Posted in random, Writerly Advice, Writing, Writing and all its cousins

Writing Is…

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*Wise Words
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Posted in drafts/jewelsintherough, life and reflection, poetry, Prompts for Writers, Writer's Prompts, Writing, Writing and all its cousins

Someone Should Have Brought a Compass (Love’s Path)

 

We never knew our way around this place

Content to navigate blindly

The lost leading the lost

I tripped you up and picked you up

You tripped me up and picked me up

Love kept us going,

Or pride

Invested efforts in the wrong direction

Never knew our way

 Method to My Madness 🙂

*Inspired by Day 5 of Writers Digest PAD Challenge

Theme: Disguise

So, around midnight, I started thinking, what can I  do for day five? As we know, this is what my brain does at bedtime.

Slowly, a bundle of words emerged:

We never knew our way around this place, but we were content to navigate blindly, more like the lost leading the lost.  I tripped you up and helped you up, you tripped me up and helped me up. Love kept us going, or pride. Invested an effort in the wrong direction. We never knew our way.

Well, not that bundle of words. It was more like a destruction of words:

066

Yeah.

sms aka whatevertheyaint  11/17

Posted in life and reflection, Perhaps...I'll Let You In, random, Writing and all its cousins

I Can Only Speak for Myself

Initially, there’s this raw space. We may wonder how it got there, or more importantly, why it’s there.  Perhaps we conditioned ourselves early in life to bandage wounds and carry on, so we slap a Band-Aid on it until it festers, not realizing that giving it time to breathe is better than covering it over.

Then, somewhere during the process, a scab forms. There’s this protective layer now, and we go about our daily routines as we did before. That is until we accidentally bump that spot, exposing it again.  Maybe we overestimated ourselves, or maybe we were just trying to…forget. In any event, there it is. And yes, it still hurts.

An undetermined amount of time passes, and we notice the scab is now a smooth scar. We run our fingers over it, remembering that unsightly place.  But we can do it now, we can run our hand across that area. It reminds us that grief cut us open.  Yet, we survived.

SSM-S

aka Whatevertheyaint

Oct 2017

 

 

 

  • I can only speak for my own experiences. Like most people, there have been more than a few negative events in my life, but I learned to just acknowledge them and allow myself to go through the process. This poem came from waiting on a sore to heal on my leg and then, at random (which tends to happen when I’m ready for my brain to SHUT DOWN), thinking how wounds are a lot like the process of grieving, or dealing with any life-changing event. 

 

 

Posted in everyday living, life and reflection, Perhaps...I'll Let You In, Your Turn

From the Archive: Five Years Ago

Where did you go, you know, the person?  Not the one we see but the you inside.

Where did you go?  You let them strip you of your joy,  your energy, your light.

Lose who you are and you become a collage of everything and everyone else.

 

Feeling some sort of way that I can’t define. Is it depression? Frustration? Inertia? My writer’s brain says “caged” but that’s a bit dramatic. It’s a long story that I suppose my conscience has nudged me about before. Something has been trying to tell me something for years.

So when do you say, enough is enough? When do you just…free fall? Is there anything besides concrete down there when I jump?

The abridged version of this story is that the current circumstances aren’t working, at all. However, being the overly cautious thinker I am, I’m reluctant to just open a window and plummet.  It seems impractical to starve while happy, and yet it’s crazy to make money while sacrificing one’s self, family, and sanity. Tis the world we live in. We learn to become collages.

I eventually retired from retail in 2012 due to health issues and a couple of surgeries, one of which didn’t go well.  Now, because of more life changes, I find myself at yet another crossroad.

True, I’ve enjoyed the freedom of being fully present when it comes to family. And in hindsight, things happened that I don’t know if I could’ve dealt with while working full-time–serious illnesses, the death of my father, marital separation.

It baffles me that I got more writing done while working thirty to forty hours, with two small children, than I do without a binding schedule and with kids old enough to occupy themselves. I’ve enjoyed watching them grow, I’ve also missed the security of steady paychecks.  I’m saying this to say that happiness doesn’t come from circumstance. Happiness is a state of mind, period.  But we have to figure out who we are, what we want, and how we’ll balance our true callings with the titles society places upon us.

Who are you? Where did you go? Lose who you are and you become a collage of everything and everyone else.

 

Your turn:

In definition of “inner calling” how would you define yourself?

In terms of societal titles, name at least three that describe you.

If you’re not being true to yourself, what’s the reason?

Map out a way to get back to the real you 😉

 

F.Y.I

In definition of inner calling, I’d define myself as: a writer, an empath, a peacemaker

In terms of societal titles, I’d describe myself as: a mother,  an estranged spouse, an introvert who knows how to play it off when necessary

I’m not true to myself because: I’m not a fan of failure, abstract ideas, or what-ifs

And yes, I’m mapping out a way of getting back to the real me 🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in random, Writing and all its cousins, Your Turn

AS SOON AS (AKA AS WE PREPARE TO WRITE)

As Soon As

  • I can afford another chair, a “real” chair, preferably non-rust, indestructible, with arm rest and the option to lean back, forward, or twirl around as I deem fit.

 

  • I land 12 hours of restorative sleep

 

  • I create THE perfect  playlist

 

  • Fridge is fully stocked with Coke and my mouth with Hershey’s candy

 

  • I complete to-do list. Yes, all seven days worth of must dos (except writing, of course)

 

  • I surf websites I don’t care about

 

  • Clear inbox(es)

 

  •  X out  parts I don’t like

 

  • Put everything back

 

  • Decide for the umpteenth time (because I really thought I had) what to write and how to write it

 

  • Make another list

 

 

Your turn. What are your top five excuses when preparing to write?

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in drafts/jewelsintherough, life and reflection, Prompts for Writers, Writer's Prompts

Prompt 500, Inspired by: Lost the Plot? 500 Writing Prompts and How to Use Them

Prompt 500:
Please Let Me Get What I Want, I’m Begging You

 

“Please let me get what I want, I’m begging you.”

No doubt this is what nurses and doctors witness every day—frantic, desperate people, with their plea bargains and threats, people who want nothing more than to spend eternity with those behind the doors of this facility. But this guy could never understand, never know what it feels like to love someone and have to let go, because if he did he’d relent. 

“Fine.” The man in navy scrubs says as he removes his gloves. His voice is weary, his eyes are bloodshot.

I take a step forward, relieved he’s finally softened, that he realizes how important this time is, even though visiting hours ended at 8:30 and it’s 8:36. But as I attempt to go around him, he stops me and suggest I sit. I don’t want to sit. He needs me. Paul needs me.

A wail erupts from someone’s throat. The sound echoes down the hall as a hand squeezes my shoulder, or possibly my chest. So many hands—on me, on Paul. Pushing and pushing.

*

“Paul?”

A grief counselor? Is that who the guy in the navy scrubs said he was sending? Have I really been here that long, in this lobby?

“How are you feeling?”

I’ve never understood that question, never understood time for that matter. Like, how we think we have forever when we barely have today. Or how it feels as though my heart has broken in two.

sms/whatevertheyaint
4/5/17

This super short story came from prompt #500 in the book, Lost the Plot? 500 Writing Prompts and How to Use Them, by Adam Maxwell.