I hope everyone is having a spectacular weekend!
And I hope to try to write a short story before it is over…
Me trying to look very serious right now…
Tag: creative writing
Do You Believe In Destiny Or Fate?
I went from not really thinking about it at all, to being cynical and jaded and thinking “Is this All There is?”, back to thinking yes, there is something behind it all after all. Currently, yes, I do believe in fate or destiny. I think things happen for a reason even if we don’t understand that reason, and there does seem to be a point to it all. There have been times where I thought I should be dead now, but something intervened, somehow it wasn’t my time.
If you had told me I would still be here in my mid forties to me in my twenties, I wouldn’t have believed you. I thought I would die young, not sure how, or why, but I just didn’t feel like I belonged in this world. I never felt like I fit into any particular mold. I had trouble relating to people or making close friendships. I had trust issues that have only gotten worse.
So, why would I believe in destiny or fate now? If you asked me a few months ago I probably would have told you I don’t. But, sometimes things, or dominoes fall a certain way and change your view or thought process. And, that happened to me in November. I can’t fully explain it, not without sounding insane, but I will say, much like the butterfly effect, little things lead to bigger things, and alter one’s life path. However much I try to choose or do down a different path, I am always brought back to a certain place. I do not know the future. But, I do know what I should be doing.
There is a reason I say I am a writer, and not a published author. I am not a published author, although I would like to be someday. The good thing about that is it is a pathway that isn’t limited by age or looks, but ideas. I have ideas, I just need to follow through and put them down. I do believe I have a destiny, and I do believe there is a point to all this. I don’t claim to know it, or understand it, but I know it is there. I know where my path is supposed to lead if I can get out of my own way.
Just a Little Refresher on Me
Time to Write — The Big Bad Bird
The crunch of brittle bones underneath her feet reminded her of where she was. The cave entrance was clammy and dark. The beam from her flashlight only traveled so far, illuminating one part of the massive wall. She could hear little skittering noises of some unknown critter running away from her obvious human footsteps. Her assistant cowered behind her slightly. She could hear his breathing and hear his steps.
“Just a little further, Wally. I know we are getting close.”
“Why does it have to stink so bad?” She shook her head and chuckled. She knew he would rather be in cozy office building or even a lab building. Anyplace with heat and light and less scurrying noises.
“Don’t worry. The blonde girl in front of you will protect you from the big bad bird.”
“Oh, whatever.” She heard him say under his breath, annoyed. He was such a child.
“Are you getting any of this? We should try to record as much as possible. Who knows when we will be allowed back.”
“The lighting is less than ideal, but I am trying.”
They ventured further in and the space got tighter. Hopefully there would be some eggshells or feather samples. A loud squawk could be heard outside suddenly. She stopped and waited. “Did you hear that, Wally?”
“Yeah. I don’t like it.”
She went against the wall slowly, motioning him to follow. She placed her fingers to her mouth in a quiet gesture. Wally followed her against the wall. She turned the flashlight off. He gasped, and she could feel his eyes on her. They held still and heard loud scratching and squawking as the bird creature entered the cave.
It seemed large, from the talon scratching although they had no light to see it. She gripped Wally’s hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Luckily, most birds don’t have a keen sense of smell. Although, vultures can smell decay. This creature was unknown. It was hard to say what its skills were. She made a silent prayer to God, even though it had been a while. It was an instinct to reach out to something somewhere.
She heard it scrape by its talons and heard it scrape the ground with its beak like a large chicken. Wally’s foot slipped slightly and skidded a rock which made a not so subtle noise. She heard the bird stop, and come back around slowly.
She tried to regulate her breathing to be quiet, but it was getting more difficult by the minute. It approached their wall slowly, she could hear the click clack of its talons. Her legs began to go numb from being in the same position and suddenly she dropped the flashlight.
She heard Wally scream and heard him go down. In a panic she found herself running to the cave entrance, and then felt a searing pain in her ankle, and she crashed into the bones. Then it was upon her, and she could feel the pain from the gouges until her mind completely shut down and spared her the additional pain.
The Crash
She listened to the waves crash along the beach, powerful water grabbing and releasing material into and out of the ocean in equal measure. The skies were dark, cloudy and the wind was brutal. She got up slowly, turning around to see the cliffs begin to crumble, boulders bounding down onto the beach from the imposing cliffside. The uneven rocks kept her feet on edge while the ground shook and broke apart underneath her. She hunkered down by a picnic table, looking for protection from the angry nature goddess throwing all the elements at her.
Her car had broken down on arrival, and she wasn’t mechanically inclined, and had no idea what was wrong with it. Her phone was nearly dead, and she had no bars in this remote place.
She knew she should have taken the car in; she should have brought a friend or maybe her brother, just anyone, so she wouldn’t have to be here all alone, which was the most frightening thing about all this. Being alone and unable to reach anyone or anything, trapped in loneliness, trapped in helplessness.
Trapped by her own pride in not being able to ask for help. Why couldn’t she just reach out, once, at least. Look up the weather, look up how a car or even how a phone works. The rain started to come down freezing cold at an angle, chilling her to the bone. She could see a house on top of the cliff. A remote mansion, in that new modern style, suggesting solar panels, and smart features, the kind of house you might see in a movie.
Anything would be better than staying out here in this mess, she thought, trying to find how to get up there. Is there a pathway, or a road? She saw a path, a foot path, that may lead in that direction.
She walked steadily embracing her coat fiercely to keep warm toward the path.
Time To Write — Where Is Here?
What is love? What is a feeling? Does it matter? Do we matter?
I wanted to say resoundingly, “Yes! Of course.” But then tomorrow there would be bills to pay, work to do, and the minutiae of everyday life. The things that can get in the way of the more exciting and wild life that I crave. It is like a slow death walking through the grocery store picking up this and that, deciding yes, I want to try that cocoa cereal, or I need the circular ice cube tray because it is there, and why not?
And then I am home with my circular ice cubes thinking, why did I buy this? Who cares about the shape of ice cubes? Then my mind wanders thinking about people who may not have easy access to water. They would probably love to have ice cubes, no matter the shape. Everything is just so commercial here. Commoditized for consumption. You don’t like that sweater, throw it away and get another. Don’t feel like cooking tonight? Order in.
I feel chained to a job I do not love to pay bills for things I may not need so I can live a life I find dull. I want adventure. To be swept off my feet and taken to an exotic location. Someone that holds me and listens to me complain about nothing. I feel like a train passenger in my own life, only the conductor never stops and I can’t get off.
Please let me off here, I want to enjoy this moment a little longer please. No response. He keeps going and ten years pass, and then another five, and I am wondering, what happened? Where did the time go? Why am I here? Where is here? And, then when I figure it out, it will be too late.
Musings and Plans
I decided to look at some famous writers who happened to have been born in November. There were some good ones, Madeline L’engle was tempting, but I think I covered her a long time ago. Mark Twain’s birthday is coming up too. I happen to be a descendant of his younger half sister from his Dad’s second marriage. There are no direct descendants because all his daughters died without having children. So, I guess I’m as close as one gets? Consolation prize?
But, I am just not feeling it. There are a lot of influential sci fi writers from the classical era that I could cover as well, Spider Robinson, Gordon R Dickson. But I am just not feeling like doing the research on these guys. I know of them, but I would need to read up on them more to do them justice. And, I just had a long workout at the gym. Feel like maybe I overdid it. Probably going to be feeling it tomorrow.
I am sapped energy wise. Probably should have written beforehand. Oh well, guess that is a lesson learned. I appreciate people reading this blog and plan on doing more fiction soon. I am also thinking about compiling my short fiction into a collection. I have to polish them up first, and then decide how to go about that.
I may attempt something drastic with the novel. I may cut the beginning until I find it interesting, switch the main protagonist to the character that I find the most interesting. It will change the tone and feel quite a bit. But it isn’t like I don’t have a hard copy of the original if I hate it.
I could try to plot out a new novel. I have some ideas. I just am trying to get the wheels turning and feel like I need some WD 40 to get it working. Thanks for being here and there. Your support means the world to me and I take nothing for granted. Thank you. JennRae.
Time to Write — Belief
She slowly shut the car door, defeated from a long dull day at work. Her feet took heavy steps toward the small brick house with the tidy yard. Her eyes looked up and saw the door wide open. She ran up the steps and peered inside. It sounded quiet but also looked emptier than she remembered. The tv was gone, the couches, the computer, even the fan and the kitchen table.
She was left with an empty house. She fell down and cried in despair. Why me? Why now? This wasn’t fair. She didn’t have a lot that she cared about. She went about each room in the house mentally cataloging what was missing. There were clothes left strewn about the floor along with papers from the desk drawer. The antique box given to her by her deceased grandma, gone. She reached into her coat pocket to call the police to report the theft, speaking calmly, drained of emotion or energy.
“I need to report a robbery. I’ll make a list. No, I don’t think anyone else is here. ” The police were on the way. She sat down on the bedroom floor dumbfounded. How was she going to explain this to Eric when he got home from high school? How would she replace all this stuff? She remembers thinking renter’s insurance was a waste of money. She rocked herself anxiously on the floor, wrapping herself in her coat like a cocoon. It was going to be all right. It’s just stuff. It will be fine. They will find the stuff, catch the person. At least no one was hurt.
The police took her statement, and she made a list of missing items, thinking about her son who would be home soon. They left and she waited. She knew she should eat something, or do something, call somebody. But she was paralyzed. She sat there. The sky darkened and her son still wasn’t home. She reluctantly got up. Picked up her phone again to give him a call. The phone went straight to voice mail. It was off then. Where was he? She called her mom hoping she had heard from him, no such luck. “Can I come over? This place is empty and depressing, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Of course, honey.” Her mom said with concern. She walked out of the house locking the door behind her out of habit. Her phone rings suddenly startling her. She answers reluctantly. It is the police. She can’t have any more bad news today.
“We have your son and two of his friends here. They admitted to the burglary and breaking into the house. “
“I don’t believe you.”
But she knew it was true. It explained everything. She just didn’t want to believe it.
Daily Writing Starts Now
I am going to attempt to write at least a little bit of new material everyday, just to get back into the habit. I think trying to fix this mammoth novel has actually made my writing stagnant. I have been so intimidated about it. The immensity of the task, the insurmountable mountain of the pages. The myriad problems, none of which are small mind you. I think I have been using it as a crutch to avoid writing in general. It was written in a long fever dream after Layne Staley of Alice In Chains died. I was a big fan, and it made me realize that life is fragile, and often temporary.
When I was in the midst of it, in the emotions and the living and breathing of it, I thought it was the most important and glorious novel ever written. It was only after the dust settled, it was written quickly in three months, that I realized just how messy and unreadable it actually was.
It has been the boulder on my back crushing me ever since. However, I woke up feeling invigorated and positive and with a distinct feeling like I could conquer the world. I haven’t felt this way in years, before covid, and all that. It has been a hot minute. So, I am going to try and get into the habit of new writing and writing daily. And, I am going to start going to the gym on a regular basis too. Healthy body, healthy mind.
That was the idea behind the YMCA. They thought a pure body was closer to a pure mind. Young Men’s Christian Association. It is very 19th century, reminds me of the way they built sanitariums to be shaped in a way to keep the mind pure, and the working to keep the mind busy.
I also plan on doing some hiking and adventuring because I live in a beautiful area that has so much outside nature. I feel like growing up here has made me take it for granted. I tend to forget all the beauty and fresh air.
It has been awhile…
Trying to get back on the horse again. Life has a way of distracting you from things that matter. I tend to get caught up in the daily grind and get a little lost. My happiness has been a bit low, and one of the reasons is I haven’t been writing or drawing. I need to refuel the tank and get back to where I feel productive.
I’m sorry to all the people I disappeared on around 2019. I tend to sabotage myself and financially I’ve had other priorities.
Anyway, I appreciate any visitors and I promise to start writing some stories. JenRae.
The Infamous Jennisfora Strikes Again...or something like that 