Catching Up with Myself

 Life is seldom as we plan it. I set a couple of goals and fell short. The anthology was a lot of work, but I'm done with the draft. So, that is a good thing.

I set a goal for The End of Winter for the first write through to be finished by January 30th. That will not happen unless I can really get moving. I've had a lot of trouble with sleepiness and I can't pinpoint the cause. Also, I took on an additional writing assignment that has priority. Has to be finished this week. It will be, but it's a time crunch. 

I finished the handbag I was working, and I'm pleased with it. Although, I should have finished sooner. I still have a few bugs I need to work out. However, it looks nice and I'm ready to start a new one that I can sell. I hope. 

Getting Back to Work

 I spent the evening working on the Journeys Anthology and a poem that will be in it. I was so pleased with it after I finished it but I had to record it so I could hear it. 

Just reading poetry isn't enough for me. I have to hear it. Usually, I read favored poems aloud. I don't read novels or other written material that way. No, I don't know why. After hearing it, I fell in love with it. I think, although I'm sure it isn't perfect, it is some of the best writing I've done. 

Or maybe it just reflects my life so well I can relate to it. ㄟ( ▔, ▔ )ㄏ

I've pulled items for as far back as the 70s for this thing. So embarrassing. I was only 15, but I really thought my writing was pretty good. Well, it probably was for a 15-year-old. 

It's been interesting to see my development over the years. I knew it was a thing but have never observed it this close.  Now I have to do a final compilation before figuring out how to get it up on Amazon. 

I'll keep you posted. 

A Little BIrd Told Me

I shared this episode on Facebook first simply because it was there. However, I like to keep track of the drama here. So, here ya go. If you've already read this, you can move along to something really interesting. 

Got sidetracked by drama.  

A tiny bird got into the house. I tripped and fell over the recliner when it flew by. Jet and Kiki went on the defensive. It landed on the desk and Jet was on it in a second. He got it in his mouth. 

I yelled. "NO!"

Mike yelled from the garage, "What's going on!?" 

I yelled, "A bird got in the house! Jet's got it!"

"What?" he yelled back. (He's lost his hearing aid.)

I got up, Jet took off, followed closely by Kiki, followed by me, followed by Mike.

I yelled, "JET STOP!"

He stopped in the hallway with Kiki, but when he saw me he tried to run. I grabbed his tail. Yes, I know. Not cool. But he had this tiny bird in his mouth!

He dropped it. 

I reached down and picked it up. It was so tiny it fit in my hand. It fluttered and flew back into the living room. Jet went after it. 

He caught it again. I made him put it down. I reached down and the stupid bird flew under the bookcase. We couldn't find him.

Mike got down and looked under it with his light. I looked behind. I even took a stick and swept around. Finally, it flew out and into the kitchen. 

Jet took after it. It landed on a water bottle on the counter beneath the paper towels.

Jet was standing on his hind legs, watching.

I grabbed a dishtowel and caught him. 

Mike opened the back door, yelling at the cats to get back. I took the bird out and shook it off the towel. The little thing was so small!

It landed on the patio. We closed the door.

After things settled down, Mike checked the patio. The bird was gone. 

Whew. 

All I can say is, My Life. Eat your heart out.

A Little Bitty Ditty for ALL My Dads

 A long time ago, say around 1993, I had an actual webpage. Back then there wasn't Facebook, but you could easily learn HTML online and create these cool pages. So I did. I had a lot of of poetry written in the 80's, just for fun. I'm not a poet, and I know it. 

Tonight, looking for inspiration to work on a project, I found this thing. I wrote it for father's day and posted it on that webpage. The "Dads" were the men in my life that served that function in some capacity. First, my grandfather who raised me, second, my uncle who stepped into the place of a father when my grandmother died, and my biological dad that I reconnected with after 35 yrs in about 1984. I share this Little Bitty Ditty below.

I sat down before my computer
With confidence and determination.
I knew I could knock out twenty lines
To express my great love and affection.

But when confronted by the desert,
A thirsty man craves a drink.
And when confronted by an empty page,
This writer draws an absolute blank.

So after much thought and struggle,
Followed swiftly by prayer and frustration 
I took a deep breath and stiffened my spine
And promptly passed out due to poor oxygenation.

Upon my return, I decided simple is best
Who said I had to write a rhyme, anyway?
So here it is in a clichéd nutshell 
I love you true, so Happy Father's Day!

The Blessing of the Black Cat

 I watched Jet this morning as he did his usual “love me” routine of head butting and patting me with his paw. He’s such a beautiful cat and I get genuine joy just looking at him. However, it is his personality that makes everyone love him. He loves to be loved and get attention. Yes, it can get tedious, especially when I’m trying to write. 

I took a few photos of him and it struck again me how insane it is these animals were hunted to near extinction. Why would anyone do such a thing? This happened a few times in history because people considered them witches’ familiars or the devil’s tools. How stupid.

By no stretch of the imagination can I see Jet as evil. He is the most loving cat with a sweet disposition. I’ve never seen another cat like him in my life. I have an older cat, a tabby with a mixed coat, Chaz. He’s the alpha of my cat trio, and he’s grumpy. He attacks Jet frequently just because. Jet? He lies down on his back, exposing his belly, and reaches out with a paw in submission. Chaz doesn’t care. He’ll jump him and bite him. Jet runs. This behavior is almost daily. Jet never gives up submitting. Chaz never gives up his aggressiveness. I wonder who is the better feline?

As I write this post, Jet lies at my elbow on a small table I have for his use. Unless he is hungry or thirsty, he will stay there until I leave the desk. He’s never scratched, bitten, or growled at me. In 3 years, he’s meowed twice. He doesn’t tear things up or claw things. He tells me when I need to go to bed and he stays on the pillow next to me. If I lie down for a nap, he does, too. When I feel unwell, it is a great comfort to have him there. I don’t know what more you could ask in a cat. Every person I’ve run across, whether in person or online, who owns a black cat, tells the same stories.

Yes, he annoys me once in a while. I can only stroke his fur, rub his belly, or pet him so long before my shoulder and arm gives out. He’d let me brush him for an hour, but I barely hold out for 20 minutes. He pushed my phone down today as I took photos of him with his paw, a gentle push. I got the hint and gave him attention. 

Over a few years, I’ve seen videos of a handful of cats, in many colors, who are mean cats. They got that way because of the owners' handling, not the cat's nature. Training, kindness, and gentle treatment always results in gentle creatures. 

Despite this, people still torture and kill black cats for fun. Every year around this time jerks look for cats to “sacrifice”. Petty little minds with nothing better to do than kill animals for sport. 

Today, I brushed Jet’s thick, black coat until he was silky. He butted and licked my hands for pets. Brushing must feel wonderful because I get lots of kisses. I don’t understand how anyone could think evil of them or desire to hurt them. I don’t know how they’ve survived history and its cruelty. I’m just glad they did. No matter what history says, my beautiful black cat is a blessing. 

The End of Winter -- Will it Ever?

 I must get my act together. Worked a bit on The End of Winter and realized it is practically a finished first draft. More a novella but a full arc for the most part. 

Ok. Time to figure out how to proceed. UGH. 

Planning a Trip

 I settled for organizing an anthology of all the short writings and poetry I've done over the course of 50 years. Yeah. Fifty. They were in a box, just lying around and on my blogs, and in notebooks and files. So, I'm collecting them, putting them together as a personal anthology. The good, the bad, the mediocre. None is really ugly but there are a few that come close. 

The poetry from 1972 is most interesting to me. It is pretty awful, but I was 16 and really had only been writing for a couple of years and none of the previous work was poetry. This was my first attempt, as far as I can tell. 

The title, for now, is Journeys. Writing, all of it, is a process and you move from one stage to the next. The trip is long and arduous, but interesting. And you'll either get better at it and learn, or you'll stagnate. 

This isn't what I really want to be doing. However, it is writing and I'm working. I've nearly shoved it aside a couple of times but I keep coming back. I won't get rich. I probably won't make any money on it but it will be there for my future relatives and maybe a friend or two who wants to remember me.

Impossiblilities

 It isn't that I have nothing to write about. I do. There are days I sit down with my mind full of the story, only to find that I can't focus. My mind is full of a fog that wraps my brain in a soup like mist, an alphabet soup that refuses to form coherent sentences. Thoughts are there in my mind, but I'm unable to structure into any coherence. Random thoughts interrupt every attempt; did I start the laundry or miss my meds? Did I have an appointment? I'm so tired I can't keep my eyes open. 

No matter how many times I try again, the results are almost always the same. On the days I write 200 words, it feels like a weight is lifted. It doesn't last.

So, I've basically given up. I'm running out of time to finish anything. That's an awful feeling. To see the ending but cannot reach it is hell. You don't stop, but the effort exerted is enormous. You walk away, realizing you're a failure.

I don't know where I go from here. I keep trying but it just feels so hopeless. The things that have happened since 2009 have been just unbelievable. Not just Jerry dying and my getting sicker. There is so much else that has happened I don't dare go into here. I'm tired of battling giants. I'm so over everything. 

I won't stop trying to write, to finish at least one of the several stories. In theory, it isn't impossible. Well, nothing is impossible. Is it?

Until It Wasn't

Adventures and laughter set our days glowing

Love built a home and filled it with companions

Life was good and filled with purpose

Until it wasn’t.

Silver wings carried us to exotic lands 

And strange tongues sang in our ears 

Soaring mountains beckoned and

Broad streets whose lights banished the dark

Couples walking together, arms linked and hearts.

Until it wasn’t.

We grew up, moved on, and dreamed of the future

Planning and building and singing our songs

Children, grandchildren, our family expanding

Bright days glowing, banishing the dark,

We walked together, arms linked and hearts.

Until it wasn’t.

Adventures and laughter set our days glowing

Love built a home and filled it with companions

Life was good and filled with purpose

Until it wasn’t. 

 

365 Days to Write or Not

It hasn't been a great writing year. I've written more than I expected to but not as much as I wanted to. I've been sick more and of course, we've all had to deal with Covid in one way or another. 

I had Covid in October 2019 and Sarah's mom just had it this past week. I've been taking care of her. And no, I haven't caught it. But I may have had it several weeks ago when I thought I had a severe cold. Who knows these days. 

Anyway, writing. Today is the first day of a new year and if I can write one page every day for 365 days, that's pretty much a novel. An average page is 250 words! So maybe do 500 words a day for 365 days? 182,500!?? That's two novels. 

I don't do resolutions. They're lies in fancy dress, as I've pointed out in a blog post somewhere. I am going to shoot for 500 words a day. I know I won't get that much done on some days but if I do even half that, it is a lot of words.

Have a happy new year and may the words flow from your brain and out your fingers.