Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Two Weeks

“Many people hear voices when no-one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.” - Anonymous


Sometimes writing feels like madness, others like euphoria, for a writer to lasso words into lines of prose fluidly streaming our imaginations, capturing a moment or lifetime in a few lines. All parts of the equation luring the writer in me. Words fascinate me; they are puzzles for a muse to fit together into whatever he or she might render possible with an ounce of beguiling creativity.

In as much as I savor writing, at times my muse eludes even me. Not exactly - I’m one of the more fortunate ones to get haunted by mine. Folly, gave me a playful, insightful, muse who tends to get distracted rather easy, leaping and bounding all over the place, instead of doing what a muse/I should be doing.

Which to tell you the truth is getting me in a bit of hot water. I’ve spent far too long on the current draft of my book than need be. All the pieces are set and ready to place in their respective chapters; I simply need to sit, butt in chair and finish the remaining pages. To be honest, I love the direction this book is taking. So much so, that I’m unplugging for two weeks to finish (this draft).

Yes, I’m giving myself a self-imposed deadline. Someone needs to kick my virtual ass into gear, who else if not me. Until then follow your muse, whatever it may be…

Friday, May 14, 2010

Those Eyes...

“Jeepers creepers, where'd you get those peepers?
Jeepers creepers, where'd you get those eyes?”
- Johnny Mercer


It’s come to my attention I have an abundance of eyes turned my way as of late. Don’t believe me? Check out my sidebar, right over there -->. See that little area with all the smiling faces under ‘The Followers – Prose Aficionados’.

What’s that you said? I changed up the tagline? Uh yeah, I couldn’t help myself - the whole writer-esque mindset where I can’t leave well enough alone and need to imprint my fevered imagination on a line of words (Nah, nothing to do with being a writer – not at all).

In light of so many newcomers, I’ve decided it’s time to become more ‘complacent’? Not the word I want? Of course not, I knew that. How about friendly, outgoing, polite and compliant, do any of those words work?

The whole reasoning behind this post is a simple (not quite) decision; to try and start replying like the polite little writer I supposedly am to comments. Yes, I know I’m nefariously shy and will probably be screaming bloody murder in a corner somewhere before it’s all over. It’s not that horrendous you say?

Think I’m kidding? Here’s an example of a conversation with me, thanks to a sweet friend Janna Qualman who asked an interesting question on her blog. "While we wait," she asked, "What would we talk about?" My answer:

“Life. How the mystery of it all brought us together to that precise moment, this conversation. I would watch your lips move to hear you, your hand movements and body language; letting myself get to know those things that make you unique in the way you carry yourself and talk.

First conversations mesmerize me with all the details to the above. I would seem shy at first so dear friend would carry most of the conversation. Promise though by its end, I would know you and the tendrils of friendship would have dug deeper into the trunk of my being.”

Ah, you see? Simple words come easy on a page in written form, in life – I quake with a whole different signature. Not to mention my tendency to be long winded. Yet, despite not being able to see you and gather who you are from all the above…I’m willing to throw down the gauntlet and open myself up to questions in an effort to begin replying to my comments.

I offer you this, ‘Ask any question within reason’. Although, I still reserve the right to plead the 5th if need be.

Well, what are you waiting for? Quickly before I change my mind *winks*. Honestly, no need to rush. All comments end up in my inbox, so I’ll be able to reply even weeks from now. I’m just not so sure how well my fragile psyche will hold up (she says, with a raised eyebrow, smiling broadly).

I’ve included the lyrics to ‘Jeepers Creepers’. The whole concept worked well for this post. I doubt Frank Sinatra ever thought, when he sang this song, it might inspire a horror movie by the same name. Horrendous fun, what do you know?

“Jeepers creepers, where'd you get those peepers?
Jeepers creepers, where'd you get those eyes?
Gosh all git-up, how'd you get so lit up?
Gosh all git up, how'd it get that size?
Golly gee, when you turn those heaters on,
Woe is me, got to put my cheaters on.
Jeepers creepers, where'd you get those peepers?
Oh those weepers, how they hypnotize!
Where'd you get those eyes?”

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Mother of us all...

“The moment a child is born, the mother is also born. She never existed before.”
Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh


This topic challenged me in unexpected ways and opened a sense of ethereal understanding in yet others. No matter what kind of mother brought us into this world, the circumstances or reasoning behind our births, we owe that one fundamental respect and thank you to the woman who gave us life.

One of the definitions in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary for mother is: maternal tenderness and affection. If that is the case, wouldn’t that apply to any decent compassionate human being? We all carry a mothering instinct in us to protect, shelter, and care for others of our species. In light of that basic comprehension, what if the role of mother changed to who ever molded the person you are now?

Perhaps we didn’t discover exactly what it meant to be mothered until we became adults or parents ourselves. What if we took someone or they took us under our/their wing and showed simple compassion and appreciation; is that not mothering?

This Sunday celebrate the very act of having been born and those saintly souls who mother our spirits. As a mother myself, I gave the world a daughter and she gave me the unconditional love and honor of being her mother. I have earned my place in her heart and life. Ask yourself who has earned that place in yours and honor them with all the glory they deserve not just in a single day, but all the days of your life.

Even Edgar Allen Poe in all his dysfunctional haunted understanding of life, could behold the beauty of that which is called Mother:

“Because I feel that in the heavens above
The angels, whispering one to another,
Can find among their burning tears of love,
None so devotional as that of "Mother,"
Therefore, by that dear name I have long called you,
You who are more than mother unto me.”
-- Edgar Allan Poe

Picture from here

Saturday, May 1, 2010

The Ocean In Me...

“You cannot dream yourself into a character; you must hammer and forge yourself one.”
– James A Froude


There are several different labels used to describe a person; there are familial titles, society standards and occupations on one hand, on the other gender, heritage, and character. It’s easy enough to accept how we may appear to complete strangers - that is until we’re giving a box or a few lines asking us to describe ourselves. Suddenly we feel almost godlike when we’re given the ability to pick and choose what we wish to define us.

I’ve always found definitions limiting. How can anyone possibly grasp the bigger picture of who you are from a few short stipulating words? It takes time to see all the facets of what makes someone unique. Taking that into consideration, one of the words I use to describe myself easily besides a writer is - deaf. Anyone that has read me for any length of time knows it’s been a learning process to own up to that.

For new readers who may be curious and afraid of offending by asking; no I wasn’t always deaf. I grew up hearing impaired. The nerve damage to both of my ears would continue to destroy what hearing I had, until my impending deafness five years ago. I’ve had people say to me, “I can’t imagine what that must be like.” Neither could I, until it happened. I can honestly say nothing could ever fully prepare someone for that kind of life changing loss.

People have used words such as courageous and inspiring to describe me. I don’t get it. Why? Anyone else in the same situation would have found a way, to do whatever they needed to get through each day. It’s human nature to adapt. Without getting into the issues I faced, let’s just say five years later it’s still a learning process. I refused to take it lying down and found a way to communicate and exist in a hearing world.

So what does this have to do with writing - everything and maybe to someone else nothing at all. Words gave my silence voice, strength, compassion and life. Writing allowed me to be on an even pedestal with everyone else. The same passion I apply to my writing, is not unlike that which I overcame my insecurities with my deafness.

Here on these pages, I’m considered no different than you or anyone else. I still face obstacles with my deafness even in a writing capacity. Conferences and writing seminars are rather difficult under the circumstances. So maybe I have to work a little harder to get where I want to be. To me it just makes it that much more rewarding. I’m no different than anyone else, not really, not here or in life.

Find something you’re passionate enough about and willing to sacrifice for and you’ll find a dream in the making. That last sentiment is anyone’s choice.

Food for thought – When you pick up a conch shell on the beach and put it to your ear, do you hear the ocean? I do, in the sand beneath my feet as it crashes to the shore, in the tangy salt air wafting up my nostrils, in the cold spill of bubbling water and foam spreading across the sand, and in the slimy tendrils of seaweed wrapped around my ankles. I hear the ocean with everything I am. It’s the same way I approach life and my writing.

The question isn’t what defines you; rather how passionate are you about life? I’ll leave you with a quote by Anne Morrow Lindbergh, "I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living.”

Picture found here