Friday, August 26, 2011

So Long, Farewell


Today my son’s sperm donor, err, father is moving out of state.  He didn’t give a forwarding address, and for some really childish reasons wouldn’t even say where he was going other than to say “south,” or “somewhere in the Carolinas.”  That might have bothered other mothers in the same situation, but not me.  I say good riddance, and don’t let the proverbial door hit you in the ass on the way out – or better yet, let it hit you. I really don’t care one way or the other.

He hasn’t had a relationship with my son in years, and to be honest, my son does not miss him – or ever mention him, so I never really think about him.  And we’re okay with that.  He went from February of this year to July without a single word from him – and he lived right around the corner.  Yes, you read that correctly – right around the corner.  He never wished him a Merry Christmas or Happy New Year.  He’s been to only one of my son’s baseball games in the last 3 or 4 years, and that was only to borrow money (which he never repaid). And today I see that he's even deleted my son from his Facebook friends. Truly amazing.

I’m sure he blames me for their lack of a relationship, as he has a habit of blaming all of his problems on other people, but I will not take it.  It was, and is not my responsibility to maintain their relationship.  I can count on a single hand the number of times he’s called to inquire as to our son’s well-being or to speak to him directly.  He likes to use the excuse “the phone works both ways,” well in our case it really doesn’t.  Our son doesn’t know how to use the phone, and he surely knows that – therefore making it my fault somehow of course.  If he wanted a relationship with our son, he would have called.  On the rare occasions that he did call, I never refused the interaction.  If I missed the call, I called back.  On the even rarer occasions that he wanted to spend time with our son, I allowed it – sometimes even forcing my son to go when he didn’t want to.  Full access was always available, but never taken advantage of.  I never even spoke badly of him in front of my son either, unlike him, I’m sure.  Common courtesy was always given.  And yet, in his delusional eyes – I’m the horrible one.

You know what? I’m fine with that.

I know I have done nothing wrong, and I get the joy of spending all the time with our son – who is amazing by the way – without having to share it with him.  When he’s sick or hurt, he knows I will be there to comfort him.  When he does something great and wants to share, he seeks me out to tell it to.  I find great solace in that.  We are a team, my son and I, we’ve been through a lot of heartache and a lot of joy together, and I wouldn’t give that up for the world.  My friends even know, if you invite me to something – he’s coming too; we are a package deal.  His father will never know that joy.  Do I feel sorry for him?  Hell no.  He’s a grown man who had his chance to do the right thing, and he instead chose to be petty, and use me as his scapegoat for not having a relationship with his own son.  Who I feel sorry for is my son, who will apparently never know what a real father is like.  My disappointment in that fact can be overwhelming at times – that I made such a horrible choice in partners so long ago, that now my son has to pay for it.

The time has come for me to let that disappointment and regret go.  So to my son’s sperm donor I say:

So long, farewell
Auf Wiedersehen, adieu
Adieu, adieu
To you and you and you

Saturday, April 2, 2011

What if?


One of my favorite authors, Stephen King, recommends using the ”what if?” question to motivate your writing. I know other successful writers utilize this too, and I’ve used it occasionally, but not nearly enough.  When Stephen suggested it in his book On Writing, I took it as an overall question for the main plot of the book, not as a scene by scene mission.

Read it.
Today I discovered it can be used paragraph by paragraph to move the story along, and I’m delighted.  I’ve been able to crank out another chapter just by asking “what if?” as I go.

What if he said this?  leads to – How would the other character react?

What if this happened? leads to – How does that effect the story… and move the plot?

When I get stuck on what to do next, or how something’s going to work, I use this exercise now.  I’ve just had a major plot episode happen in my story, and now the nitty-gritty needs to happen and move it along, so I wrote this:

What if there was a man who could find dead people, and an autistic boy who could talk to them before they died? What would that conversation be like?  What would he ask him to get him to talk? What would the boy be able to say that would be helpful?

I then outlined some thoughts that answered those questions to help me figure out how the next scene will go.  I haven’t finished that scene, but I now have direction.  I’m not a fan of outlining as a rule, as I like my characters to take me where they want, but this is definitely helpful.  It’s not as restrictive as an outline per se, but instead opens my imagination to possibilities.

What if I were a writer?



Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Scratching the Itch.


I’m starting to get the itch to write again. I know, it’s about time, right? I’ve been so busy trying to get my business off the ground, that I haven’t thought much about my book at all. I was, however, finally able to get my first 50 pages to the WeBook Page to Fame Contest submitted a few weeks ago. I’ve had three reviews so far – 2 gave 3/5 stars, and one gave 4/5. Not bad overall, and their criticisms are well met. That planted the seed.


My sister-in-law (the screenwriter) has announced that she is almost done with her latest screenplay. I’m jealous. Water on the seed.


I’m currently reading the fourth book in the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan. It’s epic fantasy, and completely different from what I write, but his descriptions are so well done I find myself wondering how I can do the same in my book. As most writers do (I think), when you see good writing, you even think to yourself; “ooh, that was a nice way to word that.” I want to do that. Seedling sprouts.


So, here I am, with a little seedling poking my brain to write. My only wish is that it were warmer outside so I could sit in my favorite writing spot on the patio. Perhaps I should make do with the office, and Abby snoring gently at my feet.

Time to scratch the itch, or water the seedling, or… something. Hopefully I won’t mix too many metaphors in my book!


Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Goodbye My Friend...


Princess Lucinda Buttercup 1999-2011

I truly believe there are two different types of pet owners in the world: those that have animals that they care for, and those that adopt animals into their family. We are the latter, and today we lost one of our precious family members. The pain of the loss may not be as severe as the loss of a child, but I’m imagining that it comes pretty darned close. The house feels so much emptier without her, even though she barely ever made a noise. It was a comfort that I grew accustomed to – just having her there at my feet snoring softly. She was always underfoot it seemed, even for such a large dog. She wasn’t a shadow like a lot of dogs that follow their owners, she was the road bump that led the way, and often got in the way when I traversed the house. It’s going to be a hard habit to break, carrying laundry baskets up high to be on the lookout for her…

Yes, she was an absolutely horrible guard dog, and would sooner lick you to death than do damage to you. She had an affinity for licking Josh’s face – particularly after meals since the getting was good then. She was a huge mooch, and would stare you down with hungry eyes while you were eating until you caved and gave her something. Of her more lady-like qualities; she often burped, farted, and snored loudly, and she took up the whole dang bed. She liked to chew on my socks (not with feet in them), and I would find them soaking wet scattered around the house. Most people lose odd socks in the wash; I lost them to Lucy.

She did normal dog things too – she would play ball until my arm was tired, chased her tail till she was dizzy, and loved to burrow in the snow. She stayed a puppy as long as she could, but in the end she was just plain tired.

"Dogs have a way of finding the people who need them,
filling an emptiness we don't even know we have." 
(Thom Jones) 

While all of this is probably boring you, it is helping me. The tears run steadily down my cheeks as I remember what a vibrant dog she was until 6 months ago when the Cushing’s kicked in. She was never the same. She would chase the ball to get it, but then lay down to rest a while. And this last week, she couldn’t even climb the stairs to get into the house from outside…

Last night I knew the time had come to let her go, and to let her go peacefully. I helped her into bed with me, and tried to keep her comfortable as best I could. There were many times when our eyes would meet, and I knew she was saying, “Let me go Mom, I hurt.” Few decisions are harder, I think.

"A good dog never dies. He always stays. He walks besides you on crisp autumn days when frost is on the fields and winter's drawing near. His head is within our hand in his old way." (Mary Carolyn Davies) 

When her vet saw her today and agreed that it was time to let go, the guilt lessened some, but not the pain. I was able to hold her as she passed, and tell her what a great and wonderful blessing she was to us, and how much we will always love her. I owed it to her to be with her to the last, and be the last thing she saw. I know she’s no longer suffering, and that is small comfort right now.

It’s hard to explain to Josh what’s happened, but I think deep down he understands. He was able to say goodbye to her this afternoon, and it broke my heart. He really loved Lucy, and I hope he can appreciate at least that she is okay now, and no longer hurting. He’s gotten teary eyed, but hasn’t outright cried. But then, he never does.

I’ll just cry for both of us.

We are honored to have known such a sweet soul, and will never forget you Lucy.

Monday, January 31, 2011

Who's Got My Back? Hopefully Not You...


It’s been too long since I blogged last, so I thought I’d give a brief update.

As the title suggests, I’ve been having some pretty bad back problems of late. It started on Christmas Eve as I was wrapping presents. I awkwardly reached for a gift label, and my back muscles completely tweaked. I spent Christmas Day on the couch as family celebrated mostly without me. That laid me up for a good week at least, and with the help of my blessed Dad, was able to function at least as a household.

Then Friday it got me while doing laundry. Tweaked again, and in much pain. I always knew housework was bad for your health, and now I have proof! So when I ask if you’ve got my back – God, I sure hope not. I wouldn't wish a back injury on my worst enemy. Once you have a bad back, I’m afraid it’s pretty hard to not have one again.

I started thinking about all my back issues yesterday, did some math (yeah, I know – scary), and discovered that I’ve had back problems for half of my life now. Twenty years this August. That’s a long frackin’ time. I originally blew out three discs in my lower back while working as a nursing assistant in a nursing home on August 24, 1991. I remember that day vividly, and the poor elderly woman I was dressing at the time. I swear, I could even hear my back breaking when it happened. That incident had me on Workers’ Comp for more than two years. I eventually settled that claim in 1995, and still kick myself for doing so. I haven’t been the same since.

I continued to have problems on and off over the years, and finally got to a point where I couldn’t even walk in 2003. I ended up having a complete disc fusion on October 13, 2003, another day I’ll never forget. I woke up from anesthesia to find out that my Mother had passed away while I was in surgery (another story for another day). It was an odd, serendipitous event because I don’t think I could have handled my Mother’s death had I not been so loopy on the necessary painkillers. That sounds horrible, but I think it’s true, and I digress…
This isn't my actual back, but this is what it looks like now...
Once I healed from the surgery, I felt like Superwoman. My back was now forged with titanium steel, and would out survive me…life was good. I was careful, for the most part, not to overdo anything that could bother my back. Then I got to where I stopped being careful. Being a single mom, and a homeowner, stuff needed done, and I was the only one to do it. So I did them. What else was I supposed to do?

However, life has a way of bitch-slapping us when we least need it. Christmas Eve, for example. Not when I was building the trellises in the back yard, or putting in complete flower beds in the front, or even putting together Josh’s basketball hoop. Nope, it had to hit me on a major holiday. Not when I was lugging concrete from the back fire pit, or even when I work on my car. Nope, just when I picked up a laundry basket. Bam! Hello back pain…my old friend.

Tired of it? You betcha. Half my life is about long enough I think.