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A Good Enough New Year Resolution

Whenever I struggle to keep up with my plans I ask myself; – have I broken down the steps into small enough chunks?’

I’ve been writing this book for more than a year and only now do I start to see all the pieces come together, – well, – sort off. Learning to dissect a big goal – like writing to publish a book, have thought me to break my plans into minute – sometimes 10 minute – sessions. It’s a journey that has taken much longer than I thought it would, and it’s been a lot tougher than I ever believed it could be.

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Even Writers . . .

You know, when you go to write the ‘homepage’ of your website, the homage of yourself and the light you want to shine in the world, – you can’t just pluck it out of thin air, – right? Or can you?

As a memoirist, I would love to write fiction, to spin my stories into ancient times of myths and fairytales, of deities and gods more powerful than any world-leaders I’ve seen. Sometimes softly spoken though mostly raging against some foreign enemy, like the rising tide of the Nile. – Ohhhh, I feel the creative juices bubbling over the top of my imagination cauldron by the pure imagery of it all.

I think I made a mistake when I promised myself I would finish my memoir before I started a new story.

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Flow

There is nothing quite so luscious as getting lost in the FLOW, where you forget that you haven’t washed your hair in 3 days and you have a daughter in school, who forgot her lunch money and sent you an SOS email, which you forget to check, and Facebook and Instagram is as far from your mind as the room you’re in, right now, lost in the flow.

There is nothing quite so sumptuous than to feel the tips of my fingers tapping a dance on the smooth Apple keys, notes to a melody uncoiling stories on the page, to the tunes of smooth jazz coming from afar.

There’s nothing quite so delicious as the writer’s flow.

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A week before The Funeral

Dear Ones,

This is one of those strange times in my life, when all I can do is lean into love and be ok with all the questions. My Dad was not a good father, still he was the father I had, he was my only father.

Some believe we pick our parents so they can teach us some of the big lessons we are meant to learn in life. In that respect, he was a ‘great teacher.’  Accepting his view of the world without judgment and without having to agree with him is where I’m at today.

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Fear

Today feels like starting all over agin.

The surge of fear swells up from my gut like burning indigestion. Halting my breath as if I’m reacting to a tiger about to eat me alive. Striking at my hip and shoulder where I carry my emotions like numb pain.

At first, fear so vivid, I can see the tiger, before I remember to breathe.

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