does anybody really know what time it is?

Does time travel mess with your hair, and do you need passport?

So I just finished reading the latest work from one of my favorite authors, Katie MacAlister, A Tale of Two Vampires.  It is another sequel, if one could call it that, to her Ben & Fran series. (Two of my all-time favorite characters, EVER.)

Although KM is primarily an adult romance writer, she had written some Young Adult (YA) work through the POV of Francesca (Fran) Ghetti and her Dark One, Benedict Czerny in Got Fangs? and Circus of the Darned.  For her adult readers she created a third novel featuring these two characters with In the Company of Vampires.

If you’re reading this, Katie MacAlister, I signed up to join the Moravian Society over a month ago. I’m a super-fan, and I know you’re busy with (hopefully) the next Light Dragons or Dark Ones series, but… I like stuff and am waiting for my free stuff.  <sheepish smile.>

Now, although A Tale of Two Vampires, is separate from Fran & Ben’s story, it is a continuation of that plotline. Focusing on the POVs of Iolanthe Tennyson (Io) as the Beloved and of Benedikt’s father, also a Dark One, Nikola Czerny.  It’s one of the first of KM’s works that features both POVs of the heroine and hero.  Typically her Dark Ones series focuses only on the heroine’s POV.

It was quite refreshing to having both POV’s. As a reader, and in my personal life, I’m quite nosy and prefer to understand exactly what the characters are thinking, whether it is a female or male perspective. I’ll admit, it’s been a little frustrating reading KM’s works from only a female POV.

We’ll get to which POV I prefer to write from at a later time.

Also new to her Dark Ones series is a new turn of events, or rather a sidestep of events by using time travel through ‘portals.’  The idea of portals themselves are not new. Portals have been a longtime part of several of her more recent Dark Ones series; however, the use of portals for time travel is new.

I have yet to watch the old and new series of Dr. Who and focusing on time travel, but it’s on my list of to-do’s.  One of my all time favorite film series is Back to the Future with Christopher Lloyd and Michael J. Fox, and a non-favorite Just Visiting, a failed attempt at campy humor by a typical-favorite-but-disappointed-in-this-film with Christina Applegate.

The protagonist, Io is unknowingly a “Weaver,” a person with the ability to open and close portals through time. She falls through one of these portals back to the eighteenth century, not only to literally crash into Nikola, but she’s actually met his children and has knowledge of his impending doom.

So this brings up a question to you, Precious Readers. If you had knowledge of something horrible happening to someone in the future, and had the ability to stop it, would you? Even if it meant seriously screwing with the space-time continuum or time thread, or plane, or whatever you want to call it?  I’m sure in my youth when I was very easily able to view the world in black and white, my answer would have been “Heck No! Don’t mess with time! It always screws things up!”  Events such as KM describes it, creating a future run by lizards instead of humans.

Yeah, I’d definitely want to avoid that!

But now?  Hmm… I don’t know. There are some things I wish I could erase or fix that hopefully wouldn’t have a large impact in our future world.  The thing that I never understand about time travel plot lines is we only know what is happening to the current environment. Perhaps changing the past doesn’t do anything to our future, but what if it had a direct impact to some other nation?

For an extreme example: What if someone prevented Hitler from being born?  This would greatly affect the whole world’s history, let alone just his family or Germany’s history.  Entire nations may have been shaped completely differently!  And even if those events hadn’t been caused by Hitler, would that mean an event as similar would have happened later, like the USA would have had a brief stint of the KKK ruling for a while or something?

Ew, can’t believe I went there, but… Do you know what I mean?

Speaking of time travel, can we address the spaceship in the room?  What do you think of the new Star Trek film directed by J.J. Abrams? (Yes, I went with J.J., again.)  By creating a time-loop, similar to what KM was using as a plot device, he was able to open a completely new can of “wormholes” to develop an entirely new, (dare I say, cooler), version to kickoff all new plotlines.

Portals, wormholes, linen closet (for you Sabrina the Teenage Witch 90’s fans).

I was delighted (and frustrated) that the end of A Tale of Two Vampires left a lot of open-ended questions for me, as a reader. With the delight of knowing there would be more to come for these wonderful characters, but a frustration that her next novel featuring Io and Nikola may not necessarily be a standalone novel.

While KM is amazing at creating this paranormal world rich with wit, sass and good humor, she’s not the greatest at leaving a new reader who is introduced in the middle of a 3+ novel story arch with all of their questions about who characters are or environments easy to figure out.  The only reason I’m able to keep up is due to reading her Dark Ones series in order.

I recently finished KM’s work on her Light Dragons series, which I was slightly upset that there was an abundance of characters in the stories from previous Dragon series.  Although the ensemble cast was fun and entertaining, having not read her earlier works of Aisling Grey or her Silver Dragons series, it became difficult to keep everyone and their previous plotlines straight.

Keep in mind there are 4 Aisling Grey novels/novellas, and 3 Silver Dragonsnovels in the series before the 3+ Light Dragonsseries.  (At least there better be more than 3 Light Dragons novels because, again, there were waaay too many open-ended questions left in Sparks Fly, novel 3 of the Light Dragons series.)

You could go as far to say that I started at the end of a timeline and now have to work my way back to the beginning to figure out what the fuck is going on with these dragons of hers.

BTW, KM does address the ‘messed up hair’ issue with the idea that dragons do not like portal travel and it messes them up physically and mentally.

As much as I enjoy reading about time travel, I do not personally prefer to force myself to go through it. Especially with plot lines.

What do you think? Do you think time travel is a fun plot device used by writers? Do you prefer everyone just stick with the time space continuum they’re a part of and let that sleeping dog lie? What about the idea of interacting with someone from the future or past? Which are some of your favorite time travel books and films?  (Also, do you recommend the recent Dr. Who, series?  Is it good?)

don’t worry, i won’t reference Thor

Can’t we all just get along?

So, of course, my first attempt at a weekly blog post would be to tackle a highly sensitive topic: Science versus Faith.

That’s right.

This topic is one so passionately discussed, it has divided and united colleagues, friends and even family. It has been the tiniest kindle to spark a conversation, all the way to being the vessel that spawned wars amongst great nations.

The Crusades, anyone?  Bueller?  Bueller?

One of my all time favorite shows, which is of course the entire world’s favorite: J. J. Abram’s, LOST.  Heck, an entire episode was dedicated to this debate.

Are you beginning to grasp that I’m a huge J. J. Abram’s fan, yet?

Though several critics believe the titular battle was between characters Jack and Locke, the producers insist it was actually an internal struggle of the character, Dr. Jack Shepard, a gifted spinal surgeon or “man of science” who must confront several spiritual questions by The Island, such as the concept of free will, fate and destiny.  Several plot devices are the direct consequence of a “leap of faith” choice each character makes.

Now, from previous posts I’ve made, it is clear that I am a woman of faith. But I promise, Precious Readers, I’m not going to use this blog to get preachy.  This is an important topic for any writer to explore, and this post is just to open the door for some friendly debate. 

Keyword: FRIENDLY.  Let’s keep it nice here.

Now keep in mind: religion is the “showboat” of faith, it’s the sexy representation of “faith.” But remember, “faith” is a concept. Not a religion itself. Many people forget this, but it’s true. In fact, organized religion isn’t even the top definition:

Dictionary.com defines faith as:

1. Confidence or trust in a person or thing
2. Belief that is not based on proof
3. Belief in God or in the doctrines or teachings of religion
4. Belief in anything, as a code of ethics, standards of merit, etc.
5. A system of religious belief

Now bear with me, sciency-based peoples, you’ll have a turn too.

It’s important to note that faith was first described as “confidence or trust in a person or thing” and that “belief that is not based on proof” was definition #2, NOT #1. Having faith is not directly tied to a religion.  It is the idea of believing in something.  It can be yourself, in others, in another concept such as “love” or “destiny.”

And what about science?  Is science strictly all numbers, equations, and hard fact?  Read this next description and you tell me:

Merriam-Webster’s dictionary defines science as:

1. The state of knowing: knowledge as distinguised from ignorance or misunderstanding
2. A department of systemized knowledge as an object of study
3. Knowledge or a system of knowledge covering general truths or the operation of general laws especially as obtained and tested through scientific method
4. Such knowledge or such a system of knowledge concerned with the physical world and its phenomena: natural science
5. A system or method reconciling practical ends with scientific laws

The way I’m interpreting this, is that humanity has driven a hard line between science: a concept of discovery or search for understanding, and faith: believing in something without understanding.  But are these areas so clearly separated?  Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think so. I think these two concepts are more intertwined than we care to admit.

Discovery is the journey of finding something we haven’t seen or understood. Science is the process of making a discovery. But, wait a second.  Isn’t believing that “the truth is out there” its own version of faith?  Wouldn’t a scientist have to believe that there is more knowledge “out there” to pursue discovering it? Research is just a method to prove their belief, whether that proof is right or wrong. A researcher must have faith that the proof is “out there.”

Now, you may be wondering, what’s my theory?  It’ll probably be just another “Bible thumper” answer and that Christianity is the end all/be all. That believe in Jesus Christ is all that matters, and that’s it.

Well, you’d be wrong.

It is human nature to want to understand our surroundings. “Science,” the need for discovery and understanding of our world is a necessary thing. Nature, humanity, love, connection – these are all mysteries that should never go unsolved. Sure my foundation of how this world was created may be different than yours, but maybe you and I aren’t that different after all.

Some find it surprising, but I’m a Christian and I have a love of science fiction. I’m a semi-Trekker and paranormal enthusiast.  But even Star Trek was “to boldly go where no man has gone before.” Isn’t that having faith that there is more to understand, even though we don’t have proof that it’s out there?

I know. Long-ass way of getting here, but this is a lengthy topic.  But…

Riddle me this:

What is the absolute question that everyone asks themselves at least once?  Of course, the answer is: Why are we here?  The core of any human is the pursuit of finding a greater understanding of who we are and our purpose.

But wait, a second… Didn’t we just decide that was also the entire purpose of science, too?  The pursuit of understanding?

I am a Christian, but I also believe God gave me a brain. I enjoy using it. Although there are some individuals I swear have theirs shoved up their a- Oh, never mind. Back to the topic at hand! 

I believe there is a place for science and faith in this world, and discovering the unknown is the the ultimate pursuit, whether it’s science-driven or faith-driven.  Instead of thinking of them as enemies, think of them more as concepts that need each other. They’re not at war with each other. They’re at perfect balance and will help us to understand more than we ever dreamed of.

What do you think?  Does faith have a home in science and vice versa? Or are they really two different animals?

And… Ok, I can’t help myself. Maybe ONE Thor reference. Enjoy.

the story of life is quicker than the wink of an eye, the story of love is hello and goodbye… until we meet again

Here it is!  Day 25!

Ahh, Jimi Hendrix. You were The Man.

We did it, precious readers! We did it! With your encouragement, I actually made it to Day 25!  From now on, it’s going to be weekly or bi-weekly posts.  Hope you’re looking forward to more concise, well-thought-out and (hopefully) error-free postings!

I’m not even sure if this deserves a separate post. Perhaps we should just live in “The Now” and enjoy 25/25 Daily Writing Challenges.

Yes. Yes, I think so!

Thank you, Precious Readers! I love you all!
Here’s to the dawn of a new day!

LAST (!!!) Daily Writing Challenge

Day 25: Today, your character is saying goodbye to someone. Who are they saying goodbye to? Why? Are they emotional? Are they going away or is the other person? Write the scene.

Today’s post is about goodbyes. I’m not saying goodbye to you readers, but since today is a momentous day, we’re using today’s DWC to say goodbye to someone who deeply inspired me to continue writing.

Erma
Aug. 19th, 1907 – Mar. 15, 2007

Grandma went to college to study journalism in a time when college wasn’t necessarily a common thing for women. She is one of the many voices in my head (one of the good voices) who continues to support me in spirit.

The nurse handed us papers and we blindly signed them. For all we knew we could have been signing over our spleens for the next transplant scheduled.  Or signing off our firstborns for an ice cream cone.  To this day, we don’t know what the papers said, only that we had to sign them.

I watched life leave your body.  In a single moment you went from a living, breathing human being to nothingness.  Standing over you in the hospital I looked at this lifeless shell.

We stood in the hallway, not more than a foot from each other. As if the fear of being separated beyond that, would separate us entirely for the rest of our lives. The hospital staff forced us out to sign papers.  Those stupid papers.

You were left in the room.  Someone will come get her.

After a few minutes, no one was coming. People were supposed to be coming.

Where the hell was everyone?

Is this really what happens when you die?  You’re left in a cold, stark, sterile room with no one watching over you?  A crew comes to sweep up your body, making room for the next tragic victim?

No. No, it’s wrong.  IT’S WRONG!  No one deserves this.  THIS IS NOT OK!

I couldn’t bear the fact you were alone.

Each time I saw her, there had never been any hesitation to hug.  A kiss on the cheek.  A grasp of the hand in support.  Never had there been a moment’s hesitation to show affection love.

Separating from my parents I quietly walked back into the room.  I’d never been more afraid to move in my life.  I had never been so scared to go near her.  When she needed us the most.

Shaming myself for my lack of courage, I stepped over, wiped some stray hair from your face.  I gave you kiss on the forehead and held your hand.

We were told she was brain dead.  All three days you were gone, making it a three-day waiting game for your body to shut down.  It was as if your own body rejected the idea that you were gone.  Your soul, spirit, essence, whatever you want to call it, was no longer with us.

“We love you. You will be missed. I hope you’re ok now.”

You were placed next to your husband. I could rest easy because you will never be alone again.

I love you. I miss you. Wherever you are, I hope you’re ok.

whenever i want to all i have to do is dream

“All human beings are also dream beings.
Dreaming ties all mankind together.”
– Jack Kerouac

“I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting around in the sky; then I awoke.
Now I wonder: Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly,
or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?”
– Zhuangzi

There were so many good quotes, I couldn’t pick just one. Luckily, blogs hold no boundaries, except for the fact that I can’t type HTML code to save my life.

Are you someone who dreams?  My mother is someone who never does.  When I was a child, they were impossibly ridiculous and made no sense, bordering the idea of a bad LSD trip.

(Not that I’ve ever partaken in drug use, or condone its usage, but keep reading and you’ll understand the comparison.)

Pilot (the lucky shit) dreams about (what else?) flying airplanes, confirmed by the airplane noises he makes in his sleep.

Understandably, those who newly share a roof have all types of quirks to learn about, and get used to, with each other.

Having said that…  You can imagine my surprise when I discovered I was sleeping next to an FA-18 Superhornet every night.

I eventually learned how to sleep again after a few short months.

Sigmund Freud said that dreams were repressed desires and emotions.  As much as I appreciate the theories Dr. Freud has provided for countless students of psychology to analyze for the rest of their lives, I have to disagree with ol’ Siggy here.

Personally, I don’t really give much significance to dreams. I’m a believer that dreams are an amalgamation of recent events in your life, things you’re worried about, people you’ve seen, etc.

As an adult, half of my dreams end up being either about my time at work from my Daily Life, or simply somewhat-normal conversations with people in/from my life, like living a second life in my sleep, then waking up bummed because now I have to “re-live” a normal day that was similar to my dreams.

The other half?  Well, sometimes the dreams are just about random, crazy stuff.

What about color?  I’ve heard that those who dream in color tend to be more creative, but I’ve never met anyone who dreams in black and white, (or for you Techies, grayscale).

Also Freud mentioned that dreams can be suppressed sexual desire.  Again, not to belittle the great Doc Siggy’s advice, I have to, again, discredit this theory.  (Also, gross!)  If this proves true, I think I’m screwed. Pun intended.

Case in point: When I was eight, during a time of little stress in my life, family was healthy, school was pretty good, etc., I dreamt about being chased by a puma through a grocery store, while I parkoured myself over the checkout stands to safety in the rafters of the building.  Basically spending the entire dream scared shitless.

Analyze that.

If dreams are about repressed sexual desires, then the dream I had about sitting at a school desk in an empty room realizing I’ve left my wallet in my locker has a much deeper meaning than me just being my normal (if somewhat forgetful) self.

Below are some interesting articles and websites dedicated to analyzing why we dream, dream interpretations, and the great theorists who studied this field.

As for me? I think I’ll just take a sleeping pill tonight.

What are you dreams typically like? Are they the ones you hear about in studies such as the ability to fly or some other superpower?  Are they somewhat like random drug trips? (Not that I have ever done drugs, but jus’ sayin’.) Are they typically happy, scary, depressing, etc.?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 24: Write, in second person, a dream your character is having. Whether it be a nightmare or something happier, describe the dream in its entirety.

The dense fog not only engulfed the streets, it hid you from view. You were standing alone by the bus stop, waiting to be picked up. Main street was completely deserted except for the beacon of red your soft knit sweater gave off, its color cutting through the thick layer of emptiness.

After pulling up to you, you raised your eyebrow at me.

“It’s you,” you said.

Nodding in reply, then gesturing for you to climb in, you skeptically accepted the quiet offer of being driven home.

Not speaking for several seconds, your fingers played with the drawstring of your hoodie while gazing out the window. Taking in your soft brown hair, your faded, holey jeans.  You were wearing a pair of gray Converse sneakers.  Your old lime green backpack resting in your lap, no doubt holding two or three books that you always seemed to carry around.

“Why’d you come back?” you whispered at the window.

Turning the wheel, the car was placed on the side of the empty road. Turning to your face were the only three words that mattered. “I needed you.”

Recognizing a flash of pain you, narrowed your eyes, analyzing any slight tremor of my hand which never came, any faltering glance of my eye which never wavered, watchful of every potential emotion that might escape the blank stare I gave you.  Anything to try to catch any false meaning of those words.  You were dissatisfied with the truth.

“You neededme,” parroting, but giving an annoyed acknowledgement of the choice of words.

A slight nod and simple acknowledgement of “Yes” was all that could be offered.

You blew out a breath you apparently had been holding and stared at the condensation on the window.  After several heartbeats your face snapped back to my gaze.

“Where the hell have you been for the last year?  I haven’t seen you since graduation and now you decide to roll into town without so much as a phone call or postcard the entire time you were away?”

Tears appeared in your eyes, and it was every ounce of strength to not touch your face. You wouldn’t have wanted me to, even though it would have made you feel better.  Your voice was strained as you spat out the words as if they tasted sickly in your mouth as you said them.  “I don’t know what you’ve been doing, where you’ve been or who you’ve been with. I’m not sure I want to know or even care. All I do know is that you owe me an explanation, and that I don’t want to listen to it.”

You waited for a response.  You didn’t get one.  A heavy silence filled the space in the car as you stared at me.  Your hand raised up to strike me, catching you wrist, feeling your warm skin and your elevated pulse ricocheted under my fingers.  I kissed your fingertips, then took your face in my palms.  Pulling you close, we kissed. An angry kiss, all too painfully aware that although there was much to talk about, oh so much, we weren’t ready to face the truth. Sitting there, feeling you again, none of it mattered.  For the next few moments, everything would wait while I was holding you.

After.  Only after would you then be ready to hear, but not before.

to define it would ruin its purity

“Where love is, no disguise can hide it for long;
where it is not, none can simulate it.”
– François de La Rochefoucauld, – the Maximes, #70
17th Century Nobleman and Philosopher

That’s right. I read other stuff too.

Have you ever had a great conversation that changed the entire way you viewed life? The film Spanglish brings up this idea, with two people, one married, the other his employee, who shouldn’t be together due to life’s circumstances. They share a profound moment of their hearts and minds, never consummating what they know is true love between each other. They never even hold hands.

Looking back on my life I can’t say that I’ve had many, but I should feel fortunate that there have been some. Sometimes through the hustle and bustle of everyday, we forget one basic thing.

Connection.

It’s a morbid concept, I know. But it’s true. We only get one chance to live this life and we spend most of our time worrying about money, fretting over “what if” scenarios and running away from everything like “it’s gaining on us.” The only thing that people should be running to or from is one connection with someone to the next.

I’m no judge of your life, and I’m certainly no angel. But, be advised, I’m not talking about bed-hopping here. That’s not healthy for your psyche, and it certainly won’t do anything to fix your problems. It’s just another form of running from your problems.

What I am talking about is remembering you’re human and that others are human too. It’s important to go out and meet new people. Learn new things. I know most people my age think they’re still invincible and will live forever. But we don’t.

If I’m lucky to have lived to a ripe old age, I want to look back on the experience of my life, hoping the good outweighs the bad.

No scratch that.

I want to look bad and hope that joy and laughter outweighs the “good.” I don’t want my life to have been “good.” I want my life to have been full, rich, exhilarating. To be able to ponder back at this moment exactly and go, “Wow. I can’t believe I actually did that!” and smile.

I’m sure the strangers on the bus bench next to me will probably scoot away wondering what the crazy old lady is goofily grinning about, but they’ll understand when they’re old as dirt, someday.

Some probably wonder why I get somewhat doom-and-gloom, dropping the whole “death cloud” on these more recent posts.

Sorry, precious readers. I don’t mean for these to be sad. I mean for them to be encouraging.  (Remember encouragement versus influence?)

Today’s DWC wanted to have a scene with only dialogue, and holy cow, what a DWC!  I’m bringing back the characters Ethan and Sharon, our deep night dynamic duo, as they discuss their theories on what true love actually is, and if it even exists.

Way to leap for the brass ring, eh?

What do you think? Does true love really exist?  Do you believe in the concept of soul mates or that it’s possible to love more than one person in your lifetime?  What about in the case of widowers?  Was there only one true, great love in their life, or can there be many?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 23: Write a scene between your character and another character of your choice (whether brought up previously in the other scenes or not) using only dialog. The setting and situation is up to you, but you cannot not use descriptive exposition, only dialog.

“So, Sharon. What do you suggest?”

“Hmm… I recommend either the Boston cream or the strawberry rhubarb. And of course, their apple is to die for.”

“All right. Apple with a slice of cheddar it is.”

“Cheese? Seriously?”

“It’s the best. You should try it. So why were out there by yourself?”

“My schedule is wonky. I work nights, and it’s easier to keep up with the schedule on my days off than transition back and forth.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. But why not jog at a gym?”

“You can’t get fresh air in a gym. What about you, Ethan?”

“What about me?”

“Why were you out at Green Lake by yourself? I’m used to seeing night owls, but usually those people are working. It’s rare I find someone enjoying a nightly jog the same time I do.

“I’m a private investigator. Sometimes when a case has me stumped, I find a good run helps clear my mind.”

“A private investigator? Really? Why not just join the force?”

“I don’t like being tied down to a schedule. Too many restrictions. I don’t have to wait for warrants to go talk to someone. I just go talk to them.”

“Isn’t that line of work dangerous?”

“Rarely. Part of my caseload is looking into missing property, but a majority of my cases are people checking to see if their spouses are cheating on them.”

“Are they?”

“Nine times out of ten they are. I can always tell that the spouse already knows, they’re just trying to talk themselves out of it. Mostly they want photos to help them with their divorce settlements.”

“Ouch. I would think that makes someone pretty jaded about love.”

“Actually, I believe in the concept of true love.”

“After hearing what you do for a living, I find that hard to believe.”

“No, really. I do. That’s why I’ve never been married. How about you, Sharon? Do you believe in the idea of true love?”

“I believe that there are different kinds of love.”

“Okaaay…. Now you’ve lost me. What does that mean?”

“I believe in people who become significant to your life. I believe it’s possible to fall in love with more than one person because of different qualities. It’s a matter of deciding which love is best for you and making a decision to commit to that one person every day.”

“That… sounds more like a job interview. Not love.”

“Well, how would you describe it? Oh-not-jaded-one?”

“How would I describe love? Hmm… Someone finding their missing piece.”

“Like the children’s story?”

“No, not like that.”

“The idea that we’re born with something fractured from ourselves?”

“No. Not that we’re really born without something. I guess if I had to describe it… It’s like meeting the person whose soul matches yours.”

“Like you’re exactly alike?”

“No, not like similar interests, although those relationships work too. It’s that who they are, their soul, their being, enhances yours. When you’re together, you become something… More. Something bigger and stronger than what you were separately.”

“Wow. That was pretty profound actually.”

“Eh, I guess I’m a hopeless romantic.”

“Who does realize you kind of explained a mixture between the concepts of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde mixed with The Incredible Hulk?”

“Well, I guess you’ve got me there.”

smells like teen spirit

She’s overboard and self-assured.

At least, that’s how I felt my first day moving into my college dorm room years ago.

Ok, we don’t necessarily need to point out exactly how long ago.

Today’s DWC is focused on the “end of an era.” It made me think back to my first day at college and what my parents might have been going through.  It was a much more crazy day than my character’s family dealt with.

Mine was filled with all types of stuff being hauled in and out of hallways. New students passing each other, bumping into each other, knocking boxes out from each other, all wide-eyed and pretending to be confident.

My high school friend and his parents were on the floor above me getting Randy* settled into his dorm.  Not fifty feet away from me, my future husband was moving into his.  I wouldn’t meet Pilot for three more weeks.

I wonder how many times my parents and I must have passed him and his parents in the hallways that first day.  It boggles the mind how my life literally changed directions, all under the same roof in a matter of months.

For my mom and dad, today’s DWC is for you.

*Name has been changed for privacy

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 22: Today is the end of an era in your characters life. How do they feel about this? What is happening today? Write a scene of your character on this day.

Looking around the tiny space, it still amazes me how all of that furniture fit in one room.  The shelves above and below the bed, the tiny desk, and the part mini refrigerator, part microwave combination.  Ellie began to hang her clothing in the closet. I helped setup some family photos while Henry setup her computer.

A flash appeared in my mind.  A five-year-old Ellie standing with her Sesame Street backpack and her pigtails in the middle of her kindergarten classroom.

“No, Mommy! Don’t go! I don’t want to be here!”

I crouched down to her eye level and gave her a squeeze.  “Honey, it’s going to be fine. You’re going to make new friends and your teacher Mrs. Johansen is nice.”

Ellie’s lip trembled. “But I want to go home!”

I gave her a squeeze.  “Ellie, this is your first day of school, and I know it can be scary. But I’ll be back at lunchtime and we’ll go out for a family lunch to celebrate!”

Henry picked Ellie up and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “That’s right, sweetie pie! We can go anywhere you want.”

Ellie’s eyes lit up. “Even the place with the big bird?”

Henry laughed, “Yes. We can go to Red Robin.”  He gave her a conspiratorial look, touching his forehead to hers.  “You might even get a balloon if you’re good for Ms. Johansen.” Ellie’s eyes widened as she gasped.

“I’ll be good Daddy! I promise!  Love you!” She said squirming to get to her cubby.

Henry laughed.  “Good girl!” he said setting her down.  “Now go put your backpack away in that special cubby Ms. Johansen picked just for you.”

I watched her pigtails bounce as she ran to halfway to her cubby, then stop.  She whipped around and ran back to me.

Ellie, my precious baby girl gave me a kiss on the cheek. She smelled like baby shampoo and Ellie-ness.  I squeezed her again as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

“Mommy, I can’t breathe!” she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder.

“Sorry honey. I hope it’s a terrific first day!”  I released her a little bit, kissing her forehead.

“Love you Mommy! Bye Daddy!”

I watched as she scampered away.  Now I was seeing Ellie standing in her college dorm room tentatively as if waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry, honey. What was that?” I blinked.

Ellie rolled her eyes.  “I was just saying the RA’s are probably going to want us to assemble soon.”

“Oh.”  I paused.  “Are you sure you have enough pillows and blankets?  Winters get awfully cold here.”

“Mom, I’m fine. I have everything I need,” she said smiling at me, slinging her arm around my shoulder.  She glanced around.  “In fact, I think I have enough blankets to create a giant pillow fort for me and twelve roomates.”

“Louise, leave Ellie alone. She’s going to be fine,” Henry said taking my hand in his, gently pulling me away.

Ellie put her hands on her hips. “Besides, I’m going to come home and see you in a couple of weeks after orientation and after I get used to my class schedule,” shooing us out the door.  I broke free from Henry’s steering to give her one more hug.

Henry and I pulled away from the curb. A sniffle escaped as the car wound down the road.  As we continued, a tear escaped down my cheek.  Henry handed me the box of tissues.

“Oh, Louise. She’ll be fine.  You’ll be fine.”

I wiped the tears from my eyes. Glancing over at Henry, I swiped a tissue and handed him one.

“Oh, hell,” was all he said as he took my hand.  We watched Ellie’s figure which was waving goodbye to us shrink in the mirrors.

“She’s all grown up now, Henry.  What do we do?”

“Same thing we did before.”  He glanced at me and smiled.  “We send her off into the world, hope we’ve taught her enough to do the right things and pray she’ll always want to come back to us.”

tell me to celebrate and i’ll punch you straight in the face. guaranteed.

I thank God for sweaty, toothless, angry men every damn day.

Every event I have ever hosted for others has gone without a hitch. Beautiful venues, excellent food either catered or potlucked, the special guest felt relaxed and able to communicate with all of their guests in a timely manner, gifts are received and well-documented and thank you cards are assisted with. Decorations never fall flat, nor are they dull.  The tone of the evening strikes a chord perfectly with the guest of honor. What can I say? Having a Type-A personality does wonders for event planning and I’m a kick-ass assistant.

HOWEVER…

History has repeatedly proven to me, time and time again, that my birthday is really not worth the torment of celebrating.  EVER.

I promise you, precious readers, that it is not from a lack of enthusiasm, nor fear or adverse reaction to growing older

I don’t have to worry about that. I’m a stickler for sunblock, and Asians age very slowly.

Oh no. This is because each and every time I try to plan a birthday party for myself, it is a complete and utter DISASTER.

Yes, all caps and underlined. You heard me.

Birthdays are supposed to be fun, filled with warm hugs, some delicious sweets, all sprinkled with laughter.

I call Bullshit! (With a capital “B”!)

For example, take my 16th Birthday.  My wonderful parents decided to throw me a surprise party. (Despite this post, I thank you for your heroic efforts to try to pull this feat off… just not quite in the way things are supposed to happen.)

Typically, a surprise party is the equivalent to the following steps outlined below.

TYPICAL SURPRISE PARTY:

1. Friends, family and loved ones are notified of the event.
2. Friends, family and loved ones gather in a secret, central place.
3. Birthday Person is taken to said secret, central place.
4. Before BP enters the premises of said event gathering, the lights might be dimmed, or the guests may be hidden, even perhaps some combination of both.
5. Participants then yell “surprise” and practically give BP a coronary.
6. Cake or some dessert-type product is served.
7. All is merry, and BP forgives friends, family and loved ones for practically giving BP a coronary.

MY 16th “Surprise” Birthday Party:
(Note the quotation marks. That’s important.)

1. After a long week at school, working my ass off for my very strong, high B-average, my plan is to sleep late on the Saturday after my birthday.

I think my birthday has actually fallen on a weekend twice in my lifetime.  Pilot’s is almost always on a weekend or Friday. Lucky shit.

2. I am promptly woken up at 6:30 am to my mother’s over-cheery voice saying, “We have people coming over. Get up. Happy Birthday.”  Why the fuck am I up at 6:30 in the morning on a Saturday? I think to myself.

Not a morning person, remember? See “Death to the Early Bird and Hand Me My Fucking Coffee.”

3. Sleepily working my way up the stairs, I realize our friends Flower* and her six-year-old daughter, Petal* are in the kitchen making all types of bite-sized appetizers.

*Names have been changed for privacy

4. “What’s going on?” I ask, skeptically.  “Who’s coming over?”
5. Sneak a glance at our living room and realize furniture has been rearranged and several chairs have been placed.
“Come help us make the food,” my mother replies.  “Your surprise party starts in less than two hours.”
“What party?!” I ask as a headache begins working its way through my head.
“Your surprise birthday party. Surprise!” she says pointedly at me.

Right. Because I should have known that. Naturally.

6. Politely as possible while annoyed beyond recognition, I respond with, “Aren’t surprise parties supposed to work like [enter the steps for a Typical Surprise Party here] and I’m not supposed to know about it? Isn’t that the surprise?”
“You don’t know who’s coming! That’s the surprise! Now come on, these sandwich rolls don’t roll themselves!”
7. Stunned, I did what any rational person who had less than four hours’ sleep does. I proceed to help make appetizers for my own surprise birthday party.

I know, right?

8. Creating mounds of food is completed.
9. I shower and dress as quickly as possible, since “People will be arriving at eight,” my mother informs me.
10. Between the hours of 8:15 am-12:30 pm, I proceed to answer the door each time someone knocks and serving them food while my parents mingle with the guests, playing hostess for my own surprise party.

~~~

21 Run? I think I busted.
Blackjack, anyone? Get it?

21st Birthdays. Ahh!  The final, transitional birthday from adolescent to adult.  Typically this can go one of two ways: Either alcohol is completely avoided and some other rite of passage is completed for the BP to feel they are recognized as a legal non-youth.

Or…

You’re taken on a drinking rampage and get completely blitzed off your ass. Requesting the following morning for people to refresh your memory of the celebratory events. Or worse, you’re shown the cell phone pictures posted onto “MyFace” or some other online profile system.  (Or even worse still: two days after. This is dependent on the level of blitzed-off-your-ass-ness you had reached.)

Now, I’ll admit, I’ve never been drunk.

I know. You’re raising your eyebrows. Most people do.

Because I have a September birthday, I had a tendency to be the youngest person in class. By high school, I was the second-youngest, beat out by a fellow classmate whose birthday, I think, was a week after mine.

Starting college, barely 18-years-old, (I think I had been 18 for about six days), most of my classmates were already getting drunk off of their gourd and partying until the cows came home.

Come to think of it… It was Ellensburg. It could easily have been until the cows were tipped over.

By the time my 21st birthday rolled around, I was already a Junior in college and most of my friends who did drink were done with their partying ways. Even if I had wanted to go through the rite of passage of the “21 Run,” (which I didn’t), none of my friends were into it anymore.

I think I spent my 21st birthday studying and having a somewhat-fancy dinner with Pilot.

At least as fancy as a college student can have, which typically equates to “not ramen.”

Then, having a second, family dinner where I very uncomfortably asked for a glass of wine in front of my parents.

I no longer have an issue asking for adult beverages in front of my mother, but that’s neither here nor there.

~~~

And now, today.

My birthday was Sept. 18th (again, on a weekday).  With the recent heat wave Seattle has been “suffering” from, I figured why not try giving myself a party again? What’s the harm?

Several weeks prior, I decided to have a potluck party at a local park with frisbee golf.  Simple, easy parking, plenty of food and a fun activity that is so goofy no one has to feel inadequate.  Friday night, I’m driving home and it’s raining.  The weatherman informs me that thunder showers are expected, including lightning strikes.

I had to be so fucking confident.  For crying out loud, why do I open my big mouth?  I had to be born in Fall: The most twitchy bitch season in the Pacific Northwest.

People, I beg you. You need to stop breeding on New Year’s Eve and Valentine’s Day.  You hear that New Year’s baby and Cupid? I blame you! <shakes fist.>

It must have something to do with holidays represented by babies who aren’t Jesus.

It just has to be!

Waking up this Saturday morning at 9:30am (still early for a Saturday, but this was chosen. Not forced.) Still pouring rain outside. Not wanting to drudge through the muddy fields and have rain-soaked guests and rain-soaked-food (or anyone being killed by lightning-struck-frisbee), I postponed to the next day.

It wasn’t even 30 minutes before I received the first phone call.

Friend: Um… You did know it’s my bridal shower tomorrow?

Me: What are you talking about?

Friend: Yeah, tomorrow at noon.

Me: What are you talking about?

Friend: Didn’t you get the invitation in the mail?

Me: Hold on. <covers phone with hand and yells across apartment to Pilot.> Pilot? Did you get the mail? There should be an invite to [Friend]’s bridal shower and bachelorette party. Did you see one? Or both?

Pilot: What are you talking about?

If you hadn’t deduced from the above conversation, a friend of mine is getting married in October. Apparently my invitations to the Bridal Shower (Sunday, Sept. 23rd) was lost in the mail, as was my invitation to her upcoming Bachelorette Party.

Me: Ohmigosh! I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Here. I’ll move the party to next week instead.

<Moves party to Sept. 29th.>

Friend: Great! Thanks.

Not even 10 minutes after this second attempt to move the party: I receive two new phone calls and four new text messages from other guests, which all accumulate to the following message:

[Such and Such Date] isn’t good for me. Could it be [Such and Such Date] instead?

I am most certain that for people to bother to take my birthday somewhat-seriously as an event to try to celebrate-

Note, the word “try.”  Just the effort is appreciated. Really. That’s all I’m looking for.

-and actually attempt to make it look somewhat like a typical birthday party comprising of good humor, merriment and some kind of birthday pie/cheesecake (I’m not the world’s biggest cake and frosting fan), it requires the following:

List of Events That Must Transpire Before Any Gathering May Take Place:

1. Obtain Indiana Jones,
2. Obtain divine intervention from Jesus,
3. Obtain your own personal cartographer,
4. Find reports of an exploding star in the Milky Way Galaxy, and
5. Record the sound of a butterfly farting from the deepest, darkest recesses of the tropical rainforest [or enter your favorite Chaos Theory metaphor here].

However, based on my history, combined with the fact that I only have a couple of the items within my possession from the list mentioned above, I figured the ultimate solution.

Aw, screw it.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and move to the next step:  By 10:00am Saturday morning, I canceled that fucking party as fast as my fingers could type.

Now, this may seem like an overreaction. It probably is. As a matter of fact, I’m sure it is. One thing, to know about me, is I HATE trying to make plans with more than one person at a time. Obtaining world peace is a fucking cakewalk compared to aligning the schedules of my family and friends. (See “List of Events That Must Transpire Before Any Gathering May Take Place,” above) Especially when the subject matter is about my birthday, holidays or major life events.

All in all, it wasn’t a complete loss. Here is where Pilot truly is my hero:

He bought tickets to the Season Opener Game of our favorite hockey team, where I returned my mind and spirit to a zen-like state by acting within a perfectly ladylike manner of sharing profanities at the opposing team and clearly explaining how various forms of anatomically incorrect actions would be enforced upon the referees who were monitoring the sportsmanlike conduct of the players.

Unfortunately his efforts also contributed to my annual curse of another year slowly crushing my faith in celebrating birthdays: our team lost 6-0. The opposing team has been the worst team 4-years running.  And they beat us 6-0.

<sigh.>

Any suggestions on trying to break the trend?  Because I would love some.

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 21: FREE DAY! Write any scene you want!

“Though each birthday may be a buoy in the sea of life, each of my buoys is littered with barnacles and seagull shit.” – Katherine Bacher

hell froze over my little patch of heaven

I’m on my way!  I’m on my way! Home sweet home.

Its sky blue walls welcomed me with its serene open arms each evening after a long day at work.  A girl’s best friend, the bathroom was so large you could put a lounge chair in it, with a huge tub for soaking and lazy bubble baths.

My first real apartment was in a three-story complex. Living on the top floor, my place had high, angled ceilings giving the place a larger feel than it actually was.

Plus, it was a daily cardio going up and down three flights of stairs for everything.  Hmm… Note to self. Get another high-level living space.

I remember going to the furniture store to find ‘the perfect couch’ and selected a fake-suede navy blue couch with articulated arms and back. This allowed it to fold down flat as a separate sleeping place if anyone ever need a place to crash.

A kitchen to die for, I had more cupboards than stuff, (and I have a LOT of cooking stuff. I love to cook, and I tend to bake when I’m stressed out), and a separate island as a preparation surface.

Since I’m located in Washington, it’s not very common to meet someone with air conditioning, but as long as ceiling fan was on, and the windows and deck door were open, a nice breeze would sweep through keeping me from overheating.

Winters were easy. I had a great source of heat due to the water heater and to all of the heat from my neighbors below allowing me to keep my thermostat (and my bill) down to a minimum.

Unfortunately, those were my only source of heat.

One fateful January night my water heater broke, leaking and dousing out the pilot light.  The air system that would typically would blow the warm air generated from the water heater throughout the apartment to keep it toasty, blew out an icy chill that made your teeth chatter louder than a semi’s air brakes.

Due to the time of the evening (about 11:45pm), we had called the maintenance crew, but the water heater would need to be completely replaced.  That being our fate, Pilot and I hunkered down in several layers of clothing under an additional several layers of blankets to keep from freezing to death for the evening.

Never once did it occur to me that I would have to wear mittens and a hat to bed in my lifetime.

When 3:00am rolled around, Pilot and I could see our own breath as we shivered under the blankets.  Grabbing additional towels and anything heat-sealing we could find, we somehow managed to fall asleep and not losing any extremities, come morning.

By late morning, a new water heater arrived and was installed.  Due to marriage and Pilot deciding to go back to school to get a bachelor’s in special education, we would be without a second income for the next couple of years.  We ended up having to leave that beautiful space for something bigger, but cheaper.

Besides, Pilot has a ton more crap than I do, and most of his is heavy and mechanical.  Mine is mostly clothes and, of course, books.  Thank, God for Kindle. It’s literally saved me from having to find more real estate to coexist with the hubby.

How about you?  What was your first real place like? Was it your heaven-sent home, or a hell hole?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 20: Your character is in a new place. What brought them there? Why are they there? How are they reacting to this change of scenery? Write a scene of your character in this new place.

Finally! The last one!

Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, Sean did a quick sweeping glance at his new apartment. Placing his hands on his hips, he took in the older building with its exposed brick walls and industrial lighting giving the place an open feel. He walked over to the window to get a cool breeze on his face after running up and down the four flights of stairs with his personal belongings.  Ahh, yes, that cool air was perfect.

Taking in the neighborhood, the street was bustling with what seemed like hundreds of people swimming in a sea of suits and briefcases, probably heading home from their big city jobs. Peering through the glass Sean could see straight into the neighboring apartment complex across the street.

I don’t get it. Jesse said this place had a great view.

All the shades were open and he could see every east-facing room in the place. Note to self: buy some shades or a curtain, he thought.

Some movement caught his eye as cute blonde woman wearing a set of blue scrubs and a long white jacket, pushed open the front door of the place.  Watching her struggle to get the keys out of her lock, she finally freed them and slammed the door.  She plopped her keys onto the little side table and stomped her way straight into the kitchen, stripping her jacket from her body and tossed it onto her orange sofa.

The woman swung open her refrigerator door. After a few moments she pulled out a bottle of beer, flipped off the cap and moved to her couch setting her head back, closing her eyes.  And didn’t move.

Someone cleared their throat.  Turning around, Sean absorbed the fact how conspicuous he must have appeared and turned toward the front door.

“I see you’ve met the neighbors,” his brother grinned at him.

“Geez, Jesse. You scared the crap out of me, man!” Sean gave Jesse a quick nudge with his elbow as he moved to give him some room.

Jesse nodded toward the girl’s apartment.  “That’s Felicia. She’s a doctor who runs the pediatric wing at of New Hope General. Weird hours. I never know when that girl is awake or sleeping.”  They both watched as the completely still woman continued to sit with her head back on that noxious orange couch.

Feeling quite awkward, Sean arched an eyebrow.  “Um, bro… Don’t you think she might find it odd that we’re standing here staring at her?”

Jesse waved his hand at Sean. “Pfft! Sean, please.” Jesse nodded to the window.  “I had these windows tinted months ago.  I like the sunshine, but I didn’t want to flash my naked ass to half of Brooklyn, man.”

Sean balked.  “Naked?!” Sean grimaced at his brother.  “You still walk around naked?  You know I hate that.”

The girl across the street looked up from the couch straight into his eyes.  Uh, oh.  She heard them.

“Dude, I had that window open!” Sean said, as he quickly flicked the lock of the window tightly shut.  He looked around for a blanket. A sweatshirt. Anything to hide his face right now, which he was sure was as red as a lobster and a face that probably matched his mortification.

“Oops! My bad,” Jesse chuckled.

Sean covered his face with his hand and said flatly, “I can’t believe she just heard that.”

Jesse raised his hands, palms up. “What? It’s perfectly natural.  You should try it sometime. It’s very freeing.”

Sean put a stern look to his face. “Bro, seriously. Feeling ‘free’ and ‘freeballing’ are two very different things. Not cool, dude.”

“Nah, you’ll get used to it,” Jesse said waving a hand at what Sean thought was a fairly reasonable request.

Sean wiped his hand with his face, trying to think quickly. If he didn’t address his brother’s ‘favorite state of being’ he was going to get an eyeful every morning. And he preferred to enjoy his breakfast, not lose it.

“Maybe we should set some ground rules or something. Like, I’ll make sure to keep the cap on the toothpaste if you don’t walk around with your junk out all the time.”

Jesse just shook his head. “Whatever, man.”  Sean just glared at him.

He couldn’t believe they were twins sometimes. They couldn’t be more different from each other.  Jesse had moved to Brooklyn about a year prior trying to get a music career off the ground. He kept his hair long and shaggy and always wore shorts, and if he was in a dressy mood, they were ‘not denim’ shorts.  In fact, Sean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Jesse in pants.  He mentally slapped himself, as an image of his twin walking around with no clothes on crept into his already tired mind.  Bad choice of words.

Sean had just moved for a great job opportunity at a law firm in Manhattan.  Starting at a more-than-cushy salary, instead of moving into his own place, his mom had urged that he help his brother out with the high rents and cost of living in New York.

The sound of the door buzzer broke up their conversation.

“Care to do the honors?” Jesse asked gesturing to the intercom.

“Don’t mind if I do.”  Sean pressed the little button on the wall.  “Hello?”

A very crackled, but entirely female voice sifted its way through the speaker.  “Jesse, either I just saw two of you, or I’ve had more than the one beer and can’t remember.”

“Actually, this isn’t Jesse. He’s not available at the moment.”

“Jesse, quit being an ass. I know it’s you,” the disembodied voice laughed.  Jesse walked up to the intercom and spoke.

“No, it’s cool, Felicia. I’m here. Come on up!” Jesse held down a second button for a few seconds and stepped back from the wall.

After a few minutes, they heard the footsteps approaching their door and Sean opened it.

The blonde was short, the top of her head only meeting Sean and Jesse’s shoulders. Her eyes went wide as she blinked at the two of them, back and forth.

Winking, Jesse greeted her.  “Hiya, doc! Making a housecall?”

Felicia’s eyebrows went up.  “Wow, do you have some sort of multiple personality disorder that manifested itself into a metrosexual?”

Sean arched a brow.  “I believe the term is ‘dissociative identity disorder,’ and no. I’m his brother. Twin, actually.” He looked down at his button down shirt and loafers and back to his brother.  “I’m not really metro-looking am I?”

“Well, you do have a $120 haircut, dude,” Jesse clapped him on the shoulder, laughing.

“Oh, this coming from the guy who can’t remember his last haircut.”

Felicia let out a small breath of air.  “Whoa. You guys even sound the same. Twilight Zone! Doo-dee-doo-doo!” as she waggled her fingers in the air.

The guys stepped back and let Felicia step inside.  Looking at the boxes she glanced back at Sean skeptically.  “Wait, you just moved in?”

“Yup!  My bro just couldn’t stay away! I’m a charmer, you know!” Jesse grinned as he bent down and kissed her hand.  Felicia laughed and swatted him away.

“So… Are you guys… You know, together?” Sean said looking between them.  Felicia and Jesse shared a look with each other.

Felicia put her arm around Jesse’s waist.  “Why? Would that be so hard to believe?”

“Yeah,” Jesse said slowly, resting his arm around her delicate shoulders.  “I know she’s too good for me, but it’s not that impossible.  Right, pumpkin?”

“Right, snuggle bunny,” she said.  Then, Felicia pinched Jesse’s side lightly while Jesse made a goofy face and they both burst out laughing.

Wiping a tear from her eye, Felicia looked at Sean.  “Jesse’s band comes over to the hospital and plays music for the kids.”

“Really?” Sean said, surprised.

Jesse just shrugged and blushed.  “Nah, it’s nothing really.”

“No it’s not!” Felicia said giving another gentle swat at Jesse’s arm.  She turned her head toward Sean.  “This guy comes over every week and not only plays music for the kids, but also has been teaching Michael how to play the guitar.”

Sean took a moment and looked at his brother with new eyes.  “Wow. That’s really something, Jess. You never told me that.”

Jesse looked slightly uncomfortable, walking towards the kitchen.  “It’s nothing, really. Filly, want a beer?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” she called after him.  She leaned in towards Sean. “Jesse’s a little sensitive about him. Michael just got some test results that weren’t very encouraging.”

“Tests?” Sean said puzzled.  “Which department do you work for?”

“Oncology.”

“Oh.”

Felicia studied Sean for a moment. “Jesse has been really bonding with the kids, but it’s tough. No kid deserves to be sick like that.  That’s why I work there.  I had a family member get really sick when I was younger and I promised to do everything I could to find a cure.”

“That’s really admirable.” Sean replied.

Before he could ask her more questions, the sound of the intercom buzzed again.

“Felicia?” another female voice drifted through the apartment.  “Felicia, it’s me.”

“Oh! It’s Rachel!” Felicia said as she pressed the intercom button.  “Rach, it’s me. Come on up.”  Holding the button Felicia looked back at Sean and Jesse who had come back with some beer cans in his hands.

Jesse set the drinks down on the coffee table “Whoops! Looks like we’ll need another!” Jesse said looking at the intercom.

“I’ll get it.” Sean went to the kitchen and grabbed another can from the refrigerator.  He heard the front door open and another voice added to the conversation as he stepped back into the living room.

“Sean, this is Rachel.  Rachel, Sean,” smiled Felicia.

Sean was rooted to the doorway as a beautiful woman, also in scrubs stood before him.

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you,” she greeted cheerfully.  He took in her long legs, curly blonde hair and bright smile. But what captivated him most were her soft green eyes.  Something stirred in his chest.

“I’m Sean.”

Rachel laughed.  “Wow, there really are two of you!”  She leaned toward Felicia.  “I guess God loves the world a lot to give the world twoof those hot bods!”  The girls giggled.

“Ladies! Ladies! Please, have a seat.  Then you can continue to enjoy the view,” boasted Jesse as he flexed his arms at them.  The girls doubled over laughing again.  Rachel had a cute laugh which echoed through his mind, awakening a feeling he couldn’t identify.  They each grabbed a beer and as settled onto the couch.

Jesse blocked his view as the girls started sharing their day with each other.  “Bro, seriously. Wake up.”  Sean shook his head and looked at his brother.

“Felicia’s engaged.”

“Engaged?”  Sean saw a brief wave of sadness appear in Jesse’s eyes.

“Yeah.  To another doctor, dude. How am I supposed to compete with that?  Besides, as you could tell, I’ve been placed in ‘the friend zone.’  But it’s cool. She’s a great pal, and I like being able to go visit those kids.”

Sean felt his heart go out to his brother. It was obvious that Jesse cared a lot about Felicia.  Growing up, they never bothered to get to know their neighbors.  At least not if you wanted to get stabbed.  If Jesse hadn’t been his brother, he’d worry about the fact they could see right into the girls’ home.  But it was obvious he, Rachel and Felicia were friends, so the creepy factor slid away. Before he could ask more, Jesse quickly continued.

“But Rachel’s totally free. I think you should go for it man.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, dude. She’s great.  She works as a nurse at the hospital too.” He smiled at Sean.  “And she’s obviously into you.”  Sean slid his glance back to the girls briefly.  He could see Rachel giving him a quick once-over, then turning back to giggle with her sister.

“I think unpacking can wait a day or two.”

“I especially like the fact that there are two!” Felicia called back to them.

“Hey, the view’s not bad from where we’re standing either, ladies!” Jesse said, waggling his eyebrows at them.  The girls laughed again.  Maybe he should start branching out to the neighborhood.  Instilling good will and all that.

“Hey speaking of views,” Rachel said, winking at Sean.  “Don’t get any bright ideas, because despite what you may think, we do own curtains.”

Felicia gave a wicked glance to her sister. “Yeah, even if we’ve both seen Jesse naked when he accidentally leaves the window open. It’s no big whoop.”  She looked at Sean. “Oops, sorry. Forgot about the twin thing.

“Hey! You never said you could see me!” Jesse said giving them a mocked look of insult.

“Why spoil the fun?” Rachel said, clutching her sides from laughter.

“Yeah, why spoil the fun, bro?” said Sean as he settled in to find out more about his beautiful new neighbor.

Not a bad way to start his first night in the big city.

it’s like picking a favorite child

Everyone has a few.

Well, my first was out of my control. I was shipped UPS-style at the age of six months, traveling internationally to meet my new family.

I still wonder if I should tattoo a bar code on the bottom of my foot with the words “Made In Korea” on the other.

Fun Fact: All photos of my airport arrival had a gift shop in the background. The top of each photograph said, “Tax and Duty Free.”  My mother claims this was a major false advertisement on the adoption agency’s part, and demands a refund from them.  If I can find the photo, I’ll post it.

Another was betting on my future by not applying to the UW.

Besides, as a very strong, high B-average student, I doubt my GPA would have gotten me in.

Letting go of the past and opening my heart to Pilot.

One of the best decisions ever.  I finally have someone who will attend hockey games with me and thinks my ridiculousness is “cute.” I would prefer he had said something more along the lines of “genius,” “trendsetting,” or “Pulitzer-worthy,” but hey, you can only ask for so much, right?

The night my dad passed away.

I can only hope that I bring a small amount of happiness to my mom, even though I know I’ll never be enough to fill that loss.

Being diagnosed with thyroid cancer.

I’m not going to compare my lame-ass experience with those of true cancer survivors. Mine was caught very early, thanks to a great doc and new technology. I am in no way a cancer survivor. Cancer survivors are true heroes with more courage than I can imagine. I was… grazed (?) by cancer, if that makes any sense.

The day I said “Really?”  (That’s a story for another day.)

And, my absolute favorite day, and each day since then, was the day I said “I do.” (Also a story for another day.)

Aww… More sappy moments.  Are you sick of me yet?

I’ll warn you. Pilot and I are the smoochy “Bewitched”-like couple. The Samantha and Darren Stevens couple who makes everyone else want to hurl.  (Except the baby talk. I can’t stand people who “baby talk” each other. I don’t even “baby talk” babies.  Their brains are like sponges, they absorb everything. Do I really want to be responsible for the person who thinks “ga ga goo goo” is a phrase? Bitch, please.)

These are moments that not only tested me, they made me surprise myself and others.  Included in these experiences is the day I began this blog and made a dedication to myself and to you, my very precious viewers, that I would write and do everything (morally and legally) within my power to become a good, succesful, multiple-times-over published author.

What were some of your most defining moments?  The ones that pivoted your life in a new direction? How did they change you? Was it worth the change?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 19: Today is a day that will change your characters life forever. What course of events occurs? How does your character react? Write a scene from this day.

I’m so sick of waiting…

This is terrifying…

I’m so excited…

Each of these thoughts simultaneously ran through her mind as she tapped her fingernails on oak dining room table.

“All right, honey. I have the suitcase in the car, and we’re ready to go.” Oliver stepped through archway, anticipation twinkled in his eyes.

Sylvie pushed herself up from her chair and he guided her to their sedan.  Well, here goes nothing, she thought.

As they drove down I-5, she watched the buildings sweep past her window.  In a soft voice, Oliver turned briefly to look at her.  “Now, honey everything is going to be fine,” as slipped his hand in hers.

“I know. I just don’t know what’s going to happen.  We’re as prepared as we can be, but…” she looked down at her protruding stomach.  “I’m scared.”

“Oh Sylvie, don’t worry. I’m going to be right there with you.”

At 8:03 am, Pacific Time, Sylvie was induced.

~~~

Seven hours, forty-nine minutes and eleven, now twelve, seconds later…

~~~ 

“It’s not a baby, it’s a damn elephant!” Sylvie screamed.  “Give me the epidural! I want the epidural!”

“Just two more pushes, honey!  You can do it, Sylvie!  Just breathe!”  Oliver was a pillar of calm and she wanted to deck him straight into the New Year.  Focus.  Focus on your breathing. Sylvie bit down and breathed as slowly as she could though her teeth.

“Hoo-hoo! Hee!”

She wanted to boil whoever insisted she not use painkillers. Oh wait, she convinced herself of that.  Natural is best, my ass, she thought. But her thoughts vanished as quickly as they appeared when another wave of pain shot through her body, causing her back to go into spasms unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

“It’s ok, Sylvie! You’re doing great!  Now push! Push!”

“I can’t!” she cried, squeezing her eyes shut.  “I can’t do this anymore! Make it stop. Oh god, make it stop!”

“Just one more push, Sylvie. You can do it,” Dr. Gustafson said encouragingly.

“Sylvie, look at me!”Oliver’s voice drifted through the waves of pain that were drowning her.

She opened eyes.  Oliver’s deep brown eyes were full of determination, compassion and love as he held her gaze.

“Honey, I love you. I’ve loved you since the day you threw that Frisbee at my face and knocked out my tooth-”  Breathe. Keep breathing.

“One more push,” Dr. Gustafson ordered.  Sylvie pushed with all of the strength she had left, which wasn’t much.

“-and I know you’re tired, and I know you want to give up, but I won’t let you.” Oliver continued to look into her eyes.  “You’re the woman who never gave up on anything. You’re a fighter! You’ve never let me win anything without a fight,-”

Sylvie screamed as the pain consumed her.  Sweat was blending with her tears now, dripping down her face.

“I can see the head,” Dr. Gustafson commanded.  “Keep pushing, Sylvie! Just one more!”

“-and I know you’re going to fight for our baby!  Don’t you want to meet our baby?”

She barely stopped herself from biting straight through her lip.

“So I know that you’re going to do this Sylvie! You’re going to push because I know you love our baby as much as I love you!”  A searing white light blinded her, tearing her in half.

Silence.

A cry pierced the air.

Sylvie slumped back against the pillow, sobbing.

“It’s a healthy baby girl!” Dr. Gustafson announced as he handed the tiny pink blob to the nurse.

“You did it, honey!” Oliver whispered as tears ran down his face.  He silenced her crying as he possessed her mouth firmly.  “She’s beautiful, Sylvie. She’s beautiful, just like you.”

The nurse handed Sylvie the tiny, crying blob, wrapped in a soft blanket and already wearing a little pink hat that was too big and came to a point at the tip.

“Oh,” Sylvie whispered.  “Oh my god.” Her breath caught in her throat as she looked down at the tiny face, the tiny hands and feet.  Ten little fingers. Ten little toes.

Sylvie barely heard Dr. Gustafson congratulating her Oliver.  All the noise and memory of the pain faded wayside as she looked at the face of the miniscule person screaming in her arms.

She looked wide-eyed up at Oliver.  “You’re a daddy, Ollie.”  He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes.  A warm glow settled on both of them as he beamed at her.

“So what should we call her?” he asked softly, as he kissed the baby’s head.

“Perfect,” she whispered.

“No,” Oliver chuckled softly.  He kissed her again.  “That’s you.”

giving good advice and hoping it’s the best

I encourage you to inspire someone today.

“Some of the worst things imaginable have been done with the best intentions.” Got to love the endlessly quotable Jurassic Park. Today’s DWC is about influence. When we question something, are we truly seeking advice in the first place? Some say when we go searching for answers, we already know what our answer is. Instead, we’re looking for validation for our decision.

Words are a powerful motivator. Whether it be positive or negative advice, it can generate repurcussions far beyond our expectations.  In the film The Shawshank Redemption, the film touches on whether “hope” is good or dangerous, and the fallout of believing both.

After reading my instructions for today’s DWC, I began to wonder about influence and another word often used interchangibly for seeking enlightenment, “encouragement.”

What is the difference between influence and encouragement?  Hmm…

Merriam-Webster’s dictionary defines “influence” as:

1. an ethereal fluid held to flow from the stars and to affect the actions of humans
2. an emanation of spiritual or moral force
3. the act or power of producing an effect without apparent exertion of force or direct exercise of command
4. the power or capacity of causing an effect in indirect or intangible ways
5. one that exerts influence

“Encourage” is defined as:

1. to inspire with courage, spirit, or hope
2. to spur on
3. to give help or patronage to

I began to think about “advice” and how so many of my life’s decisions were for issues falling under some shade of gray rather than black and white, and praying that the decisions I’ve made were the right ones.

Not all of them were the right decisions… Oh, well.

Influence is motivation from an unknown source (whether it be a thought referencing to an earlier conversation or decision, signs from ‘up above’ or whatnot). Where as encouragement is a suggestion from a direct source.

Identifying my DWC’s grammar is wrong, that’s a different different post for another time.

The scene I wrote below is dealing with some very difficult issues. Murder, abuse, drunk driving, and most of all, parenting. What guidance do you give someone who has suffered a horrible tragedy?

Advice can be good, but is it always the best?  Check out today’s DWC and let me know if our protagonist, Roger is receiving good advice.  If separate, is Roger receiving the best advice?

What were some encouraging words that you’ve held onto in your life?  Were they helpful or did they cause more trouble than the advice was worth? 

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 18: Your character has a conversation with an influential person in their life. It can be a parent, a teacher, a mentor, anyone your character looks up to. Why are they having the conversation? Write the scene.

The steel gate shut, the sound of the lock settling echoed through the cement hallways.  Next was his least favorite part, but a necessity of the procedure.  After walking through the metal detector, he spread his arms and legs.  Roger let the security guard pat him down, check his driver’s license and walk up to the check in desk.

“Nice to see you again, Roger,” Lorraine greeted him with a slight nod.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” returning the nod as he signed the paperwork and turned over his personal belongings. 

“Got a new pic of that darlin’ girl of yours?” Lorraine asked.

“Yup. Won the school spelling bee this year!” he said proudly.

“Now ain’t that nice,” Lorraine winked. Giving a nod to the row of seats she said, “She’ll be out in just a few minutes. Go to number six.”

He sat at the cement table, its cool hard surface chilling his hands. Through the glass, Roger saw a flash of orange appear at the doorway.

She looked thin. Her cheeks used to be full and pink with color. Now, after three years of being in Willow Creek County Correctional Facility, her face was sallow and worn. A blue bandanna was tied around her head, her hair wiry and raw from the harsh soaps.  He remembered she used to spend an hour in the morning, making sure every hair was in place, with a shellac of hair spray over the top. If she’d set her hair correctly, Mother Nature herself wouldn’t dare ruffle that hairdo.

As the correction officer led the woman into the room, Roger grabbed the wired phone and tapped the window with the receiver, then placing it to his ear.  The woman grabbed the receiver on her side of the glass, and her voice funneled through the earpiece with some slight static.

“Hello, baby,” she said warmly.

The same calm voice that comforted him when he was sick, that helped guide him during his baseball games, that same voice who would read him bedtime stories when he was little.  It was always difficult seeing her through the safety glass.  Not even able to give her a hug of support during her time in this horrible place.

“Hi Mama,” he said.

“Did you get that fancy job in Chicago?”

“I did, Mama. I got it. We’re supposed to leave next week.” His heart sank. How could he move on with his mama living in this shithole?

“How’s my little angel?” she asked, glancing at his shirt pockets.

Roger took the picture from his shirt and held it up to the glass.  “She’s seven now, Mama. She looks just like Whit. More, every day,” he said, giving her his best smile.  “She won the spelling bee.”

“Oh she’s so big! And she has her daddy’s smile!” His mother ooh-ed and ahh-ed at the picture for a few more minutes. “Anyone can tell after meeting her for two seconds that that girlie is goin’ places!”

In the photo, stood his beautiful little Jenny. A spotlight on her, with her shaking hands with the school’s principal. Sure enough, she had her daddy’s ear-splitting grin, which was wide as the Mississippi is long, despite missing a couple of teeth. Standing up straight with her chest puffed up, holding her certificate proudly on stage, you could just feel the joy emanating from the photo.

Returning his smile she replied, “There now! That’s what I like to see!  A smile looks good on you. And yet…” her brow furrowed. “Now what’s troublin’ you, baby boy?”

Roger’s smile fell slightly, “How did you know something was wrong?”

“A mother always knows when her baby is hurtin’.”

Roger wiped his face with his hand and sighed.  After a few moments of silence, he decided to just get right down to it.  “I don’t know what to do about Jenny, mama.” He shok his head. “She’s getting big now, and she’s smart. Smart as a whip.  But that means she’s starting to ask questions I don’t have the answers to.”

His mother just sat, patiently listening to him, letting him gather his thoughts. She had always been a good listener. Hopefully she’d know what to do.

“She wants to know why Whitney is gone, and I can’t…  I just-” he voice faded, pausing as an ice block settled into this stomach like every other time he remembered his wife.

“You don’t know how to explain why her mama’s gone,” she said more as a statement rather than a question.

He looked up at the ceiling, hesitating before responding.  “What am I gonna do, mama? How do I tell my little girl.. How that idiot was too drunk to know his ass from his elbow and crashed into Whitney’s car? It’s a miracle Jenny even survived the crash herself, let alone having to explain to my girl that he killed my wife?”

His mother gave him a stern look and pointed her index finger firmly at him. “Roger, your daddy made his own decisions and ruined this family. I let that nonsense go on for far too long, and I will not let you continue to feel guilty about your daddy’s sins. It was not your fault.”

“Mama, if I had just been there instead of off the coast for work, Whit would never have gone to pick him up at Two Snake Jake’s.”

His mama raised an eyebrow. “Roger, you listen to me and you listen good. What’s done is done. You can’t change the past. But you can build a newer and brighter future for you and my granddaughter.”

“But what do I tell her?” he exclaimed. “How do I explain Whit-… And you bein’ in here?”

“This is what you tell her. Life is all about choices. That the ones you ignore are just as powerful as the ones you make, and hope you have the sense to know the difference.”  Her eyes softened.  “You tell her that she had a beautiful mama who died trying to do the right thing. And a nana who-” her voice caught and she paused a moment. “A nana who made sure that her granddaddy couldn’t hurt anyone ever again.”

She blinked back some tears.  After taking a moment to compose herself, she said pointedly, “You tell my little angel that people make mistakes. It’s part of being human. That I made mistakes too, and I have to live with them, and that’s that. She’s only a little girl. That’s all. She. Needs. To. Know.”

Roger felt a huge vice clamping down on his heart, immobilizing him.  “You shouldn’t be in here. It’s not fair. It’s not your fault that daddy was a no-good sonfabitch.”

“It was my decision. I did a bad thing, and that’s why I’m here.  This had nothin’ to do with you,” she said firmly.

“It had everythin’ to do with me! With us!” he was shouting now.  “Daddy drank till he was blue in the face, and any time he wasn’t drinkin’ he was smackin’ you around!”

“Hey!” the guard said in a steely, cold voice. “If you don’t simmer down right now, you’re gone. Understand, son?”

“Sorry. Won’t happen again,” Roger grumbled under his breath.

His mother watched Roger carefully for a few moments before speaking again.  “Now, Roger, you go on up outta here. Give your baby girl a hug and never let her go. You hold onto her with everything you’ve got, take the job in Chicago and don’t ever look back at this town.”