She’s Not Ready

The feelings had built up over the years.  So many feelings she felt as though she was trying to wade through wet cement.  They were hard to make out.  Which ones were hard truth, which ones had other memories exaggerated, which ones never really happened?

One by one she tried to sort through them, struggling to make sense of them all.  She had wasted too many years, too many relationships, too many opportunities trying to just shut them out.  She had reached her breaking point, and promised that she would not be like him.

The man she loved, but the man who broke her time and time again.  The man who was her all, but couldn’t be there for her.  She didn’t want to follow in his footsteps, even though she never wants to let him go.

She wants to tell him this, all of this.  How he hurt her time and again.  How he forgot about her, how he so easily can turn his back, how he never was there to see the tears she cried… because of him. 

She wants to tell him how so many of her failures were out of the fear he installed.  How she broke many of hearts, out of habits that he had built in her.  How she wanted so much to make him proud, to make him stay, to make him care. 

She wants to show him all that she’s done, all that she learned, the good and the bad. 

She wants to know if he realizes the rage that can build in her blood, the temper she battles, the hate her mind can fester… because of him.  She wonders if he gets that the rush of tears she can’t control is because of him.

She wants to show him how it can be, breaking those chains, building, growing, how life does not need to be this way.  That life is more than the deceit, the anger, the games. 

She wants to tell him, she wants to show him, she wants to ask him why?

She’s not ready.  She may never be.

But she’s okay.  She’s doing fine.  She’s learning, she’s growing, she has overcome. 

And she still loves him madly, and always will for all of time.  He shaped her, he built her, he made her want more, to be more… And without him, she’d never be at all.

Blood, Carnage and Being a Good Hostess

Today marks my first official day of my “Edit or Die” mission.  And I’m starting to wonder about the negative effects this might have on me.  Is it normal to be up at 4:30 am, sipping your first cup of coffee and submerging yourself in death, and total carnage?  Eh, so maybe it’s not all that gory, but still, not quite my ideal way of waking up.

So almost two hours of death and arguments and I’ve found myself at a stand still.  I want to keep going, but my muse is getting bored, or rusty, or a wee bit a.d.d.   I’m gonna have to have a talk with her.  Or cut back on her caffeine allowance.  Deadlines don’t allow for slackers.

Unfortunately deadlines don’t have much of a say when company is coming from out-of-town to stay over for an extended weekend.  And I’m betting it might be in bad form to be sitting at my laptop all weekend with my guest staring at the back of my head.  And I probably should get all those dishes out of the sink, and the toys out of the tub sooner than later.

And I really hate trying to get ready for company.  I like having them, but can’t we all go to hotel where everybody gets taken care of, ’cause this momma’s plate is full and she’d love to have someone else fold the sheets for her just once.  *Dreams*

Back to the carnage, here’s a clip for you, feel free to critique:

Dead wolves. More than a dozen of dead wolves heaved along the forest floor.

The wretched smell and brutality of everything instantly had me dry heaving, on my knees. I stopped trying to fight the reflexes of my stomach, and waited for my insides to allow me to take a breath. As I panted on the ground, clutching my mouth with my shirt in hopes that the foul air wouldn’t dig deeper into my stomach, I could see Dennis exploring amongst the corpses.

“No, really, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” I grumbled, still shaking slightly from the workout, inflicting as much sarcasm as I could without risking anymore heaving. With slow and calculated shallow breaths I stood back up, backing slowly away from the scene.

With a muffled chuckle Dennis carefully turned back towards me, stepping delicately over the bodies. If I had been interested in him in any way, he would have just lost all points right there. What, you can check out bloody corpses but you can’t help the girl you’ve been hitting on as her guts try to escape out her mouth?! I’ll remember that one.

I could not help from thinking out loud, as my eyes darted from one bloody corpse to another, “I wonder if I’ll get a refund?” This wasn’t a cheap vacation after all.

And before I get anymore random or rambley I’ll wrap this thing up, because just like edits, dishes don’t do themselves.  ;p

 

Go Time

Funny things about breakthroughs, they seem brilliant in the moment as they’re spawning, but the next morning they tend to dim and tarnish.  This is my attempt to stop that.

It was one of those self condemning moments, where I was fighting with myself over my lack of confidence in my wip, and how I’d rather start a new project, one I could feel better, one I could fall in love with, but why can’t I finish the first one… when it hit me, make yourself fall in love with this one.  Give it what your heart is missing in it.  Duh. 

And then came the cast iron pan over the head… make yourself do it.  Do IT.  Seems simple enough, unless you’re raising young children, five million animals, a garden on a rocky ridge, landscaping and trying to remodel your home, and, and, and… 

I keep waiting for the right time, but truth is, there will never be a right time.  And I need this done for me.  Forget showing anyone else, I need to show myself.  I need the proof.  ME. 

I need to do this, before my inner voice wins and says I can’t do it at all.  And I can’t look to others to lean on.  So here we go, or here I go, and here it goes. 

One month is what I’m giving myself.  Unreasonable?  Probably.  One month to finish this round of edits, and hopefully get some critiques.  I will be writing my queries in July… no matter what.  Even if my inner voice is screaming at me to quit.  This is it. 

And I’m not so sure how I will be able to keep up with the blogging and everything else during this time, but I can’t worry about that, not too much.  Okay so I’ll probably be worrying a lot about it all.

Do you have a goal you’ve been avoiding that you want to crack down on?

Do you have tips, hints and advice that might help me or others make this happen?

Do you need my address so you can send me lots of encouragement, chocolate and coffee?  (I need pretty office stuffs too, maybe some flower and new tunes)

Do you want to guest blog for me so  don’t have to neglect this space for too long?

Monday’s Bastard Child, Twice Removed

My inner voice is the bastard child of Monday, twice removed, left under a rock, and adopted by demonic monkeys.  No joke.

She apparently is auditioning for a role in a soap opera, the one that calls for an evil best friend who seems to be on the good girl’s side, but secretly is trying to rip apart her whole entire life.  Hugs hugs, stab stab.  She’s been practicing on me.

I’d repeat what she’s been saying, but I’m pretty sure it’s too vulgar for this site.  Your eyes would probably spontaneously combust and melt into your brain.  And then not only would I have an evil inner voice, but I’d also be left with melted zombie readers, who could probably no longer read… I do not need that kind of stress.

But like the helpless friend on the soap opera, I have to wonder… is she right?  Because she is me, in a sick, twisted way… that big mean voice is coming from me, and I’m never wrong….  But she’s so mean, and I don’t want her to be right, because then I’m wrong, and then what really is right?   (*passes out Tylenol to everybody, refills coffee*)

When you add up all the voices and thoughts and feelings together all you get is an absolute stand still.  I’m hyper active, I hate standing still.  And I bartard my patience for a tank of gas months ago.  And maybe, just maybe the yellow stripes in my wallpaper ARE moving.  (go google the yellow wallpaper, short story) 

And maybe, just maybe them fancy scientists should drop everything and figure out a vaccine for those of us who lack confidence.  Because I’d take two please, and a side of fries, and a chocolate shake, hold the cherry and whip cream.  And put a rush on that order please, because I really don’t know what I’m doing, and it’s really annoying, andddd it’s getting expensive to keep that inner voice drunk and quiet.

Dear Monday, I’ve found your child, please come claim her.  Thanks.

Katana, a Book Review and Such

My young adult years were full of stupid things.  Fun things, yet very, very stupid.  Most of all it was in thanks to my closest friend, Cole Gibsen.  No, it was all her fault.  Of course if you ask her, she’ll probably deny it all, as she madly types away about our adventures in Alabama and in the “Devil Woods”.  I’m positive there’s a book there to be written.  Or maybe, just maybe, it shouldn’t be written.

Which is why I wasn’t too upset to find out that her debut novel, Katana, had nothing to do with our younger adventures.  Although it is totally based off of me… Fine, it’s not, but I do have long blonde hair, just like the main character.  It’s almost about me.  (We can pretend)

Katana, Cole Gibsen

Actually Katana is about a young girl, who is your average, run of the mill, just get me through highschool, and a date with the hunk, and gah mom do you have to do that, kind of girl.  Average until she’s attacked by a group of thugs at the mall, and she suddenly can fight like a samurai warrior… Yup.  Samurai.  You heard me right.   (sounds like me still, right?)  Faced with a warrior spirit from a past life, love, teenage dilemmas, and a butt load of people out to get her (still me) this isn’t your average young adult novel.

This was a great debut novel from Cole Gibsen.  (and I’m not just saying this because I’m waiting for her to buy me that coffee she owes me, or because the book is 100% about me)  The whole novel was excellently written, and well researched.  I’m actually not a big fan of the whole samurai, ninja, and such genera, but I never became bored with it, annoyed or turned off, even with the heavy weapon references throughout the book.  An easy to read page turner, that I thought was going to be predictable, but surprised me in the end. 

Go get it now, and also look for her other novel, Breathless, which is still on my have to get list.

And then go pester her about buying that coffee she owes me.  www.colegibsen.com

Stay tuned for a special Guest Post from Cole herself right here, coming very soon, even if I have to blackmail her with stories from our past.

It’s Like a Group Hug in Here

I’ve been passing up the chain awards lately.  At first they were all awesome and exciting, and then they became redundant and awkward.  These things really float through the webs faster than the speed of light, and then they start to lose their specialness.  They become insincere all too quickly, like tarnished glitter.

But sometimes we need to stop for a minute and just get down with our sappy sides.   Sometimes we need to stop the day-to-day, the ideas, the to-do list and take a moment to thank those who really have made an impact, who have been there in the good, the bad, the ugly and the late night booze influenced chat messages. 

Take for instance, Casey at Navigating Cyberloss, who passed on the award of One Lovely Blog to me.  Her blog is dedicated to nothing more than being that ever there shoulder to lean on.  Do yourself a favor and go there now, her writings are beautiful, deep and heartfelt.  She’s a person you need to know, 100% genuine and open.  She inspires me daily.

unfortunately there’s always the rules with these things, and people always demand 7 things about me, which for me is much like pulling teeth.  I’m pulling teeth for you all, feel special.

1. I am a self-taught knitter and crocheter.  My grandmother tried to teach me when I was young and too stupid to appreciate the skills.  I decided to learn the skills shortly after my first child was born for no real reason other than I wanted a new afghan.  Two books later and bundles of yarn I can almost nail most of the basic and advanced skills… but I have yet to finish that afghan…
2. I have a secret desire to become a marathon runner.  I’m also too lazy to pursue it.  I blame it on having a wee one, and no place to run with a stroller.
3. I have two tattoos on my lower back.  Both tribal, black ink only.  One is a sun, with script for “Life” in the center, the other a horse. 
4. I have four completely written, unedited books from NaNoWriMo, all urban fictions.  And I keep telling myself I’ll dust them all back off… one of these days, maybe.
5. I am not a brave individual.  I hate taking risks, and detest things I can’t control. 
6. I still love legos. 
7. My blog gives me daily conflict of wether to keep going with it or not… I am my own worst critic.

And now for the hugging:

Thanks (and this award) goes out to…

1.  The Valentine 4 (I’m still trying to figure out how to steal her writing skills)
2.  This N That , who puts up with more from me than she really should.
3. “A” who doesn’t have a blog, but really should.  <3
4.  The Laine List, who’s a brilliant designer for blogs (she did my headline!) but also a great friend and blogger.
5. Belle of the Carnival who always keeps me entertained.
6. The Bad Luck Detective, who’s the real deal writer, hero, comedian and sweetheart all wrapped into one.
7. Is this the Middle, hilarious and great!
8. Monday Morning Musings and Behavioral Child… just don’t get her started on purses!
9. KarenLynn who’s a great photographer and friend.
10. Journey of Life a most inspiring person.
11. Denise, the community manager over at BlogHer who has way too many links to list them all, and whom we’d all be lost without!
12. Truths From Chaos, with whom I just had the pleasure of finding her writings.
13. Sassy Monkey who keeps adding to my dang to be read list…
14. Home Reared Chef, again with many links and many talents!
15. Sunbonnet Smart, who the world is most defiantly a better place because of her love for everyone she meets!

I could, and should add about 50 more people to the list of thanks.  But getting all these links together and working took half a pot of coffee and over an hour.  My dino-interwebs are about to die.  Truly this blog would have died months ago without all of you!  Thank You for everything!

This concludes the group hug and sappiness of the day.

Go pass on the love…

1. Thank the gifter of award.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself.
3. Pass the award onto 15 deserving bloggers.

Hope and Staying Grounded

There’s a funny little thing about hope.  Sometimes you can have too much.  And having too much hope is pretty much like having too much coffee in your cup.  It’s going to slosh all over and get you burned.

You know that time when you had everything planned out, thought everybody was on the same page, and you knew you were going to have the best day ever?  And everyone else followed their own script and not yours and you’re left with the bitter taste of disappointment in your mouth.  It’s like that.

Or if you read so deep into the little things and your hope swells up like a hot-air balloon and starts pulling you through the daydream clouds… Until you fly straight into the electric wires, and you realize your balloon was only the size of a nickel to start with.  It’s like that.

Hope can make you develop this whole other world in your head, one that may not ever come to be.

But you can’t ignore the hopes.

Fill your balloon, but keep your ground ties secure.

My stepdaughter was seen back near her home town 9 months ago, she ignored everyone she saw and quickly left again.  She or someone emailed my husband 6 months ago, with some thing against a pastor he likes… no response ever came back. 

Hope, it swelled, it blossomed, it stung.

Hope is what keeps telling me that they will be the case that defeats the odds and bends to my will.  So many have been lost to cult like lives… why would our case be special, turn out different?  Just because I say so?  Because I HOPE?  Yes because I HOPE.

And then they’re back again, just this week, back in their hometown.  Just when I have my hope all balanced and checked, and tightly secured.  Back again, spotted by a close family member, at a garage sale.  There was a brief conversation… my balloon swells, it pulls tightly at the ground ties… it wants to soar.  My stubbornness, my pride, my heart, my soul… they shake and tremble, they want to cut the ground ties…

But my mind has seen this movie before, it’s not sure if there can be a different ending, isn’t this just everything playing on repeat?  It doesn’t want to get lost in the daydream clouds… it doesn’t want to feel, ANYTHING.  And my heart screams at my brain that this is not the same movie, this is not the same thing… that this time there is hope.  Real hope.  New hope. 

The ties in the lines are double checked, and pulled extra tight.  I need to stay here, we need to stay here, all grounded and safe… Safe on the ground, looking up into the clouds, because I’m not ready to leave them yet, even if it might hurt.

Where’s the Limit?

I’ve been thinking lately, about the millions of things I have going on, and the millions of things I want to do.  Wondering if I honestly know when to stop.  Like yesterday, even though I was going on one whole hour of sleep, when the bebe slept, I KEPT WORKING.  I simply couldn’t fathom wasting the time on sleep, especially since there was no guarantee of actual sleep. 

Do I know when to call it quits?

What are the true signs of something that just meant to be?  Is it when the passion runs out?  The momentum?  Is it when others tell you to stop?  Is it when you hit rock bottom, or just before?  Is there anything that has once harbored energy that should ever be stopped?

We like to talk a lot on the subject of confidence, sharing the hopes, encouraging each other on… all very good things, needed things.  But do we have the guts to tell someone when they should stop?  I’m not talking about how I probably should have taken a nap yesterday, I’m talking about in the world of dreams and hopes.

What is the limit?

What is your limit?

Or can anything that starts with passion ever be squelched?  Can it be true that something that moves you so much, something that inspires you can never be ended, even if you quit on it? 

Do you create your dreams, or do they live in you as a piece of you, something you could never kill off completely?

Can anything ever stop you from reaching your dreams?

The Morning of the Walking Dead

I wonder if scientist have figured out the one and only cure for a zombie.  I mean it should be so obvious as us mothers have tested it daily, and it has proven to be the only thing that brings us sanity.  When the bebe keeps me up all night, there’s only one thought that crosses my mind when that sun crosses the horizon…

Coffffffffeeeeeeeeeee.

And why do we turn into zombies after a night of no sleep after we have children.  Is there a switch they pull in our wombs that suck the very life out of us?  I clearly remember before being pregnant with my first being able to go days with just an hour or two of sleep… hung over on top of that!  Now if I so much as miss one hour of sleep it’s…

*stomp, stomp, dragggggg, shuffle, stomp, shuffle*

The biggest set back with the coffee cure is that after a night of ONE HOUR of sleep it takes at least half a pot to not slur and mumble all words… and then when nap time does grace you with the chance of one more hour of peaceful slumber you find yourself too strung out on caffeine to sleep. 

This is known as zombie mode part two, which is almost more painful than part one.  And harder to cure.  Suggestions include frantic texts to the husband demanding that you don’t care how much is left in the bank account but he best be bringing home dinner that’s already cooked, and he best make it speedy, he best get home asap and he best have booze that can be mixed with more caffeine. 

Also too, the hope of one day torturing minions who infected you with the zombie bug by waking them up at 4am on a Saturday morning FOR NO REASON also has been known to get some through the day. 

The days following the Zombie infection can be equally just as hard, again mass amounts of caffeine are recommended… or sending the minions off to grandma’s or Alaska.  Either or.

Good luck out there!

Until next time… Cofffffffeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

He Doesn’t Ask Anymore

It was hard on my son at first, he’d ask weekly where his big sister was.  I’d lie flat out, saying, “Oh honey, she’s just been working really hard, she’ll call… one day.”

Except one day hasn’t come in over a year and a half.  The phone has not rang in over 365 days. 

He doesn’t ask about her anymore.

And how do you explain to a six-year-old that his big sister has run away because she thinks we’re sinners who are unchoosen?  How do you tell those brown eyes that she doesn’t want us anymore?  How do I break his heart ever so softly, when in truth, it’s all harsh?

How does anyone explain how a normal human being can take the bible so far out of context to believe that God is calling you to abandon everyone, even your own child to worship him?  How does one praise from under a bushel?

I wrote almost daily after she disappeared.  I had a blog specifically aimed at reaching her, knowing (with my lurky super spy skills) that she or her mother were online… but over the past year I’ve lost the words.

How many times can you say, “Come back, no matter what, we still love you”?

How many tears can be spilt over a keyboard?

How many prayers can be said alone in the cover of night?

I don’t cry anymore, not for her, not for her husband, not for her child, not for me.  My soul will forever be broken for the loss that her father, my husband, is experiencing, a loss I’m not sure he will ever get past. 

A loss I’m not sure we will ever get past.

Yet we have no choice.  We must keep living.  We don’t get the choice to run away from the things that hurt us.

And so my son forgets, and so I shall allow him to.  Just for now.  It feels safe to let him let go slowly, quietly, peacefully.  It feels better, maybe easier to let him in on the hurt when his heart isn’t so young.  When his mind can better understand… even if I’m positive my mind never will.

And maybe I’m quietly praying that she’ll come back before he ever feels the real loss…

365 days, my door has remained open, forever it shall remain.