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 |  My life is a roller coaster ride, but there's beauty in the madness. |
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Ink in Faded Hues My aspirations, triumphs, and failures. Life is a beautiful mess! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ~All men dream: but not equally. Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, to make it possible.~ T.E. Lawrence ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** This is me, for those of you who wondered! 
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I swear I'm a glutton for punishment somedays.  The good news is after spending the last ohhhhh 6 hours straight glued to the computer and sending out well over 200 e-mails of one kind or another, I now know I am capable of being swamped and still staying sane. Well, okay, at least relatively. (we don't need the comments from the peanut gallery on that one.) I had my doubts about how much I could handle, but now I know. It's all bout finding and determining your limits, see?I managed to squeeze out 1000 words tonight. Granted, it's not much, but I haven't touched my book in almost two weeks. So, for being rusty, it wasn't a bad start. The only problem is, I really want to enter a contest right now. Those shiny little gift points are calling my name. I think I've become addicted to WDC on an offically serious level. Is there help for that? I wanted to say thank you, yet again, to simply_complex Honestly, you have no idea how much I needed that boost of encouragement and I was SO touched by the abundance she sent my way. It made me cry. And thank you Mara ♣ McBain  for the lovely awardicon on my first raffle! Ohh I loves the shiny bling!And thank you kiyasama for everything you do. The list is too long for me to even start. On a less happy note, I am growing disheartened by a vast number of writer's inability to READ a simple outline of rules. Yes, I send gift points to the wrong place on a vast number of occassions if I am making a donation...but if I am posting an entry to a contest or trying to participate in a group of somekind, I do make darn sure that I read the rules over carefully. If I don't understand something I ask. So please, I beg you, if you enter a contest of mine that says a story must be newly created to qualify, or if you have to do this or that in a forum to get gift points that I work hard for, please, for the love of caffine, please read the rules! I won't bite your head off if you don't understand something and ask a question. However, I am growing close to wanting to do just that when people just do as they please and expect me to bend the rules and kowtow to their favor in return. Maybe I've contracted rabies. Maybe I expect too much from others. Bah...I'm going to bed. |
| It just doesnt seem possible. I refuse to believe it, yet, I know it's an inevitable part of life we must all face. The last year has flown by all too quickly, and here I am with three months left. How is that possible? It only seems like yesterday when I was the lanky girl with skinned knees outside playing with the boys and scaling pine trees. I remember the exhilerating rush of playing tag and hide and seek outdoors in the dark, the enitre neighborhood my playground. Those days are long gone. Yet in my heart, that girl remains. She's the voice inside that prompts me to be silly and to live life to the fullest. I remember my youth, and cling to it, even as this final page in that chapter prepares to turn. How can that be? Gods, I remember thinking thirty and forty was old. Now I reserve that judgement for people who can't walk by themselves. You know those feeble, delicate creatures that tremble and shake and take an hour to stand upright? What now? In another 50 years that will be me...if I am fortunate enough to live that long. Three months. Three more months and I'll no longer be in my twenties, but hit 30 and officially enter middle age. My body is way ahead of me. I'm already sprouting up silver strands like a geiser.  Mara found that hard to believe, but at 28, I showed her. I'm already starting to go through *gasp* the change, as everyone on my mother's side does around this age. And well, to be honest, things just aren't where they used to be. Gravity and eleasticity are no longer on my side. I've even started looking at anti-wrinkle creams and, much to my beloved's amusement, toothpaste for sensitive teeth! Yep. My days in my twenties are limited. But truth be told, part of me welcomes this new chapter, just a wee bit. I know it will bring new joys, new memories, and new experiences to look forward to. When I enter my golden years, that little girl inside will keep my spirit young, and someday, Mara and I will be rocking side by side on a porch somewhere. Her with her dog and me with my cat, both with something to write on. We'll both still be those spirited and sassy Irish lasses we are today. After all, age is just a number, and every chapter brings with it a new adventure. Right?  I hope I have all the beauty, wisdom, and humor my mother does at her age.  And as for Mara, I'm just glad she's almost a chapter ahead and can warn me about all the pitfalls along the way! Here's to thirty and forty this year, sister mine. May we always have the laughter and bond that we share today! |
| Have a nasty bout of the stomach flu. I guess that ache in my bones wasn't from the cold bedroom. After checking in and peeking around the site, all seems as well as can be expected. That means I can go lay down for a bit and try to sleep this off. Best wishes and happy writing! |
| Such an ugly word. But, it’s true. I’ve been slacking in every aspect of my life for the last week. The house is not up to par, I’ve barely written, and I’m not nearly as active within the community as I usually am. The last one actually makes me feel guilty. I feel like I’m letting people down somehow, and that’s a feeling I can’t stand. I need to get busy reviewing again and handing out candy on the PR page to others. Tempelton needs revived. (Templeton being my anon-a-mouse alter ego who likes to hand out gift points…a rat in tighty whities with a super-hero cape ) It’s just so…blah. J took my laptop with him on the road. Since getting said laptop, I can’t stand my desktop. The keys feel old and clunky, my knees get all achy, and it is cold down here in my bedroom. It’s hard to feel inspired when you are shivering and miserable and your bones feel like you have the flu. I hates it. I want my laptop back.  I’m losing my desire to finish Compassion. It could be that I haven’t touched it since last Wednesday. I tend to want to veer off track if a few days pass by without me working on a story. Doubt and fear sink in along with a million second guesses. It hasn’t been the easiest project to do and is so emotionally draining. The Holocaust is such a depressing subject, and I swear, even just reading things for research takes it‘s toll. Yet, I’m pretty sure these muses didn’t haunt me for four years just to get half the book written.Speaking of, anyone interested in that frame of history might want to check out this book. It’s a harrowing but incredible compilation of accounts within one of the most notorious death camps. One of the best I’ve read.
I also picked up:
But I haven’t read it yet. That one is more for me and not for research. I’ll be sure to let you guys know what I think though. Like there was ever any fear that I wouldn’t.Anyway, I’ve decided to stick to my guns. If you start a project, you should see it through. I think this is one of the biggest struggles writers face besides getting published. How many of us have half-finished projects piling up because of the same temptation? I’ve done it so many times in the past and this time, I refuse. I’m not caving in under the pressure. I’m going to stand tall and plod ahead. I’m not a quitter and I fight for what I want. I want to finish this book. I hope you all have a great week filled with all the creativity and inspiration you can handle! Happy writing! |
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| That is the cycle of life, is it not? Yesterday was nothing to trumpet about. I spent most of the day walking through the neighborhood, in the blustering wind and snow, feeling like I was on a death march of sorts, looking for my beloved Max. Somehow the rascal got out. I felt panicked and heartsick. For those of you who don’t know, Max is my partner in crime. He’s a gorgeous jet black Maine Coon rescued from a shelter this November. He’s as stubborn as a bull, bigger than my dog, a complete attention hog, and I love him to death. He’s my favorite. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Thinking about him outside in that weather made me sick. He has no way to defend himself because his previous owner had him declawed. It was cold and he’s such a baby that he always gets his butt kicked by my ninny of a cat Bobo. (I swear Bo is the feline equivalent of Ryan Seacrest.) I spent all day hunting for him and crying. Then, at about 5, salvation. He came back and hid under the neighbor’s car. So, Max was home safe and sound, but I had a migraine from all the stress. Fun times, I tell ya! I wanted to say thank you to simply_complex for the lovely c-note she sent yesterday. That was very thoughtful! I hope everyone had a Happy Hallmark Day. On my parting note, I think I will leave you with a bit of laughter. I got an e-mail from another partner in crime that had me in stitches. I need to respond to that, but I figured I would share his parting words. Anon-a-mouse-ly of course, because I cherish my privacy and I’m sure he does too. See what happens when people read my blogs? PS. I'm not e-stalking you Just enjoyed talking. I think you know that though. If anything, I'm more worried you'll be stalking me... I mean, come on.. sexy british guy, cool as hell accent, makes cheesecakes, starved for sex.. hahaha .. ok. Bye. He has a point. *squeals like a fan girl and sees about making that shrine* |
| Life has never felt more like a rollercoaster ride than this week. What an incredible series of ups and downs. First, I felt giddy from my first taste of spring, then saddened by unfilled yearnings and winter’s return. I looked forward to writing yesterday, only to fall flat. I was tired and disheartened when I went to bed, despite a trip to the bookstore that yielded some great research material. But, the howling winds that swept through last night were ones of change. I’m getting published.  I woke up this morning, grumbling about the dog, shuffling through the house with my hair standing on end. After settling down with my coffee mug in hand, I opened my email, only to spill said coffee all over my hand … and the white couch. Never, in a million years, did I expect someone to approach me and ask for permission to publish something. It just doesn’t work that way. Writers write, submit, and struggle with the ache of rejection. That, I was ready for. This shiny little e-mail, so simple and small, asking for my consent to have "Invalid Item"  published in a magazine featuring up-and-coming authors, not so much.So, I text Mara ♣ McBain , she calls, we talk. I look over the forms, the terms, the website and such, and find everything is to my liking. It seems I have a trip to the library to make, seeing as I have no printer or fax machine here.It doesn’t pay, but it is a foot in the door, a step in the right direction. More exposure, and my very first shot at being in print somewhere besides WDC. My work, published. Who would have thunk it? Not I. That said, I can’t thank Mara enough for all her support, for her excitement, and encouragement! If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know how I would trudge through everyday. I loves ya TT! You know how many times I have wanted to give up and you just yank me right up off the floor with a swift kick to the rear. If it wasn’t for you and my mom always inflating me with confidence and assuring me I can do what I set my mind to…I wouldn’t be doing what I am today. I owe you both credit for every step I take along the way. And WDC…well…I would be nowhere without this awesome community and every member in it. So thanks, really, from the bottom of my heart. That said, it’s Thursday. Yep.  That means Hell’s Kitchen. That means even happier Adriana. I whole hour of laughing one minute and hiding behind the couch cushions the next. I know my mom thinks I should try out, especially after making her risotto, and my dad always applauds my culinary skills…but really…it’s much safer writing. It’s comments like that that make me wonder if they have some secret life insurance policy on me and my family isn’t just trying to off me. Sure I can cook, probably better than I can write…but I would never make it to the finals for one reason. Gordon scares the living hell out of me.Yep, that could only go one way. Adriana goes on show. Adriana messes up somewhere along the way, because she always does. Chef glowers. Chef approaches…Chef yells. Adriana cringes, cries, and pees on the floor because Chef is scary when Chef is mad and he is much bigger than poor Adriana. Chef sees puddle…the puddle on the floor of his kitchen. Chef kills Adriana on national television. *nods* I see what they are doing. It’s not going to work! Okay, I’ve blathered on long enough. I hope you all have a wonderful day! ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Stop by and join me in helping fellow writers excell!
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| I keep getting this nagging feeling that I don’t have the slightest clue who I am. I mean, I know who I am, as a person, but what about all the little bits and pieces of history that make up who I am? It’s frustrating. For as long as I can remember, everything about my mother’s father and his past has been shrouded in secrecy. Little bits and pieces come out here and there, but overall, it leaves me feeling very unsatisfied. I want to know more about this man. I never knew him, as he died before I was born, but I love him and he plays a part in who I am…if that makes any sense. Anyway, I’m not sure where that came from, but it’s been bothering me for a while. The sunshine has gone, leaving me feeling very introverted and reflective. I’m afraid to write today--afraid to delve into that horrific world, where everything comes across in ashen hues of gray. I don’t want to feel the emotions so heavy, they threaten to crush me beneath their weight. Nor do I want to taste the metallic tang of fear on my tongue. I feel so bloody alone. |
| ::snickers, dances around in glee and sings:: Adriana was bad! Adriana was bad! And you know what? It made me delightfully happy! It felt GOOD. Minds out of the gutters, my friends. All I did was embark on a little creative endeavor. I would share my efforts with the rest of you, but I'm certain to do so would lead to a rather painful occurance, if not my demise. Somehow I'm certain my beloved muse would not see the humor, nor appreicate the full extent of my hard work...especially not the whole "sharing" bit.Suffice it to say, I feel more inspired than ever. Muse..Enric. Such a perfect fit...I knew it was meant to be. *nods* I just didn't think it would be that perfect. Alright, I'm off for good this time. It's time to put that inspiration to good use and get through this scene. Who knows, if Anya plays her cards right, she might even get a biscuit. |
Today is going to be awesome! I know this because the sun is chasing away the fog and we are going to have another unseasonably warm day.  I will take it.I had an exhausting but inspiring weekend. Just to be nice, I’ll spare you the details. I already shared them all with Mara. Poor thing, I swear she must get tired of listening to me blather on. Sometimes, I just can’t help myself! Twinnie inside joke time. “Whaaaat? Oh my ghawwwwwd!” Oh yes, and lets not forget the “Raaaar Raaar Raaar… *glower…scowl…dead gimlet eyes* “Come here, you.” I’m going to make that picture, TT! Let’s just pray he never sees it, yes?Ok. Where was I? Ah yes! Looking at the calendar last night, I realized I am right on track. Somehow, someway, I managed to get some writing done this weekend, even with Mara being in Canada and unable to hold my hand. Last Monday, I was at 5225, now I am at 9325. I would like to say things are progressing nicely, but erm … Well, I guess it’s a matter of perspective. If you ask me, yes. If you ask my muse who was about 2 seconds away from eating a bullet if she didn’t wise up….probably not so much. ::snickers:: ::laughs:: Okay, while I was really stressed about it last night, it kind of amuses me this morning. For those of you wondering what the heck is wrong with me today, I don’t know. This is me at my best, in a great mood, and clamoring to write. On that note, I’m outta here. Best wishes and happy writing! |
| The proverbial question, and probably the most difficult for a writer to answer. I’m not sure why I write the things I do. I guess I wasn’t blessed with the cheerful, smiling muse most people seem to have. Even when I sit down with the intentions of writing a “feel good” story, it seldom turns out that way. Something else takes over. When I write a story, my characters become living, breathing, extensions that are with me every hour of the day. I even tend to dream about them. Whatever tale I tell, I feel it is a story that needs to be told. Not because I think people will agree, or think it some great epiphany, or even a work of art … but because of the urgent whisper of my muse. As odd as it may sound, what I write is not “mine.” It belongs to my muse, and I am merely the vessel through which it flows. Heck. Sometimes I don’t want to write the things I see or feel. I battled working on Compassion for three years before I finally caved. It haunted me every day, but I can’t tell you why I’m writing it. It’s a feeling of urgency in me that will not go away and the only way to pacify that feeling is to comply and give in to my muse. The sorrow I feel through every aspect of this story, from the grueling hours spent on research to penning the words, is overwhelming. Last night, I broke down and sobbed after reading two Time Life books pertinent to the matter. Not from the aspect I excepted either. I felt I could not go on, that if I did, I would be crushed beneath the burden…but ever persistent, my muse refused to relinquish its hold. Maybe I’m daft, but I swear I heard that voice inside my head, pleading with heartbreaking desperation for their story to be told, to tell their words, and to understand. Other stories have been a mixture of experiences, imagination, and inspiration, but each has come with their own muse, their own voice. Mara will be the first to tell anyone I have been through a lot. Some of it very unpleasant. Maybe that is the well I draw from. Maybe it is a way to purge the pain and fear that lingers in the deep shadowed recesses of my soul, the side that stays hidden from the world until it is time to write. I’m not sure why I write the things I do. I’m not a dark, brooding person by nature. I love, laugh, and relish the little things in life just as much as anyone else, if not more so. Whatever the reasons, these stories are my lot to carry in life. Without the shadows, there can be no light and vise versa. Without knowing sorrow, we can never understand the full depths of our happiness. That doesn’t make me a bad person. My muse, and my stories, serve a purpose, even if it is just to highlight the smiles and laughter on the other side of the fence. So that prods me to ask…why do you write the things you do? |
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