On My Route

Adrift

2011-06-22T23:02:00.001-07:00

Where did everyone go? Doesn't anyone blog anymore?

I'm feeling a little like a ship without a home port these days; Tabblo, a photo sharing and community site that I belong to, is rumored to be closing down soon and the thought of that has upset me very much. I haven't been very active on the site recently; other, ... what I thought were more important thing, have taken my time. ... The thing is, I always thought it would be there for me when I needed it. ... Actually, I never really gave it much thought at all; I just took it's existence for granted, even scorned it at times, but now when I am faced with losing it, the loss I feel is incredible.

I have met so many wonderful people on the site, a few who will continue to be friends when the place no longer exists, but many of them are 'online friends' that only exist within the confines of those virtual walls. ... And soon they all will disappear.

The saying: "You never know what you have until it's gone." is so common, you would think I would have heard it and heeded it's wisdom, but I guess like many things in life, we have to experience it before we can understand it's full import.

And now I find that most of those I use to follow here on blogger seemed to have found other more important things to do with their time...

Is there nothing permanent in this world; is everything a flight of fancy, here one minute gone the next when something more entertaining catches our eye?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch

Photo Blog

2011-06-19T18:56:00.001-07:00

I've added a photo blog called, What I Have Seen. The link is on the side panel.

I blew it

2010-11-07T22:00:00.001-08:00

I love you

and all I ever wanted was for you to be happy

and for me to be the reason why

but I gave up way to easily

believing in my inability to affect you

and so we spent the rest of our time together drowning in unrequited love. 

Testing, testing

2010-11-07T01:07:00.001-07:00

This thing still plugged in?

Black Sheep

2010-01-25T10:54:00.000-08:00

"Society honors its living conformists and its dead trouble makers."  - Mignon McLaughlin

I am by nature polyamorous

2010-01-22T13:13:00.000-08:00

I am by nature, polyamorous. That means I am open to, can, and DO, love more than one person deeply, and that I value, celebrate, and honour the connections and love I share with all those in my life, whether it be emotional, spiritual, sexual, or a combination of, within the confines of what is acceptable to all involved.

This doesn't mean that I am a swinger, that I think of sex as a recreational activity, or anything less than the spiritual connection between two people, or, as anything less then the ultimate expression of love. It doesn't mean that I am immoral or have no conscience. It doesn't mean that I am ungodly or evil. It doesn't mean that I don't respect other people's beliefs or principles, and it certainly does not mean that I have no regard for the value of commitment or what couples share, and so go around willy nilly disrupting people's primary relationships, mine, or anyone elses by trying to get every woman I meet into bed with me.

I am in a committed relationship with my partner. I value that relationship and commitment more than anything in this world. I am deeply in love with the woman she doesn't show to anyone else but me, the tenderness and love that's in her heart, and I return that honour with a life time commitment to her before all others, truthfully, faithfully, and monogamously. There isn't anything or anyone on this earth that I would allow to come between her and I or the commitments I have made to her in my own heart, and just as I value and respect what I have with my partner, I value and respect what is shared between other couples.

It goes against everything I believe to knowingly cause hurt to anyone, to cross another's line, to disrespect their beliefs and values. But I am human. I feel the need to make intimate connections, to be true to what I feel, to express it, and to be accepted and loved for who I am. My selfish need for these things can blind me from the truth and push me across lines of acceptable behaviour, mine and other people's, and when that happens I deeply feel the remorse and responsibility of my actions.

I believe in God, in love, in loyalty, in truth, and in many other things, and I continually try to become a better person by learning from my mistakes, and adjusting my behaviour to reflect what I believe to be right. I am not immoral or selfish because I recognize that it is in my nature to love more than one deeply, or because I allow myself the freedom to. With all my heart I believe that love is a gift from God and withholding it is a sin equal to breaking a vow of commitment or not telling the truth.

I am writing this post to be understood and to come out of the closet, if you will. I know that for many, polyamory is a dirty word and they think of those who allow themselves that freedom as being without moral conviction or conscience. But that couldn't be further from the truth; granted, there are those who consider themselves polyamorous who do not adhere to a high moral standard, but polyamory and immorality are not inclusive, and I know in my heart, regardless of what anyone else may think, they certainly are not in me.

Wrong and Right continued

2010-01-20T12:51:00.001-08:00

Knowledge that is gained from experience and understanding has more bearing on how someone governs their life than that obtained from hearsay. Once something is truly understood, it becomes the backing of one's principles.  

- Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch

Wrong or right?

2010-01-18T14:08:00.001-08:00

You have to experience something to know it. How could anyone know if something is right or wrong without having experienced it some how? All you possibly could know before hand is a rule that you should follow, with the faith that everyone who follows this rule knows that it is the right thing to do.  ... Is it wrong not to have faith in rules you haven't yet come to understand as the right thing to do? Shouldn't something as important as deciding what is right and wrong have a bit more behind it than blind faith and ignorance?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch

Self-disapline

2009-12-14T15:24:00.001-08:00

In the spring and summer I'm a gardener. I work hard for my clients and feel good about it. I have a few bucks in my pocket then and I feel proud that I have the opportunity to say "it's on me" to my partner and friends. 

During the winter, I'm a house keeper and I'm lousy at it. I keep having to push myself to do the work. The satisfaction of a job well done  is short lived because it keeps having to be done again and again, and my accomplishments fade away as the dishes pile up once more and the ring in the toilet bowl becomes more pronounced.  

So I've been trying to discipline myself, but it seems that the more I accomplish this and accept that I have to do the things I have to do, the more I feel I'm squelching my creativity, and forcing myself to be something I'm just not.   

Obviously the rewards of my summer job are more to my liking than my winter job, so my self-discipline is easier then to come by.  I've never been very good at reconciling the conflict I have between impulsive and disciplined behaviour. Mostly I just end up not doing anything because I can't do one without feeling remorseful or guilty about not doing the other. I should be cleaning right now, but the tedium of removing the bits of exploded food from the inside of the microwave brought on a dullness of mind that I just couldn't endure a moment longer without expressing it.

I feel much better now for having expressed it, and writing that sentence about the toilet bowl ring. Maybe now that I've satisfied a creative impulse, I can get back to the cleaning and feel good about it, ... just like I'm suppose to do.        

- Posted using BlogPress from my iTouch

Location:Canada

Bridges!

2009-11-24T13:07:00.001-08:00

I was wrong, and I am so happy that I was! I never wanted to believe what I wrote in my previous post, that there isn't anything to be done about the human condition of solitude, that our lonely responsibility of, and to ourselves is something we always have to bear alone.

I was just talking on the phone to a friend and she told me that the first thing she thought of when she read my last post was bridges!  ... Bridges! That's it, of course! The concept is so simple. 

Waves are good, but they dissipate, and you feel lonely and sad when you no longer feel them caressing your coast, ... And digging deeply to the root of our islands, and finding our connections there, within those depths, may be the most fulfilling and rewarding, but that takes an amount of commitment that most don't have the time to give, - not that they don't want to; it's just the way it is. But bridges, there's a permanency to them if they are built right, and you can transverse them at anytime, and if both islands care enough to work to maintain that bridge, the connection will become deeper with time.

Thank-you my friend, for giving me this thought. (((HUGS!!!))) :) 

Smile, be happy

2009-11-23T10:37:00.000-08:00

We are all islands, separate and alone from the moment we leave our mother's womb. Any illusion you might have that there is something that can be done to change this condition is false, so you'd better get use to the idea, or else you'll keep setting yourself up for disappointment. You cannot rely on anyone but yourself; you are the only constant in your life; with everyone else things will always change, and what you've come to believe in as something you can rely on will one day disappear. Better to steel yourself for that change at the beginning, and behave accordingly, than to allow yourself to trust that it will always be there for you. And never, never wear your heart on your sleeve.

All connections you make must remain superficial and light. Smile, and the world smiles with you. Light and happy is what will make you friends and what will keep them by your side. Never let on that your thoughts or feeling run any deeper, or that you feel the sadness of your solitude. No one wants to share that with you, they want your smiles and laughter, so that they too can escape the loneliness of their solitude whenever it gets too much for them to bear.

And above all else, be happy that this is the way things are.

No man (one) is an island

2009-11-20T14:39:00.001-08:00

But these thoughts: each of us are responsible for our own happiness, and, our sadness is ours and ours alone, fills me with such sorrow for myself and all the other islands in this world that I could not go a moment longer keeping that sorrow to myself.

There are Always Mountains

2009-10-14T16:39:00.000-07:00

Every fall my partner and I pack up our vehicle, strap my kayak to it's roof, and head out to the wilderness for a ten to fourteen day camping and fishing trip. Each year, as we get older, and roughing it is a little harder for my partner to endure, our annual holiday becomes more and more a concession on her part, a gift she gives to me because she knows just what I get from spending those precious few days out in the wilderness.

There's just something about being out there in the natural world that feeds my soul and 'roughing it' seems to be an intrinsic part of the experience. ... The cold, the wet, getting warm, dry, and clean, feeling the sun and wind on my face, catching the next day's breakfast, collecting wood and building a fire, smelling the smoke from it and watching the flames dance, and then at last snuggling into a chilly sleeping bag at night with nothing but it and a thin layer of stretched out nylon to protect you from the elements ... it's just all so alive and real, and nothing, nothing is taken for granted.

Unlike the rest of the year, I don't need an alarm clock to wake me, and I'm up with the dawn. Someone once told me that that was when the fish were feeding, and although I've never once caught a fish before ten am, I don't ever want to miss out on the chance that I might. So it's a quick trip to the outhouse, and If I have the time or it's too cold to do without, I'll light the Coleman and make a cup of coffee to take with me out on the lake.

Fishing is something I love to do that has nothing to do with anyone else, except for the sharing of the fish I've caught afterward. But when I'm doing it, it's just me, the lake, the fish, the trees, the mountains, the sky, ... and the rhythm. It's just all so simple and beautiful, ... and quiet. If I'm thinking, it's under the surface, or happening within that rhythm that it's not obvious. I'm alone, but I don't feel alone at all, more the opposite, like I've slipped comfortably into that slot where I'm connected to everyone and everything.

I don't know how to explain it except that something bigger than me, ... God if you will, Mother Nature, or simply the earth is cold, and I feel it. This bigger than me something makes the wind, and I respond in turn by digging in deeper with my paddle; the wind dies down, the motion of my kayak flattens, and the force of my strokes match. Catching a fish is like receiving a gift, being rewarded for my ability to match the rhythm that I'm submerged in, that I've become part of.

I'm starving when I come in off the lake, and everything I eat tastes wonderful. Breakfast is a celebration, and if it's the fish I've caught, even more so with the added bonus of feeling like I'm a provider passing on the gifts that I've been given. The sun rises higher in the sky, burns off the fog and warms the air, and I strip off the layers I'm wearing, again, another celebration, another 'this is the life' moment. ... And then at night when the sun sinks below the horizon, and I build a fire, the warmth from it is another gift that the earth has provided, the heat bursting from the fire wood as if it's releasing a collection of a thousand sunlit afternoons.

My partner and I play this game when we are sitting around a campfire. At any given moment we ask the other, what are you thinking about right now. It's amazing how your thoughts travel so freely without you realizing it, as you are sitting there so quietly watching the flames. Sometimes it's the day's little drama's that play out in your head, making sense out of them, sorting them out and filing them away, and at other times you thoughts are drifting like smoke, and there's nothing heavier in your head than wondering just what causes that popping that sends a spark flying into the cold air.

And now we're home, and I am glad to be, but I felt a bit displaced for the first few days. Everything seems so different here. The rhythm is different, more complicated somehow; the reasons for doing things seem fabricated and not so much part of something simple and whole. I can't see myself waiting again for another whole year before I get back out there again. It's where I find peace, where everything comes together for me, and where I feel part of that bigger something.

The trick, I suppose, is to hold onto that feeling for as long as I can. Writing out how the experience felt helps to keep it, like collecting fire wood and piling it away to be burned throughout the cold dark winter. Hopefully this year I've collected enough, and I won't ever have to worry about feeling the cold of loneliness again.

My applogies to everyone!

2009-07-19T13:16:00.000-07:00

I haven't been able to sign in to my own blog from the blog page, so I haven't been able to respond to comments. I've tried 3 or 4 times, but everytime I sign in it takes me to the dashboard and when I click on view blog the sign in doesn't seem to have taken. I even tried writing a comment while not signed in and then I had to choose an identity, so then when I choose my Google id, nothing happened, and I lost my comments. :(

Flying

2009-07-10T17:40:00.001-07:00

I could love you with all my heart if you let me
If you made it safe
If you loved me back
just like I love you
We could lose ourselves
in each other
and be as one
We could fly
together, you and I
But reality keeps stepping in
There's always something else that distracts
There's always someone else to love
There's always something else that needs doing
And it knocks me to the ground
It takes away my wings
And I just stand there
waiting
Not knowing what else to do
Hoping, that I can fly again with you soon

Tuxes and tin cans

2009-05-28T01:02:00.000-07:00

One day queers and straights will all live peacefully and equally together. We'd all get up each morning, go to work, take care of our homes and families, and meet the challenges life presents to each of us as best we can. We'd cry when we are sad, laugh when we are happy, feel the joy of falling in love, and the debilitating sorrow when someone we love passes away. We'd live our lives very much like we do now, but with the singular exception, we'd all be considered equal in the eyes of the state and in society. But not today.

Today when I heard that the California Supreme Court had upheld proposition 8, I was shocked. I really did think that they would do the right thing and overturn the 2008 California election bill that took away the recently gained right for same sex couples to marry.

At first I was angry. It just isn't right. I mean, how can anyone believe what they are doing is just, when their actions hurt so many? My heart went out to all of those in California who have worked so long and hard to overturn the bill. It wasn't difficult to imagine what they must be feeling coming up against such an unyielding wall of resistance, after having spent so much time trying to break through that barrier of misunderstanding and hate.

Then I realized that my anger was because of the frustration I felt and it turned to tears. As a lesbian here in Canada, I have the right to marry another woman. My partner and I would have the same rights and privileges as a married man and woman would have. Even as things are now, our long term common-law relationship is recognized by the government, just as it's heterosexual counterpart is.

If my partner and I were to marry, our neighbours might see us coming out of the house dressed in our finest duds, hear the horns of the cars in our wedding party, and the clanging of the cans tied to the back of our Tracker as we drove past. They'd gossip for a bit, maybe a few would even roll their eyes, but in a week or so, everything would be back to normal. We'd all go about our own lives just as we'd all done before. We'd get up in the morning, go to work, love and care for our families, mow our lawns on the weekends, and meet the challenges life presents to us each day.

On the surface everything would be the same. What difference does it mean for anyone if my partner and I have the security of knowing that if the other becomes ill, we'd be able to visit them in the hospital as next of kin, or if our home, life, and auto insurances are jointly owned? How does it change anyone else's life if one of us dies and our home and property automatically goes to the other? Who does it affect but ourselves if we gain the right to decide how best to deal with our partners remains? The privileges we would gain by being married wouldn't take away any from those who already take them for granted as their basic rights and freedoms, so what is all the fuss about? I just don't understand.

The fight for equality continues in California, and I am so very proud of the strength and commitment of my queer brothers and sisters there, and all over the US. ...This morning I felt so ineffectual just sitting here feeling hurt and frustrated and doing nothing. Writing this was all that I could think of. It's a small thing I know, but if what I have to say gets though to one person then I've at least done something, and it's a start.

It's always time to do something....

2009-05-20T16:46:00.000-07:00

And now I gotta wash up and then go make supper.

So maybe next week won't be as busy and I can spend a WHOLE day catching up with everyone... I miss you guys!!!!

Seeing Me

2009-05-09T23:33:00.000-07:00

Today I looked in the mirror and I saw
a child, full of joy and laughter
feeling as free as the wind
as she rides her bicycle with abandon
down the steep hill

Today I looked in the mirror and I saw
a young woman, full of hopes and dreams
bursting with enthusiasm
overjoyed by the possibilities
of the life unfolding before her eyes

Today I looked in the mirror and I saw
a strong woman, full of courage and resolve
determined to live her life
in accordance with the values and principles
that she alone has defined

Today I looked in the mirror
and for the first time in a long time
I saw me

A Letter from New York

2009-04-27T09:33:00.000-07:00

I got a letter a few days ago, not an email, but an actual envelope delivered by the post office, with a stamp, an address, and a return address label stuck neatly in the upper left hand corner. I didn't recognize the woman's name on the label, Kathleen Warnock. Do I know a Kathleen Warnock, I asked myself... Then I saw the address under the name, New York it read, and my heart rate sky rocketed. New York was where I sent off my short story, 'Letting Go of Baggage'.

"Oh my gosh, this is it" I thought, standing there looking down at the envelope in my hand. "It's either my first rejection, or my first acceptance letter..."

I had almost forgotten about sending off that story; I've been so busy establishing myself as the best darn weed puller in the neighbourhood that I hadn't prepared myself... Whatever it was that was written on that piece of paper inside that plain white envelope was going to rock my world. I stood there looking at the envelope in my hand.

"Oh for cripes sake, open it', the voice inside of my head chided, so I ripped it open, taking extra care not to tear the paper inside....

"Dear Ms Levy'

This letter is to confirm the receipt of your submission to Best Lesbian Erotica 2010. The email you included with your submission bounced, so would you be so kind as to email me with your current email?

Your submission is currently being read. If it is chosen as a finalist, I'll let you know within the next month to six weeks. If it is not a finalist, I will still let you know...
....
Cordially,
Kathleen Warnock
Editor, Best Lesbian Erotica 2010

My email bounced. ... I must have proof read it all over a dozen times, and laboured over the format till I thought it was perfect, ... and I made a mistake on my email address! LOL!

Kathleen Warnock, Editor, Best Lesbian Erotica 2010, is a very nice woman to send me a letter asking me to email her with my current address. She could have just as easily shrugged her shoulders and said to herself "oh well, another one for the trash bin."

I'm keeping the letter anyway, it's the first time an Editor has ever written to me, but I'm refusing to count down the passing time of a month to six weeks.... Who am I kidding! LOL.

Baths are for butches too!

2009-04-23T12:06:00.000-07:00

I had a bath last night, first I've had in a very long time. Now don't get me wrong, I do shower on a regular basis. I'm not a grubby, but I've always disliked the idea of just lollygagging there in the hot water with the soap suds, the day's dirt, sweat, and dead skin cells, all floating about in there with you. I've always opted for a shower because I thought it more efficient for washing those ucky things off of you and down the drain. I've also always thought that baths were for wooses; you know, the whole idea of pampering yourself... It just didn't sit right with my grin and bear it attitude .... Well let me tell you, baths are for butches too and I'm a convert! :)

Since I've begun my handy woman/garden maintenance business, my muscles have been aching, and I've pretty much accepted that as a fact of life. I've even come to enjoy the feeling at the end of the day, seeing that tired ache as a sign that I've put in a good honest day's work.

Recently though, my hands have been aching too, so much so that I've been awakened at night with the discomfort. So last night while washing up a few dishes I noticed just how good my hands felt in the hot water, and I had this incredible urge to submerge the rest of my arms into the sink, and then because I only managed to do so up to my elbows, the rest of my body cried out for the same luxurious treatment.

So in a moment of weakness, I ran a bath. I filled the tub as high as it could be filled with water as hot as I thought I could bear. ... I stepped in and slid into the tub... Oh my gawd... My toes and feet were the first to feel the effect, then my butt and thighs, my calf muscles, then up my back, to my shoulders and neck, and then my arms and hands. ...Did you know hands float? LOL. I didn't know that. (Grin)

Eventually the water began to cool, so I drained out about half and filled it again with hot water. What Indulgence! My whole body relaxed into a gelatinous state as the tension in each muscle eased and my joints and tendons clicked happily into a more comfortable position. I don't think I could have moved even if I wanted to... I lay there for the longest time in complete and utter bliss, submerged up to my face in hot water until I saw my floating finger tips begin to prune, and the water in the tub began to cool once more. ... I felt a few moments of regret as I watched the last of the warm water swirl around my ankles and down the drain, so I promised myself then and there that I'd have another bath soon.

I then showered, toweled down, and changed into my softest flannel boxers and cozy t-shirt. My partner took our dog Fizz out for her nightly piddle, so I didn't have to shed the comforting warmth that enfolded me, so I slipped it all in with me between the sheets, kissed my partner and pooch goodnight, and fell swiftly into the best sleep I've ever had.

I slept like a baby all though the night, and this morning my muscles and joints are nearly ache free. Life is good. My body and soul are in top form, and I'm rearing and ready for another day of hard work. :)

Common decency

2009-04-08T18:30:00.000-07:00

Today I got another long term client, an older woman who has fallen down and hurt her hip and shoulder and can't do a lot of things for herself. Her daughter has been saying to her, "Mom, you gotta find someone to help you." So I'll be working for this woman three hours a week, gardening, - and this part I couldn't help because she needed me - mopping her kitchen floor and vacuuming. ... I wasn't thinking I wanted to do house work, but she was so grateful to have found me I couldn't refuse... I'm sure that the stuff about "Mom you gotta find someone to help you" is just a precursor to: "Maybe you should think about selling the house and moving into a retirement home." So it feels good that my working for this woman will be buying her some time before she has to do that. :)

I told a friend about it this evening, and she replied back saying it was wonderful and kind of me, and that I was an angel, that we reap what we sow, and that good deeds are rewarded....

Now, I'm feeling pretty good about myself, but not that good. I don't think I've done something special enough that it deserves such praise, and certainly not something so great that I should let that praise go to my head. I was just being a decent human being, and after all, I will be getting paid for the work I do. My good feeling came simply from being in a position that allowed me to exercise my own principles, but that's all it is, principles.

I'm not looking for a reward. I already got it. I feel good about my decision and I'm sure it will be appreciated, and that's all I need.

That's all anyone should need, don't you think?

Whistle while you work

2009-04-03T16:44:00.000-07:00

I've been pretty low for most of this week. On Sunday my partner's father informed us that he can't help pay our property taxes like he has done in the past, so we have three months to come up with the money, making it somewhere around five hundred dollars a month we have to somehow find to make the payment. Added to that, when I told him about my new self employment he laughed, saying that if I was going to inspire people to hire me to care for their gardens, I would first have to get mine in better shape, and to top things off, my partner's mother offered to pay me to work in my own garden.

I know what my partner's parents opinion of me is, and it's difficult for me not to share it, being that I haven't held down a long term job in more than twenty years, and that my depression had made it so that I couldn't even drum up the enthusiasm needed to take care of my responsibilities here at home. It's difficult for me not to feel like a failure when I've spent most of my life dependent on others, and especially so at this time, when every penny coming into this house is desperately needed.

What had felt like an accomplishment the week before, suddenly didn't measure up, and the pride I felt about having started my little enterprise and gaining a bit of independence from my partner seemed like something only a child should be proud of. All the steam had left me, and I went back to work on Monday feeling like I was working my ass off for nothing. By Tuesday evening I was exhausted, and feeling more than a little sorry for myself.

Even now as I write this I'm struggling to not let these thoughts bring me back down, but the reason I am writing this is not to wallow in my self pity. Thursday afternoon I went back to work and something miraculous happened. I found myself whistling again, ... and that's kind of big in it self, because I don't whistle very well at all. (Grin)

You see, I really do enjoy gardening, and seeing the results of my hard work. I took a few minutes break from my weeding and trimming that afternoon and looked around at what I had done, and it looked very good. There's something very satisfying about tackling the chaos of an overgrown garden and turning it back into something beautiful. I might not have taken a course, or know the latin names of the plants that I'm dealing with, but I have an instinct for it, and I do know what I am doing, and that can only improve with experience.

I'm conscientious, and I'm not afraid of hard work, and this is what I am offering to those who hire me. I just started this business, and even though I might not be raking in the money right now when it is needed, there's no telling what will come of this little venture of mine. It probably never will become a cash cow, but it should gain me a bit of financial independence from my partner. More importantly, it's reminded me of some things about myself that I admire, some very basic things that I had forgotten, and need to hang onto to maintain my self respect.

I was foolish to let someone else's opinion take that away from me after so recently regaining it, and I've made a promised to myself to do everything I can in the future not to let that happen again.

So today, instead of going back to working at that over grown garden, like I had planned, and to tell you the truth, I can't wait to get back at it, I went to visit a couple of prospective clients, a retired man who wants me to maintain his flower beds, not much, but it's good to line up something long term, and a woman who wants me to work for her tomorrow. The later was only suppose to be a couple of hours work, but because of my having popped in to see her today, she's already talking about having me come back to do more, and she hasn't even seen what I'm capable of yet. :)

Ouch! :)

2009-03-26T16:22:00.000-07:00

Now I know why the phrase working stiff was coined. There are approximately six hundred and forty muscles in the human body, and every one of mine are complaining just now. I only worked four hours today, yesterday two and a half, but when the muscles in my toes started to seize up I figured it was time to call it a day. It won't do anyone any good if I end up flat on my back. I gotta work into this slowly. my muscles have atrophied from sitting at the computer for so long, all expect for my fingers of course; those are in tip top shape, but they're even sore today.

I just had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, (I forgot to take a lunch with me) and it was the most marvelous thing I've ever tasted. It disappeared so quickly though. It was sad, so I got another, this time almond butter and honey. ... Oh my gawd! When people tell you how good you are going to feel when you start working again after being unemployed for a long time, they forget to mention all those little details, like how good your food is going to taste, how much pleasure a bath and a beer afterward will give you, or how much you will look forward to putting your feet up on the couch and dozing off while reading.

Life is good. Funny that, how working my ass off for a few buck can make the little pleasures in life all that much more enjoyable, ... and I haven't even got paid yet. (grin) ... Soon I'll be complaining like all you other working stiffs, that I don't have enough time to do the things I'd rather be doing, like writing, blogging, writing emails to my friends, or even my laundry. I'm actually looking forward to joining the ranks. But for now I'm feeling pretty good about doing what I'm doing, ... and I'll feel even better once I have a nice long soak in the tub. ... That reminds me, I have to buy some beer.

Cheers!

Handy Woman For Hire!

2009-03-24T14:42:00.000-07:00

I've been unemployed for quite awhile, and because the jobs I've had in the past (way back when) were all physical labour jobs, it means that at the age of 49, 50 in a couple of months, I'm basically unemployable.

I finally decided I'm tired of this; I need to work. I need a few more bucks in my pocket to feel good about myself, more than my newspaper route can provide me with. So I created this flyer offering my services as a handy woman in the neighbourhood, not fooling myself that it would replace a full time income, but at least it would be a step up from delivering newspapers.

So today I got my first phone call. A fellow on the next street over wants to hire me to clean up his back yard - lots of leaf raking, and flower beds to put to order, stuff like that. We arranged it so I'll drop by tonight to have a look at it with him, but there's no question in my mind, I'll take the job, as long as he will have me do it. I'm almost 50 like I said, but I think I still have enough spit in me to work hard and make some sort of income at it, despite what I've been told over and over again by employers wanting to hire someone younger and stronger.

So I phoned my partner to tell her the good news and that "I need hand held gardening tools!" She chuckled knowing why I said that, and asked me to tell her all about it. Afterward she said she would buy the tools that I needed, but said that we would have to get a better set than the ones we've had before, the ones that broke after a bit of use, and that meant that she would have to use the credit card. So I replied, "that's okay, I'll pay you back just as soon as I get paid for my first job."

I had completely forgotten how good being able to say such a simple little thing could make you feel. :)

In need of a structured plan

2009-03-22T15:58:00.000-07:00

Today I've been looking over that albatross of a novel that I wrote about half of, ten years ago, and I got that old familiar rush of adrenalin and firing neurons. It felt so good that I am seriously considering working on this piece again. It's been ten years, but there are still some things about it that I really like, and I haven't been able to just delete the file and be done with it. So I think I'll give it another go. Who knows, it might be good for me to have a long term project, something that's always there for me to think about and build on, rather than always coming up with something new.

I've forgotten where I was going with the story, but there nothing that says I have follow that old plan. I can make a new one. I'm the writer, and it's my prerogative to make it into whatever I wish. One thing I've learned by reading other writers blog posts is that they are constantly rewriting their work, ripping out parts, rearranging paragraphs, changing the perspective, often coming up with something entirely different that what they started with.

First, I need to come up with an outline, a structured plan that I can follow. I was just winging it when I started writing the novel, and I see now that it's no wonder I got stuck in the middle of writing it. I didn't know what I was getting into. I got swamped by the complexities of trying to bring all the different threads together and move them towards a conclusion that at the time, I wasn't even sure of. I developing characters without knowing if their presence would continue through out the story, and I barely touched on others that ended up playing more important roles.

The more I learn about writing, the more I realize just what sort of effort must go into writing a novel, and I am totally in awe of those who take on the task and complete it. For me it's both exciting and daunting, and so to give myself an extra little push, I've posted the stories prologue on my 'Out of My Head' blog. ... My thinking is that if I make such a public announcement about what I intend, I've no other choice but to follow through on my words. (Grin)

Right now the story's working title is 'The Bonding' and you can find the link to it's prologue on the right under the heading, 'My Stories'.

Self-consciousness is not all it's cracked up to be.

2009-03-20T22:54:00.000-07:00

Hey...

So what about writing a blog post under the influence. You have no idea how I much I needed this. I needed a Friday night. I needed to break loose. I went out tonight with a bunch of women and played pool. I met a fellow butch from Nova Scotia where I grew up and went to college, and we did the slap on the back respect thing all night long. We might even have known each other back then; ... what a hoot!

My partner of the game flashed her cleavage at me as an incentive to make the shot; I didn't make it, but I didn't care; I blushed actually. (Grin) ... When she next had a difficult shot to make I recovered sufficiently enough to straddle the corner of the table and unzip my fly showing off my boxers as her incentive. She didn't make the shot either, but damn it was funny.

I don't care if this is rude and crude; I had fun, and I needed to. There's a freedom to letting go, that we have to allow ourselves every now and again. If we continuously make ourselves play by restricting rules, binding ourselves to certain modes of behaviour that we think is how we should behave, we forget what it's like to just let it all go and be. Even though our normal behaviour might be something we think is in keeping with who we are, there are parts of ourselves we leave unexpressed. And if there is anyone that should be accepting of who we are, in all our crude unpretentiousnes, it's ourselves. ... Too bad most of us need to have a few beer to allow ourselves that freedom.

Waiting for something to happen

2009-03-13T09:22:00.000-07:00

"What's this?" said the rat.
"It appears to be a hole in the wall" said the other.
"What's it's doing there?" asked the first.
"Don't know", replied the other, "but if you stand by and watch, you'll be the first to find out."

And so while the first rat stood and watched the hole, patiently waiting to see what would happen next, the other went off and had first dibs in all the finest dumpsters in the city, partied all night long with the cool rats down at the dockyard, got a charge out of chewing on an exposed electrical wire, found a way into the local brewery's barley shed, and solved the age old mystery of how to get the cheese out of the trap, without putting one's neck on the line.

After a time the other rat wondered just how his friend the first rat was doing, so he decided to pay him a visit.

"How's it going?" he asked.
"Not bad" said the first.
"Anything happening? asked the other.
"No, replied the first with a sigh.
"C'mon, I'll buy ya a beer" offered the other, putting his arm companionably around the first rats shoulders, but to his amazement the first rat shook his head and said.
" Very nice of you to offer, but I can't leave now; I don't want to miss anything" ....

Again, Thank you TF, for providing the inspiration. :)

There's an elephant crashing in my garden shed!

2009-03-12T00:12:00.000-07:00

Just when I was about to give up on ever writing anything again, Tom Foolery posted something on her blog called The Thirteen Knockers games. In the name of fun, we participants were to choose one of the thirteen doors. Behind each door there was a photo, taken by TF herself, and a word to help inspire our creativity. We could write anything we wanted, from a witty caption to a piece of prose, the only rule was to 'make us laugh'. Behind the door I chose was a photograph of what looked to be a small storage shed with tiny sign hanging from it, that said 'crash'. The inspirational word that TF's gave was 'Elephant'.

The reason I am posting this on my blog, however is not to elicit your opinions about how well it's written, or even if it makes you laugh. The reason I'm posting it is because I haven't had so much fun in months. It just came out of me, and I just have to share the experience. :)

... I forgot what it was like to write something simply for the fun of doing it. Lately I've been putting so much pressure on myself to create meaning in my life though my writing, and to prove to myself that I am worthy by producing meaningful work. These are still things I feel I need to do, but during all this soul searching and evaluation I've been doing, I forgot one crucial thing.

I forgot that one of the main reasons I like to write is because it's fun. I love playing with words, and when I'm in the middle of writing something there's nothing else in this world that I'd rather be doing instead.

TF Thank you. You can't possibly know how much I was needing to be reminded of this.

So anyway, here's the story:

There's an Elephant Crashing in my Garden Shed!

Have you ever seen an elephant crashing? Let me tell you, it's not a pretty sight. There's nothing sadder, or more life threatening then a depressed elephant. They have a tendency to just roll over and give up, and if you're not careful, they can take you down with them. The experience can leave you feeling totally flat. But if you happen to find yourself in a small storage shed with a crashing elephant, and if you have even an ounce of compassion, there’s nothing for it; it's up to you to get the two of you out of there, preferably, in an upright and three dimensional state.

Not an easy task however, especially if the shed that your elephant has chosen to hide him, or herself away in is small and dark, and it usually is, since elephants don't really like to be seen in public when they are down. Back yard garden sheds, large walk-in closets, and abandoned aircraft hangers are their choice of hiding places. (The latter chosen only by those elephants who really don’t wish to be found.)

It’s a popular belief that if an elephant hides away, what they are wanting is to be left alone in their misery. The small signs they post, somewhere on the outside of their hiding places, have been seen as considerate safety warnings for smaller creatures such as ourselves, to keep out of harm’s way. But even though elephants are by nature normally very gentle, and wouldn’t even want to hurt a mouse if it happened to cross their path, the fact that the sign’s meaning and placement are so obscure, somewhat counters this altruistic notion, and suggests that the elephant might actually be hoping to be found.

Once you enter the shed, and chances are that one day you will, since backyard storage sheds are a popular choice, not only for depressed elephants, but also for storing lawn mowers and leaf rakes in as well, you’ll have to keep your wits about you. Move quickly (crashing elephants tend to fling themselves dramatically about), and say just the right things... And never, I mean never, give the impression that you are the least bit concerned about your own safety; even though at this point you are probably thinking, what the heck have I gotten myself into? You might as well sign over the deed to the plantation right then and there if you show any sign of fearing for your life, because that's one of the main reasons elephants get depressed in the first place.

You see, elephants take up a lot of space, and it is something they are constantly aware of. The thought that they could easily crush another being if they are not careful is a constant concern of theirs. Because their size is always an issue, an elephant can begin to question their worthiness to occupy so much space, and as every human being knows, such thinking will only back you into a corner of debilitating self doubt, or in the elephant’s case, into a small, dark storage shed.

Somehow, you have to convince your elephant that despite his or her size, his or her inherent proficiencies will prevent such an unpleasant occurrence from ever happening. Gently, you must remind the elephant (that’s frantically pacing inside your garden shed,and at that very moment threatening your life and limb) that the ability he or she is questioning, is something they innately have, and just as soon as they stop worrying about whether or not a moment of clumsiness will cause the death of another living being, their natural gracefulness will simply take over. The mere fact that you even entered the shed in the first place will go a long way in backing up your words, but you might want to calmly point that fact out to the elephant, because contrary to popular belief, some elephants can be rather thick.

Even an elephant can use a friend now and again, so if one happens to have chosen you and your storage shed, instead of rushing off to the nearest phone to call the animal control, try to see the interloping as a sign of respect and trust. And if you happen to have any peanuts in your pantry, rush off to get those instead; you never know, the elephant in your shed may not have eaten in quite awhile, and many a friendship has developed over the sharing of a few dry roasted nuts.

What motivates you?

2009-03-04T11:05:00.000-08:00

When I was little, for no reason that I can remember now, I constructed a nativity scene out of cardboard. I cut out all the characters, Mary and Joseph, the baby Jesus, and the manger livestock, and painted it all as life like as I was able to. I used a box with the front and sides cut away to create the manger, and then placed some bits of dried grass around the floor to simulate straw. I took it to school with me, and my teacher was very impressed, so much so that for days, whenever someone came to visit our classroom she would show it off to them and boast about my initiative and creative skill. I still remember how good it felt to receive her praise and hear the pride in her voice.

These days, when I've not been able to write anything except emails and posts, I've been examining my creative motivation, and though I constructed the nativity scene without any objective in mind, the kudos I received for it and the thought of having those feeling again became part of why I wanted to create.

I believe my writing has always been for me, to satisfy a creative urge, but just how much my desire to write is for the validation I hope to receive because of it, is what I've been questioning, and, whether or not those kudos have become more important to me than the creative expression. Both, I suppose are for me; I gain something from each, but the latter, I believe is greater motivator. It's what makes us do what we do, regardless of what others think, and it keeps us doing it because it's something we have to do.

I need to find that personal motivation again, and I thought it might be helpful to hear from others what motivates them to write and create. Why do you do what you do; is it for the kudos you hope to get, because of a goal you've set for yourself to achieve, or is it because you just have to do it, and the rest is just the frosting on the cake?

So what do you think?

2009-03-01T20:34:00.000-08:00

"Annick Press is committed to publishing CANADIAN authors. Sorry, but we cannot accept unsolicited manuscripts from outside Canada."

So do you think this means that they WOULD accept unsolicited manuscripts from within Canada? ... I've been looking for a home for 'The Missus And The Troll', and this publisher doesn't stipulate word length. For the rest, I'm finding I either have to rewrite the story in a vocabulary better suited for someone between the ages of seven and nine, or add two to ten thousand more words. GRoannnn... So much for writing whatever I want, however I want; If I'm going to get something published, I need to know my intended audience better.

Self Reflection

2009-02-27T15:02:00.000-08:00

When I look in the mirror
there is nothing to see
Without you to reflect off of
I don't exist
Alone
I sit waiting
an empty shell
waiting to discover
who I am

Creating meaning

2009-02-19T17:57:00.001-08:00

I've been reading the book: 'The Van Gogh Blues - The Creative Person's Path Through Depression' by Eric Maisel. The premise of the book is that creative people suffer a different type of depression than others because we spend our days continually questioning the meaning of what we do, our life, and life in general. Our depression arises out of the lack of meaning we find in the world around us or in our own lives (especially when we happen to be suffering a creative slump). The theory is that if we create our own meaning, and articulate a plan as to how to live a meaningful life and do meaningful work, we will have the tools to proceed though the bouts of depression that we will continue to experience whenever we have one of our meaning crises.

To create meaning in our lives we first must ask ourselves what we want our life to mean, what do we want to stand for? When we know this we can then articulate a life plan, what constitutes worthy work, and how our time can be spent meaningfully.

I'm still a bit skeptical about whether or not this will be of help to me, but that I suppose is my nature, being a creative person who questions the meaning of everything, (grin) But considering that I'm no stranger to writer's block, false starts, and the debilitating inaction of self doubt, I decided, what the heck; I'm desperate, I'll try anything. ... Seriously, I do believe there to be some truth in what I've been reading, so I decided to put the theory into practice, and reflect on what will bring meaning into my life. And maybe the next time I have a crisis I can look back on what I wrote and find something that will help get my life back on track.

First entry in my little black book of meaning:

I want my life to stand for love, truth, and open honesty. I believe that living a life by these principles are the only way to make true connections and free ourselves of the bounds of our individual isolation.

To live a meaningful life, I need to both, engage with the people in my life openly and honestly, and have my writing reflect these principles, so that other's may: make a connection, relate, come to an understanding of, and possibly learn from what I've experienced and seen.

My life plan is that I intend to communicate and connect with other's openly, honestly, and clearly, through the perfecting of my creative writing, and subsequent publication of it, and through my interactions with the people in my life, and in doing so, enrich both mine and their lives as much as is possible.

Well, it's a start. I have to flush it out a bit more, but I think it's a good beginning, and it doesn't hurt to confirm your values and try to create a way that what you do with your time is in keeping with what you believe.

Mystery solved!

2009-02-18T09:30:00.000-08:00

So the mystery is solved; A sexy story, someone named Darlene, and a blog was mentioned on CBC Radio 2 on the morning in question. It wasn't me or mine though, but I wasn't dreaming either, just allowing myself to be open to the possibility that what I write is worthy enough of being noticed, and that is something we all need to do, even if your resulting inquiries have the possibility of making you appear foolish. (Grin)

I did learn something from the exchange though, that last bit in the above paragraph, and that when you are inquiring about something, you get much better results if you sound sure of what you are talking about then you do if you start the inquiry off doubting your own thoughts and apologizing for it.

Below is the email exchange I had with a very helpful fellow named Walter from CBC Radio 2. Enjoy. (Grin)

2/18/2009 12:53 AM >>>
timestamp: 2009-02-18 00:53:46 EST
a_firstName: Dar
b_lastName: Levy
c_email: one.world@shaw.ca
d_feedback: I woke up on Friday the thirteenth with the clock radio on
the morning show, at around 7:30, and I believe I heard my name mentioned. It seemed that the person speaking was talking about my blog,'Out Of My Head' and a short story that I had posted there. I tried phoning the station that morning but haven't yet heard an answer as to why me, my blog, or my short story would have been mentioned. So tonight finally someone who listens to the early morning show regularly told me that Rachel Giese, The Web Goddest makes an appearance now and then and she could have mentioned my blog and short story. Is there any way possible I could find out what was said? I would be very interested in knowing, since it's not everyday I hear my name mentioned on the radio.
Dar
----------------------------------------------

On 18-Feb-09, at 2:05 AM, radio2 Morning wrote:

Sorry....I don;t think your clock radio was tuned to CBC Radio 2 and Radio 2 Morning with Tom Allen. Perhaps a local CBC Radio One affiliate? The Web Goddess was a feature on the old show, and hasn't been a part of the morning mix since August '08.

Walter
___________________________________

AliDar 2/18/2009 10:57 AM >>>
Hello Walter;

Yes, the clock radio is tuned to CBC Radio 2; I just checked this morning, and the listen live, pacific from the website is now playing the same song as is playing from the clock radio. All I know is that my name, Dar Levy, my short story: "Letting Go of Baggage" were mentioned, some where around 7:30 am on the morning of Friday the 13th, and possibly my blog: " Out of My Head" as well... I am unsure of the latter because my partner turned off the alarm in the middle, but we turned it back on, and I can assure you I was awake.

I'm pretty certain it was a males voice speaking, possibly Tom Allan, not a woman's voice. The suggestion of it being the Web Goddess was from a friend who said he was a regular listener and was trying to help. Obviously he has his past and present mixed up. I can assure you, I do not.

This morning when the alarm went off Tom Allan was giving a plug for Bill Richardson's Saturday Morning at the Opera. So there is talking, on the show to some degree, and on the morning of the 13th someone mentioned my name and short story, and possibly my blog on the show, and I would very much like to know why.

Yours respectfully,
Dar
_______________________________

On 18-Feb-09, at 8:40 AM, radio2 Morning wrote:

Hi Dar....I think I have an answer. Last week we were asking listeners to write to us, post on our blog, or phone us with songs (and the stories why) that open their hearts as Valentines Day approached.

At 7:10 on Feb 13th, Tom read two blog postings for Feist's Mushaboom. The second post came from a Darlene. Here is a copy of the blog posting:

-----------

DarleneForbes wrote:Posted 2009/02/10
at 9:38 AM ETOk so I am going to state two songs from Canadian artists that open my heart. A romantic song that speaks to me of everyday struggles and how fantasy can help to make it all bearable. That song is “Mushaboom” by Feist. I love the lyric:

“I got man to stick it out
And make a home from a rented house oh oh oh
And we'll collect the moments one by one
I guess that's how the future's done oh oh oh”

To me this is the epitome of true love; it isn’t necessarily doves floating by and violins soaring. It is a woman and her lover struggling to get by but still keeping their dreams of a better life alive.

The second is a more lustful selection from one of the sexiest musicians of any nationality and that is Hawksley Workman’s “Striptease for me baby”. .”

Thats it - thanks from Darlene

--------
Are you the Darlene in question?

Walter

_______________________________________

AliDar 2/18/2009 12:17 PM >>>

Hey Walter;
LOL, no, I am not the Darlene in question, but I think you may have solved my early morning mystery for me. I remember distinctly hearing Tom say: it's about a woman and her lover struggling... ... and then my partner slapped the alarm.

So, hearing that, (which sounds like the beginnings of my story being described) my name, ... I'm pretty sure he said Dar though and not Darlene, but, hey, I didn't have my coffee yet, ... and then blog.... LOL, well, that was enough to sit me bolt upright in bed thinking he was talking about me.

Thank you for taking my inquiry seriously and for your efforts in solving the mystery. :)

Dar
________________________________

On 18-Feb-09, at 9:23 AM, radio2 Morning wrote:

I enjoyed the challenge. Thanks for listening to Radio 2 Morning.

Walter

Was it a dream? - Update!

2009-02-17T22:02:00.000-08:00

So, I didn't hear anything back from the fellow I talked to about having heard my name, my blog, and my short story mentioned on CBC radio on Friday morning. I was about to chalk it up to a very over active imagination being so abruptly awakened out of REM sleep, or to the derangement caused by a pending head full of mucus and a fever... But tonight at my critique group's meeting I chanced to tell the story yet one more time, and guess what? I'm not going crazy; there's a very plausible explanation.

Apparently on Friday mornings, on CBC 2, Rachel Giese The Web Goddess drops by to give a list of interesting websites she's found during the week. Now I don't know in what context she mentioned me and mine, but now there is a high probability that I wasn't losing my mind after all, and, I might just have a fan out there in radio land. I sent an email off to the hosts of the morning show asking if I could somehow get a transcript of her segment, and tomorrow morning, I will phone the station once more, this time armed with a bit more knowledge backing up my claim.

On other matters, I've been out of the loop for awhile because I've been sick in bed with the flu. Today I managed to spend the whole day out of bed, and so I went to my first fiction critique group meeting tonight and got a lot of good feedback on 'Making it Right'. My eyes no longer ache so much when I look at this monitor, so tomorrow I think I'll be able to get caught up on what everyone's been up to, and maybe I'll even get a bit of writing of my own done.

Anyway, it's been a long day, so I'm off to dream about web goddesses, positive feedback, and great big orange vitamin C tablets that don't taste anything like oranges, despite what is implied on labels packaging. See you tomorrow!

Was it a dream?

2009-02-13T08:13:00.000-08:00

Okay, this is very weird. I haven't had my coffee yet, so please bear with me. My partner has CBC radio 2 on her clock radio, so every morning it blasts at an ungodly hour to wake her up. Somehow I've learned how to ignore the noise and keep sleeping. But this morning when the alarm went off I sat bolt upright in bed. I heard my name mentioned! and my blog! ...not sure which one though, but something about how a woman and her partner... And then MY partner slapped the alarm!!! CRAP!

"Turn it back on; I think they were talking about me!" I had to say it at least three time, because, well, she had just woken up too, and she sleeps with earplugs. So she turns the radio back on, and yes, there are a few more seconds of talk that sound like they are talking about my story, 'Letting Go of Baggage'.

Holy Crap! So I have to know, and I've just spent an hour trying to find something on the radio channel's web-site that would explain why me or my story would be mentioned. Nothing. All I found was a phone number to call. I think it's a national one though, not local. So now I'm sitting here trying to decide whether or not I want to phone it, and risk finding out, and, telling whoever I'm speaking to, that I had just been waken up by a very vivid dream!

Please Don't Divorce Us

2009-02-12T18:50:00.000-08:00

"Fidelity": Don't Divorce... from Courage Campaign on Vimeo.

MMmmmmm!

2009-02-10T22:40:00.000-08:00

Tom Foolery gave me an M!

The rules of the game are very simple: 1. Write about ten things that you love, or that have meaning for you that begin with the letter you've been given, and post it on your blog. 2 When someone who comments on the post tells you they'd like to play, you assign them a letter and the game continues.

My Marvelous list of M's

1. Magic - Something I will never stop believing in.
2. Motorcycles - One day I'll find one short enough for me to ride. :)
3. Mercy - No heart should be without this.
4 Make - Make right, make up, make out, make love, make believe, make a move, make a splash, make merry, make waves, make sure, make the grade, but never make due.
5 Momentum - can't stop now I'm on a roll.
6 Metaphors - It's late, and my brain's just too mushy to think of anything now, but I'm really mad about them.
7 Meaning - It's always there, you just have to look for it.
8 M & M's What Marvelous M list would be without M & M's Mmmmmmm! :).
9 My Mom
10 Me ... I'm working on this last one. :)

This blog measures up!

2009-02-10T12:40:00.000-08:00

A few days ago, Jude honoured me with a This Blog Measures Up award, and to officially accept it, I have to do three things, 1. Say something nice to a man in my life, 2. List 6 ways you measure success in your life, and 3, choose five bloggers you think measure up, and pass the award onto them. ...Well, I’ve been putting this off because I honestly didn't know if I could fulfill my obligation to accept the award.

I don't have many men in my life - there's the guy at the corner store, my partner's brother, and her father, and one or two online friends, but that wasn’t the problem; I figured what the heck, the fellow I end up choosing to say something nice to would probably look at me quizzically for a few moments before or after he smiled, and then it would be over with. I mean, what harm would come of it, right? Most people think I’m a bit odd anyway.

The problem I’ve been having, however, is with the second part of the requirements. You see, I've been thinking that I've not been very successful in my life. I haven't done anything special really, I've not accomplished much of anything, I don’t have a job, other than my newspapers, - haven’t had one for nearly 20 years, and I've not even been able to live up to my own expectations and values, let alone anyone elses. How do I measure success if I feel I’ve not been successful?

I’ve been thinking about this, and it’s funny you know, how the stuff life throws at you seems to be so very relevant to where your head is at the time. It’s as if the mere act of your thinking somehow causes the universe to send you the resources you are needing to get on with your thoughts and consequently, your life. So I’ve been thinking about these things, and then last night, somewhere around eleven thirty it hit me; I've been measuring myself up to ideals not to reality. And I have many things I've yet to do before I can expect to live up to those ideals, and even if I'm never able to, success can still be measured by the acknowledgment of the effort put towards those goals.

My successes are my own no matter how small they may seem if I look at them out of context. They have to do with where I am now in my life, not where I hope to be at some future time. It is after all the journey that counts, and so without further explanation, here are six ways I recently have to measure success in my life.

1. The fact that I'm finally, after so many years of inaction, taking responsibility for my life and doing what I need to do to move ahead, one step at a time.

2. After 10 years of discord, my partner and I are finally getting along better than we ever have, and for the first time in our relationship we can both honestly say we are truly happy to be together.

3. Over these last four months I've written a couple of stories that I am very proud of. I've joined the Victoria Writer's Society, I've read one of my stories during an open mike night, and I've sent another off to a publisher, for approval or disapproval, come what may. I am taking steps to fulfill a promise that I've made to myself, that I will one day be a published writer.

4 I joined a local social group, and went to a party this past Friday night, without knowing anyone there, without my partner, who stayed at home with a cold, and, after having isolated myself for so long that I lost most, if not all, confidence in my ability to deal with face to face interaction. I had a wonderful time, and I volunteered to help the organizer of the group maintain a portion of the groups website, and I think I’ve met a few woman who could possibly become friends.

5. I have friends in my life who I know will be there for me when I need them, who have been there even when things have gotten rough, and who know themselves I will do the same for them however I can.

6 Well that's it; I’m afraid I’m unable to meet the numerical requirements of the award, but they are more than enough for me, because right now after having written this I'm feeling much better about myself, and the mere fact that I am now able to measure those successes in a realistic way, I think, is the biggest success of all. ... Oh, I guess that's number six. :)

Oh, I almost forgot, when I went to the corner store this morning, I told the fellow behind the counter that he was such a nice guy when he took three cents out of his own pocket to cover my having been short changed for my purchases. He smiled and said, “I try to be.” ... Three cents isn’t very much I know, but some people set such restriction on themselves and on others, that there’s no room for acceptance or charity.

Now comes the easy part of meeting the requirements to officially accept this award,, choosing five who I think measure up and passing on the award.

1 Annie, because her determination and passion for writing has been an inspiration to me and I am sure to so many others who read her blog.

2 Lane, because she has a wonderful way with words that comes from her heart, as well as from her astute observations and ability to translate what she sees into something we can all relate to, even if we’ve never experienced it before ourselves.

3 Helen, for being someone who’s living the life, but still doesn’t have an ounce of pretension, and is one of the sweetest, on the road to success, people I have ever met.

4 Tomfoolery, for having the soul of an artist, a poet, a writer, and, an all around very decent human being, who just happens to be very clever and witty in her communications with others. Not everyone misunderstands your meaning TF. :)

5 Gypsy, because I enjoy her photography, and because she was one of the women that I met at the party on Friday night, who I’d like to get to know better, and who for some reason, piped up while I was introducing myself, and told everyone that she thought my writing was great. Thank you Gypsy, you have no idea how that helped with my being able to relax and just be myself that night.

It's all in the title or the tag

2009-02-06T11:36:00.000-08:00

I'm hoping to get some quality writing time in today, and I've newspapers to deliver and errands to do, so I probably won't have much time for blogging. ... But I just had to share this with you. My blog has been visited three times now by people having happened upon it through a google search for vibrating toothbrushes! LOL ... I'm thinking my next blog will be about something along the lines of how to get those nasty wine stains out of your carpet, or how to make microwave popcorn from bulk bought kernels, and a brown paper bag. :)

One story at a time.

2009-02-04T16:36:00.000-08:00

My writing is for me! It's taken me along time to come to that conclusion, and exactly why that is. It's not just because I need people to tell me that I'm good at it, or that I have this compulsive urge for others to read my thoughts and opinions and validate them. It's for me because I have to prove to myself that I am worthy, that I have it in me to do something worth while.

Ultimately being patted on the back or having someone else agree or sympathize with you doesn't cut the mustard as far as boosting your own self-esteem. It's a quick fix, and even though we all need validation and support from our friends, the only thing that can really convince us of our own worth, is ourselves.

I believe writing is worthy work, I think (know) I am good at it, and I enjoy doing it, but I've been holding myself back for fear I'd let myself down. It's time I take responsibility for myself, and finally allow me to prove it to MYSELF, that I have what it takes, ... one story at a time....

Looking for flow

2009-02-02T21:43:00.000-08:00

So I'm writing again, but it feels sort of like having my teeth pulled. Two days, five hundred words, and every paragraph pulled out of me with the resistance of a deeply rooted molar. ... Someone said not too long ago, in a comment on a blog post of mine, and I haven't taken the time to look back and find out who it was, but they gave me the advice to keep writing while the flow was hot, (paraphrased of course) and their words couldn't be more true.

Christmas happened, life's drama intervened, and before I knew it I had lost that edge. Now when I look at that list of story ideas that had me so excited before Christmas, I don't remember what it was that made me feel the way I did. I wrote two or three lined descriptions of what those stories would be about. I didn't have to write more because I had the rest in my head, it was all just bouncing around in there taking shape, growing in detail, just waiting for me to write it down so it could take on a life of it's own.

It's only been a month, but now those little details have fluttered away. Somehow I don't think that my having written a better description of what those stories would be about would have helped. What is missing now isn't a story line, or even the premise for the story. I'm not sure if I can explain it well enough, but it's the creative pull that I think every writer feels when they have a story in their head. You're in the middle of cooking a meal or maybe listening to someone tell you how their day's been, but you suddenly drift off into the world you are creating. It's as if the story refuses to stop being written, despite the inconvenience it causes you when you burn your pork chops or cause your partner to give you that look that says, you haven't been listening to me, have you.

It's not that I want to burn my dinner, or that I ever want to see that look on my partners face again, but I want that edge back.

So I'm going though the motions. I'm writing a story, probably the worse story I'll every write, but I know something from it will light that fuse again, and I'll be back in the flow soon enough. ... hopefully.

Photo Tag

2009-01-31T19:56:00.000-08:00

I've been tagged by Tom Foolery. The rules of the game are: Go to the 4th folder in your computer where you store your pictures. Pick the 4th picture in that folder . Explain the picture. Tag 4 people to do the same.

Well, I didn't quite have to break the rules, just bent them a bit. No one said the folder had to be the fourth from the top, ... and the fourth pic, from that folder wasn't something I'd dare share publicly; ... think partner privately bathing in a lake while on a camping trip... :)

Anyway, the fourth pic from the last, in the fourth folder up from the bottom, luckily is something I, and my sweet lovable, kind and considerate, ... and sometimes very soapy partner, :) doesn't mind in the least my sharing with you all.

I took this photo one day just walking around the neighbourhood with my camera, just shooting whatever caught my eye. It's one of the ones I'm most pleased with, - more luck than anything else, and something I haven't been able to repeat since.

I tag Jude, because she's an excellent photographer (and she's going to kill me for this!) Zed, because I think she could use a bit of silly fun, Boo, even if she does needs debellyfying (grin), and Annie, because she's the first blogger to comment on something I posted, other than those I already knew before I joined blogger. Tag, you're it. :)

Poem

2009-01-30T17:07:00.000-08:00

Battered daily by a storm
that no one else can sense
hopes snapped off
like dry and brittle twigs

In the calm, new branches grow
only to be torn away
by the next gust of wind

Eclipse - This piece of music speaks to my soul

2009-01-30T14:11:00.000-08:00

Eclipse

Vibrating toothbrushes

2009-01-27T13:20:00.000-08:00

So what is it about these new fangled vibrating toothbrushes anyway? I got one this Christmas in my stocking, and for the last couple of days I've been trying to use the thing. What are you suppose to do; stick it in your mouth and let the vibrating bristles clean your teeth? It sounds like I have a mouthful of bees in there, and if I brush like I normally would, the vibration doesn't seem to be worth its expense. I've tried just moving the brush slowly and lightly over my teeth and gum edges, trying to take advantage of what I think it's suppose to do. But I can't seem to resist the urge to work the brush like I've always done, and my teeth feel funny afterward if I don't.

It didn't come with instructions, not anything like, "...brush gently but firmly, maximizing the vibration and making sure to move the brush over the gum line...' or with an assuring: "If your teeth feel funny afterward don't worry; it's a sign that you are using the brush in the way it was designed to be used."

Do these new fangled toothbrushes work better than the old fashioned wrist action ones do? Am I missing something crucial that everyone else knows, and probably read from the instructions on the earlier model's packaging, or from a bulletin sent out by The Dental Association of America? Or are they just an expensive fad, banking on people's beliefs that new and fangled must be better, and their desire to have the brightest and whitest smile they possibly can have?

The Christmas before this last, I got a toothbrush that played "Rock & Roll All Night" when I pressed it against my teeth. I'm thinking that at least a swarm of bees is better than having the band 'Kiss' in my mouth! LOL

TGIF

2009-01-23T15:41:00.000-08:00

So it's Friday, and what I need most right now, more than anything, is a F’ing good time. I need to get drunk with friends and laugh, and laugh. And laugh. I need to get high and talk about writing and philosophy and art, and the profound meanings of life, and how amazing it is that bubbles keep trying to maintain their perfect circular shape until they burst, and my gawd, how amazingly wonderful those potato chips taste! I need to dance! And I need someone to dance with with me, with both of us loosing ourselves to the notes and rhythms, till our heads are empty of all anxieties and thought, till there’s no one else in the room, only the music and the other, and the dance. I need to be sitting around a campfire, drinking fireball whiskey out of a tin cup, and hear the metallic clink of that cup, feel the small sticky droplets of the liquor fall onto my hand when it collides in a hearty ‘Cheers’ with the other cups, in the other hands, of those sitting around the fire with me. Find comfort in the companionable silence, and go to sleep that night without a thought or a worry that nights like this might only ever exist in my dreams.

Should hold your interest for about a minute or so

2009-01-23T00:04:00.000-08:00

Something to play with to break the monotony of staring at that blank white page.(Warning, spider content.) :)

Responsibility to yourself

2009-01-22T20:41:00.000-08:00

My apologies to anyone who's been watching this blog and wondering how I've been doing. It's not that I haven't been writing any blog posts, I have, I've written at least a half a dozen, but the thoughts and feeling that I've written in them have changed so quickly that I abandoned them before I could post them.

The reason for my undecidedness is that I've been doing a lot of soul searching of late, more than usual, and since the subject that's prompted the inward looking concerns someone other than myself, I don't really have the right to air our dirty laundry out in public.

There have been a few things though that I've learned during this time of in depth navel gazing that I feel are universal enough to share.

1. You have no control over how other people feel about you. ... Now this was a hard one for me to realize, because I'm the type that always has to fix things, and I've never been able to go to sleep at night leaving something unresolved.

2. Sometimes you have to let things go to take care of yourself, even if what you are letting go of is something you think you can't live without. ... This one goes with the one above, in fact, it's probably the same thought just looked at a little differently.

3. And this last is a summation of all of it: Your own needs can't be denied and you have the right to see to it that they are met. In fact, it's your responsibility, not anyone else's. But that doesn't mean that the people in your life have no responsibility toward you. If they call themselves your friend or partner, there are certain responsibilities that go along with those proclamations, just like there are if you tell them the same things. Those responsibilities should be amicable to both, but you get to decide yourself if what is offered is something you are willing to accept based on what you needs are from such a relationship.

This may sound cold and selfish, and I'm still having trouble with it, but it does go both ways. You also have to accept that the other has the same right to care for themselves, and the same responsibility to ensure that their own needs are met, just like you do.

I just can't bring myself to toss this into the rubbish heap

2009-01-19T16:18:00.000-08:00

Maybe some things you thought dead, actually do have some life in them yet. No matter how hard you try though, you can't get back what has withered away. At some point you either have to make the decision to nurture what remains, or give the whole thing up as lost.

This pepper plant that I had given up on as dead after it had been covered with snow, has now sprouted new leaves and buds. I just re potted it and placed it in a sunny location.

It's done

2009-01-13T13:05:00.000-08:00

It's done. Yesterday I spent the entire afternoon going over 'Letting Go of Baggage' making sure there wasn't anything in it that cried out awkward, or incorrect, or unclear, at least as far as I could see. I spent a long time fussing about the format, farting around with headers footers, and margins, ... printing the whole thing off, then seeing something that I missed or didn't have right, and doing the whole thing over again, at least three times.

Finally I was satisfied that what I'm sending off won't be tossed out simply because it doesn't look professional enough, and it won't seem that I don't know what I'm doing because I haven't done it before, ... which is more accurate than the impression I'm wanting to give, but please don't tell anyone I think that way. (Grin)

Sometimes you know, I feel like I'm just play acting. It's all make believe, and my sending off a story is part of the script I need to follow to play my part as a writer. Maybe that's just the way people feel when they do things they aren't sure of but they do them anyway with that 'just do it' attitude.

I'm not so familiar with that attitude that I would recognize how one would feel at that time. I've spent far too much of my life imagining that the outcome of my efforts would be for naught, and so I let my imaginings dictate my actions. But as TF said in a previous post of mine, quoting an age old wisdom, in that short but to the point way of hers: "Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Don't live with the thought of "What if, only.." " And I figure, hey, the real rejection of what I've written can't be all that much worse than the imagined one, can it? (Grin)

... So the manuscript is in the mail, and I'll let you know somewhere between April and September how the real stacks up against the imagined. In the mean time though, I've got a part to play, and in keeping with the script, I'm suppose to write more stories, and possibly find places to send them off to, and just keep on keeping on, because, well, that's what writers do.

How do you format a manuscript anyway?

2009-01-11T17:52:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I'm going to do it, I've got a pen name, and I've found an article online here that explains what the standard manuscript formatting is if it's not stated by the guidelines. They only thing they've give in their guidelines is that it should be double spaced. So, Courier, double spaced, 1.25" margins on each side, 1" on the top and bottom. Pages numbered. And cover page, ... thankfully they are not asking for a bio. I'd better write one just in case I need it for the next time.

What I'm not sure about and would really appreciate advice on is, what size font? The article didn't say. I use 14, but I seem to remember seeing somewhere that it was 12.... And is that 1" margins on the top and bottom as well as having a header and footer, and where do you put the page numbering, should it be centered in the bottom header? Also, I haven't a clue how to format a title page, and if I should use my pen name in place of the called for author's name, or should I give both? One more thing, if I have a title page, do I also include the standard header on the first page telling the title of the story and the author?

Taking a deep breath. :)

I can't believe I'm seriously considering this....

2009-01-11T01:48:00.000-08:00

Submission Guidelines for Best Lesbian Erotica 2010

Kathleen Warnock is now accepting submissions for Best Lesbian Erotica 2010, to be published by Cleis Press in Fall 2009.

Submission Guidelines:
- Submit short stories, self-contained novel excerpts, other prose
- Unpublished material will be considered
- Previously published material will also be considered, provided it was or will be published between 9/1/2008 and 12/31/2009
- Submit 2 hard copies of each submission
- Include a cover page with: Author's Name, Title of Submission(s), Address, Phone/Fax, and Email Address
- All submissions must be typed and double-spaced; number the pages.
- Each submission should be a maximum of 5,000 words (list word count on title page)
- You may submit a maximum of 3 different pieces of work
- No email submissions will be accepted, but you can email queries to Kwarnockble (at) gmail.com
- Manuscripts will not be returned
- VERY IMPORTANT: Any submission that is being simultaneously submitted to another annual erotica anthology (for example, The Ultimate Lesbian Erotica, Best Women's Erotica, etc.) will not be accepted.

Submission Deadline:
Submissions will be accepted throughout the year. The final (postmark) deadline is April 1, 2009. All submissions will be responded to by the end of September. Early submissions are encouraged.

Mailing Information:
Send all submissions to:
Kathleen Warnock
31-64 21st St., #319
Long Island City, NY 11106
Attn: BLE2010

Oh my gosh, I don't believe I'm actually thinking of submitting 'Letting Go of Baggage' to this. The title of the anthology is very daunting. Couldn't it be just a little less pretentious? I mean, the best of? How could what I've written be considered as that? But the story fits the criteria otherwise, and Cleis Press accepts both solicited and unsolicited submission, as well as published and unpublished works. So... Oh my. I know, rejection is part of the learning process too. (grin) The thing is, I'm already having fantasies about having the story accepted. Rejection or acceptance, either way it's going to be an experience. I guess I'd better start writing more stories so I don't put all of my hopes on this one.

Do you think I should think of a pen name? Any suggestions?

I can't believe I'm seriously considering this!

Face to face VS online

2009-01-07T17:16:00.000-08:00

I'm all out of sorts. I'm tired of hearing how much more important face to face relationships are compared to online ones. It seems to be a thread of discussion that's going around like a virus these days. I'm tired of having my friends and my relationships with them down graded into virtual bits and bytes, tired of having people feel sorry for me because they think I don't have a real life, or think that what I have to offer is less important because I can't be in the same room with them.

I am real, and I believe the people I connect with online are real too. There's a flesh and blood person sitting at a computer in California, or Florida, or in England, or even in Timbuktu that I haven't met yet, who thinks and feels, has a heart and a soul, who laughs, and cries, feels happiness and sadness, ... just like I do. And just because I can't see the flesh and blood part doesn't mean what we share isn't as valid as it would be if I could.

Why do people think that face to face relationships are more meaningful and important? It is true, that if I could be in the same room with the friends I've made online, it would be much more fulfilling. There are many things that you miss out on because of the limitations of an online relationship, but that doesn't make them any less important, valid, or meaningful. It just makes you feel sad sometimes, is all. And that's a small price to pay for the joys of getting to know and loving someone that you would otherwise never have had the chance to, if wasn't for the very computer your are are sitting in front of now.

I wouldn't trade any of the friendships I've made online, for a dozen face to face shallower ones simply because I could have with them, what I can't have with the connections I've made online. Maybe it's just me, but what I value in someone has very little to do with their zip code, or their vicinity.

Letting Go of Baggage

2009-01-06T14:27:00.000-08:00

Well, I've thought about this for awhile, and I kept changing my mind, so the heck with it; I've posted the lesbian erotica story that I just re-worked. I'm not sure how it will be received, but I've never edited myself before, so I'm not about to start now. I happen to think that writing a good piece of sex fiction is a difficult thing to accomplish. So please be forewarned. 'Letting Go of Baggage' which has just been added to the 'My Stories' list on the right, is lesbian erotica, and some might even describe it as porn. ... And Mom, please don't read this! LOL. ... It is a fantasy though, that's what erotica is all about.

... Oh I don't know if I really should do this.....

Ennui strikes again

2009-01-02T20:04:00.000-08:00

So the new year isn't starting out well for me. I'm not writing and I feel miserable. The story ideas I felt so positive about before Christmas just don't seem to have enough substance. I haven't talked to my best friend in over two weeks because she's unable to come online to chat for some reason, and she seems as happy as a clam because of all the free time she has to herself. My house is clean and tidy and I've nothing to do; I swept the floor twice today, once, to pick up all the little bits, and a second time just to make sure I didn't miss anything. I played solitaire about fifty times this afternoon, and lost every game. I'm sliding into a rut again, feeling sorry for myself, and the two glasses of wine I just had isn't helping.

I know attitude is everything, but I can't seem to shake the nasty one clouded around my head and seeping into my skull. Please don't encourage me by responding with anything that suggests you feel sorry for me, but if anyone reading this knows of a way to to make that cloud go away, I would appreciate it to no end.

Think I'll go get another glass of wine and bury myself in a book.

Happy New Year!

2009-01-01T21:14:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ym0x3vTw6yc

Catching up: dragons, awards, magic, and incompetence

2008-12-29T13:05:00.000-08:00

Annie Wicking gave me a writer's cave dragon for a Christmas present, which she beautifully painted herself. She only gave the writing cave dragon to a handful of writers on blogger, and my inclusion in that handful I take as a great honour. Also, having spent so much of my informative years in places like Middle Earth, Avalon, and on Pern, I've always dreamed of owning a dragon of my very own. It's very likely that the fantastical creature is the very reason I became a writer, so her gifting of her writer's cave dragon couldn't be more appropriate. Thank- you Annie. :)

A sentence I wrote about anger won the daily writing prompt on C. Beth's One Minute Writer blog. It's the very first award I've ever received for something I've written, so I will proudly display that on my blog as well. Thank-you C. :) ... Small steps, but still meaningful ones for me.

... Last night I finished reading Carol Shields' 'The Stone Diaries', which won the Governor General's Award, and was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. It wasn't an easy read; I had to concentrate or else I'd have to read parts over. But when I lost myself to it, I was rewarded with such simple everyday profundities that it left me feeling both exhilarated and unsettled at the same time.

The story is about the ordinary life of a woman from her birth to her death, told from many different perspectives, including the narrators. It's a masterpiece, poetry written in prose, and there's nothing plain and simple about it except the subject matter. As a writer I can only imagine how involving it must have been to write such a novel, and I am in awe of Shields' accomplishment.

So now that the Christmas panic is over and I've time to get back to my own writing, I'm finding it difficult to do just that. Because of the time I've been away from it, and after reading 'The Stone Diaries' with it's lyrical magic and meaning, I am filled with feelings of doubt and incompetence once more. I've been gifted with joy of the written word, to see, and moderately comprehend the complexities and magic of it, but my ability to write pales so much in comparison to my understanding of what other writers have written. How can I continue to take my little stories seriously when the pinnacle of perfection is so far out of my reach?

Yesterday was the first day of winter

2008-12-22T16:16:00.000-08:00

My apologies to all my blogger friends. I've been very busy cleaning, making Christmas presents, cleaning, shoveling snow, cleaning, shoveling even more snow, and you guessed it, even more cleaning, that I've not been able to afford the time to keep up on your blogs, ... or even my own blog, for that matter. As soon as I have a free moment, I promise, I'll drop by and see what you all are up too. Until then, I wish each and everyone of you all the magic the season can bring, and may your hearts be filled with love, peace, and joy.

Make Believe

2008-12-16T20:28:00.000-08:00

Nine days till Christmas

2008-12-15T10:14:00.000-08:00

Winter is here, and there's a residual instinct in me to hybrinate, to curl up next to a fire with a hot cup of tea and a good book, but the Christmas panic begins, and to make things worse, we got snowed in yesterday when we had been planning on starting our Christmas shopping. There's cleaning to do, lots of it, shopping, shoveling snow, thawing out the Christmas tree and then decorating it, ... and the house as well, but all I want to do is read and write. Reading I can do at night, but writing, well, if I start something now I won't be able to pull myself away to do anything else, so I'm ignoring my muse for the moment, hoping she understands. Trouble is, I can't seem to get motivated to do those other things, and the crunch is on. Figures, all that time complaining about having nothing to write about, and now when I should be doing something else, it's all I want to do.

Short stories or novels?

2008-12-11T15:04:00.000-08:00

I just read in an online article ( http://www.thisbusinessofdanceandmusic.com/Article-Shortfictionmarket.htm ) two contrary opinions. One was that writing short stories was a good way for a writer to refine their craft, that if they ultimately wanted to write novels, they should write at least one hundred shorts before they began a novel. The other opinion was that even after writing many short stories a writer will find that they still have much to learn when it comes to writing a novel, and the opinion was that "...novelists should start with novels and leave short stories to those who particularly love short stories."

I would be very interested in hearing what others have to say about this. You see, I'm at a point where I'm trying to decide if I want to write just for myself, or work towards making a career out of what I do. It's common knowledge that there isn't a market for short stories, and it was my thinking that writing short stories would be good practice, and would give me the tools I needed to either finish that novel I started way back when, or attempt another one.

Either I stick to the plan, - maybe even count down those one hundred stories, or scrap the idea of writing shorts except for my own enjoyment, and start thinking about putting my efforts into writing a novel. ... And then again, there's always children's fiction, ... that's nice and short. ... Oh maybe I'm not ready for this. Maybe I should just stick with writing whatever the muse brings to my attention and write it in whatever format best suits the story...

LOL, I would still like to hear people's opinion on this, just incase I ever reach that point where I'm ready to make a decision either way.

The Missus and the Troll

2008-12-09T23:41:00.001-08:00

Well, I finally finished that short story I've been working for about a week and a half. What I had intended to be about a 700 word little anecdotal, turned into a 3791 word, full fledged fable. For some reason, because I had an outline for it in my head, I had thought it could be accomplished quickly and in a few words. ... Boy was I wrong.(Grin) And where did I get the information that writing within the confines of a certain genre was easy? I guess, maybe if you write in that style again and again till it becomes second nature, but the first time is definitely a challenge. It sure gave me a work out. I don't think I did too badly, considering, and I hope you enjoy reading all 3791 words! :)

The story's name is: 'The Missus and the Troll', and you can find the link to it on the right, under the heading: My Stories. ... And please, if you do take the time to read it, could you take an extra moment to answer a little survey I have about it? I'm trying to decide if it would make an appropriate Christmas gift for my nieces.

Every Homemaker should own an iPod

2008-12-09T14:52:00.000-08:00

...I admit, it does slow you down a might when you dance around with the saucepan you're drying before you put it in the cupboard, but it's a heck of a lot more fun! :)

Listen to your muse

2008-12-07T13:36:00.000-08:00

My muse is still having her way with me, and I can't help but submit to her attentions. For years I've been whining that I didn't have a story to write, that I didn't have enough experiences under my belt to draw from, but I kept insisting to myself that I was a writer. I'd maybe have an idea for a story, say, two or three times a year. But now I have a list of ideas, and the more time I spend writing, the longer that list gets. I keep wondering just what it is that has changed to cause my muse to want to hang out with me so much more. Maybe it's because I've finally realized that you don't have to have lived an adventurous life to write a compelling story, that the hazards and trials of everyday life can be just as much of a challenge as climbing Mt. Everest. Or maybe it's because I finally heard what my muse has been trying to communicate to me all these years: Enough with the bellyaching already. If you're a writer then just write, for crying out loud!

Pizza or panic?

2008-12-04T13:38:00.000-08:00

So I went to the local writer's group monthly meeting again last night. This time there wasn't a guest speaker so it was open mike night. No mike though, just a homemade podium that people stood behind to read their writing. I wasn't going to go to the meeting; I had spent most of the day working on a short story, and when it came time to make supper, I hadn't taken the pizza dough out of the fridge on time for it to warm up and start to rise. It was just a question of whether I should stay home and put the time into making the pizza all from scratch and miss the meeting, or open a couple of cans of soup and make it to the community centre on time.

I hummed and hawed about it for quite awhile though, back and forth, weighing my options, until it was even too late to put anything on for supper, except for the canned soup. So I took a shower, and got changed into what I hoped was my most 'writerly' looking clothing, - corduroy trousers, a wrinkled t-shirt , topped with a tasteful herringbone knit vest - and I printed off a couple of short stories just in case.

I guess I must have really wanted to read something, because when the speaker looked at me and asked if I had something to read, I didn't say no. I didn't allow myself to fade unnoticed into the background like I expected I would do. I told him, yes I had a story, but I had never read anything for a group before, so I wasn't sure.
With an encouraging smile, he told me that he took that to mean yes.

And I so I did it. I got up there and I read my story from beginning to end, and only with a few moments of complete panic that I somehow managed to swallow well enough to continue reading. I didn't do too badly, considering it was my first time. But it took a couple of hours for my pulse to settle down to normal, and when it did, I wondered just why it had been so important for me to do such a thing.

I finally came to the conclusion that in a way, I considered it a right of passage of some sort, that it was something I had to do to take myself seriously as a writer, putting myself out there in front of other writers and saying, look this is what I do. I write, and this is what I've written.

... I don't know if after hearing what I wrote has made anyone in the audience think of me as a writer, but I do, and right now that's what counts.

A Murder of crows

2008-12-03T15:17:00.000-08:00

Today while delivering my newspapers and just when I was thinking about whether I had been wrong to have stopped believing in God, I saw the largest murder of crows I have ever seen. There looked to be hundreds of them. They were on the sidewalk, on the powerlines, in the trees. They were on the lawns of the properties for two blocks on either side of the street, and up the street to my right. They were everywhere. As I pushed my newspaper cart along the sidewalk, some flew away from me, some flew towards me and over my head, and still others, went about doing what they had been doing before I came along, or stood where they were, watching me, watching them. I wish I had my camera with me, for I don't think anyone will believe me when I tell them just how many crows there had been, or how very strange the experience felt. ... And the thing is, I didn't even get shat on once, so maybe there is a God afterall.

Scratch that last one

2008-12-02T17:16:00.000-08:00

I was wrong, the hardest thing that someone can do is to keep it in mind that they have the power to change that.

Reality can be brutal

2008-12-02T13:09:00.000-08:00

I think that one of the most difficult things someone can do is to come to the realization that they are not who they thought they were.

My muse is working over time!

2008-12-01T11:29:00.000-08:00

Today is a very good day. I've got three stories bouncing around in my head wanting to be written, but I'm not use to this; I've never had more than one idea to write about at one time. It's hard to concentrate. Just as soon as I hit a rough spot in the one that I'm writing now, one of the others gives me a nudge and asks for my attention. I'm not minding it though, and I gotta be extra nice to each one, because I don't want any of them to feel neglected and leave! ... I think I need a baby sitter though! :)

Guard dog on duty

2008-11-29T00:18:00.000-08:00

Anger sustains you. It makes you defiant and strong. It defends your pride, gives you courage, and enforces your will. It keeps you safe behind it's abrasive shield; it conceals your vulnerabilities and weaknesses from your enemies, and it keeps your self-esteem intact. But hide behind it for too long, and it will grow, feeding off the very weakness it protects. It will disguise itself as justified indignation, and soon it will convince you that there isn't anyone you can trust, gorging itself on your resentment and self pity until it completely conceals not only your vulnerabilities, but your virtues as well.

I've done a bit of tidying up

2008-11-28T19:05:00.000-08:00

Not in my house,(although my partner would dearly love to see that happen) but here, at blogger. I originally thought I would post each story I published in it's own separate blog, but today I got to thinking, I intend to post as many short stories as I possibly can, so that would mean, many many individual blogs to manage... well, I'm hoping it would mean that :). Anyway, today I decided to create just one blog for my stories. I posted 'Molten Lava' and 'Making it Right' in my new blog,'Out of My Head'. My apologies to anyone who wrote a comment or clicked on the little reactions thingie. Believe me, deleting those was one of the hardest things I've ever done. :(

Today I'm just a paper carrier

2008-11-28T13:24:00.000-08:00

... hoping that my muse returns soon.

Should I stay, or should I go?

2008-11-26T12:43:00.000-08:00

When those around you don't seem to accept you for who you are, you have two choices, either accept that and hang around, or accept that and move on. Which would you do? (Title for this blog respectfully taken from the song: 'Should I Stay or Should I Go?' by The Clash)

What is a paragraph, anyway?

2008-11-26T10:14:00.000-08:00

Over this last little while, while editing my stories, I've noticed that I tend to write very short paragraphs, and that has given me cause to question whether or not I actually know what a paragraph is. Generally I just wing it. I have this idea in my head that a sentence is a complete thought that can exist on it's own, and a paragraph is a collection of thoughts that all work together to create a single concept, or in fiction, a separate scene, or scene element.

The thing is, paragraphs are all suppose to connect to make a story, and each paragraph is meant to be connected somehow by a thought, so it's difficult to judge sometimes where you should break your paragraph and begin the next.

I make those breaks whenever my narrative interrupts the flow of the story, or when my writing takes a time leap over a bit of uninteresting or irrelevant facts that would have no bearing on the story. And of course, I break for dialog, separating each person speaking. Often though, because of my self imposed rules, I end up with a lot of single sentence paragraphs, and I'm wondering if that is correct, and if I shouldn't try to flush out the thought more.

Can a single sentence be a paragraph? Does having too many short paragraphs in a story make that story seem choppy, and would my writing improve if I tried to flush out those short paragraphs more? I've been trying to find a more accurate description of what a paragraph is suppose to be, but so far, I haven't found anything in the books that I have or online. I remember seeing notes on stories or essays I wrote in school, where the teacher wrote something like, "this thought should be a separate paragraph", but how did the teacher know that herself? Do we all just wing it based on that simple rule that a paragraph is a self existing concept?

Making it Right

2008-11-24T12:28:00.000-08:00

Today I decided to share a short story that I just finished writing. It is not a feel good story, but it's a true story, true because there are so many people out there who have grown up in much less than ideal circumstances, and for many, it takes a life time to put that past behind them. People need to hear these stories; for those who lived through such things, so they know they are not alone, and they are not to blame, and for the rest, so that they might come to know and understand.

The story is called 'Making it Right' and you'll find the link to it, on the right, under the heading, 'My Stories'.

While sitting near the top of a very tall tree

2008-11-22T23:35:00.000-08:00

I think I was around ten years old when I finally understood what death meant. Someone in our family, I don't remember who, died. We all got dressed up and went to the funeral parlor, and we all lined up to look at the dead body of this relative. I remember thinking that it wasn't the person I knew anymore, but it looked like him, and that puzzled me. All the relatives were crying and consoling each other, and then we all sat down in a room that looked like a tiny church. Then a man, who didn't know the dead person, spoke wonderful things about him, even though what I had remembered overhearing about the dead man when he was alive, didn't seem like that at all.
For a long time afterward I thought about this, and then one day while I was sitting on a branch not far from the top of a very tall tree, it hit me; dead meant that you didn't exist anymore. It meant that if you had lived a bad life, you no longer had a chance to fix it, and because you couldn't, others tried very hard to remember you that way. I then looked down at the ground far below me, and I climbed down the tree with considerable more caution than I had used climbing up. Since that day I've had a fear of heights, and the older I get, the more pronounced that fear becomes.

Fizz, times two!

2008-11-22T11:47:00.000-08:00

This is so cool, I just have to share it. We just met another dog named Fizz! My partner and I thought we were being so clever thinking up the name Fizz for our West Highland White/ Scottish Terrier pup. The name suited her well, and we thought her name would be unique. What we didn't realize was how wonderful it would be to meet another dog with the same name, and all the way from North Wales too! Thank you Ellen for dropping in and introducing yourself and your Fizz to us. Here's a link to Ellen's Fizz: http://coffeegranules.blogspot.com/2007_11_01_archive.html

Write what you know

2008-11-20T12:34:00.000-08:00

Today I feel like a writer again. Imagine that. Last night after spending the day swirling around in the a dark hole of self pity, I remembered a story that's been niggling at me to be written. The subject of the story is something I personally relate to, and I've been apprehensive to write something that reflected so closely my own experiences. I've always believed the advice that we should write from what we know, but I've taken that to mean something more general, like drawing bits and pieces from our life experiences and using those bits to give substance to what we create.

I stayed up until two am last night writing, and today I know how the story is going to end, I just have to get it down. Maybe staring at the lint in my navel isn't such a bad thing to do occasionally; after all, it's what I know best, and if I'm not writing from within myself, who's voice would I be using anyway?

Reality check

2008-11-19T15:09:00.000-08:00

Today I feel like a fake, that I shouldn't call myself a writer at all. I feel like I've been fooling everyone, or trying to, including myself. Sure, I can wax poetically about what it's like to have the soul of a writer, but I haven't a single story to tell. I've got nothing to say, nothing to write about but the lint in my own navel, and I'm getting tired of staring at it. If it's true that I love to write, then why can't I do it? Why aren't there stories all lining up inside of my head, pushing and shoving to be the first to get out? Why doesn't it just happen?

It's just me dreaming again, a story I've created in my head to give meaning to my life; well, at least that's one story.... Dreaming is easy, but making that dream a reality, now that's something completely different.

And sometimes we do everything we can to put it off

2008-11-17T15:27:00.000-08:00

The other day I was telling a friend about how I was worried that my creativity might be born out of angst, and now that I wasn't feeling so depressed, I was afraid that I might no longer have the inspiration to create. In response, my friend told me that my creativity came from my soul, and then the next day she sent me a link to a book called, 'the Van Gogh Blues, The Creative Person's Path through Depression' written by Eric Maisel. As I read the excerpt I had tears streaming down my face. It hit a chord.

I started thinking about how writers, painters, and anyone else with an artistic temperament spend so much time gazing at our own navels. Daily we confront the question of whether or not what we do is valid, is it meaningful, is it worth our effort? Each of us has a general idea in our head of what is valid or meaningful work, and we hold that up as a goal we want to accomplish, a judgment stick that we use to measure ourselves by. When we happen to have a day, or two, when we are unable to accomplish something that forwards our goal, we get depressed, thinking we are unworthy of calling ourselves writers or artists. But we are our own worst critics. By putting judgment pressure on ourselves to perform at the high standards we hope to achieve, we are in effect stopping ourselves from achieving our own goals, and that creative slump that's got us feeling depressed only seems to become longer and longer, the more we criticize our inability.

If you think about it, what is it that we are creating anyway? For most writers, it's just a file on a computer. It doesn't have any consequences unless we decide that it has. We could spend the whole day writing gobbly gook and it wouldn't make any difference one way or the other. We'd just have to do some editing when we are more on top of our game. Writing gobbly gook is much more preferable to writing nothing at all, much better than staring at a blank page hoping for inspiration to strike and getting depressed if it doesn't. Who knows, there might be a few gems buried within our desperate ramblings, or we might just forget ourselves and lose ourselves to the creative process once more.

The thing is, we have to give ourselves the freedom to write badly, not take what we do so seriously that we can't afford to make mistakes. It's just words in a document after-all, and we can change them, or scrap them as we see fit, at any given time.

I know, I know, I'm putting off working on that story I talked about in the previous post. ... "it's just words in a document; ... It's just words in a document...."

Sometimes writers actually write!

2008-11-17T09:48:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling pretty good today, I'm all hyped about the equal right action happening in the states, and I'm working on a story. :) I canned this story awhile back, not knowing where it was going to go, but it's just a story, and it doesn't have to have any consequence unless I want it to. I can just have fun with it, and last night when I opened the document and fixed a bit here, and changed that bit over there, I got that familiar rush and focus. Here's the opening paragraph:

Hanna opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. A few moments later the realization that the space in the bed next to her was empty overwhelmed her. George was gone. He had died, and she was alone. She had no reason to get out of bed, but her therapist had insisted, telling her it wasn’t good for her to just lay there all day long like that, so she got up. She went to the bathroom and sat down on the toilet, looked at the floor tiles and peed.

Trevor

2008-11-14T23:46:00.000-08:00

I met Trevor in January. I was downtown, waiting for a bus, and I was taking a few photographs to pass the time, when I noticed that someone was watching me with as much interest as I was watching everyone else. After he asked me for some change, I asked him if I could take his picture and he was delighted. We talked while I photographed him, and I got to know him a bit. I made a tabblo from the photos I took, and I got a lot of compliments about how nice it was of me to have stopped and talked to a homeless man, and how I had made his day by performing that small act of kindness, but the thing is, I believe Trevor gave me something more valuable than I gave him. I'm nearly certain that the effect of the encounter faded for him, considering his day to day existence, but for me, it made a life long impression.

I think about Trevor often, and through that thinking I believe I have a better understanding of why people drop out of the system and can't find their way back in. Most people would be frightened of Trevor, afraid that he'd try to bum some money from them, and that he'd become angry and violent when they refused. They'd see the state of his clothing, smell the stink of booze on his breath, and they'd turn away in disgust. "Dirty drunken bum," so many of them would think, "I'm sure if he wanted to he could at least bathe.”

But can you imagine what that must be like for someone like Trevor, who must feel so completely powerless over their own life, having watched it slip out of their grasp, bit by bit? Can you imagine not knowing where you'd sleep that night, or where your next meal would be coming from? Can you imagine what it must feel like to be sneered at and ignored everyday, what that would do to your self-esteem? Bathing? Why bother?

If I were a Trevor, I'd be frustrated and angry, and I'd want to shout out as loud as I could, "Hey someone pay attention to me! Don't I deserve your help; don’t I deserve to be seen? And if I were a Trevor, I’d want to drink too, to deaden the sharpness of my pathetic life, and to blur the images in my head of all those faces turning away in disgust and fear.

Just before my bus came I gave Trevor a few bucks to get something to eat, but I doubt he went to McDonald's with the money.

If you'd like to get to know Trevor a bit better, follow the link to my tabblo: Trevor

And if you have an interest in humanity, as I do, open your eyes and acknowledge the homeless. You just might be surprised by how much it will change your life.
(edited for clarity)

Feeling a Little Flat?

2008-11-14T17:47:00.000-08:00

Can't even come up with a title for this

2008-11-13T12:17:00.000-08:00

So far today the most profound thought I've had is why would someone want to eat bread made without flour? I bought it just to see what it was like. ... It tastes okay, but I can't figure out what keeps it together... Oh well, I guess I can't expect to be inspired if I don't do anything but sit here waiting for inspiration to strike and eating a toasted cheese sandwich, that's just not going to happen. ...I'm thinking today is a good day to go outside and rake up some leaves; at least I'll be able to sleep better tonight knowing that I've done something constructive with my day.

How does she do it?

2008-11-12T10:32:00.000-08:00

Everyday my dog Fizz wakes up, stretches, and wags her tail. When I take her outside for a piddle she sniffs at all the same places with the same enthusiasm as she did the very first time. We come inside and it’s up onto the back of the couch, her tail wagging with excitement as I open each of the blinds and she views the same scene that she’s seen every morning for the past four or so years. Then it’s off to the kitchen. She grabs a squeaky toy and squeaks it happily as I fill her water and food dishes, and then every morning it’s the same thing, “eat slowly” I have to say, “chew”. I feed her the same kibble everyday, but her enthusiasm for it never dwindles. As I make my coffee she sits and watches me, looking for a smile or a pat, and if I oblige her, she grabs the squeaky toy once more, and bites onto it again and again expressing her joy. Sometimes it takes me quite awhile to make my coffee, but I don’t mind. Her eagerness to greet each day as something new and special amazes me, and on those days when I do take notice, I am grateful for the gift of joy that she brings into my life, each and everyday.

Whatever road you choose

2008-11-10T17:44:00.000-08:00

Whatever road you choose, you can be assured of one thing, and one thing only, that it will lead somewhere. That in itself, sometimes, is all that you need.

Molten Lava

2008-11-10T14:11:00.000-08:00

I decided to share a short story that I've written, today. I hummed and hawed about doing this for quite some time, thinking that if I publish it online it might make it difficult to get it published anywhere else. But I don't think I'm ready for that yet, so feedback constructive or otherwise, would be very appreciated. Here's the link to the story: Molten Lava

On the meaning of words

2008-11-09T15:25:00.000-08:00

This post has been inspired by my reading the post: 'Thinking carefully about the power of words' in Annie Wicking's Blog: 'Every New Writer's Journey'. I tried a couple of times to post a comment there but kept getting a a delivery status notification failure, so I decided to post my thoughts on the subject here.

As writers I can't see how we could forget how powerful words can be; that very thing is the crux of our craft. To create a scene, to convey an emotion, to communicate a thought, we manipulate and choose the words and phrases we believe can best do the job. Amazed, surprised, astonished, flabbergasted, and shocked all have similar meanings it's true, but each expands that meaning in a slightly different direction. Amazed, I think, suggests a somewhat more pleasant experience compared to flabbergasted or shocked. And in the above sentence I used 'I think', to qualify what I had just said as a personal opinion, rather than a fact. I could have used 'I believe', but somehow that seemed to carry more weight for me than I wished to imply (beliefs being something that people hold close and dear), and I rejected using 'I suspect' because it suggested that I hadn't yet given it enough thought to commit to an opinion, either way.

I come away from reading Annie's post with a question of my own, and that is, does each word actually have a specific fixed meaning, or is it left merely to individual interpretation? If the latter is so, then how can anyone possibly account for that in their writing? If you know your craft well enough to distinguish the differing nuances of amazed and shocked, I say, trust in your ability, and never let a single word flow from you without your conscious approval.

And Annie, if you are reading this, and since you offered, I'd like a cappuccino with one percent milk with a sweetener, please! :)

Is There Anybody Out There?

2008-11-08T15:13:00.000-08:00

It's sad to think that in a world so heavily populated as ours, there are so many of us who feel isolated and alone. Many, like myself, start writing a blog because they want a voice, but more importantly I suspect, it's because we need others to want to hear that voice.

I've been told that I wear my heart on my sleeve, that my thoughts and feelings are obvious. I don't see any point to keeping myself hidden behind a facade, either face to face, or in the written word. Life is too short, and the true connections we make are too rare to waste time basing anything on something false or shallow. Sometimes though, I think I am the only one that craves those sorts of meaningful connections. Even with the few close friends that I do have, I feel like there are limitations and conditions on what is shared, and I'm always looking for something deeper, more true, and more meaningful to begin.

I read something once, I don't remember from where, but it said that we are all born feeling the close connection of our mothers, and then spend the rest of our lives trying to find that again. Another bit I once read, again, I don't remember where from, spoke of how it is only through our connections with others that we find the true potential of our individual selves and of ourselves as a species.

I truly believe we were not meant to be so alone. But so many of us keep our thoughts and feelings private. The confines of our daily lives, of commuting, working, and maintaining a home life, don't provide much opportunity to share or connect. Is it any wonder then, that by the end of the day, or a week of day in and day out, we question the meaning of our lives?

Waiting for the bus

2008-11-07T12:10:00.000-08:00

The common thread of our existance is our solitude.

Impressions

2008-11-07T00:17:00.000-08:00

I wrote these back in January and March, but they still have some meaning for me, so I brought them with me to Blogger.

Impressions

Why do we get offended when someone we love is hurt by what we've said or done? It only hurts them more, and we become more offended by their reaction.

It strikes me not only how powerful a simple gesture of understanding can be, but how much more meaning can be attributed to it not being given.

After we argued you stopped looking me in the eye, and I knew something had dramatically changed. Suddenly the importance of everything that I had said seemed so trivial compared to the damage it had caused.

We were never really alone. Your partner and the knowledge that the week would end hung overhead like a storm cloud and followed us wherever we went. It felt like we were cheated of the private joy we could have otherwise shared, …if only I was able to shake that cloud. But the weather worsened as the week progressed, and it rained heavily on the day we parted. Your plane was delayed, and even though it was stormy, all I can think of is how much I wish I had been there with you for just that much longer.

California is not as warm as I thought it would be in January, but there are homeless people there not wearing any shoes.

In the states I got the distinct feeling that if I smiled at anyone over the age of eight and under the age of sixteen, I was under suspicion of being a pervert. The day I came home I walked my dog around the block and felt relieved when a young woman of about fourteen years smiled at me when we past by.

In San Francisco car owners must spend a lot of money on maintaining their emergency brakes. … I saw a woman wearing high heals, taking very small and nervous steps down a steep hill, she must have been from out of town. The more you lean forward and swing your arms, the easier it is to climb a steep hill.

The bus driver stopped the bus, got out of his seat, and crouched in front of an old homeless woman who had fallen asleep in a bedraggled and urine smelling heap, her cart rolling unattended back and forth across the isle. The driver paused for a moment, either to see if the woman was alive, or for effect it had on the watching passengers, and then in a very loud voice said “Boo!”

I was only away for a week, but when I returned we both noticed that the others hair had grown in my absence.

Thinking about how I really should put an effort into the relationship I have with the woman I am living with because I suddenly remembered how much pleasure I got when I use to be able to make her laugh, … completely vanishes when after I angered her she tells me how the two of us never really ever got along, how we were never meant to be together. It’s funny how a few words can have such an impact on the course of someone’s life. Never doubt the power of your words.

Sorting my laundry I smelled your scent on my cloths and remembered everything about how it felt to be in your arms.

So, what should I write?

2008-11-06T17:36:00.000-08:00

So, I've created this blog, thinking that I have a lot to say, but here I sit trying to think of something. Tonight I went to a local writers group for the first time; you see, I fancy myself as a writer. I think I can write. I haven't written much though, just a novel that I've half ways finished and has been kicking around with me for about ten years, a couple of short stories, and some bits and pieces here and there. But I love expressing myself with words; I love the rhythm of them, and how it feels to make them do my bidding. So, I want to be a writer, and I figure, hey, the best way to do that is start acting like one, right?