To Battle a Mirror

This has got to be the hardest thing I’ve ever set out to do.

I’ve driven across the country with less then $400, a 3 month old baby and an injured shoulder. That was an easy stroll to check the mail compared to this.

Working two jobs just weeks after having a baby was like tossing a TV dinner in the microwave when put next to what I’m doing now.

Fighting to join the Air Force was nothing more then a casual conversation with old friends, while this, this is a life or death pleading in an unknown language and I don’t even have a phrase book to help me along.

I’ve battled demons, tackled dragons and nightmares, and kept my feet when the earth heaved. I’ve overcome plagues, mutilation, sociopaths and horrors. I’ve fought a battle against an army with only a Shield of Crone, the Sword of Motherhood, and the Hope of Maiden.

But this, this path I’ve been laid, goes so far beyond that, my knees bend in awe, my heart trembles with fear such as I’ve never known before and my mind fights against the knowledge of what must be.

All of that was nothing more then a peaceful fall evening under an Oak. This, this is hard. This is rushing blind folded and bare footed across a newly paved six lane highway during LA rush hour. But my babies welfare sits on the other side.

And what is this? This horrific feat I need to do? This, my dear friends, is write. And that, believe it or not, is the hardest thing I will ever have to do.

Why? Because in order to write I must battle the worst demon you can ever imagine, myself. I stand between me and the book, the page, the word. The armor I wear is damn near impossible to get past. I brandish a flaming sword in one hand, a poisoned tipped cat-of-nine-tails in the other. I know my every move before I do. I can throw obstacles in my way I know are far beyond my skills to over come.

How do you fight a mirror? How do you get past yourself?

With head held high, the power of Knowledge by your side and little help from the Web Mistress, Liberian and knowing that you must.

Character Take Over #3

I was there when the world ended and let me tell you it wasn’t at all like I expected it would be. There was no warning, no indication that something was going to happen that day. I woke up, got my kids all off to school and day care, day dreamed while stuck in the morning rush. You know, the basic everyday bump and grind. But then I got a call from my oldest son.

“Mom, something freaky is going on at school. The army is here, taking everyone onto buses. Anna is with me, we’re in the woods. What should I do?”

Of course my first thought was let them do their jobs and I’ll be there as soon as I can. But as I slung my purse over my shoulder, my gut twitched. “Get the hell out of there! Take your sister and run!”

“Where? Mom, I’m scared.”

“I know Seth, baby, just do as I say. I’ll get your sister and brother and meet you at that place we did that thing that one year with the honey. I love you so much.”

No matter what I tried, I was stuck. They had shut down every road leading out of the city. Every last one, and I knew I had to get to my babies before something horrible happened to them. But how in the world was I going to do that when men with gun mounted tanks blocked my way? When men and women were being gunned down in the streets when they tried to push through?

All The Bliss Without The Jet Lag

It always surprises me how much can go to the way side when the writing bug really hits hard. I can forget to do the most basic of things, like eat or sleep. I’ll get sucked in so hard and so deep that suddenly the sun is down and I’d only just woken up. My days get all burled together into one black and white adventure. My hands cramp up from holding the pencil too long and the side of my pinky is coated with lead dust, smearing the pages.

Despite all the physical discomforts from prolonged writing binges, I come out of the zone feeling so much better then I went in. Sure, my back and bum are telling me, in no uncertain terms, that I over did it. But the bliss I get over shadows all of that. Yeah, I haven’t slept in who knows how long; however, I’m more rested then I have been in ages. So what if my body is screaming at me to eat, it doesn’t matter when I feel filled to the brink.

When life just gets to be overwhelming and I’m pulling my hair out, all I need to do is pick up a story and write. The times when Bells is in a fit and the Puffet is screaming in my ear I turn on a show, place the baby in the a jumper and hide away in the land of Mother Goose for just a few moments and come out again ready to tackle the next poopy diaper and splat of milk on the floor.

I don’t know why this happens and honestly at this point, I really don’t care. It’s an escape, a release, a much needed vacation without the cost or jet lag.

I Think I Need More Coffee...

Looking over the past month I’m floored at everything that happened. Did I really fit all of that into just one month? How is it my head is not spinning like a top while pea soup spews forth? Well, my head is firmly attached and the only pea spewing going on is all the Puffet’s doing.

Despite having switched jobs, moved across a mountain, over come a major health icky, wrote half a novel, started a writers group, battled an ogre, dived into networking, and manifested a new way of life altogether, I’m still sane and relatively unstressed. My being possessed is something that’s never been up for debate; I am and always will be which is why I avoid the above mentioned pea soup. But that’s another story completely. (see character take over’s)

This time of year, the cusp of Fall, always brings out my most productive side. Why? I have no flipping idea. I hate the cold and wet and dark of winter and Fall is just a nasty reminder that the misery is soon to come. Yet without fail, things get done at such a rapid rate I’m left breathless, dizzy and empty. Like taking one too many spins on a whirl-a-wig and losing that hot dog I shouldn’t have eaten anyway.

And it’s not just my writing that explodes into being, it is life events coupled with insane word/page counts. Oh, I just wrote 10,000 words today, so I think I’m going to finish that up by quitting my job and starting a new one in a whole new industry, just for giggles. I got 50 pages edited? Ok, I think I’ll pack up my two kids (again) and move across a mountain because I have nothing else to do. So what if I just wrote two newsletters, 3 shorts and half a novel, I must be board so I’ll battle an ogre while entering the world of networking and finding a new way of life. I just gave birth to a baby so I’ll start a new novel while moving out on my own and getting two jobs, because hell, why not?

Now, with my two girls, Bells and the Puffet, waking up to a new day, I know this one is going to be just as insane as the one before. If not more so. How much am I going to get done today? Am I going to knock out the rest of my novel, start a new one, fumble my way through the new job, slay a dragon and manifest that 20 bucks I’m short till payday all while organizing the first meeting of my new writers group?

I think I need more coffee…

On My Lack of Motivation Today

I should be writing. I should tuck myself away at my desk with my coffee and my book and just knock out the words one page at a time. Yet, I’m not. I’m sitting here, staring out the window, complaining to myself that I can’t seem to get up the motivation to write. I’m wasting my priceless time whining about never having time. What is wrong with me?

The house is still asleep. We had our monthly get together last night; the booze ran freely, so the house will stay asleep for a while yet. My girls (way too young for the grown up juice) are also still asleep. Even the cat is dead to the world as she basks in the early sun. I should take advantage of this rarity. I want to take advantage of this rarity. I’m not taking advantage of this rarity.

My desk is already set up. I don’t need to reorganize my notes or writing to do list. I don’t need to go through a mountain of writing that’s accumulated since my last sprint. My calendar is up to date, I have an empty inbox. The monthly newsletter for my writers group is already sent on its way and the next isn’t due until next month. I’m current on all my social media outlets. So, what’s stopping me from just picking up that pencil and writing?

I’m feeling pretty good today. I can feel the words, the stories, just begging to be released. Already my fingers are fending the feel of paper and graphite. I’m working on my second cup of coffee and the buzz juice has cleared the sleep fog from my head. So I should be able to let the words free. But instead, I’m complaining that I should be writing. How can I get over this hump?

Why is it that my motivation is gone when I have this great opportunity? Why is it I just have to write when things are so crazy I don’t even have time to eat? Would it help if I just put my butt in the chair, picked up the tools of my passion and just did it already? Is that how I’ll get anything done today or will I just stare at the blank page and get all sorts of flustered?

Somethings Gotta Give

The bright sun rises above the mountain’s breast while cheery birds dance in the still summer’s breeze and tall grasses purple the hill side. The crickets and cicadas have gone to rest leaving the morning still and quite.




Bright kaleidoscope eyes search the room from the haven mommy made. Tiny fingers, too small to hold all the muscle and bone wiggle up to greet the day. Little legs pump and a single squeal of delight punctures the silence, bringing the song of birds.

In the other room my blond hired devil angel whimpers at her dreams while long awkward limbs twitch. She’ll wake soon as well, this mommy knows, with a grin and request for milk, chocolate milk. Normally I’d say no, but this morning may be different.

The Puffet finds a bone, there among her toys, a gift from Grandma to sooth her teeth and gums. With the strut of a novice crawler and the grace bestowed on her by her name sake, Little Quillian heads off in search of a new adventure.

And thus is this morning, on the brink of a season change. The Hunt is nearing and this mommy feels the call. The darkened lullaby spurs my fingers across the keys, sends whispers into my ears. The voices grow, a jumble of words driving me to the brink, bringing with them the near frantic need to hide away and put their wonderful stories down for the world to see.

 

There is Fact to Fiction After All...

I’ve never been the biggest fan of romance novels. They’ve always come across as a little too fake. That sappy, sudden and intense love the characters develop never sucked me into a state of suspended disbelief. Life just does not work that way, end of story.

It takes months to develop a deep connection to another person (your own children not included.) Sure, lust can smack you in the face and blind side you, masquerade as love. Yes, you can care for another after only a few moments. But love, real love that transcends the physical connection and human compassion? Yeah, I didn’t believe it was possible; thus, romances never held much for me.

Until recently, very recently, when I met a man. I knew right away that we would hit it off. We have too much in common; share too many interests, beliefs and passions not to. Then there’s the physical attraction, the chemistry, that spark that muddles my head when he’s near.

We spend hours upon hours talking about everything and that connection deepened. Over the course of a week, the impossible happened and now I can’t imagine my life without him. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. The first time we hugged, just hugged, I had an intense sense of homecoming. The void in my life didn’t just fill in, it disappeared completely, it was as if it never even existed.

I’ve never been this truly happy, my patience with my girls has expanded ten fold, I find myself wanting to play with my children, a passion I never thought I was capable of. I look forward to waking up each morning and I can roll out of bed and face the day without working myself up to it.

Each day my pain gets less and this morning I woke up without being all but blinded with pain, I didn’t have a headache, sore joints or stiff muscles. My stress and worries haven’t disappeared by any means but I am better equipped to face them now.

Yes, I’ve learned a priceless lesson-there’s fact to fiction. Those sappy romances do have semblance to real life. It may be crazy, it may go against social norms but I could care less. I’m a better person, a better mother and a better writer for it and that’s what really matters.