%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
Blog started in Jan 2005: 1st entries for Write in Every Genre. Then the REAL ME begins |
|
It Hurts When I Stop Talking Sometime in Fall of 1998, when a visit from Dad was infrequent, and primarily at the mercy of his 88 Toyota making the 50 mile journey, I was being treated to lunch. The restaurant was my choice, I think. Sisley Italian Kitchen at the Town Center mall was somewhere my dad had not yet tried, so that was my pick. Either I was being treated to the luxury of lunch and adult conversation without my husband and 5 year old son in tow, or that's just how the moment has lodged in my memory. The more I think about it, they probably were there, but enjoying the Italian food too much to bother interrupting. Daddy and his lady friend at the time, Anne, came up together and made a day of it with me and the family. We were eating together and talking about some of my scripts, stories, coverages, poems and other creative attempts that really were not seeing the light of day. I think I'd just finished a group reading of The Artist's Way and was in a terribly frenetic mood over my writing. I think I'd just given them an entire rundown on a speculative Star Trek script. My Dad asked me point blank, “Why don’t you write it?? Anne agreed. It sure sounded like I wanted to write it. Why wasn't I writing seriously? It's what I'd set out to do when earning my college degree in Broadcasting many years earlier. Heck, I should, I agreed non-verbally. “I will.” But, I didn’t. Blogs can be wild, unpredictable storehouses of moments, tangents, creative dervishes, if you will. I'm getting a firmer handle on my creative cycle. My mental compost heap (which is a catch phrase from Natalie Goldman or Julia Cameron - I can't think which, right now) finally seems to be allowing a fairly regular seepage of by-products. That may be a gross analogy, but I give myself credit to categorize my work in raw terms. It proves that I'm not so much the procrastinating perfectionist that I once was. Still, I always seem to need prompts and motivation. Being a self-starter is the next step. My attempt to keep up in the Write in Every Genre Contest at the beginning of the year seemed like a perfect point to launch the blog. |
| I live on the West Coast, and still new to the specific home we now inhabit. It'm also going to mention that the new residence was broken into about seven weeks ago, when we were not yet occupying the home, but most of our belongings had been moved in. I preface with that information, since I feel like I have to justify my actions, mostly because I'm not truly happy that I had to lie and turn someone away from my front porch. Saturday night, and a full week ahead of a major holiday weekend -- finding out how our neighbors a few doors down party. Nothing more than loud music, and maybe some of the earlier firecrackers came from that direction? Zoning with my phone and a documentary on Netflix simultaneously, I'm startled to hear the Ring camera alert followed by the doorbell being rung, and I can see the top of a dark grey hoodie through the small, arched accent window, high up on the front door. My spouse goes to the door shirtless, and asks through the door, what is needed. Apparently the tall young woman is requesting a blanket at our door at almost midnight. I'm taken aback as I realize the time, and I actually indicate a black throw on the ground that my spouse can offer, but then, both of us before he actually opens the door, think it through, and decide, it doesn't feel right to open the door. We had select things stolen when the house was previously targeted, and we have no idea who made that decision to violate us, but clearly, our dear hearts still can't trust fully. I'm hoping I can leave a blanket and a warm coat out in the daytime. Moreso, I'd like them to go to her, but I cannot count on that being for certain. It's sad to think that I rather hope she didn't have things work out for certain for her ,and that's what led her to check at someone's door at nearly midnight, instead of it being done with forethought. Who thinks it's alright to knock on a stranger's door at night for things you might need? You're injured, somebody's after you...yeah, then I might open the door. But you're twenty something and didn't think out , just a couple hours earlier, where you'd be laying your head that night and that a blanket would make that better? I admit, I have enough to give away, and that's even with a reality of no pay coming into my bank account for the last six weeks. But I'm starting to feel old that I can mostly find myself being critical of a lack of planning by a stranger? Hope I can be a better person in the morning. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
