Amy Has...

The idea of this exercise is to Google your name and the word "has" after it. It's also normally done with the word "likes" as well - but I think I did that on Facebook not too long ago (well, maybe a few years ago). So, I thought I would see what the Googledom thinks I have.

I had wanted to work on my book Indigo this weekend, but have been too busy to just sit and really think, let alone write. So, the point of this is for me to post something on this blog; whether it be trite, hot monkey crap like this, or a deep essay about my feelings (gasp). Hey, at least it's not another poem...

And awaaaaay we go:

1. Amy has...A crush on Shadow. This is an anime video from YouTube. I looked at the video briefly, and I think Shadow is a Sonic the Hedgehog type-looking-thing... so I'd have to disagree with the 'crush' idea. Now if it said "Amy has a crush on Richard Armitage" that would be a completely different story, and one that I would wholeheartedly support.

This is Shadow. My new boyfriend.

2. 'Baby' Amy has...Hoover fright. This is another video, this time showing a poor defenseless infant being tortured by a vacuum for the viewer's amusement. I'm not so easily amused. I also don't have Hoover fright. Aversion maybe, but no fear here.

Cuz, it's soooooo cute!!!

3. Amy has...a strange connect with Katrina! What? This is a reference to two no-name models with similar beauty brand endorsements. I don't currently have any endorsements. Well, unless you count my CoffeeMate endorsement deal, but that is currently unpaid (and unbeknownst to Nestle).

Ooooooh yeah.....

4. Amy has...the talent to capture all of the qualities we love about Lois: smart, tough, funny, warm, ambitious and, of course, beautiful. Awww, I'm blushing! This refers to actress Amy Adams' upcoming portrayal of Lois Lane in a Superman reboot. However, I agree with the description. :)

You go girl.

5. Amy has...Zero Swag. Another video. And probably true - considering that I have no clue what the current description of "swag" is. It used to refer to merchandise like concert t-shirts, etc. Now, I'm not so sure. So unless they are referring to my copious concert t-shirt collection, I can affirm that I have zero swag. Should I be sad about this? I feel like I should.

Err, yea!

I'm going to stop at 5, since there aren't too many "Amy has" titles, and they're mostly in the descriptions. I've chosen to ignore all of the Amy Winehouse references - because there are just too many, and I'm not too comfortable with joking about the dearly departed (there were some juicy ones though).

So what does Google think you have?

If - By Rudyard Kipling

One of my fondest memories from my childhood includes my father reading Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling to me at bedtime. Since then Mr. Kipling has held a special place for me in my own library. If is by far one of my favorite poems, and its message still holds true today - especially in trying times, as these are for me.

My hope is that if these are trying times for you - the message will resonate for you as well.

Christina's World by Andrew Wyeth (1948)

If

by Rudyard kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!


(or a Woman. Just sayin'.)

Preludes - By T.S. Eliot

I've been reading a lot of T.S. Eliot lately, and thought I'd share one that struck me particularly. It's not often that I read poetry, as it's not often that poetry moves me - but I've found a new appreciation for it with T.S. Eliot. It's quite romantic in a darkly fluid sort of way. I don't think it's something that can be explained, rather experienced. So, enjoy.

Preludes
T.S. Eliot

I

The winter evening settles down

With smell of steaks in passageways.

Six o'clock.

The burnt-out ends of smoky days.

And now a gusty shower wraps

The grimy scraps

Of withered leaves about your feet

And newspapers from vacant lots;

The showers beat

On broken blinds and chimney-pots,

And at the corner of the street

A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.

And then the lighting of the lamps.

II

The morning comes to consciousness

Of faint stale smells of beer

From the sawdust-trampled street

With all its muddy feet that press

To early coffee-stands.

With the other masquerades

That time resumes,

One thinks of all the hands

That are raising dingy shades

In a thousand furnished rooms.

III

You tossed a blanket from the bed,

You lay upon your back, and waited;

You dozed, and watched the night revealing

The thousand sordid images

Of which your soul was constituted;

They flickered against the ceiling.

And when all the world came back

And the light crept up between the shutters,

And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,

You had such a vision of the street

As the street hardly understands;

Sitting along the bed's edge, where

You curled the papers from your hair,

Or clasped the yellow soles of feet

In the palms of both soiled hands.

IV

His soul stretched tight across the skies

That fade behind a city block,

Or trampled by insistent feet

At four and five and six o'clock;

And short square fingers stuffing pipes,

And evening newspapers, and eyes

Assured of certain certainties,

The conscience of a blackened street

Impatient to assume the world.

I am moved by fancies that are curled

Around these images, and cling:

The notion of some infinitely gentle

Infinitely suffering thing.

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;

The worlds revolve like ancient women

Gathering fuel in vacant lots.

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

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?

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!

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.