Today record your wishes: the secret ones, the old favorites or the one that is speaking to you right now.
I wish I could finish a novel.
I wish I could edit somebody else's novel.
I wish I could share dinner with another person at least 5 days a week.
I wish I could go to medical school just for the knowledge.
I wish I could go to grad school, but only if I didn't have to work at the same time.
I wish I could plan another bridal shower or two or three.
I wish I could take my parents on a trip to Europe.
I wish I had appreciated my body more when I was younger.
I wish I could go to culinary school, again, just for the knowledge.
I wish I knew for sure that I would have children some day.
I wish Ben & Jerry's would bring back the "One Sweet Whirled" flavor.
I wish I didn't cry so much, but it's better than the alternative.
I wish my talent matched my passion in the things I love the most.
I wish I had some nachos.
I wish I would make better choices.
I wish I didn't still have two more work days before my vacation
I wish I had a margarita to go with the nachos that I also don't have.
I wish I had the courage, the resources and the finances to make these wishes come true, but mostly to make my friends' and families' wishes come true...
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Lies
Writing Exercise for 09/15/2009
Today write only lies. They can be absurd ones, such as, last night I had dinner with the President in Honolulu, or the lies you tell yourself and/or others. Without judgment be a total liar. Or write down lies you have told and, in retrospect, what motivated you to withhold the truth. Or, write a scene in which one of your characters considers telling a lie.
When I was in fifth grade, I went on a camping trip with my class to learn about surviving in the wilderness. This part is not the lie. The lie is what I told my classmates when they were trying to catch lizards and I was afraid. I didn't want to give them more fuel with which to burn me with their taunts, which saying that I was afraid of lizards was sure to do... So I lied. I told them that I was allergic to lizards. I know that it sounds ridiculous now-- after all, who is allergic to lizards-- but they bought it and I escaped the added ridicule that my irrational fear would have bought.
In eighth grade I lied to my mom about my grades. I told her that I was getting A's and B's and maybe one C when the reality was that there was maybe one A, one B and several C's-- and I didn't even mention the D I was getting in Algebra because I didn't do my homework. That would have meant explaining to her that I was miserable-- that it's hard to focus on doing your homework when you didn't even want to live. I cried a lot, but I never let her know how sad I really was because I was afraid of what she would do to try to make it better. I was afraid that she would actually make it worse. After all, in the past her interference, though with the best intentions, always had given the other kids even more reason to pick on me rather than stopping the trouble.
So the first semester she didn't find out about my grades until the failure notice came in the mail. I learned my lesson and did better the second semester. My grades didn't really improve but I learned to lie better. I told her that I was doing better in Algebra at least and then I made sure that I was the one to bring in the mail every day the week failure notices came out and I intercepted the notice, took it into the bathroom and burned it over the toilet then flushed the evidence.
When I was nineteen, I lied to everyone. I told them all that I was okay, that I was happy, then I secretly went into the bathroom and vomited or cut myself. I did it to distract myself-- by drawing the focus away from my emotions and onto the physical discomfort, I was able to keep from crying most of the time and even put on a happy face most of the time. I didn't want people to see what I was really feeling because they would think I was weak and needy. And if they thought I was weak and needy, they wouldn't give me a chance. This was a time of transition and I really needed people to give me a chance.
I still lie to my mother about this time in my life every day-- not that she's ever asked or even come close to knowing what I did during that time-- but I lie by omission. I tell her everything. I've admitted all of the rest of my lies and missteps, but this one I leave out. I don't want to worry her needlessly-- because even though this was almost eleven years ago and I'm not that person anymore, as a mother she will still worry about it and even be upset that I didn't come to her (even though I didn't go to anyone at the time) and upset that I did those things. It is the past and there is nothing to be gained by telling her.
These days, I still find myself lying constantly, but now it's in a different way. I lie when I act like I'm not smart enough. I lie when I say I don't have the discipline to change myself, to write a book, to run a marathon. I lie when I say I'm not pretty enough or interesting enough to meet somebody who will love me. I lie to myself every single day because to admit to myself that I AM intelligent, that I AM driven, that I AM beautiful and that I AM interesting means allowing myself to hope that the things I have always dreamed of are real possibilities. I lie, because having hope for the good things that may come if I believe in myself and taking action toward those things makes me afraid. I lie because if I convince myself that I can't do it, that I'm not good enough, then I don't have to try and then I will not be disappointing myself or anybody else when I fail.
This is my way of breaking free from the lies I tell myself. I am taking action. I am putting myself out there even though I'm afraid-- because if I don't, nothing will change. I will never feel more fulfilled and I will never know what could have been.
Today write only lies. They can be absurd ones, such as, last night I had dinner with the President in Honolulu, or the lies you tell yourself and/or others. Without judgment be a total liar. Or write down lies you have told and, in retrospect, what motivated you to withhold the truth. Or, write a scene in which one of your characters considers telling a lie.
When I was in fifth grade, I went on a camping trip with my class to learn about surviving in the wilderness. This part is not the lie. The lie is what I told my classmates when they were trying to catch lizards and I was afraid. I didn't want to give them more fuel with which to burn me with their taunts, which saying that I was afraid of lizards was sure to do... So I lied. I told them that I was allergic to lizards. I know that it sounds ridiculous now-- after all, who is allergic to lizards-- but they bought it and I escaped the added ridicule that my irrational fear would have bought.
In eighth grade I lied to my mom about my grades. I told her that I was getting A's and B's and maybe one C when the reality was that there was maybe one A, one B and several C's-- and I didn't even mention the D I was getting in Algebra because I didn't do my homework. That would have meant explaining to her that I was miserable-- that it's hard to focus on doing your homework when you didn't even want to live. I cried a lot, but I never let her know how sad I really was because I was afraid of what she would do to try to make it better. I was afraid that she would actually make it worse. After all, in the past her interference, though with the best intentions, always had given the other kids even more reason to pick on me rather than stopping the trouble.
So the first semester she didn't find out about my grades until the failure notice came in the mail. I learned my lesson and did better the second semester. My grades didn't really improve but I learned to lie better. I told her that I was doing better in Algebra at least and then I made sure that I was the one to bring in the mail every day the week failure notices came out and I intercepted the notice, took it into the bathroom and burned it over the toilet then flushed the evidence.
When I was nineteen, I lied to everyone. I told them all that I was okay, that I was happy, then I secretly went into the bathroom and vomited or cut myself. I did it to distract myself-- by drawing the focus away from my emotions and onto the physical discomfort, I was able to keep from crying most of the time and even put on a happy face most of the time. I didn't want people to see what I was really feeling because they would think I was weak and needy. And if they thought I was weak and needy, they wouldn't give me a chance. This was a time of transition and I really needed people to give me a chance.
I still lie to my mother about this time in my life every day-- not that she's ever asked or even come close to knowing what I did during that time-- but I lie by omission. I tell her everything. I've admitted all of the rest of my lies and missteps, but this one I leave out. I don't want to worry her needlessly-- because even though this was almost eleven years ago and I'm not that person anymore, as a mother she will still worry about it and even be upset that I didn't come to her (even though I didn't go to anyone at the time) and upset that I did those things. It is the past and there is nothing to be gained by telling her.
These days, I still find myself lying constantly, but now it's in a different way. I lie when I act like I'm not smart enough. I lie when I say I don't have the discipline to change myself, to write a book, to run a marathon. I lie when I say I'm not pretty enough or interesting enough to meet somebody who will love me. I lie to myself every single day because to admit to myself that I AM intelligent, that I AM driven, that I AM beautiful and that I AM interesting means allowing myself to hope that the things I have always dreamed of are real possibilities. I lie, because having hope for the good things that may come if I believe in myself and taking action toward those things makes me afraid. I lie because if I convince myself that I can't do it, that I'm not good enough, then I don't have to try and then I will not be disappointing myself or anybody else when I fail.
This is my way of breaking free from the lies I tell myself. I am taking action. I am putting myself out there even though I'm afraid-- because if I don't, nothing will change. I will never feel more fulfilled and I will never know what could have been.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Piece by Piece
Writing Exercise from 09/14/2009
Today start writing with no thought about what form the material will take. Or, select material you already have and try it out in another form. Pick from short story, poem, essay, performance monologue, creative non-fiction, children's story.
The enemy prevails
where uncertainty dwells.
The devilish voice in your head
incessantly yells
at you letting you know
that your dreams are worthless
that you'll never make it,
that your life is a mess.
The more that you listen
the more you believe
the less that you fight it
the more you're deceived.
As you boldly break free
from the tight grip of fear
you'll find even more of
the things you hold dear--
you'll start to find love
wherever you look
all because of your courage
and the chances you took.
Today start writing with no thought about what form the material will take. Or, select material you already have and try it out in another form. Pick from short story, poem, essay, performance monologue, creative non-fiction, children's story.
The enemy prevails
where uncertainty dwells.
The devilish voice in your head
incessantly yells
at you letting you know
that your dreams are worthless
that you'll never make it,
that your life is a mess.
The more that you listen
the more you believe
the less that you fight it
the more you're deceived.
As you boldly break free
from the tight grip of fear
you'll find even more of
the things you hold dear--
you'll start to find love
wherever you look
all because of your courage
and the chances you took.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Snot
Writing Exercise from 09/13/2009 (Don't blame me for the content, I'm just following the directions!)
Today, for a minimum of one full page, write about snot. Afterward, consider how you felt before you began, as you wrote, and once you were finished. Record your responses. Check if any material emerged that you could incorporate into a piece you are working on. Or list other unmentionable topics you could explore as you write.
As she sat crying on her couch, her body quivered and pulsed much like the oozing, dripping gob of snot that hung from her left nostril. It's pale, slightly yellowish hue was reminiscent of corn chowder and she was to upset to do anything about it-- she just left if there trembling on her upper lip, just barely clinging on. The mass of snot was fighting its hardest not to fall, like an inexperienced rock climber clings to the face of a mountain just a little bit too challenging.
As she continues to cry, the pearlescent blob begins to pulsate as it fills with air and then deflates again. When she finally realizes the snot is dangling perilously, she sniffs, summoning a portion of the pasty fluid back within, then she runs the back of her hand under her nose creating a smeared trail of snot up to her wrist.
I feel that writing a whole page about the snot is a bit over the top, but it might help in the event that you're trying to accurately portray a situation that may involve snot. Of course it would be excessive to use the entire description, but to just pull the pieces that fit the situation, it could be quite useful.
Today, for a minimum of one full page, write about snot. Afterward, consider how you felt before you began, as you wrote, and once you were finished. Record your responses. Check if any material emerged that you could incorporate into a piece you are working on. Or list other unmentionable topics you could explore as you write.
As she sat crying on her couch, her body quivered and pulsed much like the oozing, dripping gob of snot that hung from her left nostril. It's pale, slightly yellowish hue was reminiscent of corn chowder and she was to upset to do anything about it-- she just left if there trembling on her upper lip, just barely clinging on. The mass of snot was fighting its hardest not to fall, like an inexperienced rock climber clings to the face of a mountain just a little bit too challenging.
As she continues to cry, the pearlescent blob begins to pulsate as it fills with air and then deflates again. When she finally realizes the snot is dangling perilously, she sniffs, summoning a portion of the pasty fluid back within, then she runs the back of her hand under her nose creating a smeared trail of snot up to her wrist.
I feel that writing a whole page about the snot is a bit over the top, but it might help in the event that you're trying to accurately portray a situation that may involve snot. Of course it would be excessive to use the entire description, but to just pull the pieces that fit the situation, it could be quite useful.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
In the Beginning There Was the Word
Writing Exercise 09/12/2009 (Incomplete)
Today write about the first time words profoundly affected you. Describe the situation, what led up to it, the moment of the encounter, your physical reaction, and something else that was taking place in the same setting but had nothing to do with your experience. Feel free to allow your imagination to supply whichever of these elements you can't recall. You might try this as a poem.
"Does not play will with others."
Six simple words and yet they caused so much destruction. The first time those words emblazoned a report card, I could not imagine the affect they would have on my life. The reality was that others didn't play well with me, but those six words changed everything-- those six words came to define me. If they wanted somebody who didn't play well with others, then that was exactly what I was going to give them.
I became the feisty little girl who didn't really pick fights, but didn't do much to avoid them, either. Had I been bigger, I might have become a bully. But it's hard to act tough when you're only four feet tall.
Today write about the first time words profoundly affected you. Describe the situation, what led up to it, the moment of the encounter, your physical reaction, and something else that was taking place in the same setting but had nothing to do with your experience. Feel free to allow your imagination to supply whichever of these elements you can't recall. You might try this as a poem.
"Does not play will with others."
Six simple words and yet they caused so much destruction. The first time those words emblazoned a report card, I could not imagine the affect they would have on my life. The reality was that others didn't play well with me, but those six words changed everything-- those six words came to define me. If they wanted somebody who didn't play well with others, then that was exactly what I was going to give them.
I became the feisty little girl who didn't really pick fights, but didn't do much to avoid them, either. Had I been bigger, I might have become a bully. But it's hard to act tough when you're only four feet tall.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
I Don't Remember
Writing Exercise from 9/11/2009
This time, begin with the phrase, "I don't remember," and fill up a page. If you draw a blank at any point, repeat the phrase "I don't remember," in writing, until something else forms in your consciousness. Notice if one of these non-memories suggests a section of a piece, an experience for one of your characters, or perhaps a topic to write about. Notice what subjects of non-memories emerge: are they the same themes you write about? If not, further explore one of the new ones.
I don't remember much about my life before high school. Some people say it's because it was a long time ago, but I know that is not the truth. While, yes, it was a long time ago, the reality is that there just wasn't much worth remembering before high school. Then again, I could be wrong-- how would I know if there's anything worth remembering if I can't remember.
Maybe what really happened is that I hit my head on the first day of high school-- no, make that the last day of middle school-- and forgot everything that had happened in my life prior to that day.
Or maybe it's like some crazy plot in a soap opera-- Perhaps I was kidnapped by some evil genius and brainwashed to do his dirty deeds. That sounds about right. I can almost see his sinister face looming over me as I begged him not to take the pleasant memories of my childhood away from me-- not to replace them with traumatic ones.
Or maybe I was right before about hitting my head, only like in the soaps, or maybe romantic comedies, I woke up and found that high school and college were just a dream.
I don't remember much about my childhood-- maybe because I was abducted by aliens when I was seven... Alright, so that one's a little far-fetched even for me.
Or what if I was drug off into the woods by a pack of bears and forced to live with them for several years and when I was finally rescued I suffered from PTSD and became agorophobic and refused to leave the house because I was traumatized but didn't really know why so I started seeing a psychologist who was paid by my parents to plant false memories so that I wouldn't remember the horrible things that had happened with the bears but my whole existance was then a sham because all of my memories were created by somebody else.
I don't remember most of my life before high school, so I think I'll just make it up.
This time, begin with the phrase, "I don't remember," and fill up a page. If you draw a blank at any point, repeat the phrase "I don't remember," in writing, until something else forms in your consciousness. Notice if one of these non-memories suggests a section of a piece, an experience for one of your characters, or perhaps a topic to write about. Notice what subjects of non-memories emerge: are they the same themes you write about? If not, further explore one of the new ones.
I don't remember much about my life before high school. Some people say it's because it was a long time ago, but I know that is not the truth. While, yes, it was a long time ago, the reality is that there just wasn't much worth remembering before high school. Then again, I could be wrong-- how would I know if there's anything worth remembering if I can't remember.
Maybe what really happened is that I hit my head on the first day of high school-- no, make that the last day of middle school-- and forgot everything that had happened in my life prior to that day.
Or maybe it's like some crazy plot in a soap opera-- Perhaps I was kidnapped by some evil genius and brainwashed to do his dirty deeds. That sounds about right. I can almost see his sinister face looming over me as I begged him not to take the pleasant memories of my childhood away from me-- not to replace them with traumatic ones.
Or maybe I was right before about hitting my head, only like in the soaps, or maybe romantic comedies, I woke up and found that high school and college were just a dream.
I don't remember much about my childhood-- maybe because I was abducted by aliens when I was seven... Alright, so that one's a little far-fetched even for me.
Or what if I was drug off into the woods by a pack of bears and forced to live with them for several years and when I was finally rescued I suffered from PTSD and became agorophobic and refused to leave the house because I was traumatized but didn't really know why so I started seeing a psychologist who was paid by my parents to plant false memories so that I wouldn't remember the horrible things that had happened with the bears but my whole existance was then a sham because all of my memories were created by somebody else.
I don't remember most of my life before high school, so I think I'll just make it up.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Memory is Imagination
Writing Exercise from 9/10/2009
Begin with the phrase "I remember" and start writing. It doesn't matter if you stick with one memory or list several. You can retrieve memories from as far back as childhood (or past lives!) to as recently as yesterday. If you get stuck just keep repeating the phrase "I remember," in writing, until something else forms in your consciousness. Don't even be concerned with the authenticity of the memory. Just record whatever comes to you. Don't stop until you have filled two pages.
I remember the day I met my first boyfriend- the one I don't usually count. I went to a baseball game with my best friend. It was the Diamonds-- They were after the Silver Sox and before the Chukars and before the Silver Sox returned. I don't recall the details of how we wound up going to that game, but I do remember that is was with people from her church and he was one of them. Tall, brown eyes, curly hair.
I remember the day I met my second boyfriend. He was actually my friend's boyfriend at the time. I know that your friends exes are supposed to be off limits, but she's the one who set up up, so it seemed like it would be okay. The day we met, my friend had invited me to go see a movie with her and her boyfriend (who would later be my boyfriend) . We saw Mr. Bean, and afterward we went back to his house and his best friend played Fur Elise on the keyboard.
I remember the day I met my third boyfriend (and there hasn't been one since-- I learned not to settle for less than I deserve). It was freshman year of high school and a friend from my English class was friends with him. We'd seen each other every day because his locker was right by mine, but we hadn't been introduced. After the day we met, we would spend years bickering and bantering as friends before he became my third boyfriend. He definitely was a much better friend than he was a boyfriend, but I'd always know that would be the case and had settled anyway. Never again.
I remember my first kiss, well before all three of the boyfriends. It was the friend from my freshman English class the summer after freshman year-- I was fourteen. He wanted to be my first boyfriend, though I didn't know it at the time. He'd invited me over to the apartment where he lived with his mom along with some other friends for a pool party. The other friends he's invited were a couple. That night, we were all in the pool after dark and his other friends were in the corner of the pool making out. We were on the other side of the pool talking and he pointed up at the sky pointing out Orion. When I looked up, he kissed me. But I didn't kiss back. I was fourteen. I wasn't ready. And I'd thought we were just friends. I told him that I only thought of him as a friend, and he accepted it, though throughout high school he kept trying and I never was willing to give him a chance. If I have any regrets, that is it-- who knows what my skewed high school perception may have lost me.
I remember the day I met my first love, not realizing at the time what he would become to me or the drama that my life would become because of it. I had gone with a couple of friends to the Pi Phi Sorority house to play board games in the basement after the Thursday night meeting of Intervarsity. My friend and I had decided to stay on when the girl we'd ridden with decided to go home. We were going to walk back to the dorms-- After all, it wasn't very far at all. When the game night ended and the group dispersed, my friend and I made our way to the door, but we were followed by a friendly giant-- an extremely tall guy who hadn't said much all night. He announced that he couldn't let us walk back to the dorms alone and he joined us on our trek up Sierra Street. On the way, we passed two girls sitting outside on their front steps having a cigarette. One of the girls was wearing bunny slippers. Our tall friendly escort was quite amused by the slippers and asked the girl if he could try them on. I can't even remember if she let him-- just that he asked.
I remember all of these things and the lessons that I learned from each of these experiences have helped to make me into the woman I am today.
Begin with the phrase "I remember" and start writing. It doesn't matter if you stick with one memory or list several. You can retrieve memories from as far back as childhood (or past lives!) to as recently as yesterday. If you get stuck just keep repeating the phrase "I remember," in writing, until something else forms in your consciousness. Don't even be concerned with the authenticity of the memory. Just record whatever comes to you. Don't stop until you have filled two pages.
I remember the day I met my first boyfriend- the one I don't usually count. I went to a baseball game with my best friend. It was the Diamonds-- They were after the Silver Sox and before the Chukars and before the Silver Sox returned. I don't recall the details of how we wound up going to that game, but I do remember that is was with people from her church and he was one of them. Tall, brown eyes, curly hair.
I remember the day I met my second boyfriend. He was actually my friend's boyfriend at the time. I know that your friends exes are supposed to be off limits, but she's the one who set up up, so it seemed like it would be okay. The day we met, my friend had invited me to go see a movie with her and her boyfriend (who would later be my boyfriend) . We saw Mr. Bean, and afterward we went back to his house and his best friend played Fur Elise on the keyboard.
I remember the day I met my third boyfriend (and there hasn't been one since-- I learned not to settle for less than I deserve). It was freshman year of high school and a friend from my English class was friends with him. We'd seen each other every day because his locker was right by mine, but we hadn't been introduced. After the day we met, we would spend years bickering and bantering as friends before he became my third boyfriend. He definitely was a much better friend than he was a boyfriend, but I'd always know that would be the case and had settled anyway. Never again.
I remember my first kiss, well before all three of the boyfriends. It was the friend from my freshman English class the summer after freshman year-- I was fourteen. He wanted to be my first boyfriend, though I didn't know it at the time. He'd invited me over to the apartment where he lived with his mom along with some other friends for a pool party. The other friends he's invited were a couple. That night, we were all in the pool after dark and his other friends were in the corner of the pool making out. We were on the other side of the pool talking and he pointed up at the sky pointing out Orion. When I looked up, he kissed me. But I didn't kiss back. I was fourteen. I wasn't ready. And I'd thought we were just friends. I told him that I only thought of him as a friend, and he accepted it, though throughout high school he kept trying and I never was willing to give him a chance. If I have any regrets, that is it-- who knows what my skewed high school perception may have lost me.
I remember the day I met my first love, not realizing at the time what he would become to me or the drama that my life would become because of it. I had gone with a couple of friends to the Pi Phi Sorority house to play board games in the basement after the Thursday night meeting of Intervarsity. My friend and I had decided to stay on when the girl we'd ridden with decided to go home. We were going to walk back to the dorms-- After all, it wasn't very far at all. When the game night ended and the group dispersed, my friend and I made our way to the door, but we were followed by a friendly giant-- an extremely tall guy who hadn't said much all night. He announced that he couldn't let us walk back to the dorms alone and he joined us on our trek up Sierra Street. On the way, we passed two girls sitting outside on their front steps having a cigarette. One of the girls was wearing bunny slippers. Our tall friendly escort was quite amused by the slippers and asked the girl if he could try them on. I can't even remember if she let him-- just that he asked.
I remember all of these things and the lessons that I learned from each of these experiences have helped to make me into the woman I am today.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
A New Challenge
Only 9 more days until Talk Like a Pirate Day. Because I don't really want to acknowledge the other thing that is happening in 9 days. I know it's not really a big deal, but at the same time, it is-- primarily because I have been lazy. I have not done most of the things I've wanted to do, and the reality is that some of those things are out of my control, but some of them are not-- some of them I've just been lazy about. I'm not trying to be too hard on myself-- after all, I know I've made progress in reaching out and meeting new people as well as being okay with being the one who does the inviting. But I've been lazy about other things that are important to me. I've been lazy about eating, mostly because I kind of gave up, deciding that if I was going to feel crappy no matter what I eat that I might as well enjoy it. I've been lazy about blogging because I got tired of nobody reading, even though I started it for myself and that used to be good enough. I've been lazy about writing because I'm afraid that I'll never be good enough. These are just some things that I've been lazy about, but they're also the ones that need to change. So the plan is as follows:
1) I'm going to join Weight Watchers with some of my co-workers. Our company pays for half, and I figure I may as well take advantage of that.
2) I'm working through a book of writing exercises one a day-- just as a warm-up to get my focused so that I can hopefully finish the novel by Sept. 19, 2010 (a year later than I'd originally planned, but better late than never.)
3) I will post the writing exercises on my blog, no matter how rough & crappy they are. This will be my way of keeping myself accountable with the help of anybody who may read this and notice that I'm slacking.
Feel free to check out now if you're not into this sort of thing or if you're opposed to long blog posts. Here is the first writing exercise from last night-- now remember, I said I was posting these no matter how crappy and nonsensical, so here goes:
Today dive into writing by choosing any one of the following words that have more than one meaning: bear, cleave, lie, sewer, tear or desert. Start by copying the word and quickly, without stopping for any reason, continue writing until you reach the end of the page. Making sense is unimportant. Your goals are speed and endurance. If you get stuck, repeat whatever word you've just written until something new spills out. After you finish, read the result. Don't forget to breathe, and try not to tense up your hand. Ready, set, go...
Desert
Living in the desert can be quite like going through life alone. After all, in both scenarios, any company you might find will be a great pleasure, and quite the relief.
There will be times in the desert that you find yourself parched. After going quite some time without the living water of companionship, you will find yourself dry-- unable to speak because of the cotton heaviness upon your tongue. In these times the appearance of even the most unwelcome acquaintances can come as a relief-- the may not be the cool, refreshing sparkling water you may be desiring, but unfiltered tap water will still quench your thirst until you are able to get to the place where you can find the cool refreshing drink you're looking for.
You may find times where you feel alone and deserted and sometimes it's because you simply chose not to drink-- you didn't want to settle for luke warm tap water, so you held out for something shinier in a plastic bottle. But when you get thirsty enough, you will take what you can get and you will find that the tap water is not as bad as you thought it was. You realize how much hurt you could have saved yourself if only you had given plain old tap water a chance in the first place.
After all, while the pretty plastic bottles can be so quick and convenient, so tasty in its variety of flavors and so attractive in its decorative bottle, you will find that it is tap water that will always be there for you, a faithful friend who never leaves, who will be wherever you go, whose provision will never run out and who will still be refilling you long after the pretty bottle is gone.
1) I'm going to join Weight Watchers with some of my co-workers. Our company pays for half, and I figure I may as well take advantage of that.
2) I'm working through a book of writing exercises one a day-- just as a warm-up to get my focused so that I can hopefully finish the novel by Sept. 19, 2010 (a year later than I'd originally planned, but better late than never.)
3) I will post the writing exercises on my blog, no matter how rough & crappy they are. This will be my way of keeping myself accountable with the help of anybody who may read this and notice that I'm slacking.
Feel free to check out now if you're not into this sort of thing or if you're opposed to long blog posts. Here is the first writing exercise from last night-- now remember, I said I was posting these no matter how crappy and nonsensical, so here goes:
Today dive into writing by choosing any one of the following words that have more than one meaning: bear, cleave, lie, sewer, tear or desert. Start by copying the word and quickly, without stopping for any reason, continue writing until you reach the end of the page. Making sense is unimportant. Your goals are speed and endurance. If you get stuck, repeat whatever word you've just written until something new spills out. After you finish, read the result. Don't forget to breathe, and try not to tense up your hand. Ready, set, go...
Desert
Living in the desert can be quite like going through life alone. After all, in both scenarios, any company you might find will be a great pleasure, and quite the relief.
There will be times in the desert that you find yourself parched. After going quite some time without the living water of companionship, you will find yourself dry-- unable to speak because of the cotton heaviness upon your tongue. In these times the appearance of even the most unwelcome acquaintances can come as a relief-- the may not be the cool, refreshing sparkling water you may be desiring, but unfiltered tap water will still quench your thirst until you are able to get to the place where you can find the cool refreshing drink you're looking for.
You may find times where you feel alone and deserted and sometimes it's because you simply chose not to drink-- you didn't want to settle for luke warm tap water, so you held out for something shinier in a plastic bottle. But when you get thirsty enough, you will take what you can get and you will find that the tap water is not as bad as you thought it was. You realize how much hurt you could have saved yourself if only you had given plain old tap water a chance in the first place.
After all, while the pretty plastic bottles can be so quick and convenient, so tasty in its variety of flavors and so attractive in its decorative bottle, you will find that it is tap water that will always be there for you, a faithful friend who never leaves, who will be wherever you go, whose provision will never run out and who will still be refilling you long after the pretty bottle is gone.
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