Watching After Life, which about a man who wants to die because the love of his life passed. The way he talks about her and the things they shared is lovely.
I don’t know if people – couples – love this way. I haven’t been that lucky. The loves of my life are my children and my new grandbaby. They are the ones who I want to spend my time with, I want to give everything to.
I believe, however, we are all here for a purpose. Some people are here to find that love, to give that love. Those are the lessons they are here to learn.
I do believe in love. There is so much in life and about life that I am in love with. Sometimes I’m so happy that this is my life that I marvel at how I got this lucky!
But I also believe I am here for something else… to write.
She will want to build a life.
It rained at the beginning of school break. I discovered my window was leaking. It didn’t seem to need much, maybe new caulk.
When that was finished, I painted the sill. I discovered other parts of the room which needed a touch up.
Do you see where this is going?
I spent much of the break fixing, painting, home repairing, and cleaning out clutter.
I don’t consider this a distraction but another aspect of my being.
As writers, we need to be vigilant about distractions, but we also need to feed the other parts of us which make us who we are.
Home repairs remind me I’m strong and self sufficient. The accomplishment feeds my brain much needed dopamine we don’t always receive from writing.
Home repairs remind me I’m capable and flexible. My writing schedule sometimes gets the better of me and I become all work and no play.
Home repairs are nostalgic. My father raised us to do for ourselves. And it got me pretty far.
Honoring all parts of ourselves is an investment to those who surround us as well as to our writing.
It makes us better humans and more invested writers.
Yay – it’s a New Year. There’s always so much hope and beauty at the thought of something starting new and fresh. Many of those who join the gym, lose motivation around March. Writers who resolve to write every day lose motivation about Jan 2nd. Just Kidding!
I resolved last year to write 365 days. Well, it didn’t quite happen. In reflection, I figured out what stunted my writing. In all honesty, it’s the stupidest reason in the world. Computer problems. I hate to run out and buy another computer. I get used to things and want them to continue to work. I kept trying to deal with the problem and would distract myself from the computer completely!
I took up journal writing in an effort to help. It helped! For awhile.
But enough about last year! This is a new year! New challenges to overcome! And, yes, it’s my birthday! When I was a kid, I hated it. HATE. Loathe. Detest. Everyone was burned out from Christmas and New Year’s Eve. The kids were all out of school – no cupcakes for me!
You might think, getting older, would be another reason to hate it. But I don’t. I love it. I love that my birthday is on the first of January. The start of the new year.
I’m told I was born under a mutable grand cross. Similar to Mike Tyson and Charlie Sheen – uhm…. Okay. I’m also told I’m a Firehorse. In ancient China, they used to kill firehorse children, especially if they were girls. Uhm… okay.
Some years ago, on January 1st, I undertook a hike to the top of the Hollywood Sign. Not that easy dirt path some of you may be familiar with; our leader took up ankle breaker trail and cardiac hill. I didn’t know there was an easier path!!! Standing at the top of the Hollywood Sign (the hill behind, really), I met an astrologer (who took the easy path) who became animated when I told him it was my birthday; he said I was a King of Spades and I should be writing books and teaching people. 🙂
At least he didn’t reference Hamlet’s father.
I don’t really make resolutions for the new year. I make goals throughout the year to keep myself motivated. Sometimes, throughout the year, those goals are met, and sometimes they are changed.
Resolutions are bronze: Bronze is a hard metal made of copper and others that form an unbendable form. We are humans; we need something a little less stiff.
Intentions are silver: Silver is harder than gold, but doesn’t seem as immediate. It’s shiny and pretty and we want to continue to come back to it.
Goals are gold: Gold, can be melted down and made into other things.
I’d like to write in different genres. More essays. More serious writing. I’d like to take more time with my fiction writing. I’d like to reach a larger audience – teach – and help.
Happy New Year!
Wishing you much success and love for the coming year.
You may have heard this before –
1. If you anger a writer, you will die – in their story!
The good news is – you get to live to die another day
2. Any little tick you have, one of the characters will probably get.
You’ll probably never notice
3. Anything you say can and will be used … in a story.
If it’s good, anyway.
Since my book, How to Throw a Psychic a Surprise Party, came out, people have consistently asked me – so, how do you?
I’m not sure how to answer without giving away the themes appearing throughout the book of short stories, or to get long involved conversation about what we want to to see verses what we hope to see.
One of the basic constants in life is we are consistently surprised by things that have been right in front of our eyes. When whatever it is finally reveals itself, we are shocked and embarrassed that we didn’t know.
Some of our more dense friends will say – how could you not know? and other rude a-holes will actually claim to have known the whole time.
Life is like a magicians trick – he has all the cards in his hands, but one quick shuffle and presto – chango – the card is suddenly behind our ear, in his jacket – pocket, up his sleeve. How did it happen? How did he do that while we were looking right at him.
It’s a matter of keeping our attention elsewhere. We’re too close. Too busy. Distracted. There are signs, but they’re so easily explained away – and then, then… kind readers… it’s Pandora’s box of tragedy released on the human race. It’s what grows like weeds deep inside all of us.
That is what the book is about.
Imagine being haunted by all your exes at once!
A little less horrifying is being visited by all the women you’ve loved and lost.
After attempting an overdose by opium, that’s exactly what happens to Eddy. Based on the true event of an attempted suicide, the events that follow are a twisting, shadowy melee with spirit after spirit.
Eddy is the fictional account of Edgar Allan Poe’s 1848 brush with death. It’ll get you in the Halloween Spirit!
If you’re local, come on by and hear me read.