she takes my breath away

I lay in a sliver of sunlight with Abbey this morning. Our street is so quiet this time of day, around 10 o'clock. Even the birds have taken a twittering break, except for a dove calling, probably in the backyard.

After a sigh, or grumble, or whatever that noise means to her, she settled on the ottoman, resting her head on the bed.
And I laid my head down too and stared at her.
She opened slits of her eyes to look at me.

We looked at each other.

Her green glass eyes blinking. We don't need words for our language.
She says she is happy like this and could I stay a little longer.
I blink yes, and rest my head on my hands.

When I first found Abbey I wanted her. But would tell myself I didn't. I even said I would never love her like I loved Juni.
How I was wrong.

How much love I have to give when I let myself
in a quiet sun sliver of a moment.

it calms me

Sometimes I get writers anxiety, which is kinda like writers block but narcissistic like, "can I do this? I don't even know what I am doing? What were they thinking letting me do this?"

Nothing new for me. In school, at my previous job, I always would sit down at the computer feeling inadequate and paralyzed by a general ACH! feeling. Would write about 3 words and delete it, repeat at least a dozen times.

And always when I am trying to bury that feeling in obsessive application of Softlips or drawing a pyramid doodles.

But what always gets my mind working again is this blog. Telling you a funny story about a cat or embarrassing David with an interpretation of a previous conversation. It maybe small, but it always works. After I click publish, I settle down and get to work.

Anne Lamott writes in Bird by Bird that she conquers this feeling (yay it is normal!) by keeping a 1 inch picture frame on her desk. Her challenge is just to write enough to fill that tiny space. That small box is less overwhelming that the expanse of a blank document.

Blogging is my 1 inch picture frame.
I just need to fill a tiny bit of this space to unlock what lies trapped under heavy chest, racing thoughts and sticky insecurity.




I also listen to Tibetan bowls, which strangely fills the quiet. Next time I'll share my I'm-on-a-deadline playlist which is very heavily weighted with a Batman soundtrack. It works. Really.

pool of lovely, pale colors

i woke up recently tangled in sheets missing a pillow the room lay in a weird green light seeping in through the tops of the curtains i couldnt recognize myself or this room or my crooked teeth inside my mouth, have you ever thought about how weird it is to be you and how strange it would be to be someone else looking at you that isn't you anymore? but everyday despite momentary panic i wash this strangers body in the shower put on a strangers clothes and step into an office. i pretend i am a lot of things, impress the brokers with fake knowledge and befriend the young kids with my feigned youth, speak obligatory robot to corporate muckity mucks. i also squeeze my eyes tight and see pale strobing lights but never any shapes and certainly not any neverlands.

when i start to write raise a finger at a blinking cursor the only words formed are a confession i am not myself today i am not any person today

write and wrong

I write too much at work
some days I leave and during the jerky ride down the elevator have the feeling I have not completed a single thing throughout the day

I have written sentences for presentations, paragraphs for proposals, thousands of words for corporate to use in a larger document only to find out they did not mention Houston this quarter.

Since my goal is to write for a living, I see the hypocrisy of complaining about how much writing is in my job. the grass is greener. And maybe the dream needs a little revising.

But please excuse me, there is a white paper waiting on my economic projections...

Flash Fiction: Veterans Day

What You Take

He clasps her hand and pulls her in close
lights from the deck of the ship glow orange and the normally grey Puget Sound burns in the dark morning
flakes float so quiet and collect on the northwest cedars and firs
they dance a goodbye with Coleman Hawkins
and with one small kiss he turns away
He is deploying today with a full sea bag



Very happy my veteran is now a civilian.
Flash Fiction - Indies Unlimited

little tiny inside dancer

i have a little person in my head.

not an imaginary friend - 
i don't really interact with her beyond a mutual awareness that the other exists

she gets to do all the things that i
can't
won't
shouldn't
DO

she tells the jokes that get the big group laugh
comes up with new recipes and actually pulls them off
sings along with the radio
her little house is clean and has living plants in pots on the front porch
she follows her dreams
has a purple streak in her hair
knows a lot of things about a lot of things

today she did a pirouette at work
to the horn solo in For No One
Beatles - Revolver

so what mr. poopy pants

sometimes one has to write when they dont want to

or dont know what to say

or dont want to say what is asked of them

In my fiction workshop last year we read a great piece. Ever since I read it I hand it out like candy. I'm the Jehovah's Witness of Anne Lamott's "Shitty First Drafts." If you are a writer you already know why I love this article. You can read it in whole here. I hope you do.

Maybe I am just a crazy as every other writer but I get this overwhelming chorus of voices. (You tell someone you hear voices and they start to look at you differently, but I know we all hear them... right?) This is what she says about the chatter:

Close your eyes and get quiet for a minute, until the chatter starts up. Then isolate one of the voices and imagine the person speaking as a mouse. Pick it up by the tail and drop it into a mason jar. Then isolate another voice, pick it up by the tail, drop it in the jar. And so on. Drop in any high-maintenance parental units, drop in any contractors, lawyers, colleagues, children, anyone who is whining in your head. Then put the lid on, and watch all these mouse people clawing at the glass, jabbering away, trying to make you feel like shit because you won't do what they want--won't give them more money, won't be more successful, won't see them more often. Then imagine that there is a volume-control button on the bottle. Turn it all the way up for a minute, and listen to the stream of angry, neglected, guilt-mongering voices. Then turn it all the way down and watch the frantic mice lunge at the glass, trying to get to you. Leave it down, and get back to your shitty first draft.

Great right? And we can all use the jar image in every day life. Coworkers? Put them in the jar! Crazy motorists? Put em in the jar! Husbands with exceptionally loud breathing? In the jar! Devil telling you aren't good enough, smart enough, thin enough? JAR!

now back to my poopy pants draft.

hydroplane

you do not see it coming
the black ice or blackened puddle

if you did
you would surely avoid it

what makes the skid jolting?
you did not know it existed

but there you are
dancing
together.

come to the water

i like a bath.

i like to lay with my back on the bottom of tub, and my nose, mouth, and eyes just poking above the water.

it is quiet. just the sound of breathing.

tonight when my mind is overcrowded i crave a simple silence.

a few moments to just listen.

inhale

exhale

new every morning

I’ve been blogging for 5 years.
I remember being all alone in an apartment in Washington, David was TAD on the Ragan, knew no one, my kitty was in Houston and I was searching for some way to feel connected to the world.

In my very first post, I talked about having this new life and being excited about the future- I can hear how young I sounded. I don’t think I can say that it was everything I thought it would be, life just isn’t that way is it?

Since the unedited and unfocused P.O. Times I have wondered, what is this blog? What is it for? Who is out there that reads this thing? What level of truth and openness is required?

I don’t have a perfect life to share and post pictures of. I’m hopelessly flawed as a woman, a wife, a daughter, a friend, a child of God. I struggle with comparing myself with others, I want to be good and hold myself to an impossible standard. This is going to be shocking (not) but I am a private person. I hide who I am so people will like me, I hide who I am to protect wounds, I hide who I am because I have secrets.

It is scary to me that God knows who I am, he knows me beyond the blog. He has seen the ugly, the mean, the evil, the careless- all the stuff I try to hide. But for some reason He still loves me and His eyes see me for the good, as the forgiven. As frequently as my life changes, God’s love is renewed. It is constant. Five years of blogging, five years of ups, downs, moves, and change. God is the constant.

Whatever this blog is or represents I have enjoyed the excuse to share my life. (and wish I still had time for the videos... loved those)

Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

Lamentations 3:22-23

1-6

I am aware that my last post made it seem like I was hunkered down doing nothing but watching the Olympics. (Oh how I wish) Sometimes I like to relive moments in my mind but how I would have liked them to have gone, and the last couple of weeks would look like this:

Work is canceled! I get to stay home, robed, on my new (comfy!) couch and watch Olympics all day, drink hot chocolate with whipped cream. Kitties (preferably spontaneously multiplying, achem David- that means buy me a kitten!) piled on me wherever there is an open spot. Sloth- my favorite sin. mmmm laziness.
Well, no. It wasn’t like that at all. In fact, I missed a lot of tv. It is going to be a crazy month, you feel it too?

1. Writing class… not what I expected. I thought ha! I am creative, I am a writer. Uh no. It is kicking my butt. Inadequate- that sums up my feelings about the class.

2. Analee has insane news to share hopefully with in the week. It is insane. Insanely good. (I’m not pregnant. For some reason, I guess being of a fertile age, every time I have a mild tummy ache or get stuck in elevators people ask if I am pregnant. I’m not.)


3. Weight Loss is not happening. I guess… I have to start exercising. There are crazy crazy people out there who think working out is fun- not drinking that Koolaid. Maybe I should…

4. Dylan and Brody turned 2!!! Maybe I will sit down and download pictures from their party. It was a perfect day. I miss the boys so much and am selfishly praying L&M and the boys move to Houston. I can pray those kind of selfish prayers, right?


5. My cousin’s wedding is this weekend! I am overwhelmingly happy to see him get married. It is so fantastic! Not going to cry, but I probably will! Whirlwind trips two weekends in a row. Please reference my fantasy week above, whirlwind is not me.

6. Freaking out that it is just 4 months until the cruise I feel hopelessly unprepared. Trying to find peace, serenity and a fat vacuum. Oh and also think about cruise attire- cause that is the real reason we like to cruise, right? The new clothes?

Onward!

pick a peck of perfect words

I am out of shape.
There is a spare tire around my creative mind.

I started my writing workshop last week and it has been mentally exhausting trying to whip that limp, squishy brain into action.

It is a lot like the 40lbs I have put on since I got married; that's 8 lbs per year... yikes! It just slowly started creeping up on me. I stopped journaling in the beginning, then stopped reading, then stopped painting, then stopped using my brain at all-- staring at a computer screen all day, staring at traffic, staring at tv, staring at the backs of my eye lids. And I realised at my first class- Woah, I be dumb dumb now.

Maybe it wouldn't be so exhausting if I wasn't trying to lose my "baby" weight. Speaking of which, no relapses yet, but still could be more diligent about the exercising... I make excuses, like I was sick last week, I was...seriously. :/ But we haven't had fast food since Elevator Monday, and we are eating alot better, and really trying to be active. David has done pretty well... still waiting for this to happen:


Um definitely not taking diet drugs, just love the commercial.

At any point in time, you will find me (probably craving Mexican food) and reading my text, writing in my note book, and most likely talking to myself to work out plot and character.
Its a work out.

uninteresting facts from my life

I'm not exaggerating. I have nothing interesting to say today. Yet you (all 5 of you) will probably continue to read despite my warning. Oh well.

-- I got a new monitor at work yesterday. This is a big deal, cause I get all the crappy stuff usually, cause... well I am not important enough. I am friends with our IT guy, and he gave me the new monitor. It is a wide screen and I love it. I can see so much more of my pesky excel worksheets now, less scrolling is goooooood. Also it can raise and lower and hopefully will help with my neck pain.

-- Crazy Cat Lady strikes again. I bought the kitties a bed. Not a cat bed, a human twin bed. Rigby loves it and that is all that matters.

Anyone else who lives in a older house not have window sills? Weirdest thing.

-- I have not committed to losing weight. All these people working hard because of their resolutions and I am... eh. Right now that piece of bread, chocolate, taco means a lot to me. Although, we did unearth the WiiFit. Next goal, turn it on and listen to the disapproval of the game's MC. wah wah wah.

-- Couch day tomorrow. Can you even recall that in October we ordered a couch? Well it is finally here and being delivered tomorrow.

The kitties and I will have a long conversation about how we will get squirted if we put our little claws on mommy's new couch.

David and I will have a conversation about how we don't put sweaty, stinky man bodies on mommy's new couch.

And me? I will enjoy having a couch with comfortable arms... eeeeeeeee!

-- We have booked our honeymoon and I put in for my time off. It is really happening. Also put in pto for the boy's second birthday. What? Second? Yes. They are little men.

-- My writing workshop starts soon. I have been reading our textbook, and journaling to get my mind in gear to start cranking out 25 pages a week. I am pretty discouraged because I don't have the hope of a start, that is how blocked I am. This weekend I may need to take a long drive.

-- It is my half birthday today. Jealous? I am a whopping 26 and 1/2 years old.

The End

and I will conquer the world...

This Bird Can Sing

It is not much of a secret that my job is not a career I set out looking for. I am indeed happy for a job when many are without. And yet there is a quiet sadness that I am not following my heart towards a creative path.

However, after some encouragement I have signed up to take a fiction writing workshop with Inprint. It will begin after the first of the year. I will be expected to turn in pieces throughout the 10 week workshop, so I am going to spend the next couple of months brainstorming.

I have been asked where I get inspiration. I don't know. I am always writing. (I really hope this doesn't sound skitzophrenic) My mind is always writing, 100% of the time. I leave a dictaphone in my car to catch little poems or starts to stories that seep out while driving.

True magic just happens. I have a little orchestra in my head, we file into the concert hall. I, the conductor, tap tap tap at the music stand. We, the musicians, take a soft deep breathe in... With a swift falling gloved hand --blowing of horns, singing of strings, beating of drums begin all at once! And I the conductor take my pen and jot it down. Ok sometimes it is just noise, yet others are beautiful, spontaneous and free pieces of art. That is what it is like in my head, um somewhat metaphorically, hopefully this doesn't sound like I hear voices.
If I can corral the noise, I can hear art.

Readers!

If you love reading, you have to read Larry McMurtry's Walter Benjamin at the Dairy Queen. Even if you don't like westerns at all. If you are from Texas, or ever had the dream of having a library with floor to ceiling books and one of those library ladders... it will impress you. He talks about his life, but also his love for reading and books, and it changed the way I saw reading.

A few months ago I mentioned I wanted to finish a book. I was unable to quiet my mind enough. I really think (here goes the crazy again) the devil was trying to suppress my happiness. But last week I read my book.
The Road- Cormac McCarthy

It has been called his most accessible book, and I agree. It was very easy to read. It would be a great start into Cormac's style which can be difficult to get used to. I've had it for years now, just waiting to read it. It was special, as Cormac seems to be.

Now I am working on

The Harafish- Naguib Mahfouz

Review to come...

I apologize for the self indulgent last two posts.

give me 26 soldiers of lead...

My Path to the Pen

(or keyboard)

I have something in me. An idea or a feeling or hope. I am a writer. It isn't something you grow up to be, not a profession. You are born a writer. I was born a writer.

I did not love books from the time I was born. In fact I actually hated to read and my mother would make me read to her just to get me to read for school. I don't know why, that seems strange to me now. (It was dormant.) However in the 2nd grade when asked what I wanted to be "when I grow up" I (in)famously said "A poetess." It was in me even then.

The first book I really read, like really read and felt my pulse race and eyes widen and got excited about, was in 9th grade. I'm a late bloomer. Lonesome Dove. This is humorous that I could go from hating to read to choosing to read a 1000+ page book. But it stirred and woke the something in me. I became changed by this book, characters died (sorry to ruin it) and there were flawed heros. That blew my mind. Up to then I was "reading" The Baby Sitters Club. The Hardy Boys and The Boxcar Children.

It only took me a moment to decide I had to write, I wanted to be a writer. It took reading Cormac McCarthy. His words, his style... I mean he didn't accept grammatical rules, he just wrote and chose words gracefully and so particular.

Ok, I could really go overboard here, but basically somewhere along the way, special writing courses in high school and college I knew that I was already a writer.

Part 2...

just today...

almost a month ago, a tuesday passed without notice for me. a date that has been quiet and gray. i forgot Juni's Day.

several weeks ago when i noticed the day had come and gone i felt a sinking shameful feeling. i was never going to forget, i was never going to be right again. maybe it is not shameful but a step forward.

as a child i believed clouds would feel like cotton candy or cotton balls. i can remember thinking i could open an airplane window and pet a cloud. but one flight i was crushed to see that a cloud is just air, and we passed through it uneventfully, and even if i could open an airplane window, the cloud would slip into the spaces between my fingers. this date in october is alot like that. i believed that losing Juni was the deepest cut, but it was just the final straw. and in mourning the loss of Juni i was really morning the loss of myself. i had gone from cotton candy to mist and air.

for five years i have been spinning and trying to take a shadowy hallow and refill her with myself... whoever that was now. but it took 21 years to build the last one and how would i start again? i don't believe there is a reason for everything or what doesn't kill me makes me stronger. life is some horrible, funny, joyful and painful thing. and being thankful for each day was hard when i didn't want another. but each day comes, like the one before it. the 'lesson' i have learned i would gladly trade in for my old self, my old future.

but indeed there is some lesson in all of this...
i know that i can not go back nor look back. i can only trudge forward and hope that the next crooked highway is filled with sunshine and less heartache.

when i wake up tomorrow it will be just that-- tomorrow. the day after today.