The Frailty of Life

It has been a difficult two weeks or so for my family.  My husband's grandmother passed away on Easter Sunday following a difficult stay in the hospital wrought with the demand of the family making difficult decisions about her care.  This week has been hard in many ways as it always is.  But on this side of the funeral, though we still grieve, we feel the light of the day and we're embracing it as much as we can.

Seeing those who were her family, her children, was particularly difficult and now having two of my own children, I understand so much more.  At least, it feels that way.  There are always a number of things that pass through your mind when something like this happens in life; one being the realization that barring something tragic happening to me, I will face the same day when I will have to say goodbye to my mother. And I know now that I'm not ready at all for that. 

But death is as much a part of life as anything else.  It happens to all of us at some point, but that makes it all the more precious and wonderful.  Realizing this and remembering this (which is part of the key), allows us to move forward and make life as sweet and beautiful as it can be.  Following this path is part of the beauty I want to partake in, so I've been trying to set aside time in particular for writing and reading these last few days. 

I've written more this week and I've read more this week.  I'm so excited to do this more and more.  It's my "me" time in many ways, and I can't think of a better way to indulge myself.  While most women indulge in chocolate (I've done that on occasion) or shopping or something of the sort, I'm a bookworm through and through.  That is where my heart and soul truly lie, within the written word. 

So forgive me for the shortness of this entry, but there is much I must do. 

I leave you with another untitled poem from long ago.  This one was written on January 8, 2008:

here i discover
spinning colors
combining
                 separating
a breathless carousel
twirling
            unfurling
a kaleidoscope of stained glass
and delicate wings

Making the Time

My goal for reading at least a little bit everyday is most definitely being achieved.  However, when it comes to writing, I'm finding at times that access to my computer is severely limited.  Because my computer is in a separate room from the rest of the house (originally planned for quiet writing time), I'm never in there unless I'm looking for paperwork.  So I guess I have two options: write in a regular notebook or journal again or move my computer somewhere more open and make the conscious effort to write even if my little ones are running around behind me.

Fortunately for me, we're turning what is now the office into a guest room so this computer will be moved out of this room in a very short period of time anyhow.  Unfortunately for me, this means that my television will now be my monitor and this computer will be the family computer.  So this means if someone wants to watch a movie or a show, I can't write.  At least, I can't write on my computer.

It's beneficial that I really love to write in notebooks and journals.  But it's not as beneficial when it takes longer to write out a thought which sometimes leads me to forget "strokes of genius" wordplay, or rather, my thoughts in general.  Has that ever happened to you?  For myself, I tend to find these wonderful words coming into my head and many times my brain goes faster than my hand and I just can't seem to keep up which always seems to frustrate me when I can't remember a thought that occurred just seconds ago.  And most times it is because my brain has already moved on to the next thought.

I'm at a crossroads of sorts, it seems.  There are pros and cons to both situations, and my choice of options is more than likely going to have to be both.  I'm going to write on the computer when I can and get as much in as I can, but having that notebook around is going to help when I can't be on or near a computer.  Honestly, I've realized that as a writer, it's foolish of me to not have a notebook handy for those times when I get an idea or a stream of story and I don't record it.  If I could count the stories and ideas that are lost into the oblivion of my subconscious, I know I would be appalled. 

I guess I've found a new sub-goal: to carry around a journal and writing utensil (which for a writer should always be a permanent ink of some sort) when out and about and have one close at hand at home.  The trick is going to be keeping my almost two year old from becoming overly interested in it.  That is going to be a fun challenge.

As for my reading, I'm currently reading book 2 of The Brotherband Chronicles: The Invaders.  John Flanagan is a writer I discovered probably about 2 years ago, which is a shame I took so long to discover him.  I was always intrigued by his first series called The Ranger's Apprentice, and finally, while in Borders one day, I picked up the first book and read the first few chapters.  That was all it took.  I was hooked.  I now own the entire RA series and all three of the current published books of his new series: The Brotherband Chronicles.

I believe I may have mentioned in an early blog entry that I am attracted to young adult, teen, and children's books.  I've tried reading adult fiction and though some of the books are indeed wonderful, I find more misses than hits in the adult section and the exact opposite in fiction meant for a younger audience.  It helps that this is what I tend to write as well.  And one of the best ways to hone your writing is to read in the venue of what you write and learn from those who have walked the publishing roads before you.

Come to think of it, I think I've given you a list of favorite authors of mine, but not favorite books or poems.  So perhaps that will be a future entry.  In fact, let me know if you have any requests or questions about me or even things you might want to see in this blog.  I always encourage outside thoughts and opinions, especially on blog entries.  It's definitely the most challenging part of blogging: coming up with things to address or discuss and keep it interesting at the same time.

Let's reiterate my goals for the month: read a little everyday, write a little everyday, and in the meantime, get in the habit of keeping a journal at hand for those times when I just can't get to my computer.  

Goals and Reminisces

I always find it amusing that when I write a great blog entry, I find myself perpetually thinking of what to blog about next.  That would be the main reason why I waited over a week to post something new.  And amusingly enough, I still am not sure what it is I really want to share with you all.

Every step in life seems to come with it's own share of insanities.  No matter what day, time of year, month, age, or hour it is, there is always something going on.  Some of it is good and some of it is bad, and oftentimes they teeter-totter back and forth on this sliding scale that seems to set its own rules about everything.  At the end of the day, with all that this does, I've simply come to that realization that life doesn't give out "optimal" times to do anything.  You have to create your own optimal time to do what it is you dream.  And a lot of times, that "optimal time" you have to fight for.

Of course, what dream is worth living if it doesn't require a little work and a little sacrifice? 

So this past week, even though I've been sick, I did some work and read when I could.  And so begins my daily goals for this next month.  Read at least a little everyday, and write a little at least everyday.  That sounds so easy, but not everyday is equal in its time, despite what we think.  And at the end of this month, we'll check back and see how I've done on this road and go from there.

It won't be easy.  At the moment, we are working on a move of my in-laws from this home to up-state, and a move around of everything in this home to our desired set-up.  Then, there's my daughter's second birthday in less than a month, Easter, and the normal everyday life of being a wife and mother.  Come to think of it, that's not even everything that needs to be done.  But I won't bore you with my laundry list of to-dos.  That doesn't sound enjoyable to me or you.

I will share an anecdotal story of discovery though.  Last week, as I began going through my old writings from months and years ago (I am a nostalgic person, I think.  I'm often doing this, but it's been a good while since I've looked back as far as I am now), I noticed that in several instances I was using my younger daughter's name, Megan, as a character in a number of stories.  And this dates back to even my high school years!  I find it quite ironic because it's never been a name that I was fighting to name a character or a child, though I do like the name (and now love because it's attached to my little jelly bean).  So somehow, subconsciously, this name has always been something important to me.  Either that, or I just have no imagination in character names.  I hope it's the former.

Finally, for your enjoyment, I'm going to share some old old writings of mine, just for fun.  This is an unnamed poem that I wrote on September 13, 1999, so I was sixteen at the time:

You see it, but it's far off away,
More numbers than you can count,
But never a realization comes,
Until you sit and watch.
Out in the country,
Where the wind blows sweet,
The faint smell of cropped grain, in bare autumn.
The house is pure darkness,
Only breathing escapes silence,
I sit in our hammock
                                 below,
With a view of all worlds above.
I curl in a ball on my hammock,
The chill touches my feet,
Through all my wool socks.
But I do not bother to notice.  I wonder,
If it's far off away, so far from my reach,
how can we see it above?
There is no horizon to hide this side,
But still, it can light all that way?
Does it know I am watching,
From far off away,
In the country,
Outside a small house?
Can it feel what I feel,
When I look up at it,
And I see its light flickering,
At 2:34 in the morning?  

I did not edit anything, though I'm always tempted to.  But this was a poem I read for a talent show shortly after and was told I needed to go into writing professionally.  It was one of my favorites at the time, but now I don't know what to think.  I still love it, but as an artist, I'm always trying to edit it.  And I won't go into the amounts of punctuation that I just want to slice right out of it.  But I keep it this way as a testament to that time in my life, as well as for numerous other reasons.

Here is a challenge for you.  Go through old work that you have.  Hopefully, someone has instilled in you the importance of NOT throwing any writing away (and always writing in ink or keeping hard copies of work).  Go through it and reminisce with yourself.  You'll be amazed at the memories, feelings, and emotions that they invoke.  Yet, you'll be even more amazed at the inspiration and the ideas that will start to grow in your mind.  And yes, even the horrible writing you come across does this.


When you go through it, what speaks to you from those pages?  What does your past self tell your current self?  And try to make it a point to have that conversation every little while or so because there will always be something new to glean.