~Confessions~

Hey there, look!  I do remember what a blog is!  Shocking right?

It’s been busy around here for sure.  Between family drama, sickness and injuries, the loss of favorite pets, starting a new business, and so on and so on… it’s hard to prioritize blogging.  And even harder to follow-up on my friends’ latest writings.

And then, then there is the confession.

I think, I gave up.

Or maybe it is that I am still giving up, or maybe I’m getting ready to give up, and that’s why I feel compelled to write about it.  Just one last time.  Not that I’m looking for someone to magically pull me back into that other realm, because the time still isn’t there…  but just to keep on with the honesty I prefer to keep in here.

So I don’t know what happened.  There was some slippery slope, or too many battle wounds… or something.  I was like the little train that could, puffing along, thinking I was on track, beating back the negativity… and then…  Then the track was cracked by a lack of progress.  I couldn’t meet my own goals to save my life. Then the repairable track met the tornado of a pretty bad critique.  Then the shambles that were left met another bad critique storm, and then another.

Oh I tried to stay strong and grab onto the sides and pull myself back up.  But it just all felt like there was nothing there to grab a hold of.  There was no concrete success to put a foot on, there were no met goals to reach for.  All that seemed to be there were countless hours wasted, eaten alive by my own self doubt.

When you’re left, trying to grab thin air, while real things need attention, things like finances, family, half-finished kitchen walls… grabbing into the air seems utterly silly.  Foolish.

What did 50+ followers mean to the stack of bills?  Nada.  What did one featured post mean to the family at dinner time?  Nothing.  What did hours of imagining factious plots do for the betterment of anything?  Not much.  And maybe that’s all my fault.  Maybe I just never had the dedication.  Maybe I didn’t work hard enough, or want it bad enough.  Either way I couldn’t/can’t produce enough evidence to continue down that path.

Yes, yes, I know, whoa, holy heaps of negativity.  Unusual for me to do here.

And my bitterness isn’t towards anyone.  I don’t want those who have potential to be turned off by what I’m sharing.  This is only in my case, all though I’m sure I’m not alone.

I asked once, what your final straw would be, where you would actually turn your back on a dream.  And I guess I had found my final line.  When your confidence breaks so far that you can no longer drag yourself down that path.  When you actually smirk, and twist a compliment, and you get upset.  When, for the most part, the words just stop flowing.  When you just can’t.

In closing, I thank all of you for all of your support.  I thank you for everything you have done for me, and with me.  I’ll still be floating around this interwebs world.  I’ll still be randomly posting here when the mood strikes.  I’ll try to one day get back to visiting your blogs.  This isn’t meant to be a big old begging for compliments, or anything of the like.  Like I said, I believe in being as honest as possible here, and this is real life folks, unedited, and with a pot of coffee, or two.

 

So…

You know what itsn’t fun?

Having your jaw dislocated on purpose, four big honking needles shoved in around your ears into your jaw, two molars pulled and a root canal.  Not one second of fun.  Not even the endless stack of drugs that came with it can help make any of it fun.  Nope, it all sucks.  Every tiny second of it.

This all may or may not explain why I haven’t been online for more than two seconds in days.  (Fine maybe it’s been over a week, who’s counting?) 

I appreciate/need/love/want/am thankful for all your thoughts, comments, well wishes and prayers… I just didn’t have it in me to respond, because every response I could come up with was along the lines of “Whaaaaa, Owwwwwww, Ouchhhh, Shoot Me, Why Why Why!”  Yes it has been and is that bad. 

I’ve been a cloud of gloom, lined thick with a black lining, not one ounce of silver lining.  And I’ve been slowly trying to work my way out of it.  I’m trying to reach all deep down inside and pull out some positive feelings. 

I almost have some.

I’m working on it.

Stick around… please….

“When You Show Me”

“When you show me, when you actually have something physical to hand me, then I will be excited.”

Those words are stuck in my mind, never mind who they came from.  My celebration of finishing the first round of edits on 1/4th of my novel came crashing down.  I’m only 1/4th through my FIRST round of edits.  Just 25%.  Only .25, lots to go, before it ever becomes a “novel”.

And then if you continue the math, really, I’m most likely only 2% through the editing phase before I’ll have that demanded physical proof.

Who knows, still, if any of this is worth it.  And I want to be down and discouraged, I want to whine that everyone (okay not everyone, bust most) is shrugging off my excited non-stop talk on “Hey I have two young kids, fifty million animals and things to do, and I still got over 6 hours of work in last week!!!”  But I won’t, I get it, the proof will be on the paper, and maybe, MAYBE on a shelf one day.

appropriately today I stumbled upon one of my new favorite blogs by Robb Grindstaff and in his article of 10 Writing Lessons, he nailed what was in my head:

Lesson #9: Never, ever, ever give up.

You need to write. Your soul requires it of you. There are readers out there waiting to read what you have to say. They need to read it. The quality of their lives depends on it. But first, you must learn to write it the way it’s meant to be written.

He doesn’t ever mention that “Hey you moron, you can’t write.”  Or, “If you don’t have this list of skills or experience you should probably give up.”  He says, “You must learn to write it the way it’s ment to be written.”  Learning is okay.  Struggling is great.  You just have to do it.  After all, “The quality of their lives (future readers) depends on it.” even if today the work in progress is enough to send an english professor into an early grave. 

It’s time for me to not allow other people’s non-excitement and disbelief to discourage me. 

My “soul requires it of me.”

What’s your soul requiring of you?  (or did you sell your soul off to the millions of cookie pushing crack dealers girl scouts this weekend?)

An Almost Perfect Day

It’s cold, rainy, windy and plain out gross outside.  A day that would be perfect for sweatpants and slippers, coffee and pizza, writing and moody music.  Instead it’s the school bus and gas station, laundry and cleaning. 

The life of a mom, so close to having those perfect days, yet always so, so far away from them.

And like I said, I have cleaning to do, because I am crazy and I love my son.  Yup it’s his fault.  His fault that I have to prepare for MORE ANIMALS.   Which honestly are only a couple more chicks to add to our four chickens we got last year, and who can say no to a boy who so carefully reads out the flyer to you, with those big brown eyes, and does cartwheels the minute he finds the ad on chicks. 

Because chickens make eggs, and this momma loves animals that pull their weight, or lay their weight, either way, 80 eggs last month from four little hens, I’m not going to complain.

Well I might complain, just a wee bit, because one of them likes to attack me when I’m in the garden trying to till up the rocks I seem to grow.  Apparently she sees invisible worms crawling up my fingers and arms, and I’m sure she’s only trying to save me from these invisible worms that she knows are really vampires in disguise.  And really she should feel lucky that she lays pretty blue/green eggs because I really think she’s crazy and my dogs would sure love some fresh meat I mean my freezer could really use some fresh meat…

Now where was I?

Yes, it’s raining and dark and cold and windy and all in all completely nasty outside.  I’m feeling completely inspired to work on my edits, and completely un-inspired to blog.  And really none of it matter because I have cleaning to do, many much cleaning, and a toddler to chase.

It’s an almost perfect day.

 

~Just Start~

Today feels different.  There’s a flavor in the air that screams something about this new month needs to be different.  But how?

My wants are all conflicting with my needs, and it’s like my brain is ready to commit on goals if only I knew where to start.

And I suppose the great secret in life is just to start.

Even if it’s in the wrong place.

Even if you shouldn’t.

Even when you don’t want to.

New starts, fresh starts.  Saying yes.  Opening doors.  Building Bridges. 

Just Start.

What paths are you afraid to set out on?  What’s holding you back?

Whatcha gonna do about it?

Getting Pointless Once Again

I’m getting things crossed off that list, the one with 101 things to do in 365 days.  And of course that is all sorts of awesome.  Getting things done are the things dreams are made of, especially with a bazillion animals and young minions.  But yet I’m lacking on one MAJOR area…

“Finish the first edit of Denali”

“Write a Short Story/Flash Fiction”

In all honesty it’s been weeks, maybe even a month since I’ve pondered those two things.

So my brain pulls up excuses…  “You’ll get to them when all the other need to be done’s are done.”  “Maybe you SHOULDN’T be writing.”   “Maybe you should just be a rock farmer.”   “You just suck.”

*headoven*

At first slacking in the blogging/social media world was great.  I lost the constraints I was giving to myself, stopped hearing other people’s words and ideas instead of mine and all sorts of freeing epiphanies.  And then I just lost interest.

Did I lose the muse?

Did I ever have one?

*insert image of my brain and I spinning in circles*

I’ve whined, complained before, thinking maybe this just isn’t for me.  But right now my brain seems to be pretty much convinced.  After all, shouldn’t a passion fuel it’s self??? 

And what “writer” takes months off over and over again, no one will take that seriously.

And is it the book itself?  Is it the ideas?  Is it me?  *pours more coffee*

Do I start over?  Do I just force myself to do it?  Do I sell straw hats at an intersection?

Do I chase away all of my fellow readers by constant whining and pondering of my worth in the world of words?

*gulps down coffee*

And why are REM songs flashing through my head?

 

In the Dreams

Above all, beyond all, the dreams bother me the most, the worst.

They taunt, they squeeze, they twist, they leave gaps little can fill.

Breadcrumbs of hope laced with sweet honey, they offer perfection and the ending I’ve so been longing for.  The winds soon gust, wiping away the trail, scattering the hope in places unreachable.

I wake. 

Unsure of what my mind is trying to say.

I can guess, and try to name.  That one moment must be in the shadows of my shelfishness.  That one there, maybe it’s telling me if I got ahead of the game things will be alright.

I guess.  I push.  I want to know more.

I cannot command my dreams.  I can only beg for more.  For more pieces to solve the riddle.  A riddle with no answer, a riddle to the story without an ending.

I try to keep my mind from buying into the jumbled movies, the thoughts, the images flashed through my head as I sleep.  But they weigh heavy as I keep on with the day… there in the dishes, there in the meals, there in the kisses and hugs and bed time routines. 

I come to terms with the year and plus time that has passed since she was here.  I’ve dealt with most of those fears, hurts, losses, struggles.  But it’s in the dreams that I feel.  It is in the dreams that I’m unraveled.  It’s the dreams that get me.

Smothered and Such

You’d think that by now I would have something to say, something, anything to write about, but I’m still pretty blank.

I think somewhere along the line I drew up some nasty constraints on where this whole thing would go.  There would be plenty of this, a little of that and absolutely NONE of that or this. 

Kind of like Stephen King Putting his name on a Romance novel, if you get my drift.  Boxed into a certain flow, a certain genera, specific expectations, afraid to disappoint.  Stifled.

Smothered.

Life changes, different seasons of growing and learning flow through, and what once needed to be said no longer holds its luster.  But yet you’ve built your podium with crimson roses and ruby stained wood… and now you detest the color red.  But everyone knows you and your ruby-red stage, they’ve come to see those crimson roses… and you, you want to paint it all yellow.

Have I lost you yet?

The shoes of fiction novels drowned in demons and blood sucking uglies just seem five sizes too small.  Blogs of wit and sarcasm just feel all scratchy and stiff.  The world all seems to be made of hand-me-down clothes that you never would have picked for yourself… and for some reason I’m really on some odd analogy kick today.

So what does fit?  Today it would be homemaking, and homesteading as I’m down right ill with spring fever.  (and also to be fair I might still be delusional from that damn rampid stomach flu and fever the boy brought home from school)  (but I have noticed that I do tend to get a heck of a lot of reading done every time I’m dying in the bathroom, here’s to already being on book  5 and 6 of this year’s reading goal)

And yes I am an expert at going no where fast.

For now I’ll keep my fingers away from deleting this whole blog, and I’ll stop my mind from dreaming up new titles and layouts.  Maybe I’ll venture out of my tight, long-sleeved, funny little jacket, and stop hiding away in secret little hidden blogs, or from the whole interwebs in general…

Coping, Cleaning and a Dash of Crazy

Somedays it’s just easier to empty your mind in coded words and colorful stories.  Even when your brain is itching to tell the world every last detail about what has been sucking up every cell in your brain, you just can’t let it out there.

Sometimes it’s because you shouldn’t tell every story.  Sometimes it’s because you just can’t find the words.

Today for me, it’s both.

Deja vu and deep-rooted fear of the worst always coming true, tells me that the grips of last winter have yet to let go.  Things are just all too familiar to me.  A tornado last year, this time, ripped through a town near by.  A tornado this year just passed through again.  This time last year my husband went in for a cold on this Wednesday, then ended up at a specialist on Thursday and came out with emergency spinal surgery on Friday.  He has an appointment this Thursday (one year exactly give or take a day of course, pesky calendars) to see if the surgery took.  He’s been hurting, and I fear the worst.  It’s all too familiar to me, the timing (hello we had no food or fire wood last time, and guess what’s on my to-do list this weekend, yup, ‘ello deja vu), the situations… my mind is blurring the lines together.  And throw in the special family situations and you end up with one huge ulcer of hey didn’t this just happen?!

Of course things have a chance of not turning out so bad this time around.  And you really can’t live your life building up conspiracies and jumping at shadows.  I’m defiantly not curled up into a fetile position rocking myself in a corner.  But my mind won’t let go, not fully.

And this post really isn’t about my same old sob story from last winter, or how I use the word “And” too many times to start a sentence, this post is really about coping, and moving on.

What do you do when your brain is all splashing around in turmoil?

Apparently I nest.  I’m talking nesting like Martha her self was on her way to visit.  I’m scrubbing, scouring, dusting, PURGING CRAP, braiding rugs (don’t ask), flipping mattresses, knitting, decorating, planning and scheming in ways, if I didn’t act like I had add, that would put both Martha and Caroline Ingalls to shame. 

You say we’re running low on bread?  *shazamm*  Here’s three loaves of HOMEMADE, fresh from the oven bread.  Is that a spot on the wall?  *kablam* The whole wall has been scrubbed back to the support beams. 

Except there’s much less “shazamm and kablam” it’s more of taking a whole dang day to get it done, and then noticing the whole entire house is still a mess, and the baby minion just stuffed the couch full of soggy Cheerios and sent my computer mouse for a swim in my mug of coffee.

And why doesn’t the world re-name spring cleaning, Winter Cleaning?  Who wants to clean in the spring when the sun finally appears once again?! 

I might be loosing my mind.  Maybe.  Possibly.

But when you’re running around, throwing out your back, swearing to the heavens that this time you will get your home perfectly spotless so the day it hits 60* outside you can spend every moment frolicking in the grassy warm meadows and sharing Cheetos with the goat… you don’t think bad stuff.  You don’t worry.  You forget.  I forget, and loosen up my stomach, relax the stern look across my face.

Busy stuff, is how I cope.  It’s cheaper than drinking ;p.

 

She’s Ignoring the World

Her head doesn’t seem to be screwed on quite right. 

Her skin doesn’t seem to fit like it should.

The world seems to be just crumbling at the very tips of her toes.  And all she can do is squish her eyes as tight as they’ll go.

It’s hatred and scandal, there’s drama and deceit.

She should be falling apart, she should have already quit.  She should be decking her halls with pity party gear, slamming the days away with tears and booze.

But she is refusing to give in.  She’s ignoring the world.

She’s digging her heals deep into the earth, she’s feeding her stubbornness with all that she can.  She’s going to be strong, she’s going to win.

She’s ignoring the world and it fits her just right. 

She’s sunshine and daisies, rainbows and skittles.  She’s optimism in full bloom and she just doesn’t care. 

She’s going to be all that she shouldn’t.  Despite what they think.