Posted in Life, Uncategorized, Writing

What I Used to Be..

Posted on by jennrae

This last writing prompt was hard because I have never really tried my hand at poetry. And there is something inherently intimidating about trying your hand at something you haven’t done before. I have always handicapped myself unnecessarily with wondering whether I am good enough or not, whether I should bother trying or not. If I can’t attain perfection what’s the point?

But then I remind myself it isn’t always about the destination but the journey, I know how cliche, but it is how we learn and grow, how we become the people we are in this moment. I remember signing up for college at UW Tacoma to get my Bachelor’s in Communications. I failed, I let life distract me and get in the way of my goals. I had this dream of becoming an editor maybe even going to Manhattan, publisher’s row as they call it. I remember talking to my mom on the phone and she telling me I was wasting everyone’s time and money. I should give up, I won’t get the degree. To this day I am sorry I didn’t prove her wrong. It wasn’t that I didn’t have it in me. It was I got lost along the way. I got wrapped up in the unnecessary drama of life.

I let someone force their way into my life and home and completely destroy me. He also told me I was worthless, a piece of garbage and undeserving of life, an utter failure. I think we do internalize what others say, especially if it mimics our insecurities as this did at the time. I was depressed I know now, and that’s why my grades slipped and I eventually dropped out with nothing to show for it except a mountain of student debt.

But, my mom, this guy, they were wrong about me. I was wrong about me. I know this now. They didn’t really know me, they knew what they thought of me, and I think mirrored their own insecurities onto me. They couldn’t do it. They wouldn’t do it. They would be wasting their time and money. I could have, had I been a stronger person. If I had learned to say no. If I had learned to stand taller, straighter and say, get the hell out of my head, i don’t need any naysayers. I can do whatever I damn well please, within reason. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but they all help to make up me. Who I am and who I will become. Being a life time learner means constant change and growth and never allowing oneself to become stagnant.

So if this poem isn’t a masterpiece, oh well. At least I tried my hand at it, and I didn’t give up. It was simple, and I did try my best and attempt at refining it in my clumsy way. Writing lifts me up to that higher place, where I can be at the mountaintops, where I can go to the moon in a rocket ship or sip coffee from a balcony in Sicily. I can do whatever I want when I am writing and it is nice to have some control when often in life your control is limited.

I am beyond caring about what people think of me but what matters to me is when I close my eyes, I know the person I am, and I care about what I think of me. Being true to myself and others and taking personal responsibility is the cornerstone of my life. That guy who was momentarily in my life also told me that the world was a dark and dreary place full of evil people and liars and that I wouldn’t stand a chance. I was too much of an idealist. My worldview wasn’t realistic.

I say I don’t want to live in that world, I would rather believe in a fantastical world than believe in his ugly dark world. Perceptions are part of reality and I choose to live in a brighter more beautiful world by choice. I choose to believe people are good at heart when I meet them. I choose to believe there is beauty truth and hope in the world. And, I believe I can attain perfection in a perfect moment at the perfect time. It is momentary, but when it happens you know, and it is the best feeling in the world. The striving is what counts. Keep striving, don’t give up. Knowing is half the battle, from GI Joe. Wisdom from a kid’s cartoon. But I have never forgotten it. Wisdom comes from everywhere.

 

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing prompt 6, a poem (ps im not a poet)

Posted on by jennrae

Alphabet Poem

Write a 26-line poem using all the letters of the alphabet. Have the first line start with the

letter “A,” the second “B,” the third “C,” etc.

 

Admiring the view of the sunrise, red star in bloom

Basking in the sunshine and rays of love caressing the skin

Casually examining the mountains reaching for the heavens with icy fingers

Dealing with the absence of a lover feeling the love of the freedom that comes with distance

Effortless beauty of blue skies and blue eyes

Finishing a cup of coffee slowly savoring the bitter taste of being alive

Gazing at the mountain tops examining the white tops of forever

Higher than the tallest trees but oh so far away from me

If only they were nearer I could climb higher and lift myself to a higher place

Journey of the mind’s eye into a paradise where sun meets moon and dances the night away

Knocking on heaven’s door and waiting to be let in

Leaving too soon and back to earth in a rocket ship of my own making

Moon in full glory shining down upon me but oh where has my sunshine gone?

Nowhere and no one to witness this pain of separation of something so simple and true

Only one view at a time cannot have heaven and hell on earth, only one rocket to the moon

Passionately awaiting the sun with its rays of warmth to fill my cold heart

Questioning existence and the point of it all, what if this is all there is?

Reveling in the aroma of coffee mixed with flowers blooming and the endless possibilities of an unwritten future

Striving for equilibrium and security but yearning for passionate adventure

True to ourselves first, others second place which will finish first?

Universal abundance and glory can be had in dreams easily enough

Vitality like sunshine and moonbeams combined to fill my being with true love and eternal hope

Wonder at the beauty of the world and how I could be a part of it all, one piece of a million to make up a whole dream

Existence based on love and loving others while being true to the self

Yelling at society and the rules imposed on the unwilling, individuals over the group can feel the world instead of suppression

Zealous in adventure and life and living and doing and being the sun and the moon

 

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing prompt#5 Moments in the rain

Posted on by jennrae

American Graffiti

You’re downtown, and see graffiti in an unlikely place—graffiti like you’ve never seen

before, concerning someone you know.

 

I left the small independent theater, hands in pockets, zipped up hoodie casually looking at the old brick buildings wondering just how old they were, knowing for certain they are much older than I.  Some of them had old advertisements, cigars, beer, and industrial signage of a bygone age. And then I saw it. At my eye level an obviously modern invading piece of graffiti. But it wasn’t some gang signage or random cussing. It was a work of art. It was covering the door of an old shut down book store, windows boarded up I could see dust and cobwebs on the edges and broken glass shards whether through violence or neglect it would be hard to say.

The graffiti itself was colorful, a caricature of a girl with big eyes, sad eyes and long hair. Done in reds blues and greens, it looked almost alive, reminding me of the waif in the logo of Les Miserables but older. This girl wasn’t a child. She looked very familiar, too familiar. But it couldn’t be her; she had left town years before to start a new life in LA, or New York, or someplace giant and epic. Anyplace but Tacoma. I could see her smile; I could see the sparkle in her eyes as she talked about her dreams and how she would be rich and famous and never come back. This town was too blue collar for her, too dirty, too real.

She needed castles in the air the way some needed air to breathe.  Reality was the dream killer, and reality was everywhere here, it was absorbed in the bricks in the old advertisements, in even the air, in the streets themselves.  What startles me more than the picture making me think of her, was that there were dates painted below in red, 1983- 2015. Of course I knew it must have just been a coincidence, a picture reminding me of her, reviving an old memory. It wasn’t actually about her. It couldn’t be. But I felt a chill go down my spine. The dates seemed like birth and death dates.  What else would make sense?  I searched my phone thinking perhaps I still had her number. She had probably changed it over the years, but on the odd chance that I could reach her, and put my mind at ease about these dates. Boy, was I being ridiculous. How could it be her? That made no sense.

I recall seeing her before she left; I gave her a ride to the greyhound, her bags packed with a one way ticket, short blonde hair dancing in the breeze, a silly hat on her head, askew, scarf around her neck and vintage blazer with jeans. Of course the jeans had holes in the knees. That was in at the time, although the hat was her own quirk. Her family was distant, she was a free spirit, and coming and going as she pleased and no one batted an eye or thought it crazy that she would quit her waitressing job one day, invest in a ticket and go to a town where she knew no one. It was just a Sherri thing to do. I remember the look in her striking green eyes, a look of just try and stop me, defiance, determination, and a youthful but hard look. I gave her a tight hug; I could feel her heart beating fast, adventure filling her lungs. I whispered in her ear, “Good luck. Break a leg, or whatever they say.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I’m not an actress. I want to model, remember?”

She was only 5 feet 2; I didn’t have the heart to tell her most models were tall. I didn’t want to be the one to bring her castle crashing down to earth. I figured life had a way of doing that on its own. I thought I was being a good friend, and maybe more, but she was never in reality enough to catch. She was more like a ghost, if you caught her in a moment, she would fade out the next. She couldn’t be nailed down. Maybe that was part of the appeal. You couldn’t own her; you could only hope she shared a moment with you.

I tried to write her over the years, but the letters always came back return to sender, no such address. I guess she moved a lot, which sounds like her. I must have tried calling. I believe I usually got her chipper voice mail, “Hi this is Sherri! I will get back to you when I can, Love ya!” She shined a little on everyone. Maybe she was just a little too bright for this world. Maybe she made it into her castle after all. I found her old number, I never deleted it. Maybe I had let hope live on in the recesses of my mind. Maybe this was all much ado about nothing. I hit the button, waiting for a ring.

“I’m sorry but the number you called has been disconnected…”  My heart sank. I looked back into the strangely hypnotic sad eyes. Was she ever sad? Why would I think of her being sad? I tried and I could only recall one time.  I walked up to her at school and she was sitting on a bench looking pensive. I sat down casually next to her, and said “Hey.”

She looked up, tears in her eyes. She showed me a paper about something. It started to rain, and I remember the big splotches on the news print. I guess it was an article about something, someone? Why couldn’t I remember? I recall the rain mixing with her mascara, making it dribble down her face making her face even sadder.  I offered her my coat; she didn’t have one on for some reason. Her bag was slouching next to her. Books just peeking out the top. “What’s this about? I said, taking her chin and lifting it slightly so I could see into those eyes. Greenish blue, you could get lost in them and not come back.

“It’s over. My life’s over.”

“Isn’t that a bit dramatic?”

She paused, crumpled the paper, and threw it in a nearby garbage bin.  She sniffled, and breathed out dramatically. “It’s okay. I’m sure I am being silly. We should go in now before I’m late to class.” She got up, picked up her bag, and walked away from me. I was left there in the rain wondering what that was about. Now, I will never know. I do not know why I didn’t follow her. Why didn’t I follow?

Posted in Life

My life a Work in Progress– an Update

Posted on by jennrae

I have been posting some short fiction that is pretty rough, it literally is writing prompts and whatever pops in my head, unrefined as it is, it is getting some of the rust off, as I am attempting to rewrite my novel for the 10th time.

So, as far as life goes, all is going pretty well for me.I feel like I am in the best shape of my life, and am even toying with the idea of taking up running. I feel pretty motivated in general right now. I meditate on a regular basis just to feel less stressed and I think it is really working. I feel much better about myself and even feel like I am the gorgeous person I am and that I deserve it. In short, I feel damn good. Financially, still working on getting out of the pit of debt, student loans and the like, but I am finally in a career that I know will pay well, and it will provide me the long term security I need.

I am also going to treat my writing more like a second job. Daily writing, and I am going to try to enter contests see if I can’t get some stories published and in print while I work on re writing. I also eventually would like to do some traveling and maybe learning.

My son takes music lessons, and acting, and swimming again soon, and I feel like you are never too old to learn, you know? I would love voice lessons, maybe learn guitar, maybe learn another language. I have a smattering of French that I think would come back pretty quick if I had someone to talk to. I would also love to go on some hikes, maybe be a bit more adventure-ish. I feel like I have some time to make up for getting caught in the grind a bit too long. I had an unhealthy job for a couple years that drained me, and feel like I have finally got myself back from that abyss.

I finally feel in love with myself, like I don’t need someone else to validate me. I feel beautiful, smart, and sometimes, even funny. I have also embraced positivism to the point where I really enjoy it. If you can choose to live in the sunshine or the shade, wouldn’t you choose the sun? It isn’t always easy, sometimes when I have a mountain of work in front of me I get that split second thought of ‘oh crapola, why me?’ But, I consciously turn it around into ‘job security, yay! ‘

It takes work, but like most things that are worth doing, you get what you put into it.

 

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt 4,Office Work

Posted on by jennrae

Sent to the Wrong Printer

You’re at work and you print something personal (and sensitive). Unfortunately, you’ve sent

it to the wrong printer and, by the time you realize it, somebody else has already scooped

it up.

 

The sound of the laser printer winding down and the swish of a paper swiftly being grabbed startled me from my reverie. I looked at my computer suddenly spilling coffee on my mouse pad. Oh crap! I looked and sure enough my embarrassingly bad diatribe venting about the futility of reaching out to a co worker crush went to the manager’s printer. More physical evidence of wasting work time on personal endeavors because I was bored; great just great, that was exactly what I needed.  The gray walls of cubicles surrounded me, my little local printer sat empty and quiet. I looked at the printer options on my screen, yep; the manager got my embarrassing letter not meant for anyone’s eyes but mine in his hand as I sit here with coffee on my desk. How to explain this? I look around the cubicle assessing my possessions thinking about the time it would take to pack up my things and do the walk of shame out of the office.

I reluctantly get up to get a paper towel. Might as well pick up my mess. The next victim to be placed here might appreciate it. I all ready was feeling sorry for my replacement when my phone rang in its shrill obtrusive way. Here we go, I sigh resigned.

“Minerva Abrams, how can I help you?”

“In my office, now.”

“Oh, okay, so, what’s this about, Doug?” I say trying to pour the innocence in my voice like honey. They say the people on the other end of a phone call can hear if you smile when you’re talking to them, I was smiling, hopefully that will count for something.

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

Yeah, don’t think that fooled him at all. Was my name on the document? Was he computer savvy enough to figure out it had come from my machine? Maybe I can pass it off as somebody else? I picked up my current portfolio of sales prospects that I was to cold call later today and a notepad. Got to look professional even if I feel like a fraud. Fake it till you make it, right?

I breathe in deeply, and let out a breath slowly, trying to be calm and collected. I want to walk in confident, and worry free, strong steps in imperial high heels. If I got to go, I want to go out like I came in with my head high, at least on the outside, on the inside I can be mortified and small as long as no one else sees. Appearances are everything. I am sure in a week everyone will know every embarrassing detail. But today, right now, I can escape the shame.

I take confident strides high heels thudding on thin carpet passing rows of cubicles that all look the same, some people looking up, others not. I walk by the secretary with the flowers on her desk, and a smug smirk on her face, her eyes saying, “uh oh, you really did it now. Hehe.” I think to myself, what goes around comes around, you smug #@#*&*@.

I knock on Doug’s door with authority the secretary looking at me open mouthed looking surprised and horrified that I bypassed her.  I saw her pick up the phone to let him know I was there, even though he called me to come over, and I am sure knew it was me.  I stood up straight as he opened the door and motioned for me to take a seat with a white paper in his hand. I couldn’t see the writing on it, and wasn’t sure if it was my infamous letter or another paper.  I bravely perched myself on the edge of the chair, not sure I would be sitting for long. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, blood pumping in my ears. Please, God, just get this over with, this other shoe is taking forever to drop! I breathe again deeply as he takes a seat across from me after shutting the door. I hear the door click shut. Yep, this is serious. He only shuts the door when you are in trouble. I try to keep a brave face, but feel it slipping a bit as the toll of pretending to be brave is getting harder and harder every passing moment.

“Minerva, I have a paper in my hand that I believe may have come from your computer.” Crap, I think silently, so much for him being computer illiterate.

“Oh really? How can you be sure?”

“Well, let’s see. You want me to read it aloud, or are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“What is this about? I haven’t the foggiest.” The foggiest? Really? My mind has obviously melted. Who says that? I look down, nervous. He has found me out for sure.

“Okay. You want to play this game.  All right then. Here we go, you tell me when you want me to stop, okay? ‘ To whom it may concern: I am tired of your games. You are friendly and flirty one day, and ignore me the next. My mom says I’ll be an old maid because I’m still unmarried at 30 but I keep hoping you will ask for my number, and ride off in the sunset. I am so angry at you right now for not asking me and for offering lunch that one day and then forgetting about it while I sat at I heart Burgers all by myself like some pathetic person eating all by myself like an idiot. Oh and the person next to me keeps forgetting to wear deodorant and it is totally gross. And why does Sharon keep getting roses? She is such an ugly pig and terrible at her job.’ There’s more, a lot more, in a similar vein.  It also goes on to say ‘management here sucks and Doug has no idea how to work a computer if it was unplugged he would call in tech support. Ps the tech support guy is kinda cute too.’ I think almost everyone is mentioned here, except you of course, and Al the maintenance guy who works at night. So, I am guessing despite my lack of computer skills, that this is yours. Am I correct, or do you want me to call tech support and get it officially confirmed?”

I squirmed in my seat, “Well, so what happens now? I am sorry for that, it shouldn’t have ever happened.”

“You don’t say? Well, this isn’t the first time I have caught you using company time unwisely. What do you think I should do?”

“hmm. Let me off with a warning? Got it. Won’t happen again, sir.” I give my winning smile. He looks concerned, brow furrowed, looking at me like he wasn’t sure what to do with me like I was a two headed giraffe with purple spots.

“So, who is this unfortunate guy you are so mad at?”

“Don’t worry, it isn’t you, Doug.” Maybe I should’ve lied, might have helped my case. My darn mouth going faster than my brain again, oh well. Time to take your medicine. I am tempted to close my eyes and just wait for the hammer to fall.

“Tell you what, Minerva, I understand how these office romances can start, and I know it can be frustrating working here calling people who don’t want to receive your calls. It isn’t a fun job, and I know it can be boring. I am willing to give this to you on one condition.”

My eyes open wide, hmm, what’s this? “Really? Say it, and I will do it.”

“You need to go up to this guy on your lunch break, or after work, not on work time, and tell him how you feel. Not on work time, understand? On work time, you will be working, or I will have to take other measures. I know this will be embarrassing for you, and possibly painful, oh, and don’t ever, ever do this again, okay?”

“Okay. But why are you being so nice?”

“Let’s just say I might have a regret or two. But first, do we have a deal?”

“Does Sharon know all about this, because I know she talks and I don’t think I can come back here with everyone snickering.”

“Sharon always acts like she knows more than she does. I do not share confidential information with her. That would be very unprofessional.” Doug smiled and held the paper out to me and I grabbed it from him hastily. In that moment I realized maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. If he took some computer classes he might even be an okay manager.

Posted in Fiction, Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt 3 The Donut Shop Mystery

Posted on by jennrae

One Day you come into work and find a cookie mysteriously placed on your desk. Grateful

to whoever left this anonymous cookie, you eat it. The next morning you come in and find

another cookie. This continues for months until one Day a different object is left—and this

time there’s a note.

 

“Hmmm. What’s this? A note on the desk. It is sealed, doesn’t say who it is from? Hmm. Could this be from the same person leaving the mysterious oatmeal cookies with white chocolate chips and dried cranberries? My favorite. A close call between the classic peanut butter cookie to be sure. There is a small locket by the note. One of those old time classic heart lockets that you can swing open the face and put a little picture, a super small picture in if you have one that small. I open it slowly looking around to see who was nearby. Maybe the cookies weren’t for me? Maybe I was eating something meant for someone else? But the whole secret admirer thing was way more romantic and titillating than a mistaken identity. Besides, no one had said, hey what are you doing eating my cookies?

Curious, I looked into the tiny locket. It had initials in it, no picture though. It simply said E.B. I looked at the sealed note. Plain envelope, no mention of who it is for, or whom it is from. The seal was a smiley sticker, a simple sticker that was yellow with a silly face, tongue hanging out with silly eyes. It was placed in the middle, it would be easy to open and reseal, I thought to myself. Curiosity killed the cat, good thing I’m not a cat…seems almost like the type of seal one would use for a child’s card.

I looked around one more time, and carefully peeled back the smiley face, and opened the envelope, inside was a small piece of thin parchment like paper. In delicate handwriting, cursive scrawl not typed, was a simple letter. I took it out, and looked at the words wondering who was leaving this here and why. The letter simply said, “ Dear whoever has been enjoying my cookies,

I hope I added some spice to a boring work day. Meet me for coffee at 2pm at the Donut Shop. Don’t be late, and bring this letter.”

Hmm. Should I go to the the Donut Shop at 2pm? What if it is a crazy stalker type? What if it is a person who is into something violent and I get kidnapped and kept in a basement for years? Okay, how often does that sort of thing happen? But, what if this is one of those times? Arrgh, who is EB?

I knew what I would have to do. I would have to discreetly go to the Donut Shop which was located across the street from my workplace. The person is either a co worker playing a prank, highly likely, or a secret admirer who is also most likely a coworker playing a prank. Or, an unknown creepy stalker guy who has been watching me come and go from the Donut Shop.  But then how would he get this stuff in here? Only employees have access back here? Nothing to do but go and find out.

I pull my long black wool coat close to me in a virtual self hug as I leave the office carefully. I say good bye to people at their cubicles who grunt without looking up as I walk out at the unusual time of ten til 2pm. I walk with purse clutched tightly in one hand, other hand in a pocket with a small canister of mace. You know, just in case. I hit the button to use the crosswalk, traffic lulls to a stop to the loud beeping of the pedestrian green light, and I walk with purpose, one foot in front of the other, like I have all the time in the world, attempting to project calmness, confidence, like I don’t have a care in the world. Just going to go grab a coffee, and possibly some coffee cake, and enjoy a break out of the office. I’m not meeting a random stranger from an anonymous note that would be foolish in this day and age. Downright reckless! Nope, not me!

I open the door slowly, here the tinkle of the door bell move as I did so. Looked into the eyes of a bored cashier by a long counter, her eyes lidded and glancing at me while texting someone on her phone. I look around at the tables, see people scattered here and there. Someone was sitting in the corner, with a newspaper over their face, all by themselves.  They had a long coat on and a hat, like some old time detective from a Bogart movie. The newspaper hid the face, but from the body language of the crossed leg and the build, I would say this was a man, old or young hard to say. I looked at the other tables, because I didn’t know who this person was. I still had the chance to change my mind and leave the shop. The cashier was still texting, and hadn’t said hi.

I went to an empty table, pulled out a chair and sat down, placing my purse on the floor next to me, glancing at a paper menu on the table. Drip coffee 1.99, refills 50 cents. Donuts 2.49 each, or 5 for a dozen. I get the letter out, resealed with its smiley face, and put it visibly on the table thinking the person might take it as a cue to come over and reveal themselves. The man in the corner adjusts the paper noisily, moves his legs as well, but doesn’t get up. Hmm. If not him, then who is it? I look around casually, or trying to make it appear casual, noting other people sipping coffee and reading or talking. No one especially stood out as suspicious except the weird guy in the corner. The cashier comes over noticing me for the first time and says, “Hon, you know what you want?” What a question! I don’t even know what’s going on here, let alone what I want.

I say simply, “A cup of coffee and a small piece of coffee cake. I’m on my break from work.” She gives me a look like if you think that will make me hurry you are mistaken, and walks back to the counter. The man puts his paper down now, and I take a peek to see if it is someone I know. The face doesn’t seem too familiar, but it does seem like I’ve seen it somewhere before.

“Excuse me,” I say loudly, “Sir, are you waiting for someone?”

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for someone, actually.” He says voice kind of gravelly. Sounds like maybe a smoker. Maybe early 50s.

“Does it have anything to do with this?” I hold up the note in its smiley envelope. His face turns into a smile and he walks over. “Can it really be you? My little Junebug?”

“What? I want to know what this is about? “

The man seems sad all of a sudden, and I see a tear form in his eye. “I have missed you so much. I haven’t seen you since you were 5 years old, and you moved away. Your mother wouldn’t tell me where you were, disconnected your number.  I have tried everything to find you for so long. I had all but given up hope when I saw your name in the paper for helping out that family through your work. I knew it had to be you even though the last name was different. I hoped it was you, but I was scared about what you would think of me, what you had been told possibly. I am sorry. I didn’t know how to reach out the right way. So, I had the waitress here send cookies over and she agreed to leave the note and locket for me.”

“Who are you supposed to be again?” I said incredulous.

“I’m your father. I know your Mom remarried, and you probably don’t remember me. I was working all the time back then, and I didn’t spend enough time with you. But surely, you remember?” The man looked hurt, and confused.

“What was your daughter’s name? Who do you think I am?”

“June. My little Junebug.”

Suddenly it all made sense. June was the person who used to have my desk. She had moved on to another office, into management I think. I had inherited a lot of pens and things left behind from her, but this had to be the saddest of them all.

“I’m so sorry. But I am not June. I am Tina. I think she used to have my desk.” I added lamely, holding the note out to the man. “Thanks for the cookies though.” I smiled awkwardly, looking at my watch. “Oh, looks like my break is over, good luck with the search.” I picked up my purse, left a couple dollars on the table for the cashier who was back looking at her phone, and briskly walked out of there. Darn. Mistaken identity after all.

Posted in Uncategorized, Writing

Writing Prompt Boot Camp #1..Breaking up with Writer’s Block.

Posted on by jennrae

“Dear Writer’s Block, it’s not you, it’s me …I am going to commit to writing every single day whether I feel especially inspired or not.  I have spent way too much time giving myself excuses for not writing getting caught up in drama and little things and entertainment that is created by others. I am a creator and it is time for me to create rather than consume.  I need to brush the dust out of the brain to edit my novel properly.  I need to do some fresh writing.

I did more writing when I didn’t have a car. It is funny how when you are riding public transit or waiting for the next bus to come you feel the need to fill the void of that ten to fifteen minutes, but if you are comfortable at home it is just as easy to pop in a movie or binge watch Breaking Bad. There is something about being in between places that forces me to be creative and perhaps my life has become too predictable, too ordinary.  There aren’t enough gaps for stories to thrive. My time is scheduled, over booked, except for writing. Writing is my passion, my key to being centered and fulfilled and not making time for it often leads me to feeling listless or aimless.

For that reason among others, you have to go Writer’s Block. I have spent way too much time, money and energy on you and wasted precious time I can never get back. I know of no one else who has 4 novels sitting on their floor since 2001. And over a dozen short stories but none written this year. I want to do NANOWRIMO this year, no excuses. No maybe next year. What if I were to die in a freak accident next year? I want no more regrets.  I don’t want to look back wondering where all my time went. Wondering if I am leaving any contribution to society or any mark on this world. Anything for my son to be proud of? I am a descendant of Mark Twain, or his father anyway, and how many people can say that? I am sure there are some, but not many.  I have a writer’s legacy, I have been writing since I was 6. I went to the Cougar writing conference at 11. I got to see Peninsula College back then. I had a lot of encouragement from teachers.

I drew horses and unicorns and dreamed a lot. I made histories, names, and genealogies of fictional families, races, creatures.  Where did that go? I used to put myself to sleep by going through my own fictional soap opera called Zennis. Still haven’t written that story, and it is one door among a long hallway of dimensions waiting for me to explore;  so many stories lying dormant, waiting for my pen to bring them to life, to share the stories with others. I miss having a writer’s group, perhaps I should find a new one. It helped me to stay focused, to make time. Timed writes were helpful too, really allowed me to see other settings and forced me to think of other ideas I may not have without that pressure and limitation.

So, I am going to commit to myself, to get up at 5 am, and write until around 5 30 so that I can write without distractions and it is a time I can write on a daily basis since I often get up at 5 30 to get ready for work, it will force me to fit it in. If I am feeling truly inspired I will have a notepad with me and will write later. I used to keep one by my bed because some of my favorite stories actually came from dreams and if you don’t write them down immediately little details disappear, and sometimes whole planets and languages are just gone. And the only thing I can remember is that it was really cool. That makes me sad because I know it was a moment in time and the story is gone forever never to return.

When I was deep into writing my novel for the first time I fell in love with the characters, I lived and breathed with them, felt bad when they were hurt. They felt like real people. I was obsessed and focused and there were never enough hours in the day. I would get home from work and write until I went to bed, got up early so I could write before work, go to work, come back home and write some more. It got so intense; my husband at the time actually became jealous of my novel because I spent more time writing it than talking to him.  He passionately hated my novel, but would brag to others that I had written it.  It is hard for people to understand the total concentration required; the shutting off of everything but this one thing for hours. It seems crazy, like a neurosis. Maybe it is something a creative person could understand but a more traditional sort might have trouble with. Perhaps writers are crazy.

When you, Writer’s Block come in, it is like the fountain has been shut off, and no matter how hard I turn the knob nothing happens. It is like my heart has been removed, but I don’t die, but I am not alive either. It is a horrible stagnant feeling. But most often it just is a sign that I have drifted too far from my authentic self or got caught up in the minutiae of everyday existence.  The day to day grind kills dreams. Too much time worrying about bills, and tasks and what other people are doing or not doing, it removes me further from what I should be doing. It is easy to get caught in this trap, this nonexistent existence.  This killing of time, destroying worlds by not writing them down. Not creating history that will never be real but may really affect someone and speak to a deeper meaning or purpose.

I still feel that Science- Fiction especially lends itself to exploring deep issues with humanity and the world. It is like the ultimate what if scenario, the ultimate sand box experience. You put in hypothetical’s and explore what may happen under specific conditions. Fantasy often lends itself to exploring archetypes and history and the heroic quest. It explores something deeply primal and necessary, the human story.  It looks back while Science-Fiction looks forward. I love them best but have dabbled in suspense/horror as well. It can also explore the human condition and I love a twisted ending.

Part of the joy I get from the short story is the twist or the epiphany you get at the end. It is that sensation that the light has been turned on and now everything makes sense. I like that feeling and I like putting it together. A novel takes a different kind of approach. I knew how I wanted it to start, and I knew how it would end, but the middle only had a few incidents mapped out. A lot of little events became important along the way, and I found myself going on the path less taken often. So often that the novel is a mess, and perhaps a more experienced writer would have recognized the danger signs and know how and when to reign the beast in.  Now it is a massive intimidating behemoth that I am perpetually rewriting.

Sometimes I think I should give up on this dream, and start afresh. But it is hard; I keep finding myself wanting to do justice to those characters I spent so much time with.  I feel I almost owe it to them to get their story published. Their existence depends on people being able to get to know them like I have, and it is my duty as a writer to make them real, and allow people to care about them. So, Writer’s Block, I have no more time in my life for you, pack your bags, you have over stayed your welcome. There is the door, good bye and if I see you again, don’t expect a long stay.

Posted in Life

I am still Among the Living…

Posted on by jennrae

Just wanted to reassure any passersby that I am still around, still kicking, still thinking, writing, and living.

Been internalizing some thoughts, and just taking things day by day. Sometimes it is easy to get caught into the routine of things and I have to make myself stop and think about where I am at, and where I want to go. Figure out what I need to do to get where I would like to be. And now my son factors into any decision short or long-term that I make, because it directly impacts him in many ways. I need to look beyond myself and what I want, and think about the future and what I want for him.

Sometimes life gets complicated, and sometimes things are really simpler than they seem, or don’t have to be as complicated as they are. I think sometimes we can choose to be happy, and choose to be unhappy. I think taking a moment and being grateful for what we have is important, and  I know I need to be reminded to do that now and again.

I am grateful for my health, that I have a job, that I have a roof over my head, that I have a family who loves me, and will be there for me if needed, and for my son, who is a treasure. I am grateful for his health, and the health of my brothers and my parents, and that we are all safe from harm and are lucky to be citizens of the US and live in prosperity. We may not be wealthy, I certainly am not, but we are fortunate to live in a place where for the most part, is safe and sound. Most of my chaos is internal. I can say that I will probably live to see tomorrow, and the next day. That short of a freak occurence, most people I know will be safe and around.

Unfortunately, there have been some occurences in recent times, in my small area, of murders. And it just illustrates to me that we can never be one hundred percent sure of anything. I live in a safer place than some, but anything can happen anywhere. So, be grateful for what you have right now. And love life, because this is the moment. Right now, right here. I do not know what happens after we die, but there may not be a do over. So, don’t live in the past, don’t live in regret, look forward to the future, and plan for now.  I know that is what I plan on doing. Although the best laid plans can and will go awry, the best plans also plan for such things. 🙂

Posted in Life, Uncategorized

Automatons and Service Industry Workers, or Machines vs. the Minimum Wage Worker

Posted on by jennrae

Just an idea I had, as my online school had a passage on the Luddite movement. Kind of an interesting phenomenon that occurred in the early 1800s and had to do with a backlash of the industrial revolution. These Luddites as they were called were english textile workers who felt they were being replaced by less skilled workers because of new technology. No longer did business  need their skills, when they just needed someone to help run the machine.

This got me thinking to my old job at Blockbuster. As I am sure most of you are aware, finding brick and mortar video stores is getting more and more difficult. I look at the “Redbox” that is by most drugstores, and at services like Netflix as being primarily responsible. Luckily for me, I left that job before it disappeared, but still, I have a feeling of deja vu in my current employment when I completed a shift at another branch of my bank that has a younger clientele. I spent a good portion of the day watching customers go to the ATM machine. At one point theye waited in line, despite the lobby in the bank being empty. The older people would go into the bank, and deal with actual live people. But most of the younger people preferred the machine.

Another example I have seen is the self check out lines. Sure, they are quirky and you need an employee to stand there, and oversee them, and train the customer how to use them, and get them unstuck. But what happens when people are trained to use them, and it becomes a no brainer? Like using an ATM, or a Redbox? What if the glitches are all but eliminated? Where does that retail worker go?

Sure, there are workers somewhere that are employed to help build these machines. Although machine building itself is becoming increasingly automated, still someone has to make the molds to make the parts, assembly line workers need to put them together right?

Back to the Luddites then. These assembly line workers, what kind of skill do they really need? What kind of wages can a corporation get away with paying them? Are people with this skill set hard to find, or replace? I would argue no, they aren’t. Which is why companies outsource this type of work to countries where there is either no minimum wage, or the wage is much lower than the U.S. These jobs do disappear from here, and the service jobs, do become rarer.

Someday everyone will be comfortable with the ATM, which is now envelope free and can do everything from print statements, to email your balance to you. The next generation will have to figure out another way to make a living as a lot of these jobs will be gone, and the basic factory jobs will be elsewhere.

This all reminds me of one thing, which does give me some hope. There is a scene in the Fifth Element, where the main villain breaks something, and all these little robots come out to clean up the mess. he is making the argument that he is creating life out of destruction, and that he is creating more jobs by using these machines in the end. But, when he chokes on a piece of fruit, the priest points out, “Where is the robot to pat you on the back?”  As long as we still need people, all hope is not lost.

Posted in Uncategorized

We’ll Get There When We Get There…or Why Patience is Everything

Posted on by jennrae

Because I love using cliches as examples because most of them many of us have heard some time or another, here goes another one: Patience is a Virtue. I have heard that one as a kid, and have used it on my kid numerous times. Not sure I ever fully learn the lesson, but saying it seems to help.

None of us likes to wait for anything. Waiting in the grocery store, the bank, drugstore, post office, in traffic. We all end up in the “waiting place.” Like the waiting place in the Dr. Seuss book of wisdom, “Oh the Places You’ll Go,” we all end up sometimes waiting to get unstuck. Like the book says, waiting for the phone to ring, waiting for our time to come, moment to shine, just waiting for something to happen.

Patience is more than waiting. Patience is being able to bide your time constructively. It isn’t waiting. It is being content with things as they are right now. It is taking the moment to breathe and think to yourself, “Man, I hate waiting to pick up my prescription, but the sun is shining outside, and I don’t have a terminal illness. I will eventually reach the front of the line and pay the money and get my pills and be on my way.”

Patience is acceptance. Patience is realizing that right now things are out of your control. That getting emotional will not solve anything, and will not make you reach your objective faster. Look for opportunities instead of problems. Waiting in line at the grocery store? Maybe the person in front of you is also bored and would welcome a conversation. Take the time to look at the tabloids and realize how silly they are. Think about all the things you are grateful for in your life, and what your life would be like if you couldn’t afford groceries.

The moral of the story is don’t waste your time, use your time wisely, but accept when you are temporarily out of control and use that mental energy to look within instead of lashing out. Remember, there is no fire. Sometimes good things do come for those who are willing to wait, as long as they are also being constructive and positive.

Happy Easter everyone, by the way, and don’t eat too much chocolate! 🙂