Every morning, the teapot whistles as dawn breaks over the apricot tree.
I’m not a troglodyte by any means, but broken laid the the coffee pot in a pile on the porcelain.
I open the curtains, then my laptop and set to work. I gaze off. The cat jumps on the table. I’m in her space, in the roundabout of her alone time; she lies her body on my keyboard.
The dog barks and a shadow falls in the driveway. I stretch to see. The dog rages in a riotous rendition of woofs and whines. I unseat myself and lean to see the stranger.
Perhaps an unknown neighbor walking his dog.
And five minutes later, the same.
Five minutes later, the same.
I’ve bragged I know my neighbors. I can name them all, along with their occupations, breed of dog, or children’s ages.
But who are these strangers sauntering across my sidewalk? From another street, another block? Newly homed workers, students, families.
We are sudden friends when I’m outside, a wave and polite hello, and how are you?
The neighborhood decided to put stuffed bears in windows for the children.
The neighborhood decided to go on sign hunts.
The neighborhood decided to share extra fruit from their trees, oranges, lemons, apricots.
What will happen after? When we all go back to work? Will the strangers now friends become estranged once again? Or will we then, having walked the tightrope together, come and gather, share, and wish each other well from less than six feet, without our masks and our gloves?
I wonder if the new fad to make unlikable characters because people like them a myth.
I like detective stories, mysteries, among the other things I read. But in the last six months, I think I’ve read far too many stories with these types of characters:
The bad guy who kills other bad guys. Hasn’t this become a cliche? Or have I stumbled upon a pile of similar motifs?
The good guy spends his nights in cheap motels with young prostitutes doing blow. But, you know, he has a heart of gold because he doesn’t actually sleep with the ho; he just talks to them. At one point, it seems, he’s up for three days strung out on coke and coffee and is still able to critically analyze a scene and glean more than the other officers.
My suspension of disbelief has been suspended.
Why am I reading this book?
It’s richly detailed – in parts. It had a good enough beginning to get me interested. Also, I like to finish a book.
But I’m at the point, now, that I’m considering abandoning it. Too many issues for me to keep reading.
The characters names are similar or the same to well known famous book-to-movie characters. It makes it hard for me to picture anyone else but Tom Hanks.
Writing is hard. Originality is challenging.
Some people believe there are only so many stories. They are just told in different ways. But they have to be told in fresh, believable, even likeable ways.
I will read some books with unlikeable characters. But I have to like someone!
Opinions welcomed, please.
I know some people are really nice, like super-duper, sticky sweet nice. And I like these people. I used to be one of them.
I used to bend over backwards to accommodate friends and lovers. I would go out of my way for an acquaintance or a stranger.
But you know what happens – People like to take advantage. How people stay so nice, I’m not sure. For me, I needed boundaries.
Therefore, I won’t be winning any popularity contests.
I am a nice person. I do go out of my way for people. But I also have incorporated boundaries. I no longer overdo and run myself ragged, and I don’t contort unless I’m in yoga class.
The thing is though – I didn’t win any contests being sticky sweet. Sometimes people took advantage, sometimes people didn’t trust me, and sometimes people mistook my niceness (although that still occasionally happens).
When a person makes a change to incorporating boundaries, people react. I remember one particular person got angry, another tried to manipulate me. Some people, unable to push beyond those boundaries, left.
I’m good with that. I’m good with not winning any contests. I’m really happy to have found a good balance.
Because a person changes and grows, the people around them have to change their perception and the way they interact. It makes some friends and family uncomfortable and might cause them to question their own behaviors and attitudes. In this insta-world, it’s easier to walk away. It’s probably for the best.
I think this is my word for 2020.
I feel I’m always authentic, being me, to the best of my abilities.
I reach for the positive in the majority of my interactions. (I admit sometimes I fall short – no one’s perfect.)
That being said, some research seems to suggests positive people ignore the negative. So, when I said to someone today, I’m into the whole positive psychology movement, she stated, “I believe in being authentic.”
I thought about the statement, and her misconception that by being positive I’m ignoring some negative or darker emotions (uhm, have you read my work?) . However, I think of it differently. It’s a way to handle the negative, it’s not about ignoring it, (which is what I explained to her).
Last year, this blog was about writing. In looking at statistics, there were a great number of readers. Good. I hope you guys got some good advice. This year, however, I want it to be more about joy and authenticity.
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.
And Happy Holiday Writing!
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.
Four a.m. is my haunted time. The first rays of light creeping through the window, the cat sitting next to the bed, details of the next story weigh on my mind. And I wonder – do I get up and write?
No doubt, we’re fresher when we sleep. But, writers seem to sleep better when we write. Has anyone else noticed this?
If I haven’t written in a few days, I have trouble falling sleep and I wake in the middle of the night. I feel like I have too many stories on my mind, too many details that I must put on paper.
Most experts agree journaling helps people sleep, but that’s to lift worries. I’m not worried about anything except that I haven’t written.