Independence

Revolutionary Imperfection
Revolutionary Imperfection

I am the last person who should be writing about this.

I hate history
  and politics
  and government
  and <bored!> I’m seriously already putting myself to sleep
    because I probably wouldn’t have even clicked on this link to begin with.

But that irony is not lost on me. And neither is this one: When given the chance earlier this year, Britain voted to leave the EU. They didn’t have to go to war to do it, but it sounds a lot like 1776 to me.

America fought for, then voted and won their freedom from England’s rule, and now Britain wants to be independent as well. We may not have anticipated the results of that vote, but I’m not sure why we’re shocked at the concept.

Regardless of where you stand,
               of your opinion
                  your view
                  your perspective,
        think of how far we have come.

America had to go to war to gain independence.

Britain voted for their independence.

When America became a nation, women weren’t allowed to vote, and people of color weren’t even treated as an entire person. [Insert overflowing disgust/poop emoticon here.]

We still have a long way to go. But we are at least coming closer to accepting what our founding fathers said to begin with: that we are all created equal (even if they said “men” and blah, blah, blah, yeah, yeah, I know).

Wherever you stand on Britain or the increasingly divisive U.S., Brexit is a reminder that voting matters. It makes a difference.

You may not agree with anyone entirely.
You may not agree with your party’s choice
     (if you even choose a party to begin with).
You may not want to choose
     the lesser evil
            or between any of the slimy
                                            icky options.

And yes, your vote for one candidate or another may be silenced by the majority in your state. But the candidates themselves are only part of the whole. Judges that may eventually be appointed by those candidates are a really big deal. And those arbitrarily numbered propositions are important too (well, most of them, at least).

You may not vote on every single item on the ballot, but take a moment and do a little research. And listen to that Jiminy Cricket whispering to you that you may have been muting for a while.

Freedom isn’t free. We were rewarded freedom from people who gave their lives for us to experience it, and those people deserve our respect. Their lives mattered. Not voting only moves us backward. Use what they gave us to make your vote matter too.

Maddening

The Longest Day
The Longest Day

It’s stealing your pulse
     darkening your soul.

The only illusion
     is that you are whole.

The truth is maddening
                 frightening
                 brightening
              blinds you
         until you can no longer see
              binds you
         until you can no longer leave.

You are trapped
            paralyzed
            shackled
            confined
            caught in the sun
         no matter which way
                  you run.

Unraveled

Loosely Tethered
Loosely Tethered

The edges
   were beginning to bend
                              blur
                                and
                              blend
                  into the background
           as if they

              weren’t


              even

              there.

She had never given much thought to
      string theory before,
     but as she started to see
        the attached parts
                    slip
                        and
                                 separate freely,
        she could understand the spaghetti
             of how they were formed
                    and once used to fit,
                 encircling each other
                      even though ends
                                        beginnings
                                        middles
                                        centers
                                             were now torn.

As they
                split
       shredded
            u
                n
             r
          a
             v
                  e
                l
              e
                  d
     it suddenly
        made sense again.

What once belonged together
     and theoretically still should
          had been ripped       apart
                   from within.

101

She was always a speedy blur
           ahead of you
                    just out of reach
      heading toward something
                          or someone
                                  unseen.

Looking forward
  to her 99th birthday,
    she said a party could wait
           until the next year.

That was just like her:
  always moving
  always going
  always on the go
    but never in a hurry
                   to go.

“I never planned
  to live this long,”
    she said,
      at 101 years old.

None of us do.

But loving her God
         and her family
              deeply,
      she lived
         those years so well.

And I’m not sure
  anyone will ever be able
           to catch up to her.


For Meme.

Forsaken

For Unto Us...
For Unto Us...

Blindly judged
  falsely accused
  tortured and speared
  beaten and bruised.

Rejected, betrayed
  by His closest friends
    while everyone else
      chanted for His end.

The sun stopped shining
  as the darkness came.
Surrendering His final breath,
  He called out to God in vain.

A birth made for death,
  His purpose fulfilled.
Even the earth itself
  refused to stay still.

Such a sad, cruel death
  He never deserved –
    yet it was a death
      that would save the world.

XYZ

Below the Stars
Below the Stars

We keep

                      missing

         each other.

We are at
   the same
       coordinates
   the same
       XYZ.

But somehow
   we are so      f a  r          apart
       sometimes.

As if we are in
       the
       same
       place

   but not at
       the same

 

 

 


       time.

Frog

Smiling Tree Frog
Smiling Tree Frog

It was a large, pineapple-sized tree frog. Impossible, but beautiful!

He was silky smooth, symmetrical, perfectly shaped, and not quite, but almost a bright royal blue, with white spots around his eyes and a couple thin white streaks down his back. A life-sized version of a quarter-sized creature.

I’d never seen anything like him, and I was completely enthralled.

His deep, dark black eyes seemed to look into mine as I looked into his. And as crazy as it sounds, he looked like he was smiling.

I couldn’t stop staring at the frog as the little boy holding him walked toward me. With the way he carried himself and the smile-smirk on his face, it was hard not to think of Short Round from Indiana Jones.

In a small pond, about a car length apart, the boy and I faced each other. The water was about knee deep for me and chest deep for him, and the frog seemed to be completely happy as the boy played with him, lifting him up toward the sky and dipping him shallowly into the water.

As he walked toward me, the little boy held the frog out until I was only inches away from that sweet blue face. I was fascinated by the frog’s eyes that stared into me. And I laughed at his small light croak deep in his throat as he breathed in and out.

I stepped back just a bit to be able to reach out to the frog. Putting my hand near his face, he never flinched. I reached farther to touch the skin on his back. Surprised, I jumped slightly, pulling my hand back just a bit. It wasn’t slick, like I had thought. It was a super soft, fine fur, and the small noise from his throat got slightly deeper as I started to pet him more.

The boy laughed at me and pulled the frog back toward him for a moment, rubbing the side of the frog against his face, closing his eyes and smiling, as if they did this together all the time.

I’m not sure the frog ever even blinked.

As the boy opened his eyes again, he grinned and handed the frog to me.

I took the blue creature and cradled it out in front of me, its body sprawled across my arms, tummy pushing through my fingers toward the ground, and face looking right into mine. The frog relaxed and flattened slightly. He felt floppy and uneven, almost like a rabbit, and his soft, silky fur made me want to rub my face against him just as the boy had.

So I did.

I couldn’t help but smile as I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I saw nothing at first. But I felt soft fur on my face and heard the cat gently snoring next to me on my pillow, curled up against my head with his face pushed up against my cheek. He opened his eyes, stared right at me and then closed them again. I leaned closer into him, and I swear I actually saw him smile.

NaNoWriMo

Light That's Not Its Own
Light That's Not Its Own

October 28

November is National Novel Writing Month, a.k.a. NaNoWriMo.

Even most of my short stories and minor, insignificant non-fiction blog posts remain unpublished because they feel perpetually unfinished and incomplete, so writing a full-length fiction novel in a month is a big deal. It’s totally nuts.

But I’m venturing out, working alongside the movement this year, ghost-participating and giving it a solid shot. I’m going to try this, and Yoda’s not going to mess with me. As much as I hate deadlines, maybe this will be good. And the world will not end if my plans fail. (Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.)

At best, the story will be rough at the end of the month – really rough they say. It will not be researched enough, and it will be unpolished, unedited and imperfect. That is, if I even reach the 50,000 words and actually finish it. But it will be a full, complete (although uncompleted) story.

Participants are allowed pre-November to prep. Research, planning, shaping, characters. But no actual writing.

I am thankful for a forgiving, supportive husband who is encouraging me to do this, knowing I will likely have less time for us this month, while also reminding me that I still make the rules. Pushing myself toward a goal is healthy. Pushing myself until I’m sick is not.

October 31

I didn’t even think I would have a basic plot at this point, because I am generally so bad at plot, but I think I actually do. I even have a general outline and few characters.

Don’t expect too much, the book says. It may not be great or even good.

But go.
Keep going.
Don’t stop.
Don’t edit.
Just go.

I envision November being a blur.

Here we go.

November 1

So much research/fact checking I need to do. So many holes. So many questions. And this is day one? I know I am supposed to leave it all until later, but ugh.

There are so many things I knew I didn’t know, and I never planned to go there. The truth is I actually know practically nothing, and Google will have to become my very near, very dear, seriously annoying friend I want to punch in the face but can’t, because I need to keep it close.

This month is insane as is. So much going on, holidays, work, people. Adding this just exponentially magnifies the crazy I try to keep at bay.

Clearly I am not doing a good job at it.

November 2

Rain! Actual rain. The perfect sound to write to.

November 7

Supposedly week 2 is where you get so frustrated at your characters and yourself that most people quit. You wish you could scrap everything, kill off all your annoying characters, and if you keep them around, tend to start letting in all your absolutely-nots that you said you don’t want in your story.

I can see at this point why they highly suggest not bringing in a work you are already tied to, that you’ve previously started, that you’re invested in. I probably would be tempted to kill off all my characters and turn my story into a zombie mess – which, by the way, is on my list of don’ts.

November 19

Cut my hair yesterday. Myself. Character research. Sure, more like trimmed, but it was a full couple inches all the way around. Definitely not perfectly straight and still needs help, but it turned out a lot better than expected, and I can even live with it until I have time to get it fixed.

If friends and coworkers don’t notice, or at least say anything if they do, it’s unlikely strangers would, right?

November 20

I don’t sleep.

Not that I always did before. But now I am thinking about the story, about how to get from one point to the next, about how this character or that character reacts to something, about what this character would say that could change the course of everything, about how another character finds a way out from some situation.

I enjoy it. I am so invested in it. Doing this gives me energy, but it is limited. My energy runs out over and over. And I am.so.tired.

November 24

The book* said to stop rubbing my eyes, and I was like, is there a camera here I don’t know about? What the heck?

The author said to stop staring at a screen so much, get up and take a break sometimes. Your eyes may be hurting because of it. Keep eye drops nearby.

Lightning bolt obvious eureka duh. No wonder my eyes are so red and dry.

Hitting the word count at this point will not be the problem. Finishing the plotline before the deadline, that is going to be the struggle.

November 25

Frustrations, sudden obligations with arbitrary, ridiculous deadlines.

And then there is Thanksgiving tomorrow, a day of thanks for, well, everything. And I have had it in my head this whole month, thanking God for this chance to even try this whole thing.

But time suckers keep forcing their way in and I just want to scream or kick or hit something.

Today should be a huge celebration with champagne and clinks of glasses. I hit 50k! Early even. I still have to actually finish the story. But even hitting that mark is a big deal.

I am so beyond exhausted, my eyeballs are sticking to my eyelids and don’t want to open them until January, at least.

November 28

Visited the grandparents, aunt and uncle, and some cousins yesterday. Found out my cousin Chris tells hilarious stories. Spent time looking through an old photo album with my grandpa, of almost all photos I had never seen. My grandparents’ wedding photos, pics of my dad and aunts as babies, pics of my grandpa in New Guinea and other places during WW2. An entirely different world. Other than that, we were driving all day, but thankful my dad enjoys driving and offered to do it.

Went out to the garage this morning and found out the water heater was leaking. Awesome. It’s Saturday. On a holiday weekend. Had to shut off water to the entire house. Dishwasher and washing machine are completely full, of course, with multiple loads of laundry waiting after. Can’t run either.

“At least tell me the genre.” The people I have told about this project always want to know. At this point, it is settling pretty firmly into suspense-drama. Actually more drama than I would want, but I let my main character loose and that’s where it went. Which does make sense, considering what I put her through.

If I ever do this again, maybe it’ll be a little more action, badass Alias-style female hero-driven thriller. Maybe not. But at the very least, this is a story I would read. Or watch. Much more than I could say about most of the fiction I have previously written.

December 2

It’s still sinking in. However unedited and insanely messy it is at this point – and I have pages and pages of notes of things I need/want to change, not to mention all the things I will come across in the actual editing process – it is technically at its core a complete story, a complete novel.

In a month!

It has been insane. Something I never thought I could do, especially in such a short period of time. But as exhausted as I am after all this, because my characters have been dialoging in my head when I should be sleeping, it has also been really fun and energizing. And my Jeff actually still loves me.

Now I just need to figure out how to put all the pieces together smoothly and finish it for real. And, you know, give it a title, so there’s that.

Maybe after I sleep for a few days – or weeks.

December 8

I’m moving on it a bit, but slowly. There is so much more work left than I expected.

“When do I get to read it?” people ask. Maybe someday. Hopefully someday. If I can ever actually turn it into something real, readable, fully complete.

I have already asked two people for help with accuracy stuff (in addition to my Jeff). And both have said yes, ask as much as I want and they are willing to help with whatever they can.

That is so outside of where I ever want to go. I wish I could Google everything. But maybe Willem’s** words are getting to me, that asking for help isn’t a weakness; it’s a strength. I hope that guy is right.


*No Plot? No Problem! By Chris Baty
**Name and saying may change. He’s fictional, so I can do that.

Juices

From being normal busy, sick, crazy busy, then catching up on all the chaos that accumulated when I was sick, October flew by. Halloween is my favorite holiday and I have not been able to adequately enjoy it this year. And now it is just here.

No carved pumpkins and no pumpkin seeds. Just a cute little orange sparkler.

But the temperatures are finally out of the 90s and we’ve even had some showers here and there. Thank you, God!

Praying for more rain, enjoying the cooler air and the soon-to-be darker evenings that are especially conducive to writing and all things creative. I will squeeze out all those juices I can get and use them enjoyably and (hopefully) productively.

Thankful for fall!

Flitter

Smoke and Sparks
Smoke and Sparks

Smiling in a way
   she had never known before,
   she ran,
        coloring
        painting
        illuminating
               everything and
               everyone
                   near her,
   like a fairy wand
        wisps
        flitters
          and
        glitters.

Passing along
        her spirit
        her energy
        her air
           to all,
    she realized
         her existence
            was not only productive,
                    it was actually
                               meaningful.

Her small life
  had the ability
     to give life.