I have nothing I want to share with the world today; no mounting proclamations- not a whisper or thought. There are no pressing deadlines, no stressors upon me. Only the familiar urge to write, simply because I’m a writer. Not a paid one, mind you- nor professional. (As proof of my misused hyphen will attest.) Alas, I abuse hyphens liberally, and probably always will-
…I want to write a memoir. (Doesn’t everybody though?) I’m sure we all feel like we’ve lived through unspeakable atrocities that nobody would or could believe. We’ve all gleaned the golden nuggets of wisdom from the trenches of life that we’re compelled to share. (There’s old Charlie, hacking and wheezing across the street. He lives with his father and smokes pot incessantly. He doesn’t let old age stop him from having a good spliff now and again. I call him old Charlie because he’s in his late 60’s or so, and his Dad is even older- maybe late 80’s or early 90’s. At all hours of the day and night, we can hear old Charlie out there, a mumble here or there followed by a short pause of silence- and then the hacking begins again.)
Please do feel free to go meander off and watch Spongebob while I ramble on about a memoir that I’ll probably never write. But do want to. There’s just so much work involved. I have the goods- I’ve already lived the story, and am still, but I think the hardest part is actually starting. Writing that first word and knowing how you want to tell the tale. So many times I’ve written blog posts- completely- whole blog posts written out and then deleted them, simply because I felt as if I had nothing worthwhile to say. But that’s the blogger’s curse. But there’s a difference between me and the stereotypical modern day blogger. Most bloggers collectively know that content is king. For me though, this isn’t a typical “blog”- it’s my diary. My very public, online diary. As I’ve stated before, I want to leave more than a few pictures of me behind. More than a fingerprint. I want to leave an archive. A life in pictures and posts. I never thought I’d still be writing in this thing almost 10 year later! I can look back and read about small walks I took with my kids, or cooking in the kitchen on certain days- what we ate, what we said. LIFE.
And so, back to the memoir. I have an incredible story to tell. How I went from living in an uninhabitable, dilapidated house- wetting the bed and living quite literally like a wild animal. I really don’t care what member of the family reads this stuff and might get offended. Where was anyone at all when I needed help? Where was anyone when I cried at night, alone and afraid, (and very wet and smelly)? Where was anyone when I was molested as a young girl, at age of 9- right in my own house? So no. I don’t want to hear how my life story “offends” anyone. It’s what I had to live through. Everybody else was safe, except me.
From that hell, to growing up seriously disadvantaged. All the cards stacked against me. I should have been a statistic, I really should’ve. Women who’ve suffered less have been. God spared me though. I came through so much hell and hurt and trauma and shame and rage. I was shown grace, and given another chance. God pulled me from the pit and set me on solid ground again.
I look back at it all in amazement that I was able to trudge through the trenches and reach the other side of the river. I stand now in the green, fertile soil; life has come to me again.
I have only one more year to go and I’ll be graduating with my Master’s degree in Psychology and Addiction Counseling. And still, I have no idea what I want to do with my life. For now, Im taking the necessary time off to try and absorb the fact the I no longer have my baby brother with me. For now, I’ll simply exist, and try to make it through each day. I’m giving myself the liberty to not have to do, think, feel, process, or anything else that takes emotional work. For now, I’m in a state of emotional cryogenics. Frozen inside- too numb to feel.
Until another crashing wave comes and drags me under. But then it’s quiet again, and I’ll know that I’ve made it through another rogue wave. There are no smiles within me. No solace. Today hurts. Tomorrow may too, but for now, I’ll distract myself with another adventure game. It hurts too much to think. I know that all of my training is going down the drain in these moments, but it’s o.k. I told myself that I could be in total denial for now and I’m taking my advice!
There will be warmer, better days ahead. As for now though, today is cancelled.
January 30, 2019 | Categories: Sorrow, Uncategorized | Tags: agents, anger, avoidance, avoidant behavior, book publishing, booking agent, broken-heart, broken-hearted, burial, burying a loved one, cancer, child sexual abuse, creative writing, dark days, death, denial, depression, editors, grief, how to deal with death, lonliness, losing a loved one, memoir, molested, moving on, penguin house, psych. 101, psychoogy, publishers, rage, random house, sadness, sexual abuse, shame, sorrow, talent agent, writing, writing a memoir | 2 Comments
I’m feeling strong tonight. I’ve been reflecting on my life and the directions I want to go in. Sometimes my vision gets a little blurry just like the next guy (or gal) and I find myself at a crossroad, not knowing which way to go. I guess we all do.
I have already enrolled in a prestigious New Hampshire/New England college- it’s a great school. Poor girl like me, I should be doing a tap dance, and, well I did for a little while. But as always, I put my head on the chopping block and engaged in some necessary introspective Q&A. Why am I doing this? What is my purpose? Am I changing lives for the better? Will I be happy?
If I can’t answer every question with a resolute, unwavering answer- then it’s probably not the right decision. I don’t do things halfway- I throw every ounce of my heart into it or I don’t do it. And well, I’ve been waiting for four long years to dive back into my fine art/writing/music and songwriting, and my children’s book that I published almost a decade ago. I’ve done one school book reading in years- one! That’s how busy I’ve been, and that hurts, because there’s nothing like school readings, especially when you’re sharing your own book (and your own life, which my book is- in poems) with a whole new generation. To know that you’re able to influence a child- for the better- and give him or her something that they can carry with them into the future (such as being kind to people, remembering to love, and especially- not bullying their classmates), and hopefully become better people- there’s just nothing that can compare to that.
I’ve decided that I’m not going to immediately work on my BA in Creative Writing: I’ll be taking a year off. I’ve already accomplished something that many people don’t, and that’s self-publishing your own book. [pat on the back] But, I want to actually do something with it. I’m going to shop it around to publishers soon. If nobody bites, I’m going to have to do some grant-writing and such, and that’s ok too. I simply don’t have the necessary funds to do a U.S. book promo and two consecutive books (and promote those too) without executive backing. Without the funding- it’ll sit on the shelf and the best I’ll do is contribute time and energy to Boys & Girls clubs, children’s cancer hospitals, and homeless shelters, personally. That’s alright too, but everything will be out of pocket, and right now, it just wouldn’t be possible.
I’m going to give it a year. If I’m still sitting here a year from now- without one grant, fellowship, or publishing deal (for my fine art and “photo therapy”, the therapeutic photo-program I’m hoping to develop, or a book deal)- I’ll go back to school and work on another degree. I have to follow my heart though, and my heart is telling me to fly…
Canron Rebel digital camera/Helios film lens/back deck.
November 5, 2013 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: authors, book deal, creative writing, fellowship, grants, Peanut butter Soup, philanthropy, poems, poetry books, publishers, scholarships, writing | 8 Comments