Progress

…so…many things…want to write….can’t.

I’m nano-ing…too busy…to update…fingers…lame.

(and yes, I’m starting to think the writing looks that lame too. I’ll be back. Sometime. Maybe in January at this rate. Hugs to all.)

**Real update** I seriously haven’t updated my word-count on purpose. Those first few days of Nano, every time I saw everyone else’s word counts soaring made me feel like a loser. So I told myself to stop competing and have since refused to even log on to the nano site. I’ll probably update later this weekend (just so the Nano-Gods don’t think I’m a dropout) but for now, I’m just trying to write. It’s the only way I’ve managed to function without falling into a weepy mess. See you soon.

Grant me this one request

“What I have found is if I keep a steady pace of writing a little every day, soon I have thousands of words on a page.”
--Carolyn Vawdrey, ‘It’s the duration that counts.’

I’m outta here, folks.

This weekend I’m off for a mini-writers retreat. My good friend Carolyn will be going with me and I anticipate lots of laughs. She happened to write a timely post today that I find is helping me keep my balance in connection to Nano. (I linked it above.) I’ve had a hard time with word count the last two days but I have had some, so that’s something. This weekend should be great for helping me cram in a lot more.

However, before I go, I have a request from you, my dear readers. A friend and I were talking the other day about our blogs and expectations. It got me thinking about mine and how erratic is gets around here. In light of that, I thought I’d ask you guys what sort of things draw you here. What kind of posts do you enjoy? Is there anything you’d like to hear more of? Now is the perfect time to sock it to me. Don’t hold back, either. I’m serious. I’d really like to know what you think.

I’ll be back around Saturday night but until then, I won’t have internet access. See you soon!

Until next time,

L.T.

p.s. Those of you who are Nano-ing, keep it up! You’re doing amazing!

I surprise even myself!

“No one is able to enjoy such feast than the one who throws a party in his own mind.”
--Selma Lagerlöf

It’s been a party in here. Literally, in fact.

So, I told you all about the dream, right? The dream is essentially the story I’m writing for NanoWriMo and it’s been…surreal. I won’t lie, those first 1200 words were HARD. I had to push myself, poke myself, and drag myself to get that far. I had no idea my internal editor was such an asterisk-percent sign-ampersand. She threw a monster fit and complained over every single word choice.

That chick’s had the reins for way too long.

Once I got over the 1200 hump, it’s been smooth sailing for me and my characters. (Yes, they’re actually sailing.) The internal editor grumped her way into the corner and sends dirty looks my way. I’m ignoring her.

The thing that really shocked me? How much FUN I’m having. It’s been a long, long time since I had this much fun writing. The story is just flowing. I’m enchanted by my cast of characters. They’re so different than what I’m used to. The guys I write tend to be broody, silent types and yet the main one in this story is all kinds of happy and fun. It’s bizarre and lovely and, well, FUN!

I’ve put a status bar up in the corner for those of you who want to see the progress. (And I don’t mind seeing it either. ;) For now, if you don’t see much of me or my comments, just know that I’m out sailing and partying with the wildy’s in my head.

Have a good one!

--L.T.

A Right Frenzy

“Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies, those transcendent moments of awe that change forever how we experience life and the world.”
--John Milton

COSMIC BOOM!

So, Nano starts today. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been pretty terrified about it. This is my first Nano and 50,000 words in a month is a lot for me. I’d chosen my story to work on and though I had direction, I still felt pretty scared about it.

And then…

I had this KILLER dream last night. (And I mean K.I.L.L.E.R. dream!) All thoughts in my head: blown out of the water. Whatever story I was going to write has totally been tossed overboard. This dream…I saw almost the entire book played out in my mind. My husband woke me from it, kissing me good morning, and I was enjoying the story so much that I wanted to go back to bed to relive it. I kept thinking to myself, I’ll write it down later because this idea is SO good, there’s NO way I’ll forget it.

And then I remembered that I’d had one of these dreams before and it had been forgotten by the time I tried to write it down. So I called for my hubby to get me a pen and paper and started jotting it down. Those first notes: almost entirely illegible. The problem was, the more I wrote down, the more I started to wake. So I’d pause, fall back into that dozing kind of state, and then wake up to write what I could recall. Finally, I got so excited about this idea that sleep was gone altogether. It was like an explosion in my brain.

COSMIC BOOM!

I’m happy to say that I have most of the ideas from it written down—though a few did slip from my grasp like dreams have a tendency to do.

So the verdict? SO FRICKIN’ EXCITED!!! I cannot WAIT to write this story! NanoWriMo? More like NanoWriDay! Seriously! It’s that fun of an idea for me. (Can you tell?! The grammar and structure of this entire blog post is all over the map. I’m in a right frenzy!)

Happy November 1st, everyone! I’m off to WRITE!

--L.T.

p.s. I may not blog much this month. It’s Nano!

I don’t brake for me

“Self is the only prison  that can ever bind the soul.”
--Henry Van Dyke

I’m so totally sick of myself.

Do you ever feel that way? Like you just can’t stand the sight or feel of your own skin anymore? There was once this poem by Shel Silverstein called “The Skin Stealer” (it used to give me nightmares as a kid—yeah, I’m weird) but right now, I feel rather like doing what it says:

“This evening I unzipped my skin
and carefully unscrewed my head,
Exactly as I always do
When I prepare myself for bed.”

It goes on to tell about how a coo-coo came and stole his skin and behaved all kinds of badly with it. Right now, I’d be fine with that. “Just take my skin away so I can get away from myself for a minute!”

So what am I doing with myself to escape? I’m throwing myself into NanoWriMo. Yes, throwing myself, like one might do to get under the wheels of a bus. 50,000 words of some other character’s life and woes should do to get me away from my own life for a minute.

Anyway, should you also be participating, feel free to “buddy” me. I’m LT_Elliot. Not too creative I know but that’s what Nano is for.

How do I feel about doing Nano for the first time? Frankly, I’m terrified. And you can see it by the adverbs in this post. Ugh.

Until next time,

L.T.

p.s. I’m trying to get back to writer-L.T. and not so morose-L.T. Sorry that all of you have had to put up with my whiny posts as of late. I’ll get over myself soon. Or let someone steal my skin. Or something.

A Gourd

     I first wrote this over on my Group Blog after a lot of thinking about The Mother Letter Project, introduced to me from Heather of the E.O.
     I never wrote an actual letter but this is what came from my heart. I’m currently in that place where I both need to be the haven and wish I had the haven and that’s why I’m sharing it again. I’m sorry, I just haven’t had the heart recently to write myself at the moment. I’ll get back to it soon.
All my best,
L.T.

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Backward, turn backward, O time in your flight,
Make me a child again just for to-night!
Mother, come back from the echoless shore,
Take me again to your heart as of yore;

Oft times, I am weighted by a daily care. As are many parents. We bear in our arms the young fates for young lives and endeavor to make choices that will sustain them. We make judgments on our children’s behalf; some well calculated and some that are on-the-fly. There are days that this sacred duty is feather-light and other days where I am scrabbling in the dirt beneath a load that seems impossible. There are moments when I question my sanity, my loyalty, my endurance…and moments when I believe that I will be buried by the awesome responsibility; that I will finally fail them---my beloved children.

Backward, flow backward, oh, tide of the years!
I am so weary of toil and of tears--
Toil without recompense, tears all in vain--
Take them, and give me my childhood again!

There are moments where I stand alone, in the dark, and shelter a pale light in my cupped hands. It is dimmer than it was yesterday. Silent tears bathe my cheeks as I confront myself and know…this is my doing. Their little light is in my hands and today I have bruised it. Today I have not been the haven. Today I have been the storm. It was done without intention. I only succumbed to the ceaseless battering of a hectic life but it was long enough to harm when I ought to have been the shield.

I have grown weary of dust and decay--
Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;
Weary of sowing for others to reap;--
Rock me to sleep, Mother—rock me to sleep!

So often, I am ashamed of these feelings, this threadbare offering of self. I feel too thin to be useful, too raw to be soft. How can this siphoned husk pour even one drop more upon ground that seems so thirsty? I see the fledgling flower buds and their future as vibrant gardens, petals unfurled to take in a blazing sun. But what have I to give when I am struggling to break ground myself? It has been a harsh winter. Am I strong enough to greet a new spring?

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,
No love like mother-love ever has shone;
No other worship abides and endures--
Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:

I have slipped but the day is not yet done. I have time still. Such tender sweetness, such loving forgiveness. A proffered chance at redemption that I grasp with greedy hands, weeping while I cling. This upturned face, this gentle gaze. God is in their eyes. I think of this yearning for comfort and know that I must become it. I must be the strength that I need so desperately so that one day, when tending to their own gardens, they too will have a hidden well. The dancing sheen reflected in their luminescent gaze is all the moisture I need. I will pour myself; pour and pour and pour.

None like a mother can charm away pain
From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.
Slumber’s soft calms o’er my heavy lids creep;--
Rock me to sleep, Mother—rock me to sleep!

I have wounded. I have wronged. I will repair. I will heal. I will smooth brows and gently wipe tears while I smother my own with a trembling smile. “Together,” I say, “together we can do anything.” A tiny hand in each of mine, a single heart in three bodies. The burden is no less heavy but there is the determination to shoulder it so it cannot fall on any but mine.

My head is bowed--no longer in despair, but rather, humility. My knees are bent, in supplication instead of defeat. And the burden that has been both shameful failure and desperate exhaustion is lifted from me—given to one who has never failed. Not me. Not me. Never failed me.

And the comfort of childhood, of sheltered carelessness, is renewed. It descends and enfolds. I am replenished. All I have ever given up is given back. The well of self overflows and runneth over…runneth over.

Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,
With your light lashes just sweeping my face,
Never hereafter to wake or to weep;--
Rock me to sleep, Mother—rock me to sleep!

[italicized stanzas from Elizabeth Akers Allen, Rock Me To Sleep.]

A Rerun

I’m recycling an old post of mine from January. It was originally called “Tales from the Battlefield.” I’m doing this for 2 reasons. 1-It’s very appropriate at this moment and 2- I thought some of you might get a kick out of where The General and The Troopers first got their nicknames.
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“Sickness comes on horseback, but goes away on foot." --William C. Hazlitt

I neglect you, dear readers, due to impoverished health. I blame my body. For some reason or other, it seems to have forgotten that it is supposed to be invincible. Bad memory, I suppose.

Relatively germ free on Sunday night, I was struck Monday morning. A sneak attack. I rallied the troops and we made a stunning effort at retaliation but somehow, the illness snuck behind me and we were crushed by that old military maneuver: The Hammer and the Anvil.

Resulting losses are too devastating to mention.

I spent an indeterminate amount of time on the battlefield, consciousness flickering like a guttering candle, and listened to the sounds of my fallen comrades. They fared better than I, their wounds less egregious.

We were rescued just after nightfall. Our brilliant General snuck stealthily onto the field, recovered our failing bodies, and disappeared like a huff of breath in the chill winter air. The General's armor is clearly superior to mine own, as he remains stalwart and unmovable. He has provided nourishment and rest but had to leave us to recover alone, heading back to do as he must. He is, after all, the General.

My fellow soldiers seem to be recovering more steadily while I try to resist the lure of darkness. It would be easier to surrender. But my companions are impatient and demand nourishment. I am their superior. It is my duty to look after them, especially while the General is away. The medics ply us with their concoctions but they are slow to act. It will take time for us to recoup from these losses.

But we must recover. There are battles to be fought, wars to be won, and accolades that must be ours! This enemy is powerful but must be stopped. If we fail...it could spread over the land and thousands could be lost to its awesome power. No! We must prevail! We will deny the wicked overlords of the Instacare and their cruel minions, the co-pay.

The task has fallen upon me, dear friends. I alone will suffer this misery so that I can spare you and all others who might otherwise fall under the cold shadow of illness. This sickness must die with me.

Stay back! Do not try to dissuade me! Just promise me this one thing: when you gather with your loved ones and fear no infection, when you breathe and are not hampered by the need for abrasive tissue, when you pass a doctor and flash that shiny apple at him...remember me.

And let the wind whisper...Elliot.

[No! Not "Elliot" from E.T.! Me, people! Me!]