, and the plays were always on week nights, which made for a very long day of driving for him. These were gifted to us by friends who couldn't go.
After the performance, we headed, hand-in-hand, back to the truck in the parking lot. It was dark and the lot was dimly lit. As we got to the back of the truck, we parted -- Tony to the driver's side, me to the passenger's. There was not a light near the truck, so I was walking mostly in the dark. I came past the tailgate and headed down the side of the truck.
"AHHHHHHHHH," I yelled as my toe struck the concrete parking curb stop which was partially hidden under the truck bed. There was nothing to grab. I flew sideways and landed on my outstretched right hand, then my hip and body followed.
I crashed onto the blacktop and just lay there for a minute. A couple of people from nearby cars came hurrying up to help; Tony came around the end of the truck, and they tried to help me sit up.
I knew my wrist was broken. It was in an unnatural s-curve, although it didn't hurt. "It's broken," I said, holding it close to my chest. "Maybe not," said Tony, as he helped me stand, along with two other men, and then together they boosted me into the truck since there was no way I could grab onto the strap to pull myself in.
I thanked the others and we headed for the Mercy Hospital ER. I had the presence of mind to take off my rings since my hand hadn't begun to swell yet, and also directed Tony to the hospital.
They took me back immediately and it wasn't long before they shot me up with painkillers and an anti-nausea drug. X-rays showed several pieces of shattered bone. Long story short: It was splinted that night; a week later I had surgery and the wonderful orthopedist put it back together with many screws and a plate.
But even that night I knew I wasn't going to be writing stories anytime soon. It was my right hand. My note-taking hand. And there's no way I'm typing stories with just my left hand.It hurt, and I had no idea how long I'd be in a cast. Certainly I wasn't going to meet deadlines any time soon.
It was over, those freelance gigs. And I wasn't too upset about it, actually. I loved the interviewing, the getting to meet new people and find out their stories and how they got to where they are. But the deadlines? Meh. The stress of trying to tell their story accurately and yet still making it enticing in a mere 500-700 words? Very hard. I would sweat blood over the story and always ended up paring it down, hopefully not losing the essence as I chopped words. I would not miss that part.
The next day I called my editor to tell her I was out, but that I had a replacement in mind, a local friend who had no freelance experience but whose writing was clean, interesting, and sharp. They both agreed -- and my friend Melissa is still writing for them, five years later.
I was ready to be done, apparently, and the Universe took a rather drastic way of letting me know that. I needed to get out of the way to allow Melissa her opportunity.
While I know I could have resumed freelancing once I'd healed, it never felt right again.
Saturday, January 03, 2015
#Reverb 14, Day 28
Creativity: What does being creative mean to you? How do you express your creativity?
I have always regarded myself as a creative person, pretty much centered around the various fine arts, although I learned long ago that I am more of a dabbler than a perfectionist.
And yet when I was working, I often found new ways to look at old problems or different paths to complete a project or changing up a long-established process to make it easier and more effective. I was often self-directed, especially in the non-profit positions, which usually makes such creativity easier to implement, and I also learned how to be creative with a very small budget. When I worked for the larger corporations I was part of marketing communications, the 'creatives' part of the business, and change wasn't always as easy to do or as accepted by management.
I learned to work with a group or a committee, but that is not an easy road, especially if personalities are strong. And sometimes I didn't work very well with a group, preferring to be solo or with only one other person. Management doesn't like that much, though.
I think creativity is the ability to see/hear/perceive something in at least a slightly different way and then to express that through whatever means is appropriate to the medium. Being a creative has been a big part of who I am throughout all my life, and I find my greatest satisfaction and joy comes from that ability to see differently -- as well as the same.
My creative nature shows in what I wear, my jewelry, my shoes, what my house looks like, what I read, what I listen to, what I like to watch and do, even (when possible) in what I like to drive. I like being a little different, a little quirky, although it took years to embrace that.
I'm not singing or taking photos or painting or sewing right now (all the dabbley stuff): the constant creative outlet in my life has always and continues to be writing, even if it isn't polished and perfected. I write only for me these days: while I love that people enjoy my blog or find wisdom in my writing, what I say is truly from my heart and mind, and not to please an editor or an audience. It is who I am, if you care to read it.
I have always regarded myself as a creative person, pretty much centered around the various fine arts, although I learned long ago that I am more of a dabbler than a perfectionist.
And yet when I was working, I often found new ways to look at old problems or different paths to complete a project or changing up a long-established process to make it easier and more effective. I was often self-directed, especially in the non-profit positions, which usually makes such creativity easier to implement, and I also learned how to be creative with a very small budget. When I worked for the larger corporations I was part of marketing communications, the 'creatives' part of the business, and change wasn't always as easy to do or as accepted by management.
I learned to work with a group or a committee, but that is not an easy road, especially if personalities are strong. And sometimes I didn't work very well with a group, preferring to be solo or with only one other person. Management doesn't like that much, though.
I think creativity is the ability to see/hear/perceive something in at least a slightly different way and then to express that through whatever means is appropriate to the medium. Being a creative has been a big part of who I am throughout all my life, and I find my greatest satisfaction and joy comes from that ability to see differently -- as well as the same.
My creative nature shows in what I wear, my jewelry, my shoes, what my house looks like, what I read, what I listen to, what I like to watch and do, even (when possible) in what I like to drive. I like being a little different, a little quirky, although it took years to embrace that.
I'm not singing or taking photos or painting or sewing right now (all the dabbley stuff): the constant creative outlet in my life has always and continues to be writing, even if it isn't polished and perfected. I write only for me these days: while I love that people enjoy my blog or find wisdom in my writing, what I say is truly from my heart and mind, and not to please an editor or an audience. It is who I am, if you care to read it.
Sunday, December 14, 2014
#Reverb14, Day 13
1. Step
one: set the timer for 5 minutes and write down as many answers as you
can think of to the question: 'When and how was I brave in 2014?' Note:
remember the private, intimate and small ways in which you were brave as
well as the big public ways.
Step two: Choose one of more of those moments of bravery and write a letter yourself back at the beginning of 2014, letting you know how brave you are going to be that year.
Step three: Write yourself a short reminder to tuck into your wallet or post above your desk of just how brave you can and will be in 2015.
Step two: Choose one of more of those moments of bravery and write a letter yourself back at the beginning of 2014, letting you know how brave you are going to be that year.
Step three: Write yourself a short reminder to tuck into your wallet or post above your desk of just how brave you can and will be in 2015.
2. On writing: Chances are, if you’re participating in #reverb it’s because
you like writing. Or at least want to like writing. Writing is like a
muscle. Use it or lose it. What do you do every day to hone your
craft? Or, what would you like to do each day to contribute to your
writing?
1. Well, you already know from these prompts that I think my bravest moments were centered around going to the cardiologist and doing some testing and then going to the electrophysiologist and getting an ablation. Each of those moments, each appointment or phone call, required a measure of bravery. Each side effect of the medications I was put on required bravery to power through and be patient. Each missed event because of how I felt also required bravery. And after the ablation, it was a bit like waiting for the other shoe to drop: I was hypervigilant about every twitch and twinge and throb anywhere in my chest. Scary things went through my head, but I tried to be brave about it.
I wouldn't have believed it had I an inkling at the beginning of 2014, honestly. So no letter. I have already written my love letter to myself.
And my touchstone in 2015 will be what it's been in 2014: if not now, when? That almost always requires bravery to answer.
2. I do love writing to prompts because it does require a commitment to writing every day, or at least planning to write daily. Sometimes I fall a few days behind, like today. But I'm here, I'm answering the prompt. And I'll post the result.
At our monthly Writers Forum meeting yesterday, one of our members told Tony that she writes a poem every morning. I like that. I like that we go to the Writers Forum meetings, although we've missed some, and associate with others who love the craft and are writing and publishing. I love the idea of writing a poem every morning. Poetry is a form I used to write long ago, and have worked at it off and on, mostly off. Maybe it's time to try it again and see what comes out.
We also have chosen The Daily Writer as one of our morning readings for 2015, and there is a prompt every day. That may be good for both of us to stimulate our minds and writing.
Tuesday, December 02, 2014
Reverb 14, Day 2
1. What unfinished projects from 2014 am you willing to release now? (Regret not required.)
2. Gorgeous | When did you feel beautiful this year? Why?
Well, first off, I'm releasing the unfinished August Moon prompts. And whatever other writing prompts I did not complete for whatever reason. I got busy, okay? Or I didn't. Or there was something else I wanted to do instead. Or they just didn't grab me. It's all right.
There are unfinished tasks from this year that remain, but I also figure that when I get there, I'll finish them -- like filing paperwork from R's disability money -- that I released a year ago! Like cleaning the attic and pitching and organizing stuff up there that needs to be kept. Maybe in 2015. Ain't gonna happen in 2014.
You know, it really matters not one tittle what I am willing or not willing to release: this year is 29 days from being O-V-E-R. History. What I wanted to get done is likely something that no one else will ever remember, if they even knew about it to begin with.
What I *did* get done was to have a cardiac ablation, hopefully to remain in normal sinus rhythm from here on. That was major. Huge, actually. I overcame all the fear and post-traumatic stress from a misdiagnosed heart attack 12 years ago (that was actually a gangrenous gall bladder!) and GOT. IT. DONE.
We live one day at a time around here, at least as much as our sometimes too active imagination will permit. We take care of ourselves and what needs doing in this day, in this moment. If it remains undone and carries over to tomorrow, it likely wasn't a huge concern. That works. I expect it will going forward as well.
*****
My first thought on reading this "beautiful' prompt was "uh, not." I have never thought of myself as 'beautiful,' ever. Adequate, yes. Not scary, yes. Even sometimes pretty, especially my hair and eyes. But not beautiful.
But you know when I am most beautiful? When even I know it, right down to my pinky toe?
When my beloved husband looks at me and tells me so, the love shining so brightly from his eyes that I see myself as he does. He doesn't see wrinkles or veiny hands or blotchy skin. He doesn't see the thousand and one imperfections that my eyes do. He sees my soul, the one that adores him, loves our life together; the one that tries to be kind and gentle and caring, always to him, imperfectly to the rest of the world, but trying.
He makes me feel beautiful and cherished and so, so blessed. Thank you, my sweet, for that gift.
2. Gorgeous | When did you feel beautiful this year? Why?
Well, first off, I'm releasing the unfinished August Moon prompts. And whatever other writing prompts I did not complete for whatever reason. I got busy, okay? Or I didn't. Or there was something else I wanted to do instead. Or they just didn't grab me. It's all right.
There are unfinished tasks from this year that remain, but I also figure that when I get there, I'll finish them -- like filing paperwork from R's disability money -- that I released a year ago! Like cleaning the attic and pitching and organizing stuff up there that needs to be kept. Maybe in 2015. Ain't gonna happen in 2014.
You know, it really matters not one tittle what I am willing or not willing to release: this year is 29 days from being O-V-E-R. History. What I wanted to get done is likely something that no one else will ever remember, if they even knew about it to begin with.
What I *did* get done was to have a cardiac ablation, hopefully to remain in normal sinus rhythm from here on. That was major. Huge, actually. I overcame all the fear and post-traumatic stress from a misdiagnosed heart attack 12 years ago (that was actually a gangrenous gall bladder!) and GOT. IT. DONE.
We live one day at a time around here, at least as much as our sometimes too active imagination will permit. We take care of ourselves and what needs doing in this day, in this moment. If it remains undone and carries over to tomorrow, it likely wasn't a huge concern. That works. I expect it will going forward as well.
*****
My first thought on reading this "beautiful' prompt was "uh, not." I have never thought of myself as 'beautiful,' ever. Adequate, yes. Not scary, yes. Even sometimes pretty, especially my hair and eyes. But not beautiful.
But you know when I am most beautiful? When even I know it, right down to my pinky toe?
When my beloved husband looks at me and tells me so, the love shining so brightly from his eyes that I see myself as he does. He doesn't see wrinkles or veiny hands or blotchy skin. He doesn't see the thousand and one imperfections that my eyes do. He sees my soul, the one that adores him, loves our life together; the one that tries to be kind and gentle and caring, always to him, imperfectly to the rest of the world, but trying.
He makes me feel beautiful and cherished and so, so blessed. Thank you, my sweet, for that gift.
Thursday, October 30, 2014
August Moon 14: Day 7: Stumbling along
Day 7: What tends to trip you up?
Do you have lots of great ideas but have trouble choosing which one to focus on? Do you do so much research that you get overwhelmed when it comes to making a decision? Do you love generating ideas but aren’t so excited about seeing them through to the micro details?
What if these things were not detractions or blocks, just neutral facts about your preferred approach? What if it were just a matter of finding resources or people whose skills and interests complemented yours, so that the things you have listed would no longer hold you back?
Who might be able to work with you to help you work this to your advantage?
Ah, me. Any consistent reader of this blog, most of my family, and nearly any of my former editors or managers will instantly know the answer to this question: procrastination.
Partly it is precisely because I tend to over-research most anything. I want to know everything I can possibly know about a person, place, product, event, price -- well, just everything -- before I feel prepared to write about it or offer up a credit card or do a project. Once I understand everything I can possibly know, then I am ready to act.
But.
That itself can be a non-starter, because there is ALWAYS something else to learn, some new resource or factoid to dig out. So sometimes I am just caught up in that endless research and don't get to the action part very quickly (if at all).
As a result, there are unfinished projects aplenty. I always met my deadlines as a writer and a student, but sometimes it was by a thin, fine hair. And I always knew exactly how far I could let a deadline slip without the editor getting really perturbed.
My stories -- my English papers too -- were, on a whole, pretty good, and well-researched. Some of that is because once I begin the process, I also begin the percolation process necesssary to craft a good story or paper: the part where all the facts and research filter through my mind and end up with me knowing where it will start and how it will end. That part is subconscious for me -- I just live 24/7 with the tidbits I've found or heard or read about, so once I finally sit down to write the story, it usually flows fairly easily into a draft. A long draft. Often two or three times the amount of copy needed draft. And that's because I have gathered So. Much. Information. The hard part, then, is editing it to fit the allotted word count and still having it make sense and capture the essence of the person or event or place or theory I'm writing about. Combining that with a tendency towards procrastination doesn't work very well.
It's like "Okay, that's a good story. Now it might have been GREAT if I'd had more time...." and yet, if I'd had more time, I'd still have ended up getting it done just a hair before the deadline.
Far as I can figure, the only person who can help me work with this to my advantage is ME. It involves changing something about my approach: perhaps prioritizing the importance of whatever I'm looking into rather than going full-bore nut-job research nerd on every single thing. Ah...I smell 'moderation' somewhere in that steaming pile of words.....
I do think as I have aged that I have begun to prioritize better what is worth reading a lot about and what is merely a passing fancy. And part of that is because my priority now is making my life as happy and fulfilling as I possibly can. If something doesn't contribute to that, it doesn't get top billing any more.
And I don't miss deadlines one tiny bit.
Thursday, April 17, 2014
April Moon 14: Day 1 -- Courage
A new writing prompt series from Kat McNally, she of Reverb and August Moon and probably others that I am forgetting!
This one is for 14 days, sort of a check-in with oneself, and I am grateful for the reminders and for the timing.
Read more about it here. And play along.
Today's prompt: Courage
What feelings does this word evoke? What sorts of memories does it recall? Which of your senses start to tingle? How would you represent what this word means to you?
So I'm slow actually getting started although I began this post on time and have been contemplating the concept for several days.
Courage is taking action because you simply cannot be where you are any longer, which is different from moving from one place to another because you physically cannot stay where you are. I believe courage can be both planned and spontaneous: either way, it requires coming to a place of non-acceptance within yourself for what your current circumstances are, and choosing to create or go to a different state of circumstances. Courage is always a bit scary, if not at the time, definitely in retrospect.
I'm not sure that makes sense even to me.
I know that it takes courage to walk into a classroom on your first day of school where you know no one. It takes courage to take off the training wheels on your bike or tell your dad to let go of the seat so you can pedal it all by yourself. It takes courage to read out loud a poem or a story created from your imagination to an audience. It takes courage to move to a new city and begin again, especially by yourself. It takes courage to ask a doctor for medical tests that you are terrified to do because you are terrified that they will show that your deepest fears are, in fact, accurate. (Yeah, I'm kind of there....)
I've done all these things and more. Courage has brought me tears, anxiety, opportunity, and great love. It excites me, scares me, challenges me, and sometimes eludes me, at least for a time. It is risk-taking at its deepest level: the interior risk, the risk to your well-being, your core self.
Mixed up with the idea of courage, at least for me, is the concept of faith. And no image for me more clearly identifies courage/faith than the one in the movie "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade," where, desperate to save his father from dying, Indy steps off a ledge hoping that something will be there to keep him from falling.
(Oddly enough, this exact scene and movie was referenced in our daily reading this morning, in the book The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have by Marc Nepo. I have always loved the courage/faith image.)
We find courage within to do something that we believe will make our lives better for the action. We find courage to do terrifying things because somewhere we have faith that no matter what, it will be all right. Like Indy, we step out into the abyss of not knowing, hoping desperately that there will be the strong rock bridge that will catch and hold us up. So far, so good....
*****************
Another introspective opportunity I've been doing this week is the free Oprah-Deepok Chopra "Finding Your Flow" 21-day meditation series. Follow the link to register and you can listen to the daily meditations. I am finding them strengthening and very helpful as I navigate this journey, and I am grateful for the opportunity.
This one is for 14 days, sort of a check-in with oneself, and I am grateful for the reminders and for the timing.
Read more about it here. And play along.
Today's prompt: Courage
What feelings does this word evoke? What sorts of memories does it recall? Which of your senses start to tingle? How would you represent what this word means to you?
So I'm slow actually getting started although I began this post on time and have been contemplating the concept for several days.
Courage is taking action because you simply cannot be where you are any longer, which is different from moving from one place to another because you physically cannot stay where you are. I believe courage can be both planned and spontaneous: either way, it requires coming to a place of non-acceptance within yourself for what your current circumstances are, and choosing to create or go to a different state of circumstances. Courage is always a bit scary, if not at the time, definitely in retrospect.
I'm not sure that makes sense even to me.
I know that it takes courage to walk into a classroom on your first day of school where you know no one. It takes courage to take off the training wheels on your bike or tell your dad to let go of the seat so you can pedal it all by yourself. It takes courage to read out loud a poem or a story created from your imagination to an audience. It takes courage to move to a new city and begin again, especially by yourself. It takes courage to ask a doctor for medical tests that you are terrified to do because you are terrified that they will show that your deepest fears are, in fact, accurate. (Yeah, I'm kind of there....)
I've done all these things and more. Courage has brought me tears, anxiety, opportunity, and great love. It excites me, scares me, challenges me, and sometimes eludes me, at least for a time. It is risk-taking at its deepest level: the interior risk, the risk to your well-being, your core self.
Mixed up with the idea of courage, at least for me, is the concept of faith. And no image for me more clearly identifies courage/faith than the one in the movie "Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade," where, desperate to save his father from dying, Indy steps off a ledge hoping that something will be there to keep him from falling.
(Oddly enough, this exact scene and movie was referenced in our daily reading this morning, in the book The Book of Awakening: Having the Life You Want by Being Present to the Life You Have by Marc Nepo. I have always loved the courage/faith image.)
We find courage within to do something that we believe will make our lives better for the action. We find courage to do terrifying things because somewhere we have faith that no matter what, it will be all right. Like Indy, we step out into the abyss of not knowing, hoping desperately that there will be the strong rock bridge that will catch and hold us up. So far, so good....
*****************
Another introspective opportunity I've been doing this week is the free Oprah-Deepok Chopra "Finding Your Flow" 21-day meditation series. Follow the link to register and you can listen to the daily meditations. I am finding them strengthening and very helpful as I navigate this journey, and I am grateful for the opportunity.
Thursday, December 26, 2013
Reverb 13, Day 22: A bonus and uphill battles
The first Reverb13 prompts have come to an end, but the talented and marvelous Kat McNally has given us all a fabulous list of bonus resources. I'll be checking them out and hope to participate in several of these opportunities.
One such program is from Writing Our Way Home, the Mindful Writing Challenge. I had the great fortune to win a class from Satya Robyn and learned so much from her and my classmates. Try your hand at writing small stones -- it is not easy!
Project Reverb is still going, and here is today's prompt:
Uphill | What uphill battle did you keep fighting and fighting in 2013? Are you going to keep fighting or let it go? Why?
My uphill battle has been centered around handling my daughter's finances and trying to be a gatekeeper and watchdog for her best interests. Because of her illness and her life choices, this has been so hard to see and do. Her boundaries are flimsy at best and she allows people into her life to try to 'help' them, and then her own situation becomes precarious and harmful. She is intelligent and generous, but she does not seem to be able to determine who is 'good' and who is 'bad.'
After more than a year of gradually setting stronger boundaries and working hard on separating my feelings from my understanding that mine is the only life I can save, I got out of the payee responsibilities and almost instantly felt better in every way.
I expect that I will continue to battle my need to step in and 'fix' things (which is impossible) in 2014, especially when I see her making choices that are not going to turn out well for her. So far I have managed to curtail my usual lecture to a one or two sentence opinion, and sparingly at that. I fight my tendency to personalize her situation to what *I* would think and feel. I am not her. She is not me. My life is the only one I can change.
One such program is from Writing Our Way Home, the Mindful Writing Challenge. I had the great fortune to win a class from Satya Robyn and learned so much from her and my classmates. Try your hand at writing small stones -- it is not easy!
Project Reverb is still going, and here is today's prompt:
Uphill | What uphill battle did you keep fighting and fighting in 2013? Are you going to keep fighting or let it go? Why?
My uphill battle has been centered around handling my daughter's finances and trying to be a gatekeeper and watchdog for her best interests. Because of her illness and her life choices, this has been so hard to see and do. Her boundaries are flimsy at best and she allows people into her life to try to 'help' them, and then her own situation becomes precarious and harmful. She is intelligent and generous, but she does not seem to be able to determine who is 'good' and who is 'bad.'
After more than a year of gradually setting stronger boundaries and working hard on separating my feelings from my understanding that mine is the only life I can save, I got out of the payee responsibilities and almost instantly felt better in every way.
I expect that I will continue to battle my need to step in and 'fix' things (which is impossible) in 2014, especially when I see her making choices that are not going to turn out well for her. So far I have managed to curtail my usual lecture to a one or two sentence opinion, and sparingly at that. I fight my tendency to personalize her situation to what *I* would think and feel. I am not her. She is not me. My life is the only one I can change.
Thursday, December 05, 2013
#Reverb13: Day 4 -- Grief and do-overs
Today's prompts:
1. What have you lost, what are you grieving?
1. Grief. What a loaded, difficult word to process. What a complicated, frustrating, sad, angry emotion to deal with, and on so many levels too.
1. What have you lost, what are you grieving?
2. 20/20 | Hindsight is the one thing we never benefit from in the present. Is there one moment you wish you could do over?
And here I am running a day behind again. That's okay, however, because it all will eventually get done!
1. Grief. What a loaded, difficult word to process. What a complicated, frustrating, sad, angry emotion to deal with, and on so many levels too.
The primary grief I have felt not just this year but for some time is for my daughter and for the relationship with her that I expected to have. It makes me sad often, it makes me angry sometimes, and I continue to work on accepting and even embracing what is rather than grieving for what is not. Not there yet.
It is not that I had big expectations of what I wanted her to Do, to BE in her life -- that was always simply to be happy and fulfilled. She is neither. She is struggling with some very bad choices on her part along with some health issues both genetic and caused by her own actions, and that is very hard to watch, powerless as I am to fix any of it. So I grieve for the talent and intelligence and promise that she showed as a young woman that has been so buried under the consequences of her choices, for the lost opportunities for a safe and solid home and loving partner for her, for the uncertainty and fear that I know she lives under. I watch friends who have children who are living what appear to be solid, good, loving lives, and I am envious of them. I hope they know how very lucky they are.
And I know God's not finished with her yet. So patience and love and hope are still my constant companions on this journey.
2. Hindsight. Ah. The old Monday morning quarterbacking. I have done a lot of that in years past, but not so this year, actually, at least not much. Maybe that means I am putting the brain in gear before engaging the mouth more often. Maybe that means that I care less about what people think about what I say. Maybe it means that I accept responsibility for my words and actions, finally.
Words spoken in anger and fear and frustration are what I'd most like to take back, and those have been directed at my daughter more than once this year. I want kindness to come out of my mouth, and if I can't be kind, i prefer to be silent. Harsh words do not effect positive change for anybody, including the person who speaks them. I do not want to be a naggy, angry, bitchy old lady, not at anyone. I can speak more with cold silence than with angry words. I can be more effective with gentle tones and neutral words. As Thumper's mom always said, "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all." Yup.
Monday, December 02, 2013
Reverb 13: a look at 2013, Day 1
I do love writing to prompts, and there is such value in taking a look at the year that is ending, so once again I am participating in #Reverb 13.
There are at least two programs going with this hashtag, and I'm signed up for both. One is through Kat McNally, and you can sign up and find info here.
The other is titled Project Reverb and is hosted by another Kat, Sarah, and Meredith, whose blog I've read for a long time. Signup and info is here.
Already I'm a day late, but we attended A Cascade Christmas in Redding yesterday, and were out much of the day. It was, by the way, the perfect way to switch into holiday mode, with a lovely blend of nostalgia, warm fuzzies, a touch of religion, and a bunch of familiar carols, sung skillfully in one blended number by a group dressed in lovely Victorian garb. Tickets are still available for next weekend here.
Prompts for Dec. 1 were:
1. How do you feel, on this first day, in your mind? In your body? In your heart? In your soul?
There are at least two programs going with this hashtag, and I'm signed up for both. One is through Kat McNally, and you can sign up and find info here.
The other is titled Project Reverb and is hosted by another Kat, Sarah, and Meredith, whose blog I've read for a long time. Signup and info is here.
Already I'm a day late, but we attended A Cascade Christmas in Redding yesterday, and were out much of the day. It was, by the way, the perfect way to switch into holiday mode, with a lovely blend of nostalgia, warm fuzzies, a touch of religion, and a bunch of familiar carols, sung skillfully in one blended number by a group dressed in lovely Victorian garb. Tickets are still available for next weekend here.
Prompts for Dec. 1 were:
1. How do you feel, on this first day, in your mind? In your body? In your heart? In your soul?
2. At the start: Where did you start 2013? Give us some background on this year.
Let's see if I can manage both, but beginning with #2.
New Year's Day found me sitting in Tony's recliner with my left foot plastered to the knee and propped up on multiple pillows. That's where I remained for most of January, venturing out only to the doctor for post-op exams, and once to get my shaggy hair cut and have lunch at the tail end of the month. I'd had a triple arthrodesis Dec. 27.
There were blessings to this forced convalescence, and I wrote about many of them early in the year. While there is still one of the fused joints still healing, the other two show new bone and fusion, but I can walk without pain and am very glad I had the surgery. This year has been about healing and recovery, not only from the surgery, but from the fear and anxiety and angst I had had about it and other parts of my life.
With the exception of worry and fear about my daughter's safety and unbelievably awful living situation, at this moment my life is better than it has ever been. I am so grateful for the friends and neighbors who helped us during my recovery, and for the wonderful support and care that my husband gave to me then and always.
Which brings me to the first prompt: see that very first sentence on the last paragraph. That's how I am in my mind and heart. One thing I know: I can save one life, and it is not hers. That is up to her, and I have finally gotten out of her way so that she can continue her own journey. I cope better with it some times than I do others, but I am doing it. And I pray that her angels will keep her safe and help her to get away from the badly broken people who are living with her. She knows I love her.
I still feel fragile in my body, but it doesn't hurt and gets me where I need to go. Through the rehab I did this year, I finally understood that going to a gym has nothing to do with looking better and everything to do with getting stronger and more flexible. Yet I confess that the heat this summer did me in for regular visits, and I have not started back yet. My intention is to resume regular visits and classes because I know results will show quickly and I will feel better and less fragile.
I am continuing to focus on energy and spiritual work, and my connection to the Universe is strong and powerful, although I still would like a like-minded group to work with. My teacher Jessie has helped me tremendously this past year to dump bad energy and increase good, healing vibration and spirit, and I am grateful to her.
Onward.
Let's see if I can manage both, but beginning with #2.
New Year's Day found me sitting in Tony's recliner with my left foot plastered to the knee and propped up on multiple pillows. That's where I remained for most of January, venturing out only to the doctor for post-op exams, and once to get my shaggy hair cut and have lunch at the tail end of the month. I'd had a triple arthrodesis Dec. 27.
There were blessings to this forced convalescence, and I wrote about many of them early in the year. While there is still one of the fused joints still healing, the other two show new bone and fusion, but I can walk without pain and am very glad I had the surgery. This year has been about healing and recovery, not only from the surgery, but from the fear and anxiety and angst I had had about it and other parts of my life.
With the exception of worry and fear about my daughter's safety and unbelievably awful living situation, at this moment my life is better than it has ever been. I am so grateful for the friends and neighbors who helped us during my recovery, and for the wonderful support and care that my husband gave to me then and always.
Which brings me to the first prompt: see that very first sentence on the last paragraph. That's how I am in my mind and heart. One thing I know: I can save one life, and it is not hers. That is up to her, and I have finally gotten out of her way so that she can continue her own journey. I cope better with it some times than I do others, but I am doing it. And I pray that her angels will keep her safe and help her to get away from the badly broken people who are living with her. She knows I love her.
I still feel fragile in my body, but it doesn't hurt and gets me where I need to go. Through the rehab I did this year, I finally understood that going to a gym has nothing to do with looking better and everything to do with getting stronger and more flexible. Yet I confess that the heat this summer did me in for regular visits, and I have not started back yet. My intention is to resume regular visits and classes because I know results will show quickly and I will feel better and less fragile.
I am continuing to focus on energy and spiritual work, and my connection to the Universe is strong and powerful, although I still would like a like-minded group to work with. My teacher Jessie has helped me tremendously this past year to dump bad energy and increase good, healing vibration and spirit, and I am grateful to her.
Onward.
Monday, October 14, 2013
The courage to let go
Giving up does not always mean you are weak — sometimes it means that you are strong enough to let go. ~Author Unknown
I am in the second week of a wonderful writing e-class titled Writing and Spiritual Practice, one of several offered here. It comes at a time most needed for me, something I could not have known when I was notified by Kat and Meredith (of Once in a Blue August Moon '13) that I had won a drawing for a free class. Because we were traveling in September, and because I am a spiritual seeker, I chose this class which began Oct. 4.
You'll not likely see my writing for this class on this blog: it is deeply personal and painful (and you already know a lot about me anyway!). There are only eight of us; I believe I am the only US resident; most -- if not all -- live in the UK.
The first week was about faith and included an essay, some writing suggestions and inspirational materials. We learned how to write 'Small Stones,' a challenging exercise in paying attention and then capturing that moment. And we shared our efforts, giving us intimate insights into the others' worlds and experiences.
I have never lacked faith in a higher power, in a Universal Wisdom, in whatever you want to call the oversoul that is the collective repository and source for our life energy. It has taken on different faces and dimensions as my spiritual path has evolved and changed, but it always has been there. This class is an opportunity to really examine that spiritual path and where it is taking me.
I am in a crisis of sorts in dealing with an adult child who is in what I believe to be a dangerous living situation but refuses to do anything about it, and paying such attention to what I am feeling and experiencing has been therapeutic for me, if extremely difficult. Indeed, the second week's theme is "Clear Seeing," and there have been moments where I have clearly received reassurances and messages that I need to remove myself so that both of us can move ahead to whatever is next. Thank you to this writing group and to friends and family who have listened and encouraged and loved me through this. We aren't done but we are moving forward.
We never know from one moment to the next how our lives might change. Being aware of Small Stones help us to stay in this moment and to notice and treasure what is here right now. I wish my efforts weren't so full of roiling guts and heart-breaking fear and worry; I am working to see the other gemstones in all my moments and remember with each breath that “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ― Julian of Norwich
I am in the second week of a wonderful writing e-class titled Writing and Spiritual Practice, one of several offered here. It comes at a time most needed for me, something I could not have known when I was notified by Kat and Meredith (of Once in a Blue August Moon '13) that I had won a drawing for a free class. Because we were traveling in September, and because I am a spiritual seeker, I chose this class which began Oct. 4.
You'll not likely see my writing for this class on this blog: it is deeply personal and painful (and you already know a lot about me anyway!). There are only eight of us; I believe I am the only US resident; most -- if not all -- live in the UK.
The first week was about faith and included an essay, some writing suggestions and inspirational materials. We learned how to write 'Small Stones,' a challenging exercise in paying attention and then capturing that moment. And we shared our efforts, giving us intimate insights into the others' worlds and experiences.
I have never lacked faith in a higher power, in a Universal Wisdom, in whatever you want to call the oversoul that is the collective repository and source for our life energy. It has taken on different faces and dimensions as my spiritual path has evolved and changed, but it always has been there. This class is an opportunity to really examine that spiritual path and where it is taking me.
I am in a crisis of sorts in dealing with an adult child who is in what I believe to be a dangerous living situation but refuses to do anything about it, and paying such attention to what I am feeling and experiencing has been therapeutic for me, if extremely difficult. Indeed, the second week's theme is "Clear Seeing," and there have been moments where I have clearly received reassurances and messages that I need to remove myself so that both of us can move ahead to whatever is next. Thank you to this writing group and to friends and family who have listened and encouraged and loved me through this. We aren't done but we are moving forward.
We never know from one moment to the next how our lives might change. Being aware of Small Stones help us to stay in this moment and to notice and treasure what is here right now. I wish my efforts weren't so full of roiling guts and heart-breaking fear and worry; I am working to see the other gemstones in all my moments and remember with each breath that “All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ― Julian of Norwich
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Once in a Blue August Moon: Day 11 -- Celebrate!
The prompt:
Meredith & Kat write:
Meredith & Kat write:
Thank you for journeying with us through this magical time! We've
been so grateful for all of you, especially those of you who have shared
your musings over at August Moon 13 HQ.
Today, we'd like you to find a small way to celebrate all you have
summoned and all you have leaned into and all that you manifested over
the past ten days. It could be a quiet walk in nature, a tiny talisman
purchased to represent your dreams going forward, a confidence in a
trusted friend. Whatever it is, please take the time to honour your
courage and creativity as you planted the seeds for a flourishing
future.
As with the various versions of Scintilla and Reverb, this series of prompts have encouraged introspection and analysis of what I'm feeling/thinking and how past events have influenced where I am today -- and indeed, simply figuring out where I am! So much of the time we are doing doing doing, and not thinking about the state of our BE-ing. These writing prompts are such a gift to me, a time to look inward without feeling like I should be doing something more 'practical.'
Although we live four hours from the Pacific coast, we go visit Mama Ocean as we can. One such trip is coming up, and we plan to spend a lot of time walking the vast, windy beaches and listening to the waves, soaking up those eternal echoes for times when we are too far away to hear them. On one day, I will release my 'letting go' list to her care. And I will celebrate who I am and what I know for sure.
And if I find the perfect talisman either on her beaches or in one of the local shops I love to browse, you can be sure I will recognize it and wear it, as I do my other regular jewelry, all representing some significant event or reason, to remind me of who and where I am.
Thank you, Kat and Meredith, for taking the time out of your busy lives to organize and create and share this opportunity to listen to our innermost wishes. You enrich our lives. May our collective writings also enrich yours.
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Once in a Blue August Moon 13: Day 7 -- Opportunities
The prompt: What once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity(ies) came your way so far?
This year has been a quieter-than-normal year because of my surgery last December and subsequent months of recovery and therapy. We've stuck close to home mostly, gotten into routines that are comfortable and comforting, and all's going well.
But things are changing a bit. And one of those was the once-in-a-blue-moon purchase of what we think is the perfect little new-to-us travel trailer at the end of June.
We'd looked at trailers for more than a year, getting quite the education in the different makes and models and manufacturers from a few very helpful and forthcoming sales staff, along with some really blatant sales pitches at other dealers.
What we wanted: a mid-size travel trailer, around 2006 or newer, between 22-27 feet long. After looking at a LOT of trailers, we decided we liked the rear kitchens best because they have more counter space and more storage space. We also liked the rear lounge models, but they usually came with a humongous slideout. We were open to a slide, but a small slide, and definitely not one containing any appliances (I mean, why would you put a stove or refrigerator in a SLIDE? Even the sales folk agreed with us on that one.)
Walkaround queen bed, no bunk beds, and preferably a self-contained bathroom, although we saw many with the vanity in the bedroom, the big glassed-in shower sort of offset, and the toilet in a little room by itself. That wasn't a deal breaker, but it wasn't exactly what we wanted either.
We saw some gorgeous woodwork in the cabinetry and generous storage spaces, but we also saw some kitchens with one drawer and two cupboards and about 6 inches of counter space.
We looked at new ones: Timber Ridge and Creekside were really nice but were upwards of $26-$33K -- and I really choked at that price. We looked at used ones: they were okay but nothing really sang to us.
The newer ones have vinyl flooring in nice patterns -- stone or hardwood; the older ones have mostly carpet. Wallpaper and colors varied with the model year.
I wanted something that didn't feel so huge that I would be afraid to drive it, but some of the new ones have higher ceilings, seeming more spacious. They felt BIG.
Once I was back on my feet, we got interested in looking again, and on what was one of the hottest days of the year, went to a sale by Camping World where we saw a couple of really nice Denalis, new ones, and the sales guy said we could probably get it for about $10K off the asking price because they need room on the lot for the new model year ones that are coming in now. We said we'd think about it.
Back home, we looked at the website and found a couple of used trailers we hadn't seen and made an appointment to see them early the next morning. They too were marked way down.
And there it was: our perfect trailer. A 2011 MVP Summit with vinyl floors, not too tall, rear kitchen, small sofa slide, self-contained bathroom, very clean and showing almost no use, two doors. The trailer was right. We offered less than the sales guy wanted us to offer, and got it for just a bit more than our offer. Done. It was waiting for us to find it.
We've taken it (and the indoor kitties, one of our main reasons for wanting it) on a shakedown trip which went really well, and are soon to embark on a three-week journey northwards. Change is upon us, new opportunities, new vistas. Bring it on.
Let me add one more: I signed up for the August Moon 13 experience because I like writing to prompts, especially insightful ones as these are. I knew there would be a drawing for a free e-writing course from Writing Our Way Home, but since I never win these kinds of giveaways, I didn't pay much attention to that.
Guess what. My name was drawn.
And I am intrigued by the course titles and very pleased to have another once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity. Not sure yet which I'll be doing, but I'm sure you'll see some of the results on this site.
Thank you, Kat and Meredith, for your wonderful prompts, for organizing the whole experience, for arranging for such a great giveaway.
This year has been a quieter-than-normal year because of my surgery last December and subsequent months of recovery and therapy. We've stuck close to home mostly, gotten into routines that are comfortable and comforting, and all's going well.
But things are changing a bit. And one of those was the once-in-a-blue-moon purchase of what we think is the perfect little new-to-us travel trailer at the end of June.
We'd looked at trailers for more than a year, getting quite the education in the different makes and models and manufacturers from a few very helpful and forthcoming sales staff, along with some really blatant sales pitches at other dealers.
What we wanted: a mid-size travel trailer, around 2006 or newer, between 22-27 feet long. After looking at a LOT of trailers, we decided we liked the rear kitchens best because they have more counter space and more storage space. We also liked the rear lounge models, but they usually came with a humongous slideout. We were open to a slide, but a small slide, and definitely not one containing any appliances (I mean, why would you put a stove or refrigerator in a SLIDE? Even the sales folk agreed with us on that one.)
Walkaround queen bed, no bunk beds, and preferably a self-contained bathroom, although we saw many with the vanity in the bedroom, the big glassed-in shower sort of offset, and the toilet in a little room by itself. That wasn't a deal breaker, but it wasn't exactly what we wanted either.
We saw some gorgeous woodwork in the cabinetry and generous storage spaces, but we also saw some kitchens with one drawer and two cupboards and about 6 inches of counter space.
We looked at new ones: Timber Ridge and Creekside were really nice but were upwards of $26-$33K -- and I really choked at that price. We looked at used ones: they were okay but nothing really sang to us.
The newer ones have vinyl flooring in nice patterns -- stone or hardwood; the older ones have mostly carpet. Wallpaper and colors varied with the model year.
I wanted something that didn't feel so huge that I would be afraid to drive it, but some of the new ones have higher ceilings, seeming more spacious. They felt BIG.
Once I was back on my feet, we got interested in looking again, and on what was one of the hottest days of the year, went to a sale by Camping World where we saw a couple of really nice Denalis, new ones, and the sales guy said we could probably get it for about $10K off the asking price because they need room on the lot for the new model year ones that are coming in now. We said we'd think about it.
Back home, we looked at the website and found a couple of used trailers we hadn't seen and made an appointment to see them early the next morning. They too were marked way down.
And there it was: our perfect trailer. A 2011 MVP Summit with vinyl floors, not too tall, rear kitchen, small sofa slide, self-contained bathroom, very clean and showing almost no use, two doors. The trailer was right. We offered less than the sales guy wanted us to offer, and got it for just a bit more than our offer. Done. It was waiting for us to find it.
We've taken it (and the indoor kitties, one of our main reasons for wanting it) on a shakedown trip which went really well, and are soon to embark on a three-week journey northwards. Change is upon us, new opportunities, new vistas. Bring it on.
Let me add one more: I signed up for the August Moon 13 experience because I like writing to prompts, especially insightful ones as these are. I knew there would be a drawing for a free e-writing course from Writing Our Way Home, but since I never win these kinds of giveaways, I didn't pay much attention to that.
Guess what. My name was drawn.
And I am intrigued by the course titles and very pleased to have another once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity. Not sure yet which I'll be doing, but I'm sure you'll see some of the results on this site.
Thank you, Kat and Meredith, for your wonderful prompts, for organizing the whole experience, for arranging for such a great giveaway.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Scintilla#13, Day 4-5
We're running slightly behind schedule here -- a busy weekend for this still-recovering writer. Here is Saturday's prompt;
1. Being trapped in a confined environment can turn an ordinary experience into a powder keg. Write about a thing that happened to you while you were using transportation; anything from your first school bus ride, to a train or plane, to being in the backseat of the car on a family road trip.
It was a quiet trip. Very quiet. (Even the elephant in the back seat said nothing.)
I'd come to understand, through many counseling sessions and a lot of introspection during that pivotal year, that my husband really liked it when we talked about him, his interests, his work day, his concerns, his pleasure, when I asked him questions about himself or what he was thinking/doing/feeling. He didn't really ask similar questions of me, and when I did volunteer such information, it usually became a conversation about him and his experiences and opinions.
So I decided not to ask and see what happened. If he asked a question, I responded, but I didn't volunteer much. I sat and read. Listened to music. Watched the scenery. Thought a lot.
For two days.
I was pleasant enough, visiting some with the group we were traveling with, and I was pleasant to him. I just didn't ask him his opinion, his thoughts, but waited to see if he would pick up the conversational ball.
He didn't. We didn't acknowledge the elephant that had come along either, the one that had been living in our house for some time. But a few months later he finally said he thought it would be a good idea if we got a divorce. HE said it. And I agreed.
**************
Sunday's prompt:
1. What talent do you have that your usual blog readers don't know about? Talk about a time when you showed it to its best advantage.
I can sew. I learned the basics in my seventh grade home economics class, and some from my mother who was an excellent seamstress, making most of my childhood clothing and some wonderful things for my daughter in addition to draperies, pillows, crafty accessories, and embellishing towels and pillowcases with insets and appliques.
I made clothing. Nothing terribly tailored -- that was never much my style anyway, but I loved choosing fabric to create long, flowing dresses and tops and skirts and pants that suited me and my height -- it was always difficult to find clothing that was long enough in the sleeves or legs, or that fit my broad shoulders, much less in a color that I liked.
So I made them, often trying on styles in department stores and then heading to the fabric store to find similar patterns to customize. Most of my career clothing was my creation, and I could whip up a pair of pants or a top one day to wear them to an event the next. (I still have a long velvet button shirt and skinny pants that I made oh so many years ago for a special banquet!)
When the rage in the late '80s was for knit separates, skirts, pants and tops that could be accessorized with belts and scarves and jewelry, I made them -- easy to do with one marvelous pattern that could be customized for sleeve length, crew or v-neck, and length. And they were all finished with the machine -- nothing by hand -- which made them even easier!
The most intricate dress I made was a prom dress for my daughter, a strapless black brocade with a fitted and boned bodice and a double skirt -- an underskirt of tulle with the black overskirt. It fit her to a tee and she looked marvelous in it -- she had chosen the pattern, the fabric, the length, and was thrilled with it. And so was I.
I have my mother's Bernina and all her notes from the classes she loved to take at the local sewing shop, but I haven't made anything except a pair of curtains and repaired a few seams here and there in more than a decade. You just never know when you might need it again.
1. Being trapped in a confined environment can turn an ordinary experience into a powder keg. Write about a thing that happened to you while you were using transportation; anything from your first school bus ride, to a train or plane, to being in the backseat of the car on a family road trip.
It was a quiet trip. Very quiet. (Even the elephant in the back seat said nothing.)
I'd come to understand, through many counseling sessions and a lot of introspection during that pivotal year, that my husband really liked it when we talked about him, his interests, his work day, his concerns, his pleasure, when I asked him questions about himself or what he was thinking/doing/feeling. He didn't really ask similar questions of me, and when I did volunteer such information, it usually became a conversation about him and his experiences and opinions.
So I decided not to ask and see what happened. If he asked a question, I responded, but I didn't volunteer much. I sat and read. Listened to music. Watched the scenery. Thought a lot.
For two days.
I was pleasant enough, visiting some with the group we were traveling with, and I was pleasant to him. I just didn't ask him his opinion, his thoughts, but waited to see if he would pick up the conversational ball.
He didn't. We didn't acknowledge the elephant that had come along either, the one that had been living in our house for some time. But a few months later he finally said he thought it would be a good idea if we got a divorce. HE said it. And I agreed.
**************
Sunday's prompt:
1. What talent do you have that your usual blog readers don't know about? Talk about a time when you showed it to its best advantage.
I can sew. I learned the basics in my seventh grade home economics class, and some from my mother who was an excellent seamstress, making most of my childhood clothing and some wonderful things for my daughter in addition to draperies, pillows, crafty accessories, and embellishing towels and pillowcases with insets and appliques.
I made clothing. Nothing terribly tailored -- that was never much my style anyway, but I loved choosing fabric to create long, flowing dresses and tops and skirts and pants that suited me and my height -- it was always difficult to find clothing that was long enough in the sleeves or legs, or that fit my broad shoulders, much less in a color that I liked.
So I made them, often trying on styles in department stores and then heading to the fabric store to find similar patterns to customize. Most of my career clothing was my creation, and I could whip up a pair of pants or a top one day to wear them to an event the next. (I still have a long velvet button shirt and skinny pants that I made oh so many years ago for a special banquet!)
When the rage in the late '80s was for knit separates, skirts, pants and tops that could be accessorized with belts and scarves and jewelry, I made them -- easy to do with one marvelous pattern that could be customized for sleeve length, crew or v-neck, and length. And they were all finished with the machine -- nothing by hand -- which made them even easier!
The most intricate dress I made was a prom dress for my daughter, a strapless black brocade with a fitted and boned bodice and a double skirt -- an underskirt of tulle with the black overskirt. It fit her to a tee and she looked marvelous in it -- she had chosen the pattern, the fabric, the length, and was thrilled with it. And so was I.
I have my mother's Bernina and all her notes from the classes she loved to take at the local sewing shop, but I haven't made anything except a pair of curtains and repaired a few seams here and there in more than a decade. You just never know when you might need it again.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Scintilla#13, Day 1
Last year I participated in the first Scintilla Project, a couple of weeks of daily writing prompts that encourage you to tell your stories. And here we are again.
If you want to sign up for daily prompts in your inbox, go here. It's not too late to begin.
Every day you get two possible prompts; do one or both. Today's are:
1. Tell a story about a time you got drunk before you were legally able to do so.
2. Tell a story set at your first job.
Well, it's not like I don't have experience with getting drunk before I was of legal age. And perhaps another day I'll tell you about the very dark night we met a very black cow in the middle of a dirt road while we were heading out to 'the brush' for a party. But not today.
***********
Oh, I had the usual kinds of teenage jobs: babysitting mostly, and a summer or two as an A&W carhop; a part-time campus thing in college where I threw greasy fried potatoes or rubbery scrambled eggs on plates in the cafeteria at the butt-crack of dawn, and a much better gig as the news director of our campus radio station, the first woman on the (paltry) paid staff.
My first post-college job was as a school teacher, and I have several stories from those years, although not necessarily that first year when I was barely three years older than some of the kids I was working with and still was startled every time someone called me "Mrs. Steele" since I was also a newly-wed.
But the summer before my college senior year I was a reporter for my hometown daily newspaper in Springfield, Mo., full-time and decently paid. In those days before the big media companies had bought up the medium and small market dailies, in those days before the Internet and cell phones and widespread use of computers, we had two daily papers: The Daily News in the morning and the Leader-Press in the afternoon, and a full contingent of editors, columnists, reporters, typesetters, and printers for both. (The papers were bought by Gannett in 1977 and were consolidated since 1987.)
My first morning as a reporter for The Leader-Press found me at a second-row desk with an IBM electric typewriter in the noisy open bull pen . The news desk editor and managing editor sat facing each other at a huge U-shaped table to one side of the room, with copy editors flanking them on the arms of the U, and the publisher's office was nearby with a big window and a door looking out onto the news room. The long back of the room, in a sectioned-off area, held rows of tall filing cabinets -- the 'morgue' -- which contained ongoing permanent files and reporters' notes and clippings about current or important stories, information about civic leaders that could be pulled instantly as background material in the event of their death, and bound volumes of newspapers in addition to files of the current year's copies.
It smelled of fresh ink and paper, and cigarette smoke and stale, thick, burnt coffee. There was a constant low thrum throughout the building from the hum of many electric typewriters, the linotype machines in the composing area, and from the giant presses churning out newspapers and advertising sections.
It was a bit overwhelming. And everyone seemed to be very busy. And I was the lowest of the low, a cub reporter, one of three college students hired that summer, and the first one on deck.
Later that week when the other students showed up, I was reassigned to the Daily News (morning paper) staff and honestly felt I'd found my tribe there: in that time of shirts and ties for men and dresses and pantyhose for women, these reporters were a little more casual, ties loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, wandering into the newsroom around 2:30-3 in the afternoon to take stock of what had occurred during the day that would be tomorrow morning's news, It was a congenial group, often going out for coffee together after the last version of the paper had been proofed and put to bed. Not many women, either: there was one on the night staff, also an intern, who had just graduated and was offered a permanent position after the summer, but the other women reporters worked during the day or as columnists. There was one outstandingly marvelous, bat-sh*t crazy female photographer with whom I got to travel several times in search of 'local color' photographs and photo essays ( I wrote the cutlines -- captions -- and got the ID if we were including people pictures.). Even today I recall with heart-stopping clarity the abrupt screeching as she stopped her car in the middle of a somewhat busy country road so she could take pictures of a big box turtle moseying across it.
But that first day, I was a little timid and quiet, taking it all in, rewriting little local briefs and a few straightforward obituaries sent over from area funeral homes, and hearing the constant ding-ding-ding of the signal bells and non-stop clackety-clacking from the AP and UPI wire teletypes in a tiny nearby room as they spit out alerts and story after story on the long, endless rolls of yellow paper in boxes which sat stacked underneath the machines. Reporters and editors stood intently over the teletypes much of that day, ripping and handing long strips off to others to mark up, and nobody said much to me as they strode purposefully past my desk.
The date was June 6, 1968: Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated. I am embarrassed to say it was several hours before I knew that, and me in a newsroom! Clearly it was not a typical day for any newsroom, but it was a memorable first day on a new job for this writer.
If you want to sign up for daily prompts in your inbox, go here. It's not too late to begin.
Every day you get two possible prompts; do one or both. Today's are:
1. Tell a story about a time you got drunk before you were legally able to do so.
2. Tell a story set at your first job.
Well, it's not like I don't have experience with getting drunk before I was of legal age. And perhaps another day I'll tell you about the very dark night we met a very black cow in the middle of a dirt road while we were heading out to 'the brush' for a party. But not today.
***********
Oh, I had the usual kinds of teenage jobs: babysitting mostly, and a summer or two as an A&W carhop; a part-time campus thing in college where I threw greasy fried potatoes or rubbery scrambled eggs on plates in the cafeteria at the butt-crack of dawn, and a much better gig as the news director of our campus radio station, the first woman on the (paltry) paid staff.
My first post-college job was as a school teacher, and I have several stories from those years, although not necessarily that first year when I was barely three years older than some of the kids I was working with and still was startled every time someone called me "Mrs. Steele" since I was also a newly-wed.
But the summer before my college senior year I was a reporter for my hometown daily newspaper in Springfield, Mo., full-time and decently paid. In those days before the big media companies had bought up the medium and small market dailies, in those days before the Internet and cell phones and widespread use of computers, we had two daily papers: The Daily News in the morning and the Leader-Press in the afternoon, and a full contingent of editors, columnists, reporters, typesetters, and printers for both. (The papers were bought by Gannett in 1977 and were consolidated since 1987.)
My first morning as a reporter for The Leader-Press found me at a second-row desk with an IBM electric typewriter in the noisy open bull pen . The news desk editor and managing editor sat facing each other at a huge U-shaped table to one side of the room, with copy editors flanking them on the arms of the U, and the publisher's office was nearby with a big window and a door looking out onto the news room. The long back of the room, in a sectioned-off area, held rows of tall filing cabinets -- the 'morgue' -- which contained ongoing permanent files and reporters' notes and clippings about current or important stories, information about civic leaders that could be pulled instantly as background material in the event of their death, and bound volumes of newspapers in addition to files of the current year's copies.
It smelled of fresh ink and paper, and cigarette smoke and stale, thick, burnt coffee. There was a constant low thrum throughout the building from the hum of many electric typewriters, the linotype machines in the composing area, and from the giant presses churning out newspapers and advertising sections.
It was a bit overwhelming. And everyone seemed to be very busy. And I was the lowest of the low, a cub reporter, one of three college students hired that summer, and the first one on deck.
Later that week when the other students showed up, I was reassigned to the Daily News (morning paper) staff and honestly felt I'd found my tribe there: in that time of shirts and ties for men and dresses and pantyhose for women, these reporters were a little more casual, ties loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, wandering into the newsroom around 2:30-3 in the afternoon to take stock of what had occurred during the day that would be tomorrow morning's news, It was a congenial group, often going out for coffee together after the last version of the paper had been proofed and put to bed. Not many women, either: there was one on the night staff, also an intern, who had just graduated and was offered a permanent position after the summer, but the other women reporters worked during the day or as columnists. There was one outstandingly marvelous, bat-sh*t crazy female photographer with whom I got to travel several times in search of 'local color' photographs and photo essays ( I wrote the cutlines -- captions -- and got the ID if we were including people pictures.). Even today I recall with heart-stopping clarity the abrupt screeching as she stopped her car in the middle of a somewhat busy country road so she could take pictures of a big box turtle moseying across it.
But that first day, I was a little timid and quiet, taking it all in, rewriting little local briefs and a few straightforward obituaries sent over from area funeral homes, and hearing the constant ding-ding-ding of the signal bells and non-stop clackety-clacking from the AP and UPI wire teletypes in a tiny nearby room as they spit out alerts and story after story on the long, endless rolls of yellow paper in boxes which sat stacked underneath the machines. Reporters and editors stood intently over the teletypes much of that day, ripping and handing long strips off to others to mark up, and nobody said much to me as they strode purposefully past my desk.
The date was June 6, 1968: Bobby Kennedy had been assassinated. I am embarrassed to say it was several hours before I knew that, and me in a newsroom! Clearly it was not a typical day for any newsroom, but it was a memorable first day on a new job for this writer.
Friday, January 25, 2013
Rediscovering the power in a good book
The last time I spent hours and hours reading was when we rented a house on the Oregon coast in the fall of 2011 and it rained for three days. I started Diana Gabaldon's Outlander series that week and read my way through at least two of the 1000+ word tomes (on Kindle so I didn't boink myself when I fell asleep at night!) during that lovely time away.
Since I'm in full rest and recovery mode, meaning that I need to spend time with my leg elevated, and am fair-to-middling useless when it comes to doing regular chores or running around these days, I have been reading. Yeah, messing around on Facebook and reading blogs and email and so on, but reading honest-to-god books, some of which I found on the free or under $3.99 Kindle list, some of which have been kicking around my nightstand for months.
I polished off Three Moons Over Sedona by Sherry Hartzler, one I'd gotten as a kindle freebie quite some time ago, in just a day or two, not reading constantly. It was entertaining enough to keep my interest, although fairly predictable and sometimes a little disconnected, but I liked reading about the area and the (again, fairly predictable) growth of the main character .It is not unlike something I have thought about writing, actually....
I've already mentioned Anne Lamott's Help. Thanks. Wow. which was NOT a freebie and indeed is MORE than the hardcover version. It was inspirational and touching and amazing, as I always find her writing.
I'm reading now The Blue Tail by Kim Antieau, in the soft cover version. It was a birthday gift from my lovely and literate friend Melissa, to whom I gave Antieau's Church of the Old Mermaids a few years ago and created a fan of Antieau's work and the mermaids. Antieau lives in Oregon and I've read her blog for several years.
But I've really been wrapped up in two books from the All Souls Trilogy by historian Deborah Harkness, starting with A Discovery of Witches (which was a deal of the day on Kindle several months ago), and then I just HAD to buy the second book, Shadow of Night. She's still writing the third book, blast-and-damn, but I'll snatch it as soon as it's published this year (just like I'm waiting for the eighth in the Outlander series, also to be published this year).
The trilogy is about a witch and a vampire who fall in love.
It is nothing.~~ NOTHING.~~ like Twilight or True Blood, neither of which I've read, but have only seen the movies and the TV series. (I heard such criticism of the Twilight books that I just haven't been interested, and I've found the movies fairly insipid; the Sookie Stackhouse books upon which True Blood is based may be better, but again -- not really interested.)
These two are scholars, educated and interesting, who have these, uh, big character differences. The books are chock-full of historical references (indeed, the second book contains a glossary of sorts that tells you which characters are historical) and detailed descriptions of places, including the Bodleian Library at Oxford University as well as Elizabethan England and Prague and France (in 1590). As a fan and long-time reader of historical fiction, at least some of it, I loved all the description and history.
The world that Harkness creates for her lovers begins in present day and goes back to the 16th century -- yes, there is time travel involved, which I also enjoy. There are four kinds of creatures inhabiting the world: humans, vampires, witches, and daemons, and the author vividly brings them to life with their character differences and flaws and misconceptions.
I had to pull myself out of the books, reluctantly closing my Kindle cover, to come to dinner. The device rode with me on my knee roller and even on my trips to the bathroom, I would pull it out of the little basket and read another few pages. And yet, I forcced myself to leave it alone to watch some television or to do some emails or to read a bit in a magazine or newspaper, simply because I didn't want it to be done, to have to read the last page, especially knowing that the third book isn't out yet! I wanted to savor the story longer, prolong the anticipation of finding out what happens next.
That's a good book, in my humble opinion, when you don't want it to end. (And that's one thing I adored about the Outlander books: there were SEVEN of them to read all in a row, long, long books full of places and history and adventure and great characters, which took me months to do...and then I dragged my feet through the last one, knowing it would be the better part of a year before the eighth book is out!)
So I'm onto the next -- right now The Blue Tail -- but followed soon by The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley (another Kindle bargain!) who has several other books. I've read good things about her writing and am looking forward to another good read.
I am loving all this reading, I'll be honest. While I always have a book or two and a magazine or three waiting for me, I haven't taken time to read during the day for a long time, saving it for bedtime (when I always read). These days I'm whipping through magazines almost as soon as they hit the mailbox, two newspapers, and also books. I will not give this up when I'm again two-legged and mobile -- another lesson I'm learning. I need to read. I have always been a reader. It's time now to indulge that more often and for a longer time.
Kindle owners -- or Kindle app readers -- see Kindle Deal of the Day.
See 100 Kindle books for under $3.99 here
There is also a Kindle blog.
Kindle apps for your iPad, your laptop or martphones are free. More info here.
Disclaimer: Don't get me wrong. I love paper and ink books and own many, but I love the Kindle and being able to take huge books with me in a tiny format, and also being able to read pretty much anything I want to read RIGHT NOW. Many of my paper books are going to be donated to our local Friends of the Library over the course of this year as I continue my quest to downsize and eliminate things I won't re-read or don't need or don't cherish.
Since I'm in full rest and recovery mode, meaning that I need to spend time with my leg elevated, and am fair-to-middling useless when it comes to doing regular chores or running around these days, I have been reading. Yeah, messing around on Facebook and reading blogs and email and so on, but reading honest-to-god books, some of which I found on the free or under $3.99 Kindle list, some of which have been kicking around my nightstand for months.
I polished off Three Moons Over Sedona by Sherry Hartzler, one I'd gotten as a kindle freebie quite some time ago, in just a day or two, not reading constantly. It was entertaining enough to keep my interest, although fairly predictable and sometimes a little disconnected, but I liked reading about the area and the (again, fairly predictable) growth of the main character .It is not unlike something I have thought about writing, actually....
I've already mentioned Anne Lamott's Help. Thanks. Wow. which was NOT a freebie and indeed is MORE than the hardcover version. It was inspirational and touching and amazing, as I always find her writing.
I'm reading now The Blue Tail by Kim Antieau, in the soft cover version. It was a birthday gift from my lovely and literate friend Melissa, to whom I gave Antieau's Church of the Old Mermaids a few years ago and created a fan of Antieau's work and the mermaids. Antieau lives in Oregon and I've read her blog for several years.
But I've really been wrapped up in two books from the All Souls Trilogy by historian Deborah Harkness, starting with A Discovery of Witches (which was a deal of the day on Kindle several months ago), and then I just HAD to buy the second book, Shadow of Night. She's still writing the third book, blast-and-damn, but I'll snatch it as soon as it's published this year (just like I'm waiting for the eighth in the Outlander series, also to be published this year).
The trilogy is about a witch and a vampire who fall in love.
It is nothing.~~ NOTHING.~~ like Twilight or True Blood, neither of which I've read, but have only seen the movies and the TV series. (I heard such criticism of the Twilight books that I just haven't been interested, and I've found the movies fairly insipid; the Sookie Stackhouse books upon which True Blood is based may be better, but again -- not really interested.)
These two are scholars, educated and interesting, who have these, uh, big character differences. The books are chock-full of historical references (indeed, the second book contains a glossary of sorts that tells you which characters are historical) and detailed descriptions of places, including the Bodleian Library at Oxford University as well as Elizabethan England and Prague and France (in 1590). As a fan and long-time reader of historical fiction, at least some of it, I loved all the description and history.
The world that Harkness creates for her lovers begins in present day and goes back to the 16th century -- yes, there is time travel involved, which I also enjoy. There are four kinds of creatures inhabiting the world: humans, vampires, witches, and daemons, and the author vividly brings them to life with their character differences and flaws and misconceptions.
I had to pull myself out of the books, reluctantly closing my Kindle cover, to come to dinner. The device rode with me on my knee roller and even on my trips to the bathroom, I would pull it out of the little basket and read another few pages. And yet, I forcced myself to leave it alone to watch some television or to do some emails or to read a bit in a magazine or newspaper, simply because I didn't want it to be done, to have to read the last page, especially knowing that the third book isn't out yet! I wanted to savor the story longer, prolong the anticipation of finding out what happens next.
That's a good book, in my humble opinion, when you don't want it to end. (And that's one thing I adored about the Outlander books: there were SEVEN of them to read all in a row, long, long books full of places and history and adventure and great characters, which took me months to do...and then I dragged my feet through the last one, knowing it would be the better part of a year before the eighth book is out!)
So I'm onto the next -- right now The Blue Tail -- but followed soon by The Rose Garden by Susanna Kearsley (another Kindle bargain!) who has several other books. I've read good things about her writing and am looking forward to another good read.
I am loving all this reading, I'll be honest. While I always have a book or two and a magazine or three waiting for me, I haven't taken time to read during the day for a long time, saving it for bedtime (when I always read). These days I'm whipping through magazines almost as soon as they hit the mailbox, two newspapers, and also books. I will not give this up when I'm again two-legged and mobile -- another lesson I'm learning. I need to read. I have always been a reader. It's time now to indulge that more often and for a longer time.
Kindle owners -- or Kindle app readers -- see Kindle Deal of the Day.
See 100 Kindle books for under $3.99 here
There is also a Kindle blog.
Kindle apps for your iPad, your laptop or martphones are free. More info here.
Disclaimer: Don't get me wrong. I love paper and ink books and own many, but I love the Kindle and being able to take huge books with me in a tiny format, and also being able to read pretty much anything I want to read RIGHT NOW. Many of my paper books are going to be donated to our local Friends of the Library over the course of this year as I continue my quest to downsize and eliminate things I won't re-read or don't need or don't cherish.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
The Scintilla Project - Day 10
Can't believe there's just one more day for Scintilla! I may have to go back and pick upthe prompts I didn't choose.
Today's selection:
1. Talk about breaking someone else's heart, or having your own heart broken.
2. Pet peeves. We've all got 'em. What are yours? Write about a time when you experienced one so vividly that we all join your army of defiance.
Let's go with #2.
*****************
I'm a bit of a grammar Nazi. (Okay, I can get really wrapped around the axle about some aspects of grammar and punctuation. But that was my job for years: to final proof everything that came through the creative department and to sign off on it. I can't help seeing errors in menus, in books --some are really bad -- in magazines and newspapers, on posters, in programs. Sometimes I point them out, gently, depending on who and what it is. Mostly I shake my head in despair and wonder if students are actually being taught proper grammar and punctuation today.)
My biggest pet peeve is the misuse of the apostrophe, ESPECIALLY in the difference between ITS and IT'S.
(Actually, there is a whole book written about punctuation. Eats, Shoots & Leaves, which I loved reading even though the author is British and there are style differences between British English and American English. It is delightful, especially for writers and editors.)
But I digress.
So the difference between ITS and IT'S is this: IT'S is short for it is or it has. (NO exceptions. If you can't substitute IT IS or IT HAS in the sentence, don't use the apostrophe.)
ITS is the possessive form of it.
If you're still confused, read more here. But come on, people. This is not rocket science.
I saw it misused last week in our local paper, right here on the front page. Can you spot it? (Third sentence.)
I've seen in in magazines, reputable ones. I see it in newsletters with more frequency than I'd like. There's an area blogger who loves to put apostrophes in random words, like these examples: " ...for little Leprechaun's..." " ...there are lots of variety's..."
I know it shouldn't. But it makes me crazy.
If you read this blog regularly, I know you'll find my own misspellings and grammatical liberties, although the latter is partly just my style of writing in this venue. (The misspellings I do try to correct when I see them, but you also realize that a writer cannot accurately proof his/her own work, don't you? EVERY writer needs an editor. All it takes me for to see my errors is to put it in print -- a newspaper or magazine or program or poster -- and then boyoboyoboy, do I see it. And so does everyone else. Yikes. I hate that.)
There are some grammar/punctuation/usage things I have to look up every damn time, like the difference between 'lay' and 'lie,' 'that' and 'which,' and essential/non-essential clauses. (I have three reference manuals: The AP Stylebook, The Chicago Manual of Style, and The Gregg Reference Manual, and they don't agree on some points. I don't use them much anymore -- but when I was editing and proofing, the stickier issues were tabbed so I could find them quickly.)
But is it too much to ask for people to learn the difference between the contraction of IT IS (IT'S) and the possessive ITS?
Today's selection:
1. Talk about breaking someone else's heart, or having your own heart broken.
2. Pet peeves. We've all got 'em. What are yours? Write about a time when you experienced one so vividly that we all join your army of defiance.
Let's go with #2.
*****************
I'm a bit of a grammar Nazi. (Okay, I can get really wrapped around the axle about some aspects of grammar and punctuation. But that was my job for years: to final proof everything that came through the creative department and to sign off on it. I can't help seeing errors in menus, in books --some are really bad -- in magazines and newspapers, on posters, in programs. Sometimes I point them out, gently, depending on who and what it is. Mostly I shake my head in despair and wonder if students are actually being taught proper grammar and punctuation today.)
My biggest pet peeve is the misuse of the apostrophe, ESPECIALLY in the difference between ITS and IT'S.
(Actually, there is a whole book written about punctuation. Eats, Shoots & Leaves, which I loved reading even though the author is British and there are style differences between British English and American English. It is delightful, especially for writers and editors.)
But I digress.
So the difference between ITS and IT'S is this: IT'S is short for it is or it has. (NO exceptions. If you can't substitute IT IS or IT HAS in the sentence, don't use the apostrophe.)
ITS is the possessive form of it.
If you're still confused, read more here. But come on, people. This is not rocket science.
I saw it misused last week in our local paper, right here on the front page. Can you spot it? (Third sentence.)
I've seen in in magazines, reputable ones. I see it in newsletters with more frequency than I'd like. There's an area blogger who loves to put apostrophes in random words, like these examples: " ...for little Leprechaun's..." " ...there are lots of variety's..."
I know it shouldn't. But it makes me crazy.
If you read this blog regularly, I know you'll find my own misspellings and grammatical liberties, although the latter is partly just my style of writing in this venue. (The misspellings I do try to correct when I see them, but you also realize that a writer cannot accurately proof his/her own work, don't you? EVERY writer needs an editor. All it takes me for to see my errors is to put it in print -- a newspaper or magazine or program or poster -- and then boyoboyoboy, do I see it. And so does everyone else. Yikes. I hate that.)
There are some grammar/punctuation/usage things I have to look up every damn time, like the difference between 'lay' and 'lie,' 'that' and 'which,' and essential/non-essential clauses. (I have three reference manuals: The AP Stylebook, The Chicago Manual of Style, and The Gregg Reference Manual, and they don't agree on some points. I don't use them much anymore -- but when I was editing and proofing, the stickier issues were tabbed so I could find them quickly.)
But is it too much to ask for people to learn the difference between the contraction of IT IS (IT'S) and the possessive ITS?
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Working on a post
Okay, so I'm working on a longer post, and I didn't get it done today. I'm thinking about aging and how things just change a bit at a time until one day we look at ourselves and wonder what happened and how did we get to be this age?
There are tradeoffs. You get older, but you also get smarter, or many people do and I like to think I'm one of them.
But bottom line is that I wish I'd paid more attention to things over all these years.
See you tomorrow with the full story.
There are tradeoffs. You get older, but you also get smarter, or many people do and I like to think I'm one of them.
But bottom line is that I wish I'd paid more attention to things over all these years.
See you tomorrow with the full story.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Renewing my intention
(((Wow but my daily hits on this blog go down when I don't write every day. Duh.)))
After an inspiring all-day workshop about Becoming a Successful Writer in the Digital Age presented by the Redding Writers Forum, I'm again determined to write something every day, however, no matter how short.
Because I need to write.
Because I need the discipline of daily writing.
Because it is a craft, an art, and if I don't practice it and work at getting better, I am not growing or using this gift of words that I have. And I am grateful for that gift.
Ergo, I will write. Every day.
After an inspiring all-day workshop about Becoming a Successful Writer in the Digital Age presented by the Redding Writers Forum, I'm again determined to write something every day, however, no matter how short.
Because I need to write.
Because I need the discipline of daily writing.
Because it is a craft, an art, and if I don't practice it and work at getting better, I am not growing or using this gift of words that I have. And I am grateful for that gift.
Ergo, I will write. Every day.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Reverb11 -- Day 31 -- Reflect and Choice
#1 Prompt: Reflect - Take a moment to think back on your reverb11 responses. Have you learned anything? What surprised you about this experience? Which of your responses was your favourite?
#2 Prompt: Choice: What can you choose in 2012 to make your life better?
#1 -- When you take the time and make the effort to reflect on past experiences -- not to beat yourself up or to think about ways things coulda-should-woulda been handled differently, but truly examine the experience in the clear light of after-the-fact, it should always end up being a learning experience.
With Reverb, the year is up for review -- something I don't know I'd do so introspectively otherwise. I've learned that there were too many sad moments in 2011, too many mucky bogs to slog through a step at a time. I've learned that there were too few joyful moments, too little laughter, not enough fun.
I was most surprised, I guess, by the revelation that Mary Oliver's poem "The Journey" turned out to be the defining moment of 2011 for me -- a real 'Road to Damascus' moment that has shaped most of my actions since that dark night. I knew it was important; it is in the looking-back that the impact becomes noticeable in what my life has been since, and in the direction that I've been at pains to continue walking towards.
In that poem, that revelation, I was able to release my fears (mostly) and desperate need to make things better for someone else -- to 'fix' them. I was able to let go and turn towards my own life, and I've stayed on that path since.
What a strange place to find the light -- an issue of O Magazine, reading late on a dark and stormy night.
I like the honesty in my responses this year: I've put a lot out there for people to see, and yet I felt I was writing these letters to myself alone. I liked especially this post because it was a revelation to me as I was writing it, at least the part about forgiveness (I knew I liked food ;>}}}.
Reverb is a powerful writing tool and a revelation if approached with a willingness to examine oneself candidly and honestly. I think there will be additional Reverb-related e-mails this year and I'm also planning to seek out other writing prompts. That really helps with the discipline -- the 'doing the work' part -- of writing daily.
#2 -- What can I choose to make my life better? Being proactive about health issues, losing weight, easing stress will go a long way towards making my life better. I'm mostly doing that now, well, maybe except for losing weight. But I don't want to wait until some big health crisis looms large (like I'm in the emergency room) before I address issues that I know I have some control over -- and all too many of us do.
I can choose to do things I enjoy doing and to be with people who are positive, easy to be with, and who care about me as much as I care about them. I can choose to avoid groups and individuals whose negative energy and attitude are spirit-suckers -- you know, sort of like the Dementor's Kiss in Harry Potter?
I believe that even in the darkest of times there is always a glimmer of hope (reinforced by our current viewing of the entire extended edition of The Lord of the Rings, where the blacks are pretty darned dark and it's hard to see much hope, unless you're Arwen, who always finds it). I choose to be with people who share that outlook, and to ask them for help if I find myself falling into the pit of despair.
I can choose to make my days meaningful, whether that is cleaning out clutter or spending time with a friend or simply sitting and reading a book. And always I can choose gratitude: it helps prolong life and makes even difficult issues easier to bear (I know that is a very Pollyanna-ish attitude and there will be some who scoff. I've tried it both ways. Gratitude is a lot better, lemme tell you. And it is your own perception of any situation that makes the difference as to how easy or difficult it is.)
***************
I am grateful for the writers who took the time and made the effort to formulate and e-mail Reverb prompts this year. It makes a difference to my own life.
Happy New Year to all tonight. May 2012 bring you blessings you didn't know you needed, joy you never visualized, and love you always hoped for.
#2 Prompt: Choice: What can you choose in 2012 to make your life better?
#1 -- When you take the time and make the effort to reflect on past experiences -- not to beat yourself up or to think about ways things coulda-should-woulda been handled differently, but truly examine the experience in the clear light of after-the-fact, it should always end up being a learning experience.
With Reverb, the year is up for review -- something I don't know I'd do so introspectively otherwise. I've learned that there were too many sad moments in 2011, too many mucky bogs to slog through a step at a time. I've learned that there were too few joyful moments, too little laughter, not enough fun.
I was most surprised, I guess, by the revelation that Mary Oliver's poem "The Journey" turned out to be the defining moment of 2011 for me -- a real 'Road to Damascus' moment that has shaped most of my actions since that dark night. I knew it was important; it is in the looking-back that the impact becomes noticeable in what my life has been since, and in the direction that I've been at pains to continue walking towards.
In that poem, that revelation, I was able to release my fears (mostly) and desperate need to make things better for someone else -- to 'fix' them. I was able to let go and turn towards my own life, and I've stayed on that path since.
What a strange place to find the light -- an issue of O Magazine, reading late on a dark and stormy night.
I like the honesty in my responses this year: I've put a lot out there for people to see, and yet I felt I was writing these letters to myself alone. I liked especially this post because it was a revelation to me as I was writing it, at least the part about forgiveness (I knew I liked food ;>}}}.
Reverb is a powerful writing tool and a revelation if approached with a willingness to examine oneself candidly and honestly. I think there will be additional Reverb-related e-mails this year and I'm also planning to seek out other writing prompts. That really helps with the discipline -- the 'doing the work' part -- of writing daily.
#2 -- What can I choose to make my life better? Being proactive about health issues, losing weight, easing stress will go a long way towards making my life better. I'm mostly doing that now, well, maybe except for losing weight. But I don't want to wait until some big health crisis looms large (like I'm in the emergency room) before I address issues that I know I have some control over -- and all too many of us do.
I can choose to do things I enjoy doing and to be with people who are positive, easy to be with, and who care about me as much as I care about them. I can choose to avoid groups and individuals whose negative energy and attitude are spirit-suckers -- you know, sort of like the Dementor's Kiss in Harry Potter?
I believe that even in the darkest of times there is always a glimmer of hope (reinforced by our current viewing of the entire extended edition of The Lord of the Rings, where the blacks are pretty darned dark and it's hard to see much hope, unless you're Arwen, who always finds it). I choose to be with people who share that outlook, and to ask them for help if I find myself falling into the pit of despair.
I can choose to make my days meaningful, whether that is cleaning out clutter or spending time with a friend or simply sitting and reading a book. And always I can choose gratitude: it helps prolong life and makes even difficult issues easier to bear (I know that is a very Pollyanna-ish attitude and there will be some who scoff. I've tried it both ways. Gratitude is a lot better, lemme tell you. And it is your own perception of any situation that makes the difference as to how easy or difficult it is.)
***************
I am grateful for the writers who took the time and made the effort to formulate and e-mail Reverb prompts this year. It makes a difference to my own life.
Happy New Year to all tonight. May 2012 bring you blessings you didn't know you needed, joy you never visualized, and love you always hoped for.
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