In January, I introduced myself to a new community, Just Be Enough. I mean, I have been a reader for a long time, but when the call to join the writing team went out, I have to tell you I struggled. Hard. I want to take the chance so badly, but…
I had an internal battle with fear, time, and laziness. Seriously.
The biggest battle was fear, however, and that’s why I chose the word Courage as one of my three words to work on this year. The real first step to finding courage came when I submitted my application to the Just be enough staff. Then, the second step came in accepting the invitation to join the team (did I mention I swooned when I got the email?). The third step was writing that first post, putting my voice out there in a new way. Then, last Friday, I took a very important first step to conquering that same fear by coming out of my shell and unmasking the woman behind “SAM.”
In other areas of my life, I had the courage to enforce a new discipline technique on my very stubborn and uncouth stepson. I had the courage to seek out new sources of publication. I dived back into my completed novelette, seeking space to add 3,000 more words to the story to fit the word count of a much desired publishing home.
Now, I need the courage to follow through and make time to work on the novelette, hon it and tone it, until it is “perfect”. Then I need the courage to send it off and put my name out there.
I gathered enough courage to chop my hair off in a new hairdo, and learned to cherish the esteem it gave me. It made me feel pretty, something I don’t often feel. Now, I seek new ways to cherish my appearance, my personality, the make-up of me. I’m also learning to cherish my husband, though many days the task is hard.
It’s not that I don’t love him, because I do, fiercely. It’s that he is selfish more than not, and there are many issues within our marriage because I am standing in the valley with our children while he is on the mountaintop alone. If I don’t learn to cherish the baby steps he is making to climb down the mountain and join us in the valley, our marriage may not survive.
I’m learning to cherish my children in new ways that have me yelling less and understanding more, and as a result, there is more peace and cooperation overall.
I’ve cherished the sacred mornings of quiet where I can spend time with my Lord, delighting in whatever He has to say to me today, and that makes my entire day different. It gives me a feeling of completion that helps me go to sleep at night without all the thoughts of what I could have done different that day.
Completion….word number three. I’ve taken some baby steps towards completion, but nothing I’d brag about it today. I am content with the progress I’ve made towards getting it, however, and that alone is priceless.
How about you? How are you doing achieving the goals you set for yourself this year?
“You know the whole downtown was a playground for the Civil War, right?” Jimmy said, his long fingers reaching up to rub his freshly shaved chocolate scalp. “In fact this very house was used to hide Confederate soldiers. There’s ghosts all over the place.”
He was baiting me, I suppose, since it was my first time visiting his house. I wasn’t afraid of ghosts, although I’d never officially met one, either. I knew my place and considered myself adept to handle whatever came my way. After all, I’d successfully managed to crack a crystal and discover which color witchcraft best suited me. If I could handle a little bit of black arts, I could handle anything. Besides, I really liked Jimmy and it would take more than a ghost story to chase me away.
One night turned into a week and that’s when I met Elvira. She’d glide through the window and tickle my toes with the ends of her long black hair clutched in her pasty white hands. Her blue eyes would soak in the blue of mine and we’d chat about how much she missed her family. She was never warm or cold, more like a vapor, a wind that hovered above me. Once she revealed herself to me, she became a nightly visitor until one night, Jimmy got mad.
He called me into the small dining room. “Is Elvira here?”
“Yes.” I answered. It was true. He didn’t respond, just nodded his head. He centered a black candle on a small plate and lit it. When the flame burned whole, he muttered under his breath, not loud enough for me to hear. He turned to me, his eyes wide open and uttered strange words I didn’t understand.
“Show yourself!” He commanded.
I felt a great wind blow through me. I stumbled but didn’t fall, and then it was gone.
“Are you okay?” Concern danced in the depths of his chestnut eyes.
When I nodded, he continued. “Did you feel anything?”
I nodded again.
“You have no idea how powerful you are. A ghost just passed through you and you stand there as if nothing happened! Amazing!”
I found my voice as I sat in the nearest chair. “That was…something. Where did she go?”
“I don’t know, but she won’t be back!”
He was right. After that night, to my dismay, she never visited again. I had several more encounters throughout the course of our relationship, but none has ever remained as vivid in my mind as the first one.
I believe. Do you?
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For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Venus Moon gave me this prompt: I remember the first time…
I gave Debbie this prompt: The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker
I always welcome and appreciate honest feedback. Please share your thoughts in a comment.
She said she loved the train. In the next breath, she said she loved me. Odd that we were on the wrong side of the train to catch it. If she really loved the train, she would have made sure we were on the right side, but we weren’t.
Look. I’m getting repetitious already.
She had that effect on me. Momma always said to be careful with the four-letter words. Use them to make an impact she would say. Corrine used four-letter words a lot.
I don’t think she always meant them.
Momma would say she was bad but I couldn’t help having feelings for her. She was pretty, though some might say she was a bit on the plain side. Besides her bad habit of using four-letter words, she was nice enough. She liked helping other people. She’d helped that old couple by the train get across the tracks.
She said she loved the train.
Why didn’t she stay on the right side to catch it? Why were we standing here on the slippery cobblestone embracing? Didn’t she realize her weight pulled me forward, making balance quite the task?
Love.
She loved the train. She loved me. Which is true, which is false? Are neither true? Could both be false? Momma always said to be careful with four-letter words. Use them to make an impact, she would say. Corrine used four-letter words a lot.
I don’t think she always meant them.
Momma says people who waste four-letter words are bad. Not worth the ground they walk on, she would say. The ground was so slick.
Letting go was the easy part.
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For the Scriptic prompt exchange this week, Michael gave me this prompt: “People say they love a lot of things, but they really don’t. It’s just a word that’s been overused.” -Bob Dylan
I gave Katri this prompt: headache, shoes, season, an hour, and a garden.
I am also linking this up to wordpress’s weekly writing prompt. This week we were given the picture above as our inspiration.
As always I welcome honest feedback. Please feel free to share your thoughts in a comment.
Accountability. That is a scary word. Seriously. Life is full of accountability, and I like to beat myself up. I would prefer to just flow along in a rubber tube, ruffling no feathers, quietly existing, and no accountability, but I have to be realistic.
That rubber tube still gets used but not nearly as often as it used to. Ruffling feathers has become my job as a mother as I try to keep my children on that narrow path. I hate you is a compliment. I strive for the “angry” outbursts, the I hate yous, because they make me accountable. As for writing, I am the only one I am accountable to, and I have to admit that while I am finding some completion in my writing, I think I am copping out, too.
You see recently, I made some new writing friends through a writing meme called Master Class. Three others and I were the only ones to link up consistently each week. We became the Fab Four. We have started collaborating on stories. I started the second one, currently waiting for its conclusion. Why is this important?
Because I went to my file and found a story I really wanted to finish and added more to it, edited it, polished it, and used it as a starting point for the other three.
I copped out.
I did the same thing when my friend asked me to start her Story Circle. Instead of writing something new, I dove into my files and wrote more on a piece that has been sitting there for almost two years.
You know what is significant about that? They are baby steps. I will claim them as victories. The stories got used, were written, and will get finished. COMPLETION, baby, yeah!
This month, courage and cherish kind of go hand in hand. Writing goals had no cherish, but I had the courage to collaborate with others, to stick my neck out there and submit a story for a new audience.
The biggest aspect of courage this month was in regards to my family. Life has not been easy of late and I have had to make some hard decisions (I am not ready to disclose). These decisions have taken a lot out of me, but they took courage too. I am proud of myself for being courageous enough to admit that things needed to change. I am proud of myself for being courageous enough to address those areas and stand my ground in ensuring change.
In the process, I am learning to cherish what I have more than ever.
So at the end of the day, at the end of the first month of 2013, I can honestly say that I have made small strides to meeting my goals this year. All of the above is also proving to strengthen my faith. I have stayed more positive, yelled less, loved more, and shared more than ever before.
This is going to be a good year.
Are you accountable? Share your journey with us via a week-long link up.
It’s time to restart the Fab Four Fables my friend Eric Storch of Sinistral Scribblings started last month. This time it was my turn to start. I will tag one of 3 others-Eric Storch, David Wiley, or Shannon Potts–at the bottom of this post, along with the rules we are following this time around.
Title: Dying to See You Genre: Thriller
Hazel didn’t care there was no return address on the pristine white envelope. She opened it with excitement anyway. The only mail she’d received of late despite the ad she’d placed in the paper several weeks ago consisted of bills she couldn’t pay and coupons to restaurants she couldn’t afford to dine at, so when the unmarked white envelope addressed to her arrived, she did a little dance right there at her mailbox.
Her body quivered a little as she slid an unlined piece of paper from the envelope. The folds in the paper were crisp as if it was folded with precision. Whoever had sent it had meant it especially for her. She felt bubbles of giddiness float through her chest. She opened it carefully, not wanting to disturb the crispness. A soft musty aroma drifted from the open page, enchanting her nostrils, and taking her mind off the letter for brief moment as the vision of a dashing young man filled her mind. Her heart began beating erratically, evidence of a crush developing on this mysterious figure. Her sigh chased the fantasy away, and her eyes returned to the letter still waiting in her hand. My Dearest Hazel, Please meet me at 1973 High Street at noon tomorrow. I’m dying to see you.
In Highest Regards,
She paused. Where the print of the letter was neat and legible, the signature at the bottom was not. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make out a single letter of the name at the bottom.
Doctors have such sloppy handwriting, she thought. She didn’t bother wondering why a doctor would be reading the want ads of the hopelessly unlovable to begin with. Instead she pressed the letter to her nose, drinking in the smell of his cologne, and spinning around the room until she collapsed on the couch dizzy with glee.
The day couldn’t pass by quickly enough for Hazel. She tried knitting. She tried watching television. She tried to engage her few friends on Facebook. She took a walk around the neighborhood, even stopped for a short while to watch the children play at the park. She went back home and grabbed some bread, stopping only once to pick up the letter and press it to her nose again, before going back out to the pond to feed the ducks. She stopped by to check on old Mrs. Butters and engaged in a lively chat with Mrs. Butters’ granddaughter, Chelsea, who was visiting from abroad. By the time she returned home, she was exhausted and it was still only 7:00 pm. She made herself a simple salad for dinner, added extra bubbles to her bath, and curled up in her large four-poster bed with her favorite book and Mozart on CD to help her drift off to sleep.
She awoke to the warm rays of the sun on her face and the serenade of robins in the pine tree outside her window. She picked up the letter from her side table, now tattered and torn, clenched it to her breast, and inhaled deeply to catch the fading scent of the cologne. She closed her eyes and let her daydream take over again, drawing her into a world of rainbows and sunshine with a tall, dark, handsome, and doting man. The white picket fence surrounded a creamy yellow house with white shutters. Two tow-headed children ran out the white door carefully dressed, the girl’s ponytails bobbing as she chased her brother down the sidewalk, one ribbon askew and ignored. Her dedicated husband pulled into the driveway in his white Lexus at precisely 6:00 pm, gave her a peck on the cheek, and sat down to his still hot from the oven supper. A secret smile was exchanged between them as he moved to the living room…
The musical chime of her cellphone brought her crashing back to reality. She sighed wearily as she picked it up.
“Hi, Julia.” she said.
“Hey, Hazel. The girls and I are going to the lake and we want you to join us.”
“It sounds tempting but I’m going to pass.” She worried that revealing her lunch date to Julia would somehow jinx it, so she said nothing.
“Why? You haven’t hung out with us in weeks. Did you start a new job or something?”
“Or something, yes. Anyway, I really need to get ready to go. Thanks for the invite. I’ll check in when I’m done and see if you are all still there later. Bye.”
Two hours and twenty minutes later, Hazel was ready. She blew a kiss to her cat and locked the door to her apartment. She took one more look at the map before logging the address into her GPS. She was delighted when the GPS revealed the location to be one of the hottest new diners in town. It would be the longest twenty-minute drive of her life. Saying a quick prayer for light traffic, she pulled out of the parking lot and began her journey.
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THE RULES:
1. No one will be privy to the story until it is posted.
2.The next person won’t know who they are until they are tagged, when the post goes live.
3. The person publishing the most recent part must adhere to the following:
choose the next person to write the story
keep the title and stay within the genre provided
provide an image of their choice at the top of their post that relates to their piece
the story must continue as a whole and not combined with any other prompt or meme
4. There is no word count or time limit.
And in this spirit, I tag Shannon to write the next piece.
Thanks for stopping in! I welcome and appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts before you leave.
I gathered enough courage to chop my hair off in a new hairdo, and learned to cherish the esteem it gave me. It made me feel pretty, something I don’t often feel. Now, I seek new ways to cherish my appearance, my personality, the make-up of me. I’m also learning to cherish my husband, though many days the task is hard.
