Yesterday I listened to music while I was working. I turned on the music because I had Meatloaf’s “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad” stuck in my mind. I’m not sure why. Well, I kind of know, but that’s irrelevant to this discussion. Luther Vandross’s “Buy Me a Rose” played. This song always makes me want to cry. If you don’t know the song, I encourage you to find it and listen. It’s about how we often don’t realize the things our loved ones need from us. We think we’re doing the right thing, at least by societal conventions, but maybe, just maybe we’re not. Starting with the lyrics “He works hard to give her all he thinks she wants…” this song will touch most people who’ve ever loved someone and struggled to balance a relationship and a career.
Women always blame men for forgetting the importance of the little things in life and in relationships, but women are just as guilty. I know I am sometimes. Luther sings about the woman’s need for the little things in life from the hardworking husband in this song. When I first heard it, I so related. My husband has always been a bit of a workaholic to the point of neglecting our relationship at times. I know it doesn’t mean he loves me any less, but sometimes I’ve struggled with feeling less important than his work. I’m glad I can say this hasn’t been an issue for us for quite some time. Whether the reason for that is him putting a greater importance on our relationship or less importance on career, I’m not sure. I’d guess it’s a little of both. Or maybe it has something to do with the focus I put on my own career.
And, there have been times when I’ve definitely put my work - my writing - first in my life and neglected him and/or our relationship. When a relationship has a certain amount of security, it’s easy to rest in the knowledge that a spouse will be there when the work is completed. It’s easy to say “He/she knows I love him/her. I’ll give him/her attention tomorrow or next week or next month or whenever there’s time.”
Last week my husband took the week off after being away on business for a month. I have to admit, I wasn’t always as present as I could’ve been. I was distracted by all the writing I should’ve been - or at least could’ve been - doing. I kept thinking about all the things I was ignoring instead of focusing on the present moment and on him. It’s not that I didn’t want to spend time with him. I really, really did. But as he changed plans leaving me unable to work on my projects because I didn’t know when he’d suddenly be ready to do something together, I couldn’t fight the feeling of being in a holding pattern leading me to wonder what gave him the right to dictate the terms of our time together. But that’s not fair. It wasn’t his fault his business trip was extended by a week or that he had to be available to answer questions for his replacement in Leeds. It wasn’t mine either. And, normally, I love the flexibility being a writer allows me to have to take advantage of times like this.
A part of me wants to blame it on being sick the day he returned. I’d fallen behind on my work while I was sick, and that bugged me. I kept thinking about all the things I’d almost finished while he was gone and forgot about all the things I did accomplish. And, I still didn’t feel up to doing much of anything plus I was just plain grumpy.
I tried not to resist his suggestions for activities even going to the Woodburn Outlet Mall with him when I really didn’t want to. We ended up enjoying the day, so I was glad I went. Another day we took a drive to the Oregon coast and went to the Tillamook Air Museum. I very much enjoyed that day, but thoughts about the projects I was neglecting kept popping in to my head. The days we spent at home watching television and relaxing, I kept thinking of all the “productive” things I could be doing. And, then I felt guilty. Because, sometimes, cuddling on the couch is a productive thing to do. And, yet, I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. My heart was there, but my mind resisted.
Today, I realized that while he was gone, my time was my own. I worked way too many hours, but no one (except the cats) cared. I ate when I felt like it. I fed the cats on a schedule with very few disruptions. I ran errands only when absolultely necessary. I did writing events without nagging worry that I was neglecting him. I stayed up until the wee hours of the morning working or answering emails without hesitation. I chatted on the phone with friends. I spent too much time on Facebook. And, his return changed all that. Now, suddenly, all the things I had on my schedule were pushed to the side without a second thought. Or at least that’s how I felt. Again, unfair!
It was me pushing things aside not him.
When I reminded him I was scheduled to work the Sisters in Crime booth at the Public Library Association conference on Friday, at first he looked a little disappointed. Then he immediately told me how important it was that I keep the commitment all the while offering to go with me. I declined his offer as he would’ve been bored out of his mind, and I would’ve spent the whole time worried about him being bored. Not good when I’m networking. Besides I had plans to ride with two authors I hoped to get to know a little better. He drove me to meet them, and then had the rest of the day to himself. And, my day was a success. Yet as I returned home, I felt a little guilty that I hadn’t spent the day with him. I felt I’d let him down when he was making such an effort let me know how much he missed me while he was gone.
Don’t misunderstand, I’m happy he’s home. I missed him like crazy.
The point is women aren’t perfect either, so maybe we should give our men a break. Yesterday afternoon when “Buy Me a Rose” started, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d let my hubby down. He worked so hard last week to remind me I’m special in his eyes, and, yet, I was so distracted by all the other things in my life, I couldn’t even appreciate or enjoy it for more than a few minutes at a time. It just goes to show you, that sometimes we, women, need to reassess our priorities and stop taking the special things our men do for us for granted.
The little things matter, so give them freely, accept them when offered, and appreciate the efforts even when they aren’t exactly what you want at the moment. None of us are perfect. There may not always be tomorrow for these special moments, so make the most of today with your loved one.
Okay, I’m going to address two issues of The Prosperous Writer in this blog. This seems to be becoming a habit. I rarely seem to have time to address the issues in the week they’re presented, but that’s the way life goes sometimes.
Issue 11 was about Health. The question: How do you stay healthy? Have you always been healthy or is good health something that you have had to cultivate for yourself?
I stay healthy by doing yoga, weights, and aerobics. Mostly doing yoga. I find the yoga stengthens my body and allows me to focus better. Lately though I’ve been unable to work out at all due to a torn meniscus in my knee, so I’m looking forward to getting that taken care of, so I can return to my workouts. I eat a low carb, mostly vegetarian diet. That seems to work best for me. I take vitamins when I remember. Other than that I drink lots of water, green tea, and fruit juices. I avoid soda. I eat treats, like dark chocolate or ice cream, when I feel like it but don’t overindulge. Mostly, I try to enjoy life on the good days and the bad. This seems to keep me in a healthy frame of mind and my body tags along for the most part. Oddly, part of the reason I’m so late answering this is I’ve been sick, so I guess I slipped on a few of these things lately. Well, back to it now.
Issue 12 was about Imbalance/Balance.
Christina talks about how a temporary imbalance helped her shake things up and feel more balanced. For the most part, I’m pretty balanced these days, so this one took a bit of thought for me. I can see how that might work. A move a few years ago forced my hand on some activities in my life that took time away from my writing projects and my family life. I’d been reluctant to let these activities go even though I’d known for some time my life was out of balance. On the other hand, the activities helped me tap into other parts of myself that helped me focus when I let them go. I appreciate having balance in my life more after a period of imbalance. We have the opportunity to learn from every experience we have. If we open ourselves to the lessons, both balance and imbalance can teach us about ourselves, our needs, and our place in the world around us.
Yesterday I attended a presentation where the speaker, Naseem Rakha, author of The Crying Tree, spoke about writing from the dream state. As she spoke, my mind wandered in that good way that means the speaker’s words spoke to me. For a moment I thought about how that applied to some of the writing struggles I’ve been having lately. It’s not that I can’t get the words on paper. It’s that my ever-critical editor hasn’t been shutting off long enough for me to let the words flow freely - for the words to guide me in the story. I’ve been spending too much time trying to get the words perfect on the first draft. I’m not saying the ever-critical editor has been perfect. I created a huge misunderstanding in an email last week due to a poor choice of words. (If you’re reading this, sorry, again.)
The thing is we are so used to living by, working by, and being imprisoned by the rules that surround us for everyday life and our work that it’s nearly impossible to let creativity flow without the ever-critical editor popping up to play. We have rules that guide how we live our lives, do our jobs, treat our families, and so on. When anyone strays outside those rules, we criticize them. We never stop to consider that maybe they’ve found a better way. We never stop to question the rules society and our families engrained in us from the day we were born. Well, we do, but then we go back to what we know - the rules.
Sometimes these rules bind us and keep us from progressing in our lives. We’re so sure we have to follow the rules someone else set that we never question why we’re following those rules or what would happen if we didn’t. I’ve started asking myself “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” when I question whether or not I should do something that might nudge against “the rules”. If I can live with the answer, I go for it. If not, then I back off and re-think the likelihood of that worst case scenario happening. Usually, that likelihood is pretty close to nill.
When I get too tied up in following the rules, my husband tells me to “Take the rock out of the park.” to remind me that life doesn’t have to be so rigid. It’s one of those little private experiences people who have been married a long time can use to convey meaning by invoking a memory without needing the whole story. It always works. I always smile, relax, and consider other options - options that may not fit someone else’s definition of the rules for doing something.
As a writer if I listened to every rule I’ve ever heard pronounced, I’d never write a single word. Someone somewhere at some point in time has decided that whatever it is you’re about to write and however it is you’re planning to write it is unacceptable, so just stop there. Most of these “rules” appear when the market has been flooded with a topic or a format of writing. How dull would fiction be if we could never hurt an animal, a child, or a woman? Why are men always left out of this rule? I guess because they’re rarely the victims in fiction. How lackluster would stories be if we could never explore the abuses inflicted on human beings? How uninspiring would fiction be if we couldn’t explore the things that make us uncomfortable, that make us squirm in our seats, that make us shout for joy when the resolution is reached at the end.
So I’m going to continue to explore the things in life that make life have meaning. Overcoming painful childhoods (yes, children get hurt). Grieving a beloved pet. Overcoming rape, assault, or an abusive relationship. Learning to live without parents or grandparents. Finding the way without the spouse with whom a life was built. Living the forbidden relationship and making it work even when no one thinks it has a chance. The journey to finding one’s self and learning to accept that self for all it is. Finding someone to share that journey with through the great joys, the minor irritants, and the major fights. All these and much more create life experience. If we walk through life ignoring harsh realities, we diminish those who conquer them. If we leave the world’s cruelties out of our fiction, we don’t give people a chance to learn more, to connect to characters, to grow, and to enjoy the hope for change and justice that fiction has the opportunity to provide. If we’re lucky our words lead people to a greater understanding of themselves and the world they inhabit. It’s a huge responsibility. When readers express that your words have touched them, made them comprehend the world a little better, helped them overcome a misconception about another culture, or changed their lives, a writer can feel good about contributing to society.
I choose to explore, embrace, study, and write about all the things that make life what it is. I need to not let my critical editor keep me from exploring all these things no matter how much pain they bring up for me in the process. For a while I became stymied by the idea that remembering my past would take me back into an emotional and mental state I didn’t want to be in. I’d shut a lot of memories out of my mind. Recently, two things sparked my memory to allow these things to surface. One was renewing communication with a friend (see Apologies:Better Late Than Never). The other was trying to write a true short story about saying goodbye (still working on that one.) I now realize I can look at my memories with fresh eyes. I can once again see how I can use my life experience to influence my work and potentially help others. The difference is this time I can do it without the fear of drowning in those memories. I didn’t even realize this was a fear I had until the memories - the ones I tended to quash every time they peeked out - flowed to the surface without asking permission and lay there for me to examine. They patiently waited their turn to be picked up, thoroughly examined, and put back into place. I shed a few tears, felt a bit of anger, and became awash in sadness. Then a happy memory would surface. I’d smile, laugh, and stroke the memory before putting it back into place. I wrote a few pieces about the process and the memories.
In my house, we don’t spend a lot of time talking about the past. After years of letting the past dominate our lives, we moved forward and let resolved issues be. That’s good for a marriage in many ways but not always so good for artistic endeavours. I’m realizing in order to write meaningful work, I have to allow myself to become immersed in those memories at times. I have to feel what I felt, think what I felt, and embrace it. When it feels overwheming, that’s when I most need to let the words spill onto paper. Otherwise my work doesn’t have the depth it could. Imprinting what I’ve learned from my life experience onto my works of fiction is what will make them distinctly mine, the most honest emotionally, and the most likely to reach readers.
Once that’s done, I can welcome my critical editor to the table to remove the melodrama, the unbelievable parts (even when they’re true), and the irrelevant, personal invaders. My critical editor can then make sure what’s left conveys the message intended in a clear, concise, entertaining way. This is how I’ve always written, and I know it works for me. So, why and when, did I become so enamored with my critical editor? Good question. I think it was gradual and had mostly to do with pressuring myself to create output instead of to write stories. Oh, and that other thing - my fear of the memories…
So critical editor, time to take a nap. My creative self needs to work for a while…
I’m going to be taking care of a overdue housekeeping chore on the blog over the next few weeks. When I started this blog I planned to import the posts from my My Space blog, but I kept procrastinating. I tell you this now in hopes of creating confusion when the blogs occur. The posts will include the blog entries along with original post dates and comments from my My Space page. If I’m handling my date stamp correctly they should all appear in the month I started this blog. I will post one or two entries a week until they’re all posted. I will continue with my regular blog posts as well.
Thanks for your patience!
I don’t often remember beginnings clearly and I rarely remember endings at all. I’m a little strange that way. I know it began because it was, and I know it ended because it is no more. The important thing is what happened in the middle.
I know we said hello, exchanged names, and talked about our interests. Everyone starts a relationship there. At some point we drifted into more personal details. Perhaps slowly, perhaps quickly, perhaps even too fast. As we relaxed our guard and started to get to know one another, potential vulnerabilities creeped into the relationship. They always do.
Maybe we exposed those vulnerabilities as a defense. Maybe I told you my deepest darkest secret just to see if you’d run away. Maybe I tested the water by bringing up the topic as if it happened to someone else or as a general statistic just to see how you’d react. Maybe I held back but hinted there was some painful event from my past you might not understand. Maybe I somehow managed to combine all three in the conversation.
Maybe you told me your deepest darkest secret. If so, we may have connected on familiar ground or fell into a competition of who’d had the worst life. Maybe you told me your life had been almost perfect until that moment. If so, I promise you I didn’t believe you. Maybe you admitted a painful experience but swore you were fine now. Maybe you described a life I wanted but could never have. Maybe that caused me to strike out with jealousy.
If you stayed after hearing my deepest darkest secret, I probably questioned your sanity or at least your motives. Maybe I upped the drama level or relaxed and let you into my inner sanctum. Maybe I questioned my own motives and sanity. Maybe I questioned my need for drama. Maybe you tried to save me or to fix me. Maybe I rebelled. Maybe I let you try until you were too tired to keep trying.
We grew closer, or did we? Relationships deepen, remain superficial or dissolve.
Maybe our relationship ran its course and naturally dissolved without painful words or feelings of abandonment. Maybe the ending was more abrupt with cruel words or actions. Maybe one of us betrayed the other in some way. Maybe I overwhelmed you with my neediness. Maybe you overwhelmed me. Maybe my aloofness pushed you way. Maybe yours shoved me.
Maybe we hung on to - or still cling to - the threads of our relationship even if all seems lost. We know the threads will either grow stronger, strain until they fray, or break. Maybe one day we even pick up a broken thread and gently tie it back together. It may not be as strong as before . It may or may not experience new growth. Or maybe we send a brand new thread out to start completely over.
Maybe our relationship withstood the strain we placed on its threads and thrives still today. Maybe we know when to give and when to take. Maybe we weathered the tough times standing beside each other without hesitation. Likely even if we weren’t together, the memory of what we had kept us from losing one another completely even when troubles cropped up between us.
There are so many maybes in life that dwelling on an ending - a goodbye - seems pointless. Goodbyes are rarely happy memories and usually result in someone feeling hurt even if the ending is mutual.
Regardless of which path you and I took, it’s up to us to decide where it goes from here…
Mind Fog Reviews recently reviewed All She Ever Wanted. If you’re interested in reading the review, go to either of the websites listed below.
Review of All She Ever Wanted on Mind Fog Reviews
Review of All She Ever Wanted on Author Meeting Place
Okay, Kelly, this one is for you. Sort of. You were disappointed I haven’t done an analysis of my problem writing a true short story about goodbye. Since every attempt I’ve made at a short story has turned into either a poem about avoiding the word goodbye or the first lines of an essay about why I hate goodbyes, maybe it’s time to blog about it. If it helps me get to the short story, all the better. :)
When I first read about this writing opportunity, I immediately remembered my Daddy driving to EKU to tell me my beloved Border Collie, TJ, had died. I thought I’d write that story. When I tried, it just didn’t come out right. All I could think was “I never said goodbye to TJ. I don’t even know where on the farm Daddy buried him.”
I didn’t want to tell that story anymore. I made a list of other possible topics. I came up with a few topics. The brown teddy bear I’ve never been able to part with. Saying goodbye to my Grandma when she was dying. The death of my high school classmate, Travis. How the first words I ever said to my husband were “Good Night” as he left the room. A few relationships ending. And so on. Still my pen simply pressed a hole into the paper instead of moving across it.
Then I started thinking about all the ways I avoid saying goodbye. “Love you” to family and really close friends. “Talk to/see you later.” to friends who aren’t quite as close. “Call me.” or “I’ll call you” when appropriate. And so on.
So I turned my focus to goodbyes that aren’t. I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime. Those unreturned phone calls, letters, and emails that eventually get the message across. The disappearing acts we do from people’s lives when saying “goodbye” would be too uncomfortable, painful or embarrassing. Or even when we fear the goodbye will be too joyful. You know, the “I’m so glad I’ll never have to be near that person again.” feeling. You’ve had it at least once in your life, don’t deny it.
So there I was writing across the paper “I’m not good at saying goodbye. I never have been.” and it dawned on me. I hate goodbyes. Goodbye feels so final.
So yesterday I posted my realization as my Facebook status. The responses made me realize there must be other people in the world who hate goodbyes as much as I do.
Eventually I forced a few words out on a couple of the story ideas from my list, but I felt like they didn’t do the story justice. Therein lies the real problem, I think. This has to be a TRUE story about a REAL experience from my life. Saying goodbye in fiction is easy. I can say goodbye in my poetry. But to write a real life goodbye story that puts my life on display for others to pick apart. Wait a minute, I write this blog, I’ve written essays that put my life on display, so why is THIS story so incredibly hard to write? I wish I knew.
My solution. I have a little time before the story has to be submitted, so I moved the item on my schedule. Perhaps relieving the pressure will help. We’ll see.
Anyway, I’ll let you know if/when I figure it out and get a story on paper.