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Not that you need to enter my crazy mind, but here you go anyway. Enjoy! |
| A personal journal about the crazy life of a writer, a mom, and an avid reader (sometimes I even feel like one person). I can't promise this will be organized or even stick to one topic, but I can tell you it will chronicle my efforts to get back into the writing community and build up my career. Thanks for reading, it's great to have you here. Feel free to reach out! |
| It's interesting to me how two people who once knew each other so intimately can become virtual strangers. Once upon a time, the two of us were friends as well as lovers. We could tell each other some of our most hidden truths and lean on one another whenever needed. Yet now, six years later, we're both with somebody else and barely say hello. Some of it is his girlfriend, I'll admit. She's of the jealous, controlling, bats*** crazy variety. Apparently he's not allowed to acknowledge my existence unless she's not around. He wouldn't even make eye contact, though I knew he saw me. Then, the one time we did speak, I was so busy making sure my kid didn't fall---or get pushed---off a slide that we barely exchanged more than basic pleasantries. We were never serious. More like good friends that enjoyed each others company in and out of the sheets. No titles, no commitments, no real expectations except for a mutual respect for one another. How we crossed the lie from friends to more I don't remember, nor do I recall how we crossed back, but it is clear to me now that sometimes two people can just as easily slip out of a relationship as easity as they slipped into one. The fact that we let our friendship dissove as well is a truth I will always be saddened by, but a truth it still remains. |
| I just watched The Last Unicorn with my daughter, which used to be one of my favorite movies as a kid. What I didn't remember was the she falls for this great guy, then end up without him in the end after saving the rest of her kind forced to live for all eternity with the regret of a love lost. So it made me wonder: Why is it that every hero is forced to give up the on they love? You see it everywhere. Look at any comic book hero. Superman, Batman, Spiderman. All lie in a world hiding who they are, sacrificing their heart's desire for the bigger picture. Hell, even Peter Pan, my other childhood favorite, ends up being lonely for the rest of his life. And, seeing as he's Peter Pan and will never grow up, that is a pretty long time. Is part of the reason I'm so cynical about love because of the movies I chose to love as a child? Or did I choose these movies because I'm cynical about love? There's no doubt about it, I have a fairly bitter outlook on matters of the heart---even now---which is ironic as it's the only thing I ever wanted. I believe the old saying "'Tis far better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all," but why do we have to lose? Why is it that one person is called upon to save the rest, and therefore forced to give up the only thing that really matters? It's unfair, that's what it is. And I'm sorry for being selfish, but if that's what it means to be a hero, you can count me out. If, on the off chance I am ever called upon to save the world, you're all out of luck. For although I may be down on love sometimes, I know with all of my heart that it's the only thing that really matters. Money, fame, fortune. They're all nice, but they're all material and have no true meaning. But love is what it's all about. Finding that one person to whom my heart already belongs was the beginning of my hero's journey, and I would much rather love him with every fiber of my being for one day than live the rest of my life without ever having met him. That's not living. Call me selfish if you will, but all the gifts in the world couldn't outweigh the joy just that one day would give me. So if I'm ever called up to be a hero, I can tell you right now, that's one sacrifice I won't be making. |
| So I'm watching Nashville tonight on ABC, and a few episodes ago there was an accident that made it to where Rayna James (Connie Britton) couldn't sing. At least, she didn't think she could. Then, on tonight's episode she is speaking at a benefit and invited to sing. She tries to get out of it, can't, and proceeds to test the theory of her voice before a live audience. Talk about pressure. Rayna starts to sing, has a little trouble, and the audience picks up on the lyrics to help her out. It was obvious that she wasn't sure she could sing and yet she pushes through, belts out the notes, and has her fans applauding on their feet. I was unbelievably struck by the courage that took. I know she's a fictional character. That she's not real. But that's not completely true, is it? As writers, we create fiction all the time. We make up a character, make up a world. We put pen to paper (or fingers to keys) and bring our visions and ideas to life. But does that make them any less real? Does the fact that they were not born of flesh and blood, made from biological cells, mean that they don't possess life? I don't believe that's true. Every time I pick up a book and fall into the pages, I enter another world, meet people that were dreamed up by a writer's imagination. If it's a good book, I feel connected to these characters, almost like they're a part of me. And when the book ends, I feel like I've lost a friend. (That's how I know I really like a book.) So doesn't that mean those characters, that world, are alive? I believe it does. I believe the author has created something so vivid, so appealing, that it draws you in and binds with you. And each time it does, a little bit of the reader's life essence is drawn into that character. Sounds pretty alive to me. Something to think about. |
| My daughter, Jordyn, is three years old. She's bright, funny, incredibly smart. She's clever, cunning, mischievous. She's beautiful. She is the best and most challenging person I have ever had the pleasure of calling mine. (That includes her father, who has the annoying ability of driving me absolutely insane. I know. I'm blessed.) Tonight, my little angel has decided that she is going to do everything possible in her tiny toddler power to drive me up the wall. Pull out my computer cord. Get an almost empty milk carton out of the fridge and pour milk on the floor. Clog the toilet with the rest of the toilet paper on the roll. (Did I mention that was roll one of two that I have in the entire house? Yeah.) Take off her big-girl panties and dunk them in the full toilet. Throw all of her toys around her room. And laugh about all of it. This is my evening. I love my daughter. With every ounce of my heart. But tonight, I would love nothing more than to string her up by her toes. (That's just my saying. I would never do it. Please do not report me.) How do you handle a child who refuses to listen, is impervious to time outs, barely responds to spankings, and will do the thing you told her not to just to see what you'll do? It's not fair. It's not even my baby karma. It's my brother's. But, I guess since he claims he'll never have kids, it got passed down to me. Yay. Wish me luck. |
| The Immortal Rules by Julie Kagawa is like a vampire novel meets Hunger Games meets Revolution. Throw in a little bit of almost-zombie action and you've got yourself one hell of a wild ride. At first, I was nearly positive it would be just as cliche as every other vampire book I've read since Twilight---save the House of Night novels, which take on an entirely different view---but I was oh, so wrong. Kagawa take you through a vast range of emotions from a self-centered need for survival and a fanatical drive to ease a long-lived guilt to a false sense of trust and an avid sense of betrayal. She takes the main character---Allison---from being a starved, foraging street rat on the outskirts of an end-times, walled-in vampire city whose only true driving force was a weak sense of loyalty to her house mates and an inherent need for survival to a blood thirty vampire desperately fighting to save her humanity---and the lives of her new found human friends searching for the all-human promised land. You see Allie go from selfish to selfless and the transformation comes from turning into the one thing she fears and hates the most. It's a testament to the human heart, I think, that characters like her love interest, Zeke, can see Allie for who she has become as a person instead of the monster she unfortunately happens to be. Zeke was raised to loathe vampires and kill them on sight, by a fanatical, abusive leader after seeing his family and friends slaughtered. He then has to lead others into hardship down harrowing roads, with a dozen people relying on him to keep them safe. So for him to see Allie, truly see her, is a definite feat. Granted, it does take him banishing her at gunpoint and Allie saving his life from murderous bikers for him to pause long enough to give her that chance, but hey. Once he does, the two repeatedly risk their lives for one another despite the risks and dangers to themselves. I find that inspiring. I won't call this a love story. It's not. And I have yet to see how her vampire sire achieves his redemption---if he ever does. But it sure does make an interesting read and to a like mind, it gives one a lot to think about where their own actions in those situations are concerned. She's not afraid to kill people and I think that's part of what keeps it real even though it's so obviously a work of science fiction. Anyone is fair game, including the main character. That is brave and also somewhat unique in the teen fantasy genre and I commend Julie Kagawa for following her instincts and trusting her characters to move the story forward. In my stingy rating system, I give this book an 8 out of 10. Well done. |
| Time has a funny way of kicking us in the ass. I had a friend in town the other night, so I went out to the bars. We talked, we laughed, we joked, we gave each other a hard time. We cajoled the youngest of us to down an oyster shooter when he really did not want to eat an actual oyster. Then, as I'm on my way to the bar to order bacon cheese fries as a reward for downing said shooter, who should I run into but the boy who destroyed me when I was seventeen. There were a lot of things that could have gone differently in my life. Some that probably wouldn't have made too much difference, others that affected everything. He changed so much. I fell in love and got my heart broken, the real thing, when I was fifteen. He was cute, he was sweet, he treated me like gold. I was completely smitten. But life didn't work in our favor, he broke it off and I pined over that boy for 5 years, finally letting go the day he married the woman who is now his wife and the mother of his child. He broke my heart, but he didn't break me. Eventually, I got my confidence back. I smiled again and it reached my eyes. I danced, I laughed, and I truly enjoyed my life. I moved on, even though I kept him tucked away. A bittersweet memory that I cherished in a way you only cherish your first love. But I was leery. I didn't want to fall again, I didn't want to risk it. Then, when I was sixteen, I met this boy at a party. At first, it was fun, new and just short of obsessive on both sides. It was scary, but I fell again. But after a while, it got bad. He was still sweet, still adored me, but in between the smiles would be the careless little ribs that slowly chipped away at my core. By the time I finally got the courage to break it off, my soul had been ripped to shreds because with every little dig, every sharp comment or guilty verbal slap, I believed him. I let him tear me down, put weight on my shoulders that didn't belong until I was flat on the floor trying as hard as I could to crawl out from beneath it. I was no longer that strong, confident. larger than life girl that I once was. When I was seventeen, one boy achieved the impossible. He broke me. I spent two years hating him. Then, one day, I decided enough was enough. I didn't want to let him win even by deeming him important enough to hate. So I contacted him, apologized for any hurt I caused because I wanted it off my chest and tried to let him go. No such luck. We actually became friends. He helped me through some really hard times and was genuinely there for me. For a while. And it was fun. I actually felt like me again. I told him everything he did, all the damage done. I laid it all out. And I thought it would stop. When I met the man who is now my husband, I realized how wrong I was. It never stopped. And he never actually saw me as important enough to see as a person and not a piece of ass he could manipulate. I flipped, let my formidable temper fly, and we ceased to be. Over the last few years, I would start to miss him. Not necessarily him as a boyfriend, but him as a friend. And more importantly, who I got to be with him. Because those years were some of the worst and some of the most fun I've ever had. So I missed him. Or so I thought. Then I saw him again the other night and I realized, I don't miss him. I miss me. At first, all I could think was holy mother of God, please let this nightmare end. Then we talked and it wasn't so bad. It was just...awkward. Until he walked out of the bar and my breath came out in a loud whoosh. Then I panicked. But, seeing as I truly am one of the luckiest girls in the world and have absolutely amazing friends, it didn't last long. They calmed me down, gave me my feet and handed me my spine. I found my grip and I held on for dear life. When he came back and tried to follow us, they ushered me away all but telling him to f*** off, and got me out of sight. It took another ten minutes and a seriously strong vodka cran, but I came down enough to dance and forget the bad memories that followed me out on the town. The funny thing is, if I never dated him in high school, I don't know that I would be who I am. So in a way, I should both thank and curse him. See, I have scars. Deep as chasms, and wide as canyons. Most days I can keep them closed. But sometimes, something triggers them and nightmares surface, sending a river of pain cascading through the dark. He did that to me. But I let him, and I think that's why they're so deep. I would be a completely different person. I wouldn't balk at compliments. I wouldn't feel like I wasn't good enough. I wouldn't feel alone. But I also wouldn't be as strong as I am. That I can thank him for. He gave me the opportunity to access that strength. So for that, I owe him. As for the rest, that was all me. I'm not perfect. Far from it. I'm not nice, exactly. I have a temper, and lately, I've embraced my inner bitch. It's not always pretty, but it's part of who I am. I have flaws to go with my scars and if you could see my soul, I'm pretty sure it would make a pretty intricate design of scars in various states of healing. But I manage. I have strength even if I don't reach my full potential all the time. I'm stubborn enough to keeping kicking life's ass when needed and I laugh enough to keep the bitchiness from being too much. Those that I love, love me right back despite all those things. Or maybe because of. I have a kind heart, a keen mind and a sharp tongue. I'm loyal and protective, caring, and somewhat bossy. Because of all that, I make a fierce friend. But a formidable enemy. I guess I'm doing okay, truth be told. The people in my life make the hard days better and I will always be grateful for them. The people who have hurt me or been hurt by me --because I am in no way perfect-- become the rungs on my ladder and each day I have to choose to reach up to the next one and let go of the last. I do. And each time it's for my little girl. My husband. My family and friends. It's for the wonderful, plethora of people that help to make me, me. And it's because I don't want to fall backwards. Not ever again. What can I say? I'm afraid of heights. |
| Do you ever find yourself desperate to do something else? Anything else? I'm sitting at work, bored out of my mind, running through the gigantic list of everything else I have to do. I have work to do, I just really do not want to do it. Why is it that I can't work from home and then have the work be what I actually want to do? Is that asking too much? Maybe it is. Maybe we just have to work and work and work or maybe that's just America. What happened to actually enjoying life? What happened to having the time to look around you and truly see the world instead of watching it pass you by? We try so hard to get through the work week, can't wait until Friday, but what we don't always realize is that's another five days of your life that you can't get back. Did you live it the way you wanted to? Did you do the things you wanted to? Did you even appreciate being alive, having a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food in your belly? I know I don't. I get up, hating the moment when I have to roll out of bed, praying that my daughter stays asleep just fifteen minutes longer so I can get ready for work without chasing her around to keep her out of trouble. Then I barely get any time with her and I'm wishing the morning could be longer. Before I know it I'm dropping her off with somebody else for the day and by the time I get her in the evening she's tired and cranky, so am I, and I get maybe two hours with her before she goes to bed, most of which is occupied by cooking, eating and bathing. If we're lucky, we get in a good game of chase, maybe sing the ABC's a few times, read a couple books and play hide and seek. If we're lucky. She goes down, my husband and I clean up, shower and he goes to bed. I write, but by then it's nearly nine o'clock and I have to leave by 7:30 the next morning. This is my life Monday through Friday. Five days a week. Where in there do we even have time to really do the things we love? If I had it my way, I would work from home, raise my own child, and really get to spend time with her. I wouldn't be so tired that all I want to do is relax and have quiet time when my husband wants to spent time with me. I would have dinner done at a reasonable time so we wouldn't have to spend the entire evening going, going, going. We could go do things, see things, learn things. Instead, it's a never ending schedule with a two day weekend that is never long enough. One day I will have the life I want. Because I refuse to be on my death bed wondering what happened to the time that was my life. |
| A while ago a coworker mentioned something about the movie, Avatar, and it got me thinking. She said that it was basically a rip off of Fern Gully. Girl is daughter of the chief, Boy is coming to destroy everything they love as part of a bigger company, Boy is immersed in Girl's world, tries to save it, Boy and Girl fall in love and fight together to save what they believe in. The end. And, I guess, in a nut shell she would be right. But so what? Isn't that plot line a bit generic anyway? There are so many movies where that's true, so many books, even stories in history, so would Fern Gully be a rip off of Pocahontas? Which, I might add, is a true story. When I watched Avatar, the basic plot isn't what struck me. What I noticed, what I was moved by, was the innate ability of a people to rise up against a common enemy, to risk their very nature, their homes, their lives for a cause that would seem too great, even hopeless, for one person alone. I've been struck by revolution lately. Be it in a book, a movie, everyday life, it does't matter. The thought of sitting idly by thinking nothing can be done while things that are wrong keep happening repulses me. You can't change anything by wishing it away. Action must be taken. There are so many examples of the few overcoming the many. The weak triumphing over the strong because what the weak have that their adversary lacks is heart. So what about the revolutions in the small things? What about taking control of your every day life instead of just thinking that some day it will get better? Making the necessary changes to accomplish your duties, your goals? Your dreams. Why shouldn't we do what needs to be done? Take risks, walk away from ugly words and hurtful people. From those who think your dreams are too big, not practical. Are unlikely to become a reality. Change your life. Because in the end, the one truth is that life is too short to be anything but happy. |
| I heard once that grief was like the ocean. It's deep, dark and bigger than us all. When I think of grief, the first thing that comes to mind is death. The loss of someone from this world forever, taken from their loved ones, never to be seen again. This loss is terrible, the emptiness vast as the hollow ache in your heart takes root. But for a lot of people, death is easier to get over than other types of grief. There is nothing you can do to change it. You have no choice. You either move on or perish with them. But there are so many types of grief. The loss of someone you love is hard. It's even harder when they leave by choice. How many holes can riddle a heart before it is broken beyond repair? How many pieces can be given away before there's nothing left to give? For some, a loss like that is something they leave in their past. They accept it and move on. I'm not that strong. When I give someone a piece of my heart, be it family, lover or friend, it is a gift. It's not something I take back, so when they're gone so is that part of me, leaving me with an emptiness in its place. Everyone becomes someone else around different people. There is one person, or a group of people, who inspire you to bring out a different side. A facet, if you will. Sometimes you're studious, carefully taking notes; flirtatious, just because it's fun. Other times you may be serious because you have responsibilities or goofy and childlike because you just don't care what the world thinks. What amazes and at times astounds and confuses me is that I can't always seem to find that person without the one who inspires it. Lately I've found that I miss being happy and carefree. Even when I had things to worry about, people counting on me, I found that I could look at the world as warm, caring and full of wonder. I had a childlike curiosity that bubbled to the surface in a giggle -- though not as annoying as that sounds. But now, I can't seem to find it. So I find myself missing that one person who always made it possible. One of my biggest faults is that when that person goes, something in me dies. That facet hides itself away and only an echo remains, just waiting to be awoken. The one who brought out the side of me that embraced and enjoyed life down to the last drop is gone. Once, the girl who could look at the stars with wonder, find the one that I was looking for and forget that I could see no other in the vast sky beyond, refused to be silenced. Now I can't find her voice. That's the personal loss that comes when someone leaves. At least for me. But what about the rest? There were nights after I lost the boy I dated in college, after I left him because I knew we were toxic for each other, that I would crawl up onto my roof and cry for hours. Horrible, heart-wrenching sobs that would rock my entire body until I had to curl up around myself just to keep the pieces from shattering into the night and blowing away on the slightest breeze. I was afraid I would never stop crying, that the pain would never dissipate. People always say that the pain and garbage, the aching that comes with loss and heart ache is part of the healing process. Part of letting go. People are wrong. It's just pain and garbage. The healing happens when you decide to get up and start living your life again. It's hard. Believe me. But it is possible. Life is worth living. Even on your darkest days you have to remember that there is a reason to get up. Grief may be an ocean, dark and deep and bigger than us all. You just have to learn to swim. |
| The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins have recently become my new obsession. (Or were when this was originally written in 2012.) I believe that The Hunger Games is the most powerful and moving, not to mention heart wrenching trio of books I have ever read. It's more than just a story, or even a rebellion, definitely more than a teen romance. It is a movement, a revolution against a totalitarian government, a glimpse of the true horrors and the miraculous heart that human beings possess. It doesn't just represent one side, but both, presenting the reader with a protagonist who is not perfect, but like most readers themselves, she is flawed, undecided in what is truly right and wrong in war and in life. In love. That in itself is inspiring. However, when added to the fact that the characters showed true courage, rising up against those in power to fight for what was right, what they believed in, even in the face of danger, death and loss, the books moved me to tears. For true evil is not just fed by actions of those who side with it, but by those who sit by and do nothing. Suzanne Collins created a masterpiece in which she has captured the human spirit, for better or for worse, and if ever I accomplish my dream, fame and fortune aside, I hope to be able to create something that is as meaningful and as inspiring as this story. Because really, the terrible truth is a reality like The Hunger Games is not that far off. A friend asked me why it had to be so realistic. She said she could feel their pain as if it were her own. But I think that’s the point. It is real. It could actually happen. Look at when it is. It’s not too far in the future, and it’s in North America. Those who came before (us) had no regard for those who would come after and we destroyed our planet, leaving the generations after us to deal with the consequences. In the mess that was left, the Capitol, (probably a metaphor for the 1% of our population that carries most of our wealth) rose up and made the rest of Panem virtually their slaves. A rebellion would most definitely ensue and if the government won, is it really that far off to think that they would prove their power by creating the Hunger Games? Look at our society, look at the obsession we have with reality TV. It’s entertainment to see people’s dreams destroyed or to see their hearts broken. We have movies about people hacking each other up. There have been two movies where inmates provide entertainment in a fight to the death. How long before a movie becomes a reality, especially in a broken society like Panem? And then, how long before the rest of the population would rise up against the government? It really isn’t much of a stretch if you think about it. I think that’s what makes the story so powerful. It’s not like Twilight. The main characters don’t all survive and have happy endings. Even in Harry Potter where she killed off a lot of the characters, the message of the Hunger Games is much bigger. And without the wizard and magical element, it is real. Or could be. I've read these books almost three times in the last month, which is strange, even for me. Yet, I still can't get enough. Every time, I am moved beyond belief. Inspired. I truly am obsessed. I bought all the magazines, read dozens of interviews. I even sat four hours in line to get a good seat for the midnight premiere. I have to say, I was slightly disappointed in the screen play, but overall I was impressed. The casting was perfect, the acting superb. The main characters were portrayed to the best of their ability even if the script for the character left something to be desired, but I'll go into that another time. I could go on and on. For now, I'll just say...my compliments. As for the disgusting comments made on Twitter about the actors who played the characters of Rue, Thresh and Cinna, I thought those three actors were wonderful, and FYI, the casting was spot on. People astound me. Why is it so hard to appreciate one another for our good attributes and who we are as people instead of condemning them for the color of their skin? One day, those who judge others based on their race are going to find themselves in a position where they are the minority. I can only hope that when that day comes, those same people are faced with others who can look beyond the color of their skin and treat them as equals, showing them that it's better to take the high road and hopefully giving them a look at what its like to be a decent human being. God willing, I'll be there to watch how the "mighty" will fall. |
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