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 |   Exploring the future through the present. One day at a time. |
| When I first started my blog, I wrote mostly for myself. Sure I wanted readers, but I never expected any. I still remember the excitement when I received my first one. The comments were always appreciated, because I saw almost immediately the impact my words had on others. They showed me where I needed to improve, and the things I was apparently doing right. Since I slowed and nearly stopped writing entries, I don't expect any -- or at least only a few -- readers. I'm okay with that. I'm using this now as a stepping stone to improve my writing, to get back in the groove. There's also the added desire to avoid social networking such as Facebook. With all the political discussions, all I do is walk away angry and frustrated. I saw a a t-shirt today which read, "Everyone is entitled to my opinion." I thought, "That's Facebook and Twitter in a nutshell." People seem to mix the definition of opinion and fact. They are not remotely the same. They've taken their right to free speech to mean everyone has to listen and dare not attempt to disagree. It is after all [i]their opinion[/i]. Truth and fact mean little anymore. If anything. This site, however, has always been comfortable and friendly. Sure there have been disagreements, but for the most part, people were willing to see other people's point of few and not try to prove themselves right all the time. As many times as I've written a paragraph and deleted on this entry alone, I've decided I am indeed out of practice. Which is why I've renamed my blog "My Writing Sandbox." I'm here to play. Sure, I will write about serious subjects, but I intend to write fun ones, too. You, of course, are more than welcome to stay and play in the sandbox with me. It's always more fun to play with others. |
| I've decided to jump into Nanowrimo, but 11 days into it, I've typed a mere 4400 words. The problem is lack of motivation and a slight addiction to Netflix. I like the story overall, but there is simply no excitement there. Until a coworker sent me a link to a man who has been drawing an imaginary world for 50 years: http://www.visualnews.com/2013/08/13/jerrys-map-drawing-an-imaginary-world-for-5... I haven't seen the entire thing, but at one point he described the card he labeled "Void". When he draws that card, he has to void out a particular area on his map, and create another world inside it that fights against the current one. He calls it an "inclusion." I thought, what a great way to create conflict in my own story. I knew I needed a war of sorts, but wasn't exactly certain how it would start. Now I do. It'll start with minor earthquakes that over the years will get more severe with no direct cause as to why. Until someone finds an "inclusion" of another world encroaching upon their own. They then have to come together with those they have been trying to kill off for decades to fight to save their world or be swallowed up by the inclusions. Just goes to show we never know when inspiration will strike. The key is to always be open to the possibilities. As the the last line in "Ferris Beuller's Day Off" says, "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop to look around once in a while, you could miss it." |
| The beauty of both science fiction and fantasy is writers can address societal ills and religion without being accused of preaching. The reader knows the world created is not real, and therefore can more easily accept challenges and ideas the writer presents. They can also easily draw parallels to their own life -- or not. We live in a culture of death. Life is seen as cheap and dispensable from the beginning of life in the womb, to the end of life with the elderly. We abort pregnancies out of convenience, and we place the elderly in nursing homes sometimes (although not all) out of the same convenience. Some in our government don't want to allow elderly people to get the care they need (such as a pacemaker for a 93-year-old), because the person will not live long enough to contribute enough to society to make the "investment" worthwhile. President Obama told a woman that she wasn't worth a pacemaker and at that age, she should simply take a pill to ease her passing. He also said once that abortion needed to stay legal so his own "daughters wouldn't have to be punished with a child." I'm not here to pass judgement on a president, but to merely show how his words reflect society in general. He's not alone in thinking this way. I also fear this culture of death will get even worse with the ACA. The government now has the power to decide who's life is worth living. If a person fails to meet a certain criteria, all the government has to do is either deny that person care, or make sure that person doesn't get the care they need in time. You can call me paranoid, and I really hope I am, but I just don't see any other logical conclusion to what our government has been doing lately, both on the healthcare front and with regard to spying on the populous. There's a story percolating in my mind over the last few years about a child who's born illegally because she has a genetic defect. The mother is told she had to terminate her pregnancy or risk her entire family in losing their home, jobs and education for their other children. In the end, it's this defective child that ends up preventing a war. Because we so easily decide what a life is worth or not worth, we miss out on the wonder, joy and beauty of life. God told us to be fruitful and multiply, not be fruitful and multiply unless the child is handicapped or is an inconvenience on the mother. I often wonder what the "abomination that causes desolation" mentioned in the book of Daniel is. Since God is the creator of life, I suspect he would see any deliberate termination of life whether in the womb or out of advanced age as an abomination. Whether or not that's what God meant in that passage, I don't know, and will have to research it to find out more. Anyway, that's the story I want to tell. That to protect and respect life is one of God's mandates -- especially for those who cannot protect themselves -- and to do anything less is evil in its purest form. But it's hard, because I know what a sensitive issue it is for a lot of people, on both sides. Can I accomplish it without sounding preachy? With God's help, I think so. We'll see. |
| I finished up one of my novels the other day, and something one of my characters said got me to thinking (odd, that, but there it is anyway). He was struggling with the idea of a loving God, and what he asks of us, which is quite simple: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself. My character commented, "It all seems too simple, too easy." I'm sure in real life, many have the same thought, nor should it be so surprising. We all live in constant struggle and adversity. With rare exceptions, people have to work hard for every scrap, whether it be material goods or emotional and spiritual fulfillment. Life has taught us to be cynical; that if something does come easy, we wonder what's the catch. There's no such thing as a free ride. Everything comes with a price. So for God to offer us eternity and the only requirement is to love him with everything we are, often our first thought is, no way. Nothing is ever that easy. But when we accept the challenge -- the invitation, we discover that although it may be simple, it is never easy. We are constantly bombarded with temptations, and face difficulty that challenge our faith. What's easy is giving in to it all, because the struggle to maintain our faith in those terrible times becomes nearly impossible. But faith is meaningless without those struggles, because it's during those dark times that faith, and God himself, truly shines. I write my best when I desire God's presence and will in my life. When I turn my back on him, my desire to string words together completely disappears. It's no accident or coincidence. At the age of 16, I gave my hands to God to do with as he pleases. They, and any word I type belong to him. When my hands refuse to write, it's his way of telling me that I've strayed too far from his path. In other words, I've left God -- and consequently my hands -- behind. I need to turn around if I want them back. Because, really, how can anyone write with stubs? Although I'm speaking figuratively, trying to write when my heart isn't in the right place feels very much like I'm trying to write with stubs for hands. It's cumbersome and ultimately pointless. So, yes, God gave us a simple way to find his path, but that path is never easy. As one of my favorite biblical passages says: Accept the way God does things, for who can straighten what God has made crooked? Easy words, but very difficult to put into practice. The optimist that I am, however, I firmly believe it's the most difficult journeys that in the end are the most rewarding. |
| Two years. That's a long time to avoid a passion, but for two years I did. Writing used to be that passion, but I quit it. Every time I tried to write even a simple blog entry, my fingers refused to type. When I forced it, the words were flat, emotionless, dull. It took me a while to figure out why. I was grieving first over my dad's death and then my mom passed 18 months later. I didn't want to acknowledge that grief, because, really, why? They're gone and no amount of tears will bring them back. Plus life goes on. I have a job and a family to take care of. I didn't have the time or energy to blubber into my pillow every night. Anger played a large portion in my lack of words. Writing is how I talk to God, and I didn't want to talk to him. He took my parents away when they were far too young, and I wasn't remotely ready to let them go. It was unfair and I was unprepared. God in his never-ending grace and depthless compassion and understanding allowed me to wallow. Through little glimpses, he gently showed me that this time of grief was necessary. As Ecclesiastes 3:4 says, there is "a time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance." Recently I began to understand that I could never move forward until I release my burdens to his care. He reminded me of the man who wanted to follow Jesus, but first asked to bury his father. Jesus responded, "Follow me and let the dead bury their own dead." (Matthew 8:18-22). I've also been hearing often a song by Jonathan Thulin called "Dead Come to Life": 1: I am the living dead, you are the opposite We're like fire and ice only one can survive My will's departed Pre Chorus: Light is in your eyes reaching to mine I am Chorus: A valley of bones covered in stone Nothing more than human Into the unknown body and soul You're calling me cause only with you the Dead come to life, dead come to life Only with you the dead come to life, Dead come to life 2: I am a foreigner, caught in the crossfire I am paralyzed by the battle cries can you Hear it. Pre Chorus: Chorus: Bridge: We are the dry and thirsty sand Upon this dry and thirsty land But you speak life into the flesh Breathing air into the dead. I belong to a group on Facebook called Bismarck Writers. We meet every Monday night and Barnes and Noble to write and talk about writing. I've been able to go three times now. I've been surprisingly productive. I finished the synopsis to one book so I can now search agents/publishers, finished editing another book and finished the outline of a new story. How amazing it is to listen to and heed God's wisdom, allow him to comfort me in my grief and let all my burdens go. My sister and I agree, however, no one we love is allowed to die for at least five years. We so decree for very selfish reasons, admittedly. Although both my parents had wills, they had no outstanding debt that couldn't be taken care of quickly, and there was no strife between my sister and I with everything else they owned, setting up and managing estates SUCK! We had to get rid of a lot of their stuff, and each time we couldn't help but feel we were slowly erasing our parent's existence. And what we did hold onto felt like ill-gotten gains. We didn't earn any of it, so how can we remotely claim it as ours now? Especially since they taught us that all our successes and failures are our responsibility and no one else's. I find the whole thing rather sickening, as if we were feeding off the dead, even though intellectually that wasn't remotely the case. Our parents wanted us to have their worldly goods, so to turn our noses at it would mean we didn't appreciate all the hard work they put into gaining it in the first place. Still, I wish they had just enough to pay any remaining bills with the end result a big, fat zero. It's a good feeling to be brought back from the dead, finally. |
| Beginning May 1 at 12am PDT, my mom's original paintings dedicated to Mystery Science Theater 3000 go up for auction. All 32 of them. I packed them prior to the auction, because that way I can send them once the auction ends. Honestly, when I see my mom again, she and I are going to have words. Why didn't she make all the paintings the same size! You wouldn't believe how many different sized boxes I had to buy, and well over a third of them I had to cut to size. If I never touch another piece of cardboard for the rest of my life, I'll die happy. That said, the process of packing them up was rough. Part of me felt like I was packing her away to send off to strangers. Her life and passion was pored into her artwork. Every time Tom and I went to her house to pack more paintings, he would beg me to let him keep them. I had to keep explaining to him that we couldn't. It was her wish -- demand -- that we couldn't keep them. I did keep a few prints and have the electronic copies, so I can print them out if he wants, but he knows it's not the same. He misses her. I finished packing the last on Sunday, and this morning I finally felt as if I could grieve for her a little. Not as much as I'd like -- or need, but I simply won't let myself mourn for her until I've done everything I need to do as far as her stuff. Even if you don't know anything about Mystery Science Theater 3000 or intend to bid, you should check out my mom's paintings. They are simply amazing: http://stores.ebay.com/jeanjacksonartwork (Note: They won't show up until after 12am PDT) |
| This morning I read a thread on a photography forum that began thusly: "Greetings Gentlemen. There is this particular photographic image, likened to the surrealism of Salvador Dali . . " Immediately someone responded with: A little incorrect don't you think? An important piece of information was the poster's name: Huang Poh Lo Judging by his formal language, he's not a Westerner. To greet people you don't know via the written word is often started with "Gentlemen." It's a sign of respect and politeness. But so many Americans (in particular) who claim to be so tolerant and open to the preservation of other cultures seem to all too quickly allow their PC feathers get ruffled. I added this to the PC policeman (that's right, I said policeman not the gender-neutral "law enforcement officer"): I don't think it was meant to exclude anyone. It's simply a way to greet people you don't know, especially for someone who (it seems to me) isn't from a Western country. It's a sign of respect, so don't read too much into it. I haven't received any responses of yet, nor do I expect any. As much as people get rankled over political incorrectness, my teeth grind over all the PC that prevents people from speaking or writing honestly -- even respectfully from their point of view. Have we become so self-absorbed and narcissistic (or is that redundant?), that our offense in someone else's words and deeds mean more than the intent of the offender? These are the same people who scream that we must understand and accept other cultures that seem so foreign to ours. Yet when they act according to the dictates of their society and culture, we scream foul. We need to get over ourselves. It's no more complicated than that. |
| In life, we have to deal with rude people, the quiet and the charming. For the most part, there are fewer rude people around us than the latter. Which is why when we run into a rude person, we take notice. The internet is different. It's as though because we're somewhat anonymous, faceless, it gives us license to treat others as if they don't matter enough to be kind, polite. Are we so filled with self-importance that everyone else doesn't deserve even the smallest courtesies? I've been perusing a photography forum for the last few weeks. There's some good stuff there and most of the people are kind and helpful. I have found, however, more than a few instances where people chose to take certain posts out of context, and it didn't matter how much the original poster tried to explain better what they intended to say. They decided that they were right, the original poster was wrong, and they continued to leave snide comments to bolster their claim. I get enough of that in "real" life, why would I put up with it on the Internet? Why would anyone? Please tell me why people feel it necessary to put people down? I imagine it's to lift themselves up, but that's an illusion. We are the same people regardless of how we interact with others. If we feel inadequate for whatever reason, making others feel the same doesn't improve our lives. Why do we put so much importance on our feelings with total disregard to the feelings of others? People accuse many politicians, actors and other "famous" people of being narcissistic, but are we "little" people any different? How we treat others says more about who we are on the inside than anything else. Our jobs are nothing. Everything we own or create are nothing. What matters is how people will remember us after we're gone. With the death of both my parents in the last two years, I've been considering legacies. My father's legacy is mostly in the friends and daughters he left behind. He was loved, respected. He treated people the way he wanted -- and yes, expected -- to be treated. The largest part of my mom's legacy aside from her children is how she used her gift of painting to make people laugh. She taught both my sister and me the finer points of politeness. She was a true student of Miss Manners. He and my mother both taught me that politeness and charm (even if I don't always feel it) gets you further than arrogance, entitlement-mentality and rudeness. If we keep up with the latter, soon no one will want to work with and be around us. We end up alone. And no legacy left behind. |
| I've always believed God purposely places seemingly insurmountable challenges in our life. He does this for a variety of reasons, but it's always for our own good. We grow more patient, faithful, or compassionate to name a few. Life's challenges can also show us our weaknesses, so we are forced to turn to God for strength we could never possess without him. God has thrown a challenge at me that has in part exacerbated my body's normal reaction to stress -- hives. Yay. This particular challenge came in the form of a new co-worker. I think I'm an easy person to get along with. I can think of only three people in my entire life who I absolutely could not stand being in the same room with. It used to be two until this guy came along. I am an optimist by nature, so I tend to look at the positive in almost any situation, no matter how dark. This guy, is the opposite. He is never happy, and when it turns out there is absolutely nothing to get pissed or frustrated about, he'll find something. It's an astonishing gift he has in finding shadows in the brightest of sunlight. Okay, a bit of background. He was hired as a surveyor starting last summer. For the most part, his work itself is above reproach. He often finds section or property corners I neither asked for or expected him to find. After a few months, there was a lot of tension developing between him, our bosses and other engineers in the office. I decided to take the incentive and told everyone all surveys must go through me. Tell me what needs to be done, and I will give that information to the New Guy. It's helped some, but instead of hearing all the complaints second-hand, now I'm the one who "can't get her s*** together" simply because I make an occasional error - or don't give him exactly the kind of information he requests. For example, we had to survey a lot for improvements. I told him, quoth, "Tie in everything, including the buildings driveways and power poles." He heard, "Tie in only the buildings and driveways." He also apparently didn't read the sheet I gave him that said, "Tie in everything, because it's for a site plan." Another instance is I told him that I needed him out to a site "right after lunch." Two o'clock rolls around and I ask why he hadn't left yet. His response, "You said after lunch. It's after lunch now." I have tried to accommodate this guy including writing every single little thing down. No matter what I do, it's not good enough. He rolls his eyes or sighs in frustration every time I give him a job. He complains to our boss about -- well, everything. It's made me consider a new career, because I obviously suck at what I do now. He complains about not enough communication, but doesn't tell me when he's finished with a job, let alone what he's found in the field. When an engineer comes to me for the status, I'm left shrugging my shoulders. I am at a total loss on what to do, because I feel as though I can no longer do my job well. I used to have pride in my work. Now I have no abilities short of breathing. I've seriously considered leaving, but the problem is, how do I know I won't run into a similar -- or worse -- situation at a different company? I know it's frustration and fear driving me to run away. Unfortunately, God has never allowed me to run away from my problems and challenges, he's certainly not going to let me slide (slither) out of it this time. I've complained to my hubby, and his advice was to let it all go. Some problems can't be solved. Since I have to work with this guy, this is not something I can ignore. It's like being stuck in the mud. I can't pretend it's not there and expect to magically get out of it. This entire situation makes me feel my age like I've never had, like I'm being forced into a mid-life crisis. It's made seeing the brighter side of things more difficult. I dread going to work every day when I used to look forward to it. My blood pressure rises whenever I end up in the same room with New Guy, expecting to be critiqued on my knowledge and capabilities as a land surveyor. New Guy isn't a bad person, because as I said, much of his work is top-notch (and, boy, can he bake! He made cinnamon rolls once that could rival most restaurants). The main problem, I think, is he and the company I work for are not the best fit. We're a small company, and as such, we're more informal when it comes to inter-office communications and working with clients. He would actually work better at a larger company that has more structure and separation between departments. That's not to say some of his complaints aren't valid, but he expresses them in such a way as to put me instantly on edge. It takes me a while to actually take his words into consideration, and that's not right, either. I can't ask or expect him to change; I have to find a way to not let his attitude and personality get under my skin. I don't know the end result of all this, except to say I can't run away from it as much as I would like. I will come out of this a better person; there's no way I can't. In looking at one optimistic outcome, if I come out of this unscathed, there is not another human being I won't be able to deal with (I know, possible famous last words here, because God might just decide to prove me wrong). Whew. I feel better now. Writing always does. Thanks for enduring my little rant. Happy Friday! |
| It would be easy to get depressed about the national election results -- and even some local ones. The temptation to throw up our hands and give up on keeping our nation a prosperous one where people long to come here to enjoy freedoms not seen anywhere else. I admit to succumbing to that most of the day today. I resigned to the idea that my son will not do as well financially as his parents or grandparents. He will not have the freedom to make health decisions without prior approval of a non-elected bureaucrat. He will not live in a world without high energy costs, insanely high taxes and have the freedom to speak his mind or arm himself for protection against criminals or a tyrannical government. I fear he will live in a world where life is cheap and disposable. The law will require him to celebrate sin regardless of his own morals. He'll have to endure living in an age when he will be accused of being a racist, sexist homophobe by the mere fact he's a white, heterosexual male. The American public has resoundly decided that personal responsibility is passe, and it's all about what the government can give them while at the same time greedily taking away from those who actually contribute to society and the economy. At the same time, however, I can help but think that life is supposed to get worse for all of us, that this is all by design by a God who has the big picture in mind. If I read the Bible correctly, before Jesus comes again, the world will be a frightening, nasty place where Christians are imprisoned, persecuted and martyred. It'll be a world where no one can purchase any goods without a number tattooed on their forehead or hand. I both fear and am elated that those days are drawing nearer. I want to see Jesus return; I just don't want me or my family have to endure the tribulation beforehand. It's also a bit of a slap to the back of the head, reminding me to get my priorities straight. This world is fleeting. Governments rise and fall. We live in a fallen world that cannot be changed by any man or peoples. What matters is eternity, and our job as Christians is to bring the hurt and lost to Jesus. That's our mandate, not make sure a Republican or Democrat is elected to office. As Sarah Palin reminded me on her Facebook page today: We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair. We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed. 2 Corinthians 8-9 I'm reminded also that as long as we have the power to vote, we have the power to change. There's no need to lose hope just yet. |
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