Life Lesson

It’s Simple: Everybody Love Everybody

Precious Readers,

It breaks my heart to announce that over the weekend, another one of the students, a mere sophomore at the area I work in, committed suicide. I regret to inform you that I can no longer count the combined number of suicides and deaths by shooting in my area. My heart and prayers go out to this child’s family and loved ones. Out of respect for the family, I will comment no further on this particular incident.

The environment has been sorrowful, confusing, and heartbreaking. These are our community’s children. They are our future who have dashed their chances of changing the world, to love, and to be loved. They’ve barely scraped the surface of life. I know when I was in school, that felt mostly adult. Now, in my 30’s I can easily say, they’re kids. They’re children.

Let me assure you, we care about ALL of the kids. We care about their home life. We care about preserving their future.

WE CARE.

There are so many behind the scenes planning, processes, and protections in place for students, and even more so for students who ask for help.

WE CARE.

We have a team of counselors, a psychologist, and of course, the well-trained Admin team. Believe me, Admins do not take that job if they don’t have a passion for helping kids.

WE CARE.

It’s hard to be the first face these students see when theirs are soaked with tears, pain, and fear. It’s hard to not want to run over, hug all of them, and tell them that we’ll find a way to get through this together. That the world gets better. Life is so much MORE than high school. That life is worth living and experiencing. We have to be professional, but caring.

But, WE CARE.

I usually can’t do much, but I do what I can. It’s the small things. Listening to a person to vent their frustrations, or talk with them through it. It’s letting someone have a quiet moment to collect their thoughts. It’s offering a tissue when you and they have no words. It’s the little check ins of “Hey, how are you? Haven’t talked to you in a while.” Sitting silently with someone while they process their pain. I firmly believe it’s the little things that make such a difference, and it’s within my power to do so.

I CARE ABOUT YOU.

I come across hyper, manic, and over-interested when I ask how you are. I could blame the caffeine, but I can’t. I truly care about people. Whether we’re longtime friends and family, or if we’re only mere acquaintances, or have only met once, I genuinely care about what is going on in your life. Your adventures. during sad/bad times, and to support and celebrate the good things, both little and big.

I care about you. I care about us. I care about our world. I don’t care if you’re black, white, gay, straight, bi, gender-fluid, male, female, somewhere outside or in between. I want to see who you ARE. I don’t care what you look like. I will always support and do everything within my means to help you.

People, fellow human beings, I ask you one thing: Just love each other. SUPPORT each other, even if they’re different from you. Stop the petty bickering, the passive-aggressive “holier than thou” attitudes, the elitism. Let go of your ego. As of late, it feels like all I’ve heard from people’s mouths are words of disgust and ignorant hateful comments about our fellow human beings. Our fellow people. Our brothers and sisters of life.

Let’s not make a stand against each other, don’t criticize each other, don’t put each other down, let’s not judge each other. No matter your personal beliefs. Let’s end the hate. Let’s end the ignorance. Let’s break down the barrier that prevents us from seeing what is happening with others.

For me, it’s simple: If you respect me, I respect you. If you don’t respect me, I may not spend time with you anymore. But, if you were ever in trouble or hurt, I will willingly help you to the best of my ability. Even if we haven’t seen each other in years, I will always care about what is going on with you.

I am here with you, supporting you, cheering for you, ready to help you, whether you want it or not. I’m standing with you, ready to face whatever it is you’re facing. If it’s beyond my means, I will go out and find someone better qualified to stand with you on one side, with me on the other side. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. When help is asked it is ALWAYS provided!

Let’s travel through life together. With each other. You’re not alone.

Resources:
http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

https://twloha.com/

https://afsp.org/

http://kidshealth.org/en/parents/suicide.html

 

#EverybodyLoveEverybody #LifeLessons #SuicidePrevention #ToWriteLoveOnHerArms

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.”

i wish that i knew what i know now, when i was younger

Happy, happy, happy… happy… happy… oh, forget it.

By the time this post is added to the airwaves, I will officially be one year older.

Today is my birthday. Lucky me. <rolls eyes.>

That’s right. Pilot and I have our birthdays four days apart. (I would like to point out that he is one year older. Sorry, Pilot.) I’ve compiled a list of things I wish someone had told me when I was younger:

5. Question everything.  In school, I would greatly annoy my teachers by constantly asking questions. I wasn’t one of the kids asking “why” six or seven times in a row. They were legitimate questions due to my ever-growing curiosity.  Somewhere along junior high through mid-college I had stopped learning to ask questions. In my current job, asking questions is actually encouraged. Not always at the time I ask it, but the question is still appreciated. I had to slowly gain the confidence that it is all right to want to understand the bigger picture. How is one supposed to improve themselves and others around them, if they have no fucking idea what’s going on?

4. It’s ok to not know what you want. Talent and skill knows no age, race or gender.  So many youngsters and teens are bombarded with the question, “So what do you want to be when you grow up?”  Honestly. How many of you actually enjoyed this question?  I know I hated it.

I spent years trying to come up with some job title to impress and even went as far to convince myself that I wanted it.  But in reality? I felt completely clueless. I think it’s because I denied wanting to be a writer/artist.  I had grown up with the phrases, “those jobs don’t make any money,” “You’re wasting your time,” “Hope you enjoy being homeless,” etc.  Well guess what?  I’m on the wrong side of my 20’s, married, and I STILL rent an apartment, have a decent job, but don’t make any money due to our crapshoot of an economy, and I STILL ended up pursuing a job focused on writing and art.

Do you know how much angst, migraines and stress I could have avoided if someone had just said, “Cool, go for it. Do what you must to keep a roof over your head while you pursue that goal, but go for it!”?  If someone had just acknowledged that pursuing those goals was “OK” but that I just might have to do some other work while I go through this journey, I might have avoided years of denying my love of the written word being seen by the world. Perhaps I would even be published by now.

Did you know the book P.S. I Love You was written by a 19-year-old?

3. You don’t have to want the American Dream.  The typical American wants marriage, a house, a yard, 2.5 kids-

You’ve got to feel sorry for that poor kid who was sliced in half. I mean, really. That has to suck major ball sack.

Do you want to know what I consider success for myself by the time I’m 70?  Being published and continually successful, (duh), living in a non-traditional home-

You can imagine Pilot’s delight when he heard this statement from me. He then proceeded to show me “Residential Hangars” on the interwebs. Yes, my name is Katherine and I choose to live in a residential hangar someday.  Other pilots: jealous, much?

-and maybe kids.  That’s right, you heard me. MAYBE.

When I first met Pilot, I didn’t want any children. Don’t misunderstand me. I love kids. I’ve babysat more than my share, worked in summer camps, and have 13 nieces and nephews ranging from infancy to 16-years-old, whom I love dearly and would give my life for without hesitating. I think children are our most precious resource, because without well-educated and supported children, this country has no future.

I just didn’t want to have my own children. (My reasons are long and tedious, much longer than this post will allow. Those points will be for another day.)

I love that 99% of my graduating high school class is married and on their second or third child by now. They seem truly happy in their choices

However, if I look at my life as it is today:

I work a soul-killing job to support Pilot and myself until writing is full-time for me and Pilot earns a multi-year contract in teaching, had a thyroid cancer scare during Christmas, and Pilot’s large, baked-potato-sized tumor (which was right next his spine) removal surgery, and barely able to cover all of our bills. Tack on an America with foreclosures, bankruptcy and dealing with one of the worst economies the U.S. has seen in decades.

The idea of bringing a child into the hot mess of life while Pilot and I are just scrimping it together after all of this crap has only just settled would probably have pushed us both completely over the edge.

I thank God everyday for birth control.

2. Be confident in your own skin, whatever shade it may be. Being an adopted Korean with German parents attending schools where I was one of five TOTAL minority children in the entire school was bound to give a girl a complex. Add in prescription glasses needed at the tender age of five, during the ‘80’s (an era I like to describe as a Fashion Decade of Hell we did not experience, but humanity survived through), and I was a walking target, complete with bulls eye and zoom-goggles for my bullies.  (Yes, I was bullied a lot as a child, that’s a different issue for another day.)

With my time either being split between people trying to guess “what” I was-

The kicker with these interesting conversations, was after someone asking me if I was Chinese or Japanese, I would answer that I was born Korean. To which, I was promptly met with the answer “No, that’s not right. That doesn’t sound right. You must be [enter more commonly-known Asian ethnicity of your choosing here].”

-or asking if I was an exchange student-

Asking such question in loud, slow voices, I might add.  America, as much as I am proud to be part of this country, and proud that I am an American citizen, we have a seriously long way to go on how we treat Asians (or any other minority) in this country. It is assumed that if one is not Caucasian, this is equivalent to the automatic inability to speak English. In addition, there is the bonus concept that if one does not speak English, one is obviously deaf as well.

What’s that? Yes, please speak slower and louder. That will magically make someone understand the English language instantaneously in comparison to the pacing and volume of your sentence two seconds prior.

-I was also dressed in turtlenecks, plaid skirts and yarn tights with buckle shoes, with the addition of pigtails.

Side note to parents: Just because a look is “cute” to you does not give you permission to purposefully add fire to the flame of having your beloved child’s ass kicked.

It took me years to learn that I was never going to be 5’10”, blonde or blue eyed, (or at least without some considerable and pricy cosmetic surgery and hair dye), and to accept my body for as it was. A (barely) 5’5”, somewhat stocky stature with black hair that grows curlier by the year. (Yes, I am an Asian with black, curly hair. That photo you see of me in the corner? That’s after a lot of work with mousse, a hair dryer and flat iron.)

I’m much happier in my skin and learned to look at the more positive things about my outer-appearance than I was as a teen, desperately waiting for the second round of braces to be complete.

My husband, Pilot tells me I’m the best of both worlds. I’m his hot Asian wife, but I’m technically German because of my family, who surprises people and helps break down stereotypes with a goofy, but approachable, intellectual attitude.

I prefer the term German-By-Association-American.

1. The one you love may not love you. Poor Pilot, I put him through complete and total hell because I was actually in love with another man when we met. (NOTE: I was not in a relationship with someone else when I met Pilot. Pilot was and always would be, my first boyfriend.)

There was a boy I was in love with growing up. We were best friends from junior high through our first year of college together. Our families were close, and they even vacationed together. Now that I’m older, I wish someone would have stopped and shook me, saying, “If Randy* hasn’t recognized that you love him after [enter any number between 2-7 years of your choosing], he never will be.”

*Name has been changed for privacy

Our first year of college changed everything. He ended up leaving college and getting into the party scene. I channeled my heartbreak into not eating, not sleeping and studying like crazy. (Although I will admit, I earned a place on the Dean’s list my first quarter at college.

A feat never to be accomplished again throughout my college career. <sigh.>

No, I don’t think the heartbreak would have been any considerable amount lessened, but I would have gotten over him eventually, and perhaps opened my heart up sooner to Pilot. Pilot had been a great friend and practically a literal boy-next-door for me during this whole ordeal, being patient as our relationship grew closer over time.  (Pilot lived about five doors down from my dorm on the same floor, while my heart was torn out by my best friend in a dorm literally above me on the upper floor.

One of the things I will be sure to teach my children is: Do not to be afraid of love, but be prepared if they might not love them back. And to think about how they will handle this realization.

As my all-time favorite film, Sabrina (the Julia Ormond, Harrison Ford and Greg Kinnear version), there is a moment where Sabrina is talking with her mentor. Her mentor, Irene advises thoughtfully:

Irene:  Is it this David you mentioned casually 30, 40 times when you first came over? He sounds perhaps very much like an illusion.

Sabrina:  He keeps me company.

Irene:  You think so? Illusions are dangerous people. They have no flaws. I came here from Provence. Alone, uneducated. For eight months… No, more than that, a year… I sat in a café, drank coffee, and wrote nonsense in a journal. And then somehow, it was not nonsense. I went for long walks, and I met myself in Paris. You seem… Embarrassed by loneliness. By being alone. It’s only a place to start.

Randy was such an illusion. Never losing my belief in true love, it gave me a wiser approach to falling in love. This experience allowed me to be realistic and not indulge an overinflated crush, but open myself to a real love and a real relationship with Pilot. Recognizing his endless list of good points, some of his flaws, and accept him exactly as he is, eyes wide open, no aftermath surprises. I am actually grateful for that heartbreak. I was young, naïve and in a one-sided relationship that clouded my judgment for several years.  Looking back, I recognize now, Randy and I would never have been a good fit. Although I believe that opposites do attract and can have successful, healthy relationships, I much prefer being with Pilot who I have endless things in common with, along with each of us being stronger in the areas the other is weaker in. We build each other up together, instead of one of us building up the other all the time.

But all in all, I think the biggest thing for me to recognize is that without these experiences, they would not have shaped me into who I am today.  A confident, honest, and moral person who happens to have a touch of a ridiculous and dry wit humor that would make any civilized patron shoot pop out their nose.  So maybe having all of those things happen when they did, learning those lessons in the amount of time they took and experiencing them with the people I did was just as important as the lesson themselves.  What do you think?

What are some of life’s lessons that you wish you had known at a younger age? Do you think it would have made a difference?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 17: Your character has fallen in love. With who? Is it serious? Are they in a relationship with this person? How did they meet? Write a scene of your character either contemplating this significant other or directly interacting with them.

Hmm… These DWC’s are beginning to sound similar to each other.

After hanging up the phone, Josh checked his hair in the reflection of his monitor.  Crap.  His hair always seemed to be sticking up in the back, a cowlick that he was born, and cursed with.  His mom had always called it his rooster tail.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t worry about it,” she’d say with a wave of her hand.  “Besides, it makes you look taller!”

Seated at his gray desk, in his gray cubicle, in the gray room, (or the Pit, as he liked to call it), the Information Technology wing was pretty bland with ten cubicles grouped together in the center of it with harsh fluorescent lighting.  The blisteringly dull and blue-toned light fixtures always seemed to flicker at just the right frequency to give someone slightly more than a headache, but not seizure-inducing.  Mostly the people that worked on the team spent their days playing various types of MMORPG’s, blogged about how uneventful their lives had turned out hoping somewhere amongst the world wide web that someone was listening, while answering the most basic, inane questions for the bigwigs over the phone.  What amazing use of his master’s degrees in computer science and robotics from Yale had made.

But now he had a chance to break his routine; and not only that, but go upstairs and talk to Sydney.  He smoothed his hair out the best he could and stood up, only to spill coffee on to his shirt.  He held his shirt out and looked at it, shaking his head and sighed.  He attempted to clean the large brown spot that was starting to grow by swiping some of his neighbor’s clear soda onto it, but realized it was losing battle and gave up.

Being thirty-three and still single, he had tried dating other women, but it was hopeless.  Sure, they were all nice girls: friendly, polite, and into computers and understanding the connection people had with each other through technology like he did; but, they just weren’t Sydney.  He couldn’t get her out of his head.  As her computer seemed to shut down on a regular basis, he would fix it and she would take him out to coffee afterward as a thank you.  At least he got to chat with her once in awhile.  The always had a good working relationship, but he had wanted it to be more.  Over the last couple years, he’d grown fond of her and was heartsick.  Most of his dates ended up him sitting across the table from a perfectly good, and sometimes willing, woman, and all he could do was think about how different she was from Sydney.  He thought back to the first time they met.

It had been a frosty January morning and Sydney arrived at the Pit in a calm, but frantic manner.  The contrast between her very professional and pulled together outfit with the darting of her eyes back and forth, sweeping across the room looking for someone to help her was amusing.  And cute.  She had worn a sleek red pencil skirt and a black knitted turtleneck that hugged her curves in all the right places.  Her shoes had one of those toothpick-like heels to them.  Stilettos?  Is that what they were called?  Josh was never really into fashion.  The last time he’d been “shopping” was his birthday when his mom and sister had given him a bunch of shirts and some pants.  He was thankful they’d provided a belt because stuff usually fit pretty loosely.  At least it was comfortable.

He recalled her striking long black hair that grazed her shoulder blades.  In the times he’d seen her walking through the lobby and into the elevator, she’d usually kept it sleek and tied back into a tight ponytail.  But that day, she had it flowing loosely around her face; he’d thought about how much it had softened her and he wanted to reach out his fingers and feel what it would feel like between his fingers.  She was so quintessentially female, soft and curvy, and lovely against the harsh lines of the boxy, gray cubicle-land he worked in.  Thinking about her hair tangled in his fingers, made him think other ways he’d like his body to be tangled with hers.  This caused him to become hard, and was grateful she wanted to sit down an explain her problem (in some great detail he might add), which gave him time to focus on work and calm the rush of heat that had spread to his body so he could actually stand up to go to her office later.

Raising his arm to signal her, she had peered across the room, her eyes settling on his gaze.  Noticing her deep blue eyes, he thought he had caught a hidden twinkle he couldn’t really describe, and thinking about that little glimmer of trouble had left him mesmerized, and admittedly turned on, thinking about what it would be like to gaze into them in a dimly lit room… Say his bedroom… for the rest of that fateful day.  Taking a deep breath and straightening her shoulders, she walked straight towards him and he’d managed to take a glance at her long, sinuous steps that caused her hips to sway ever so slightly, a look of relief washing over her face.  She explained how she was new to the company and had just been issued a new laptop that wasn’t turning on.

Normally, he’d ask her the same series of questions, “Is your computer on?” or “Is it plugged in?” and so on.  But after a few minutes, he realized she was really sharp and not one of those flighty bigwigs that normally ran the company.  Following her to her incredibly huge office (almost the size of the Pit, and all for one person!) he sat at her desk, fixing her computer the first of what was to be many, many times in the future.  He knew she cursed the damned thing, but he was entirely, internally, grateful.  Sydney invited him out for coffee to thank him for his help, the first in a long line of coffee breaks they would share.  Apparently his help saved her from almost losing a major account on a marketing campaign she was leading.  At the time, he had been thrilled she asked him out.  It wasn’t until halfway through their conversation he heard about a new guy she had met named Michael.  They weren’t serious yet at that point, but he could tell her focus was definitely not on himself.

Josh remembered meeting Michael a week later at the company holiday party.  The corners of his mouth turned down slightly at the memory.  Michael Ross was tall with brown hair, but Michael had those weird, cheesy blonde streaks in it and he had that sleekness to him.  Michael was one of those guys that made life look easy, like each person naturally walked out of bed looking like a model everyday, worked an overly-well paying job and went home with women like Sydney as if it was the natural order of things.

One of his suits probably cost more than Josh’s car.

He pushed the up button on the wall and waited for the elevator.  He felt a slight tug on his heart at being able to spend a few minutes with Sydney, but it was soon overshadowed by longing and loneliness as he stepped into the cold, gray elevator.  He was lovesick over a woman who didn’t love him, but had ruined him for other women as well.

The gorgeous ones always seemed to be taken.

i think mother nature has an evil twin… and she hates me

Take that disgusting thing off of my boobs, thank you!

Holy cow! I can’t believe I’m already on DWC 15! (There are a total of 25, so I’m over halfway through!)

ATTENTION ALL READERS:

Coining a term from my Daily Life, “Scope Creep,” has fallen upon me. Maintaining a lifestyle of a full-time job, dealing with said Daily Life, writing this blog, working on the DWC’s, trying to carve additional time for my WIP’s and trying to obtain a fair amount of sleep each night… Well, it’s becoming all too much and something has got to give. If I’m not careful, it could quite possibly be my sanity.

Let’s face the facts: If the sanity is completely gone, who wants to read the ramblings of a crazy person?

With most of the outline for my first of a two-book series written out, I hope to have at least both outlines completed, along with officially having started to knock out the first book by the end of the month.

With the ultimate goal of getting published someday, (if I’m lucky enough to be selected by an agent, and then, by some miracle have my work picked up by a publishing company), these last two weeks have proven me wrong:

I cannot continue with the mere goal of writing something each day. I need to be focused on my WIP’s each day.

The (mostly) daily blogging has assisted with me getting back into the groove of taking at least one hour to focus on my Real Life work. I need to use my now aging memory for redeveloping my writing skills.

I will try to post as often as possible, at minimum weekly. So bear with me readers, the few but precious you are! I promise to remain faithful as ever to provide a detailed, if slightly ridiculous, report of my progress.

And now, back to our show!

Daily Writing Challenge 

Day 15: Your character is upset. What about? How does it affect them? Does anyone come to comfort them? Write a scene where your character is distraught.

[Today’s DWC and my daily blog post are one and the same. So hope you enjoy!]

Lesson Learned: No matter how much you try, one cannot fight Mother Nature.  Even if you hate it sometimes.

I believe that God has a sense of humor, (don’t believe me? Have you ever seen a platypus?), and although I’m 100% sure He loves everyone, I also believe the caveat of His humor is that He enjoys screwing with me, just a tiny bit, to see how I’ll react.

Case in point: As part of Pilot’s birthday weekend, we went out to watch the IL2, a Russian WWII war bird fly this afternoon. Instead of being part of the museum’s crowd, we made our way to the opposite side of the runway, near the windsock, amongst the tall grass.  After an amazing one-hour show, Pilot and I made our way back to our car.

As I was belting myself in, I felt a presence on my shoulder. Batting the nuisance away, I froze.  The annoying presence fell into my shirt.  Glancing downward, there it was.

A spider.

A really big spider.

Cricket on a cracker, there is a HUGE SPIDER IN MY BRA!!!

As I gracefully scream and tastefully swat at my boobs-

Get it out! Get it out!  Get this fucking thing off of MEEE!

-I end up repeatedly squashing it against my poor, innocent breast.  (Let’s just say some more screeching ensued for the next few seconds on top of the additional swatting and accidental exposure of myself to those within viewing distance of our vehicle.)

Desperate to remove this creepy crawly from my person, I was finally able to dislodge the Spawn of Satan out of my shirt, flinging it unceremoniously onto the console of Pilot’s vehicle where the humongous thing proceeded to lie there… somewhat flatly while twitching.  Bursting through the car door, I stand outside facing the interior of War Machine, (Pilot and I dubbed his vehicle War Machine not too long ago. What can I say? I already told you it’s a tradition that we name our modes of transportation), and pointed directly to Evil Incarnate calmly requesting Pilot to “Get that… that… THING, away from me!”

Pilot, having just sat in the driver’s seat watching this whole ordeal with a look of amusement on his face, (the rat bastard), proceeds to take his hand from the steering wheel, placing his forefinger and thumb behind Satan’s Mistress and flicked it out of the car.

Sadly, I was under the misfortune of not having my wits about me, (remember, I said complete loss of sanity. I never claimed to have full sanity to begin with) and was standing in the direct path of The Devil’s Wrath Upon Humanity.  The spider bounced off of me, causing another Eek! to emit from me, and it landed on the ground.

I maintained my composure by gracefully scrambling into the car, proceeding to lock all doors, seal all windows, securing Pilot and myself in impenetrable cat suits complete with boots and gloves, placing heat-seeking goggles over our eyes, surrounding our vehicle with motion-sensor cameras and setting up a perimeter of an electrified, barbed wire fence.

Pilot: Um, Sweetie? Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little?

Me: <moves joystick to turn motion-sensor cameras back and forth.>

Pilot: I promised my parents we’d go visit them so they could celebrate my Birthday dinner with us.

Me: <adjusts heat-seeking goggles, searching for unidentified moving entities.>

Pilot: Sweetie, weneed to get going.

Me: <puts finger to lips.>  SHH! They’ll hear you!

first kiss hijacked by unknown kindergartner!

ANNOUNCEMENT:
Earlier this week, I was asked to guest post on 5thingstodotoday!  Thanks to David Ridings for the amazing opportunity and for helping me check this milestone off my my blogging bucket list!  Check it out and share a comment on how YOU beat writer’s block!  

Oh man, my first guest posting and I haven’t had this blog for a full week! <Squee!>

Now, back to your regularly scheduled program…

———-

Today’s DWC asked me to write about someone’s first kiss.  Boy did that bring up memories!  I wish I could tell you my first kiss was with my husband, a serious boyfriend or even a mere crush.

Well, it wasn’t.

Sorry to burst your bubble, but under full disclosure: my first kiss wasn’t even romantic.  

I don’t even know his name.

I was a plucky, annoyingly-perky kindergartner waiting impatiently for the recess bell, as all kindergartners do.  Rushing to be one of the first people in line, I marched along with my other kiddie classmates to the wood chipped playground.  Recess time is about all a four-year-old lives for, other than finger painting.

Utilizing my time carefully, I climb the “Big Toy,” run down the slides in the exact manner we were instructed not to do and play foursquare with those intimidating rubber bouncy-balls.

You know the ones. The scary ones notorious for marring children’s innocence during lethal games of dodgeball.

While making my ascent to fulfill my plan of going across the monkey bars-

I’m going to make it all the way across this time, I know it!

-my plan was being interrupted by a boy from another kindergarten group. He was about the same height as me with light brown, somewhat-curly hair, his little face complete with dimples. He runs up to me and said, “You’re Katie! I like you!”

Smack!

He leans over and kisses me square on the lips. Pulling back after a mere fraction of a second, he gives me a partially-toothy grin and runs away.  Standing there blinking at the empty space which only a second prior had held a human being.

So what happened next, you might ask?  Well, I did what any logical four-year-old who had just been hijacked emotionally does.

I tattled on him.

I run right up to the teachers monitoring (and apparently not very well) the children at play, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. I raise a serious finger toward my pint-sized-temporary-captor, stating in a steady but angry voice, “That boy just kissed me!”

The teachers looked at me.  They looked at each other.

Then, they laughed.

They laughed!

Well, you can imagine the indignation I felt as the color worked its way up my collar.

My mom was into turtlenecks at the time. No, I don’t get it either. To this day I hate to have anything tied around my neck.  To this day, scarves are worn loosely, if at all.

I gave these inept people an evil stink-eye, promptly stomping away from the useless supervisors the school had hired for my education, and tried to fill the rest of recess time with some other activity to get over the humiliation.

Now, some parents might say the cause of this humiliation is due to boys and girls thinking of each other as having “cooties” during this stage of life.  Well, for me it was quite the opposite.

Being born a hopeless romantic is really tough on the psyche.  As a matter of fact, in preschool (yes, preschool) I had huge crush on a boy named Tyler, and I’d kind of hoped he was going to be my first kiss.  Even at this tender age, I must have been destined to be a romance novelist because I never went through the “boys have cooties” stage.

Do you want to know my reason for being completely undone by this unknown culprit?

Every little girl is told that her first kiss will be a special one with a special boy.  We’re assured our first kiss will be a magical experience making us feel like fairy princess, and we’ll always remember it.

My first kiss was hijacked by an unknown kindergartner.

We’re also told you can never get it back, because once you’ve had a first kiss it’s gone. Forever.

Doesn’t that sound a little harsh to you, too? Yeah. I thought so.

Even to this day, my own mother was never able to figure out who the boy was, which group he was in, or even his name. This boy’s innocent kid-crush completely obliterated any ability for me to attach emotion to my first kiss.  I was devastated.  The experience was gone and I was never able to get it back.

Looking back on that first kiss, it makes me ponder the idea that maybe this unknown boy is why I’ve kept romance in my heart for the rest of my life.  My four-year-old self’s emotionally crippling day made me want another kiss. One that meant something.  Now, as an adult I can say I’ve had a kiss, <rolling eyes> (ok, maybe a few), with boys who actually meant something to me.  Some meant happy memories, others… Well, lets just say some were regrettable.

In several ways you have to give mad props to that brave and brazen kindergartner, whoever he is.  Spending countless hours (ok, maybe some years during my youth), trying to picture who this man is today sparked endless possibilities for me.  Maybe he’s in the military, perhaps an artist, or most likely, just normal guy who is probably married and even started a family.

Either way, it’s a sweet notion and I look back on that “Hijacked Kiss” much more fondly than my four-year-old self.  Today, I even have my own (at one point in my life) “mystery man” who became the love of my life.

To that boy back in kindergarten, thank you.  You have become the inspiration for several make believe men based on whoever you *might* be today.

To my husband, Pilot, I thank you. You are the inspiration for all of the wonderful traits my heroes have and will carry with them for the rest of my life.  You’ve made all my romantic possibilities come true.

<Blows Kiss.>

I want to hear from YOU!  What was YOUR first kiss like?

Daily Writing Challenge

Day 9: How was your character’s first kiss? Who with? Where was it? How old were they? Write the scene.

The sky was filled with brilliant purples and pinks as the sun was making its lazy trek home toward the mountains.  Ethan stopped and pulled out the quilt and thermos of homemade hot chocolate they brought for their sunset hike. 

Spreading the quilt out onto the mossy grounds of the woods, they each sat looking out at the view.  Keeping their voices low as if sharing secret information with each other, they watched the daylight slowly recede from view.

Ethan shook his head.  “I’ll never understand people who live in a flat, landlocked state.”  Molly looked at him, absorbing how the light reflected off of his hair and illuminated him in a soft orange glow.  He shifted his gaze to hers.  “They’re missing out on one of nature’s greatest shows!”  She poured him a cup of the hot chocolate, handing the steaming container over to him.  She then poured herself one and took a sip.  Mmm… Heaven in a cup.

“Really?  People in the Midwest have to have daytime and nighttime just like anywhere else, right?”  Molly raised her eyebrows.

Shaking his head a second time he said, “It’s not the same.” He pointed off in the distance to the mountains that were glowing with a fiery red, slowly being consumed by a growing dark purple sky.

“Here, when the sun sets behind the mountains, we still get about a half hour to an hour more of sunlight.  In the Midwest where it’s flat, there’s no twilight. It’s sunny, then black.  Hardly a transition.  There’s no time to enjoy it.”  He slowly turned back to her, and Molly noticed a glimmer of something emanating from his eyes.  “Or enjoy it with someone.”

Her eyes widened slightly as he took her hand. Her hand looked so small in his.  His palm warm against her skin, his fingertips slightly scarred and padded from hours of guitar playing.  As her pulse quickened she watched his eyes journeyed from her eyes to her hair.

“What?” she asked softly.

“Your hair-“ he paused.

“Yeah?” She was beginning to feel self-conscious now. Please don’t let there be a bug. Oh, please no!

“It always seemed dark brown, but it’s red in the sunlight.”  One corner of his lips quirked up in a shy half-smile, causing her to melt inside.

Ethan’s face relaxed as if lost in a daydream. The sun was now touching the snowcapped peaks. One at time, he set their drinks down.  Shivers of delight tingled throughout her body as she felt his fingers pass through her curly locks and felt them lightly twist the end of a strand.  He dropped his gaze back down to her lips.

“Molly?”

“Uh huh?” Words evaded her now.

“I-“ he sighed. His eyes glowed with some affection she wasn’t ready to identify yet. “God you’re beautiful.”  He placed both of his hands on her face, and before she knew it his lips were brushing hers.  There was a final spark of light permeating the sky as the sun disappeared, the last burst of color before final nightfall.

Mfph. A breath caught in her throat as she felt his lips brushing hers. A kiss so gentle it grounded her, unable to move. All too soon he pulled back slightly, leaving her insides fuzzy.  Molly slowly opened her eyes feeling dazed and warm.

His eyes searched hers.  “Was that ok?” he asked softly.

She felt his breath on her face as she let this moment sink in.  After blinking a few times, she slowly wrapped her arms around his neck and scooted closer.

“That was very ok,” giving him a slow smile.  Ethan raised his eyebrows in amusement and a corner of his lips quirked up.  Molly looked at his lips, the ones that had just touched hers a mere moment, yet forever ago.

“So you liked it, huh?” His eyes squinted slightly as he gave her an ear-splitting smile. 

“Why, yes. I did.” Molly gave him a quick nod in confirmation.  He laughed.  The sky was dark now, glittering with the stars all around them.

“In fact,” she continued, raising an eyebrow at him.  “I think it’s about high-time you kiss me again, just to make sure we did it right.”  He laughed harder as he put his arms around her waist bringing her body flush against his.

He shook his head at her.  “You’re too much.”

As he leaned back in to kiss her again, she made sure to kiss him back this time.