It started with a bug

I haven’t slept very well for a while. I keep waking up at odd hours and one night when I woke up, I reached for my phone and started surfing the web and heard a buzz near my ear. Not wanting to panic or wake others, I shook my hair out and walked quickly to the bathroom to find the bug. I had spotted that ugly black bug earlier in the day and forgotten about it, but with the attraction to the light of my phone, it let me know that it still lived.

I was confused and having de ja vu. This bug was sizable and though I’ve experienced a spider or two here in Seattle, bugs were pretty much off the radar. Had I brought this bug here from a recent trip to Texas? Where had this bug come from??

The next evening, knowing the buzzing bug still lived, I delayed going to bed. I didn’t care to share my bedroom with an ugly bug. I remembered it’s attraction to the light, and so I experimented. I left lights on outside my bedroom hoping to draw the bug out. I waited until a little after midnight and with heavy eye-lids, finally, I decided (cleverly I thought) to place a nightlight strategically close to the window (where I saw it last), but far from my side of the bed and then I went reluctantly to bed.

I struggled to fall asleep “tenting” a sheet around my head, not wishing to have a buzz near my ear or face. I finally fell asleep convincing myself that the bug would be more attracted to the night-light than my face.

The next day, after waking up, and thinking my plan succeeded, I walked to the bathroom peering around both hoping and dreading to see the bug. But, it wasn’t there. It was early, and still dark outside, so I returned to bed and dove back under the covers and tried unsuccessfully to go back to sleep. So, I tented the sheet around me, pulled out my phone, dimmed the screen and read until I got sleepy again hoping not to hear a bug buzz near me. I finally fell asleep again.

An hour or so later, I woke up with a sore head and not feeling rested. I went to work foggy and my stomach starting to ache.

I stayed at work feeling yuck and then went home gratefully. When I got home, I walked into my bedroom pulling and ruffling the drapes, hoping to see (and not see) the dreaded bug. It wasn’t there?! And that’s when I decided that I must’ve eaten it. I have no proof of it’s prior existence nor do I have proof that I ate it (except my stomach issues), so I concluded and accepted that I must’ve digested the thing. Ugh.

And then, (to make matters worse!) as I’m sitting here typing this bug story, I researched the bug I saw and it matched something called a kissing bug!!! Holy *&$#@! This kind of bug sucks human blood after the victim is sound asleep. Yuck.

Later in the day, I took a nap (in the living room) because I still had a headache and face ache and it all started with my encounter with a stalking bug!

The only thing keeping me from completely not wanting to go to my bedroom tonight is that I still have not found the bug and I have no proof of a bite like the woman in the story, so, that is why I believed that I ate it. UGH. So, at least, the bug is gone.

~sorry, no peace from me today. 😦

 

 

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Take Me Away

I wrote this with those in mind whose lives have recently (and not so recently) been invaded by the terrible choices that other humans make. I can’t understand, nor have I lived this terror myself. But, I’m realizing that this could be my life. It could be anyone’s life, unfortunately. But today, I can only imagine the pain, the tears. But I do care and think about the unimaginable that has become another’s life.

With still heavy lids, I woke up to a strange and terrible rumble, the shattering of glass, the smell of death and screams.

It invaded my dream of sandy beaches and the noise of a children’s laughter.

The terror of today took my life.

Took the life I had known. The life I had grown to love,

My life filled with love, with peace, the smell, the taste, the sounds of home.

That was my life, that was our life, that was our home.

Many, many days before, so long ago, so long ago…so long.

So… long… ago.

And now, I run, I hide, I fear not knowing where to go or where to sleep.

Where do I go, oh where do I go, where do I go, where should we go?

And finally I stop, I only stop because my feet can’t go anymore. I fall exhausted to the

ground. I rest because I have to. I try to.

I sleep. But, my mind forgot how to rest,  I recycle the images I can’t deal with during the day.

I awake trembling, searching, but groggy with sleep.

I succumb again…I sleep for a

moment.

Then, it begins again, the noise invades.

This is my life. A life with no home.

When I find I can’t run anymore, or sleep.

I find a corner and I weep.

I weep as a unconsolable child heaving and hugging myself into an ever smaller person.

I desire to disappear, to hide from my reality.

Because this is not life, this is not home, I have no peace, I have no hope.

Help, help, help me from this hell.

Take me away from here. Please take me away far from here. Take me, take me away, I pray take me away, take me away, take me away…from here.

My tears stop in my trembling hand, I hear a whisper, ” I’m here. I’m sorry.”

I look up I cry and I scream, “Why….,” I’m filled with anger…”Why?!…why?!.”

I hear nothing, but silence. It’s strange at first, I look around…wait, but nothing,

For the moment. And then…

The wind moves the trees, and the raindrops begin, quietly…steady..and then a deluge.

The thunder crashes and the earth vibrates with the thunder. It repeats again and again.

I have no fear. The storm reverberates.

And I know, he sees, he feels, he hears, he knows.

I see my trembling hand taken, I feel my hair caressed, I sense my face being touched and I hear…

“I’ll take you away, from here, from here, I’ll take you away from here, I’ll take you. I’ll take you, I’ll take you away, away,  away, take you away…take you from here, far away from here. Away from here.

I’ll take you away. I’ll take you away….away from here.

The thunder rumbles, the wind calms, the rain steadies. The storm is over. For the moment. A moment. Just a moment.

For just a moment…

He took me away, away from here. From the hell down here. From all the pain down here, In my life… right here. He took me, he took me, he took me and shook me awake, he took me away.

From here.

 

 

 

 

 

Blogging

So, I saw a little symbol on my blog that indicated that I’ve been active on WordPress for 6 years! Really?!  It was hard to believe! I want to be proud of that, but with my lack of writing activity lately, I feel a bit undeserving of the trophy icon. Regardless, I want to thank any supporters (likes and followers) that I’ve had on this and my other site Enjoy in those 6 years.

Although it’s very hard to connect with each and every follower and liker, I wanted to mention that before I like and follow sites, I do go out and take a peek at what the site is about and if I jibe with it, then I reciprocate the like.

On another note, recently, I’ve followed quite a few fashion/beauty websites that I admire and I don’t necessarily have anything in common with, but I believe in what they’re doing and how they’re sharing their fashion/ beauty knowledge (of which I have none) and how they positively present their face and body.

Now, as for me and my writing goals, well, let’s just say I’ve not given up, and that I’ve been mostly busy, but keeping the “head-journal” going as I go about with the other things I do. I read somewhere that some people actually “write” a novel in their head long before typing out the words on the keyboard. I think I’m experiencing that kind of data collecting lately. It’s fun and freeing.

It’s late, so thanks again for stopping in. Have a good rest of your week.

~Peace.

Promoting a story

I wrote a story with my friend. Our story, Extraordinary Girl is a novel about a young woman who finds her way in the world despite her many obstacles.

For whatever reasons, I’ve not promoted it before, but I knew that the time would come for it to be out there where it belongs. (In the hands of readers!) Truly, it was not written for only ourselves to enjoy.

The process of writing a novel, even a short one, is long and tedious.  It reminded me of when I was pregnant with my children. The first stages involved much preparation, excitement and thrill. But like pregnancy, the last stages of writing the book became tiring, heavy and frustrating. Birthing a book involved time, energy and even money to get enough of the kinks out.

And then, after completing the process, and reaching the end of a long race, I learned that the end of one process was really the beginning of another process, in which I wasn’t completely ready. And that process is promoting the work, our work. It is not a process I was familiar with, nor frankly willing to get acquainted with at that moment.

I mean, wasn’t it enough our story was out there, published on Kindle?  And if it was written to be read, and put on a proverbial “shelf”, then it would be found and read. Right? Wrong. And honestly,  I knew that.  But hey, it was out of my hands, at least.

When I read about promoting a story, a piece of my soul immediately rejected the idea. Nope! Not interested in putting our work (hard work) out there to be criticized and rejected.

But now? Well, after months and month of working in other “arenas”, doodling, blogging and such, I’ve finally reached the point where I’m ready to promote. I’m no longer worried about the “public-eye” or ratings or inevitable rejections. All those things are not the measure of truth.

The truth is that what my friend and I did in writing a story together is an accomplishment and a beginning of a dream realized. To become writers. We created a character that we both believed in and birthed her story. We wrote. Yay us!

 

 

 

 

 

Friday night

I’m taking a moment on a blustery Friday night here in Washington to say hello to my old friend, my blog. Hello!

So, the latest. I’ve submitted my story for a contest today. I was reminded by a fellow writer about today’s deadline and so I submitted it just hours ago!

It’s a bit crazy, but I felt the story, if not myself deserved it. I like my story and I suspect others could like it and if an agent could read it, then maybe they would see the promise in it.

I’ve been busy setting up a tutoring business and so I’ve not written much and just nearly missed this contest.

Anyway, that’s it. On other news which isn’t as good is I’m also busy getting ready to move. My husband and I have loved the house we’re in and the owners have decided to sell it. So, we must leave to find other roads to stomp on…but, some things remain the same and for that, I’m grateful.

 

The story

Hello fellow writers and readers…

I felt it was about time that I unveiled to you the first story that I’ve ever published on Kindle.

The book was conceived with from a piece of writing that my friend did and put away in her nightstand. One day, she read it to me and a story was born. We strived to put our words and voices together and our desires for the main characters. This was a challenge, but after a few years of working on it, we felt it time to put it out there in the hands of readers.

We are very open to feed back and criticism as long as you’re kind. We realize that as first timer’s, things won’t be perfect, but give it a read and share your thoughts.

 

Please let me know if the link works:

Extraordinary Girl

Point of view

After some consulting with my hubby and reading over of my novel,  I’ve realized that the point of view I’ve used is 3rd person omniscient.  And after class, I’m not confident that this is the most effective choice for the story. I look forward to getting some more feedback as this has me a bit stuck. Ultimately, I know the choice lies with the author, me, so perhaps I’ll take a scene and practice writing in the different POV’s.

Here’s to a productive week!

~Peace friends.

Just a touch

She bent over her and her husband’s bed and wept. He was asleep in the basement. The divorce papers were in the drawer and her wedding pictures and other keepsakes thrown together in a box in the corner of the bedroom. The tears that had been lying dormant for months decided to escape from her soul tonight. She wept aloud and decided she didn’t care if he heard her because tonight she knew her marriage of 22 years was finally over and it was grievous to her.

She shuffled her feet along the wooden, creaky floors throwing her used tissues down. She frowned at the sight of her bedroom because they’d decorated it together, each wall holding a treasure collected at the local art festivals. She sniffed as she walked around her bed near the corner where the wedding keepsakes had been put; her marriage tossed in a box. She picked up the pink basket that he’d made for her and again the tears poured out. Then she remembered  what her daughter had recently told her, “Mom, I’ll keep your wedding pictures with me.” And that thought caused the upper part of her body to collapse onto his side of the bed in a mixture of both anger and anguish. She grabbed at the sheets to use them to wipe her tears. They had created three beautiful, compassionate children who were willing to care for them both despite the tear that divorce would do in their own lives.

She moaned and loathed the sound of it. The moan or groan had come from deep within and she let it out, but the sound of it caused her to force herself to stop. Divorce, there was no other alternative, she thought, she tried everything, but nothing had worked and both of them tired of the fight to stay together. There was nothing left to save.

Resigned to a new reality, she stopped crying, and listened for any movement in the basement and heard nothing. “Figures” she thought. He’s really finished with us.”  Not wanting to hear any more of her groans, she decided to go to bed. She took melatonin to help her ease into sleep. And as she settled into the quiet, she heard a voice say, “Go touch him” and she stirred in bed and said, “What? Lord? We have not even greeted each other or looked at each other. Why would I do that?” After questioning the voice, she tried to settle into sleep and forced herself to close her eyes, but though exhausted, sleep refused to overtake her. Instead, she heard again, “Go touch him” To which she turned onto her back and looked at the darkness of the ceiling. Instead of questioning the voice, she fought with the blankets while her mind envisioned herself first walking down the steps and then opening the door. It seemed simple enough, but “then what?” she pondered, “All you need to do is touch him.” “Really Lord?” she countered.

She turned to hug her pillow, but her lids were wide open and her mind active. “Just touch him” and she thought, “Well, I guess”, but instead, she recalled her husband’s stoic face. She’d no longer found comfort in the blue of his eyes, but instead she swore they changed color from a sea blue to an icy teal. Touching him right now would put her in a vulnerable position and  the possibility of rejection was more than she could bear tonight, but still the voice insisted, “Go touch him” and she blew out a sigh of frustration.

Afterwards, she threw back her covers and knew that as soon as she got out of bed that she wouldn’t return until she touched him and so, with that, she saw herself get out of bed and begin the long walk towards the basement stairs. The house was dark and her steps creaked the floor beneath her. When she reached the stairs, she took a deep breath before descending. She listened for any sound, but heard nothing. She reached the door and knocked gently hoping he didn’t answer and he didn’t, but the voice persisted, “Just a touch”. So, knowing she’d come this far, she turned the knob and found him asleep on the couch. He hadn’t heard her knock, so she stared at him sleeping for a short time before she walked toward the edge of the bed. Awkwardly, she sat as far from him, and reached out to touch his back. He didn’t stir until she began to rub his back and that’s when he woke in a startle. He sat up, stared at her and asked, “What are you doing?” To which she answered nervously, “I-I’m just touching you, that’s what I’m supposed to do. Go back to sleep, j-just let me rub your back.” And he sat and said, “I don’t understand what you’re doing.” Lifting her hand and biting her lip, she rose from the bed and quietly said, “I don’t know either.” She started to leave and turned towards the door and she heard him say, “Wait” and she stopped and turned around slowly and then he said, “It’s okay.” Hearing him say it was okay gave her the courage to step back towards him and grab his hand and gently squeeze it and as she brought it to her mouth and then her forehead, she said, “I’m so sorry.”

He took in her words and her touch and brought her close to his chest. She was weeping freely now into his chest. The ache in his heart caused him to hold her closely and suddenly he found himself overcome with desire for his repentant wife. He raised up her face to his and he kissed her hungrily and she responded to him. They wept together and continued to hold each other.

They held each other tightly all night and vowed to never let go. Ever again.

I will write

I’m still here. After thinking about the goals for my site and I’ve decided to “try on” a different theme. The goal here is writing and my previous theme, though appealing, kept me from my goal as I was focusing too much on thinking of what photo to highlight or which would match the writing.  So, for those of you that enjoy my photography, please visit my photo blog. The purpose of that site is photos. For this site, I will write.

I spent a few weeks in my hometown of Fort Worth, Texas visiting, thinking, reflecting and plotting as usual. Is there an artist that doesn’t plot, scheme, dream or wonder? Whether it was the sweltering heat, or the food choices or lack of chocolate, I came away from my vacation more sure than fearful about the path of my future career. I will write. Though the use of a comma evades me, I will write.

I even enjoyed the fantasy of becoming a novelist. But, it occurred to me that there is one thing that I don’t have in common with story writers. It seems to me that most novelists enjoy telling stories, while I fancy the weaving of a story. Makes me wonder if instead I just need to try to play Minecraft?

Eh, no, there’s something about the written word that is joyful, playful, and open to possibilities that appeals to me, is me.

~I will write.