No words

“. . . so no one has power over the day of his death. .  . “  Ecclesiastes 8:8

She was suppose to live.  We had received good news on Wednesday that she was responsive and the meds were working.  She would be discharged on Sunday.  But, instead, as I sat on my couch Friday morning, whispering words of praise for her miraculous recovery, my Blackberry buzzed.  The words seemed surreal.

Everyone,

L. passed away this morning . . . . She was found unresponsive at 3am.  They tried to revive her until 4:30 . . . My heart is broken.

Oh, the ache!  It was just Sunday when we received the call that my friend’s sister had been found in her apartment, collapsed.  A spinal tap revealed meningitis, but was inconclusive as to whether it was bacterial or viral.  Her progress in response to the antibiotics pointed to bacterial. 

Yesterday, I found myself walking up to a whitestone funeral home in New York along with a throng of other melancholy friends and family.  The wind was frigid and I couldn’t wait to get inside.  I was a few feet from the front steps of the entrance when I looked behind me.  The line was beginning to wrap around the side of the building.  I noticed familiar church faces in front of me.  People whose names I didn’t know, but should. 

“So, how’s work?”  One frosty haired lady asked. I pretended to be at ease with this conversation although I was thinking, do I know you?

The sickening smell of stale carnations and chrysanthemums wafted coolly from the building.  I hate death, I thought.  I hate it!

After waiting for a about 45 minutes to reach the front of the line, we stepped into a room of folding chairs, mourners and – my friend.  She was first and my heart skipped a beat as I approached her.  I hugged her and hugged her and only said, I’m so sorry. Words didn’t come to me right away because there are no words.  I had been disappointed with myself up until this point because I have been through this.  I know what it’s like to lose a sibling and still yet – I had no words. 

After chatting a bit – how are you holding up. . . . of course, of course. . . I made my way through the line of family members and to the body.  I didn’t know her, but I paused, trying to catch a glimpse of who she was and what she looked like.  When I realized that wasn’t possible, I moved on to the myriad of pictures posted around the room.  There were ones of her smiling with siblings, holding loved ones and friends, making goofy faces and baby pictures.  I wish I had known her. She seemed like a lovely person. 

This crazy week

I’m recovering from a crazy weekend.  Came back to a messy house, haven’t felt well and started my regular work schedule (interpreting).  Got a parking ticket yesterday.  I was livid!  Apparently, I paid the wrong parking meter.  I hate street parking!  Ugh!  However, the university I work for has agreed to pay for it.  Wow – I was surprised!

So, I’m a little nutty right now.  Once I get myself together I plan on coming up with a writing schedule.  I need to really get this thing moving.  Thought I would have time on my weekend away to write, but that’s not really why I was there.  I had a little time to read and enjoyed reading Slow Moon.  It was the perfect small book to bring.

On another note, I was quite depressed to hear about Heath Ledger’s death.  Just so incredibly sad!  My prayers go out to Michelle, Matilda Rose and his family. 

Decisions, decisions

Leaving for yet another weekend has left me scatter brained- this time a Sr. High winter retreat (church).  I went to Target yesterday because I had a gift certificate I planned to use but forgot anyway.  I spent twenty mintues picking out Fish Oil vitamins – my latest attempt at supple skin.  With my final decision made, I threw the Origins vitamins into my cart and made my way to the book section.  For the next hour I stood flipping through books, unable to make a decision.  I wanted something really good to fill my time while sitting at the lodge this weekend, guarding teenagers’ bags and coats.  However, I needed something small because I didn’t want to carry a lot.  With one book under my arm and another in my hands, I raced from the back cover to author info to the front page.  Is it a bestseller?  It seemed that so many of them were.  Is it a an Oprah club book?  If so, it’s an automatic NO!  My husband would make fun of me too much.  Is the language in the book something I could get lost in? Word choice is very important to me.  I pulled out my blackberry and went to memopad.  I typed in all of the books that I wouldn’t choose this time, but must look into reading in the future.  Kite Runner, Plain Truth (Jodi Picoult), Case Histories, Thirteen Moons, Forms of Shelter, One Mississippi.  Too many choices!!

I finally chose something thin, but hopefully interesting – Slow Moon by Elizabeth Cox.  The  main reason I chose it is because it deals with a subject I too had thought about writing.  Not sure if that’s wise, though – to read about a subject you plan to write about.  I mean, I don’t want to be tainted by someone else’s way of doing something. 

I plopped Slow Moon in my cart and took off.  I hadn’t gotten any further than the deodorant aisle, when I re-examined my decision.  I picked it up yet again and flipped through it.  I don’t know – maybe I should read something more adult.  I should have tried a Jodi Picoult book.  I turned my cart around and made my way back to the book aisle, stopping short.  Rethinking.  Just buy the book, S!! I thought.  I proceeded to the check out lane and out into the snow that had just begun to fall. 

While most of my things are now packed for the weekend, I have sat down to write.  I got two leads.  I received an e-mail back from the on-line, non-paying magazine I contacted.  They are still accepting articles and told me to let them know when I have something to submit.  Yippee!  I also would like to try my hand at writing for a Chidren’s magazine.  Highlights is having a contest, but I don’t believe I can make the deadline in time.  I contacted them today to get a sample magazine. 

Jodi Picoult

“I need the schedule for R____ University.”  I explained to agency lady.

“I know, I know – I’ll get that out to you by Wednesday.”  She promised.

“But – but, classes start on Tuesday.” I protested. 

“Oh, no.  Maybe I confused you.  Classes start on the 22nd.”  Agency lady explained.

Whoo-hoo, I thought.  This is fabulous!  A free week.  It’s like finding a $20 in a jacket you haven’t worn in awhile.  Or having a snow day on exam week. 

So, I cleaned all morning.  I wanted to sit down and write, but I have this thing.  The house has to be clean before I can concentrate.  After organizing our sweater armour, vacuuming and mopping the downstairs, and dusting, I felt I had done enough and therefore sat down to do some research. 

I went to Writer’s Digest (http://www.writersdigest.com/) and clicked on Videos for Writers.   A rather drab speaking man appeared, introducing Jodi Picoult.  Jodi came to the podium and discussed her life as a writer, tips on writing and her books. I only listened to her speak about one book, Second Glance.

She started out by saying something I already knew – write what you know.  However, you can’t know everything and sometimes you know . . . . well, not much.  She then said something that was quite daunting.  Research is very important.  Yikes!  She went on to explain her process of research in detail – visiting an abandoned mental institution in search for ghosts, being present at an autopsy and visiting a state crime lab to learn their techniques for solving a murder.  I have to say, it seemed incredibly exciting, and at the same time, tedious.  How do you even begin to find time to research and hold down a job if you are not a J.K. Rowling yet?  Hmmmm. . . . I’d like to know.

With my computer on the fritz and driving me insane, I stopped Picoult’s presentation and moved on to the next task.  I surfed the web, looking for a writing contest, calls for submissions, something. I ended up e-mailing an editor of an on-line magazine to inquire about her submission timeline.  No response yet. 

A question is looming in my mind today. . . . is it unwise to begin writing a book when you don’t know where your writing ability stands?  When you haven’t yet received kudos from an editor?  Should you start with articles instead? 

Weary Traveler

  I stepped off the plane in New York, weary and glad to be home, happy that I had accomplished something I hate to do – flying.  The cold hair wrapped around me tightly, giving me a shiver.  The harsh smell of jet fuel permeated the air as I entered the airport from the tarmac.  Although a too short weekend and quite exhausting, I had enjoyed the wedding and spending time with family.  Now it was over, and as I made my way to baggage claim – at first walking the wrong way, then correcting myself – I pondered all that had just taken place.

I arrived in plenty of time for the early morning flight out of La Guardia Airport on Friday.  (Okay, 9am is not so early for some folks, but me – well, that’s a different story.)  I had brought things to read, but had no desire to do so.  I pulled out my writing material, a pink Marble Cover notebook.  I stared at the white, wide ruled pages, clicking my pen again and again.  Click-click, click-click . . .  I closed my notebook and let my gaze roam around the airport.  Nothing.  I picked up my red leather travel bag, a find I was very proud of – Target, on sale – and headed for anything that could give me inspiration. 

Hudson News!  Yes, that is a place I could spend some time.  I perused the magazines.  Vanity Fair, US Weekly, The New Yorker. . . I finally picked up In Style magazine.  Flipping through it, I argued with myself. “This is a waste of money!  You’ll be done with this mind numbing nonsense in two minutes.  And for what?  Five dollars worth of nothing!”  I walked to the counter with my magazine and handed the man $4.99 plus tax.  I would only read it after I had written something truly publishable. 

I found my seat at the back of the plane, next to the toilets.  Immediately, odors of bodily functions surrounded me.  I coughed to expel what had already entered my airways and held my breath.  God, help me!  Someone has no control!

Once again, taking out my pink notebook, I stared at the blank page and then at the back of the seat in front of me.  I closed my notebook and texted someone.  “Plane leaving on time.  Will see you soon. . . . I hope!”  I opened a book I had brought, Glass Castle, and finished before we left the runway.  What a great book!!  I was sad I had finished it so quickly.

I began to make lists.  Okay, if I’m going to write an article for Radiant Magazine, what would I write?  I listed some options - a half a page full!  Somehow I veered off task and started making lists in the margin of what I would eventually name this blog.  I came up with a good idea and circled it.  Made stars around it.  Drew a happy face.  Began sketching the profile of the person in the adjacent seat.  I opened my magazine.

There was turbulence, and I fumbled for my iPod.  I found Enya and pressed play. “This is normal, S.”  I told myself.  “You are okay.  People fly everyday. Breathe deeply.  Feel yourself getting sleepy.  You will live through this.  This is normal.”  By the time I landed, my legs were jello. 

In Chicago, I found my gate and sat down to write.  I had just been walking behind a girl on my way to Gate A4, and this is what I wrote . . .

She had a high butt, hard and unmovable even when she walked. Brown pants with gold pin-stripes adorned this glaring feature.  Matching and ridiculously high heels – probably Gucci or Jimmy Choo – seemed to hike it up a little further so that it practically waved at you.  “Look at me!”  Had the guy with the Heineken at the bar complimented her obvious asset, she would have coolly said, “Yeah, thanks. It’s my best feature.”  Giggle.

 I reread what I had wrote.  Ugh.  What is this?!  Hardly publish-worthy literature! 

I tried to take the advice of one of my commenters, devonellington, who said to eavesdrop for inspiration, but I could hear nothing amid the muffled announcements, TVs, screaming babies and airplanes taking off.  What I did hear, business conversations related to stats, percentages and yearly blah, blah, blah – made no sense to me or was of any interest. 

My cousin picked me up at the Nashville airport in record time.  I enjoyed so much of the family time, the conversations, seeing people I haven’t seen in so long (Laura, Jason and Krista).  And yet, as I flew back from Nashville, I literally wilted on the flimsy little plane seat, wedging my head between the seat back and the wall of the plane.  I was sad.  Everyone was changing. For good or better, they were changing.  Life is short, and I missed them and sometimes. . . I missed what was.  I was such a blob of sadness and late nights that I did nothing, but rest my head on that hard wall and stare out the window.

I have concluded that perhaps I should not expect of myself a creative experience on a plane or during travel.  I am not a good traveler, and it tires me.  Who can write when they are both exhausted and emotionally spent – not to mention a nervous wreck?

Air travel inspiration

I will be traveling to Nashville this weekend for my cousin’s wedding.  Unfortunately, I made my arrangements late and had to take what was available.  So, I against my wishes, I will be making connections in O’Hare and some other airport code I can’t decipher.  Basically, it’ll be a long day with a lot of twiddle your thumbs free time.  But, besides my procrastination in flight arrangements, I usually plan ahead. 

I searched my overflowing book shelf for something I haven’t read yet.  The Tender Bar, Lovely Bones, The Secret Life of Bees, The Bell Jar. . . . what to read, what to read?  I remembered that when I left my last job at an elementary school, the library had piled a bunch of books on a table in the lobby.  The announcement was made – “Please feel free to take any books you would like.”  They were purging the library, I guess.

I raced to the lobby.

I happen to love fiction – young adult fiction especially.  In fact, that is the genre I would like to begin writing in.  I don’t know why.  I didn’t like being a teenager, and I still don’t like that age at times.  Too drama-queen -esque.  Maybe I feel a need to set them straight.  I don’t know.

Anyway, back to the elementary school lobby. . .  so I picked up quite a few books.  A few Roald Dahl books, Gathering of Days, The Trumpet Swan, Sarny and a few others.  I happened across E.L. Konigsburg’s Up From Jericho Tel and decided it might be a good read.  We’ll see.  I thought if I want to write young adult fiction, it might help to read it more. 

I have to have a good book on an airplane, something to get lost in.  I don’t like to fly so I come equipped with distractions – fiction, chocolate and my iPod.  “Gingerale please!”

Another thought crossed my mind.  Why not find a writing contest or project and begin writing during that three hour layover?  So, the hunt begins.  I will be looking for something to start a creative mindset.  Perhaps a contest or an article is the best way to get going.  I need a goal.  I have a hard time just starting something – staring at a blank page.  I heard of something called, The Brew and another called, Radiant.  Maybe I’ll start there. 

Finally!

I’ve been meaning to do this for awhile.  Start a new blog.  Get something going so that my creative juices will flow more freely.  You’ve probably heard the story before.  Since I was 12, I’ve desired to be a writer.  I wrote books on tattered paper, ragged with strings of spiral bound fringe.  I bound them with lace I found in my mom’s sewing closet or string I found lying around.  I would arrange dolls along my purple bedspread and read to them for hours on end.  I was addicted even at that early age to the creativity of words and ideas beautifully strung together on paper. 

But, I grew up.  And as things go, I had to make money.  I pursued a career that I mildly enjoy, but writing has always loomed largely in my mind.  I chose making money over being a starving artist.  Starting this blog is just part of a plan I am concocting to push myself into the writing world.  I hope to catalogue my attempts at being a writer.  I’m holding myself to at least one post a week.  Come on – a girl can’t pressure herself too much!  Might as well start small.