I don’t brake for me

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


I’m so totally sick of myself.

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

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

It goes on to tell about how a coo-coo came and stole his skin and behaved all kinds of badly with it. Right now, I’d be fine with that. “Just take my skin away so I can get away from myself for a minute!”
So what am I doing with myself to escape? I’m throwing myself into NanoWriMo. Yes, throwing myself, like one might do to get under the wheels of a bus. 50,000 words of some other character’s life and woes should do to get me away from my own life for a minute.


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

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

Until next time,

L.T.

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

A Gourd

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

All my best,
L.T.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Rerun

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

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

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

Resulting losses are too devastating to mention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And let the wind whisper...Elliot.

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

Hal

“Don’t let people drive you crazy when you know it’s within walking distance.”
--Author Unknown

Methinks Google Blogger has jacked into my brain.
Or is psychic.

For instance, the word verifiers in the comments have been messing with my head. Today, I wrote a comment and the verifier was: “Weeding.”

Perhaps it’s trying to tell me something.

Then I wrote another comment and the verifier said: “Brattle”, which made me think of “cattle”, which made me think about being herded around, which made me wonder: “Am I just giving a rote response?”

You see why I think Google Blogger might be an evil sentient being?

I’m watching you, Blogger. I’m watching you.

Five and Thirty-Five

“Friendship multiplies the good of life and divides the evil.”
--Baltasar Gracian


This last March, I went to a writing workshop offered by my local league of writers. I met some wonderful people there and have kept in touch with a few (Annie is one of them and if you haven’t read her blog or her column, you’re missing out on some serious laughs!)

One of the gracious authors at the event was Josi Kilpack and she did an amazing job on several topics—all of which have served me well in my own work. (Especially her talk on writer’s block. Good common sense that has given me priceless application.) I bought a copy of her book, Lemon Tart (which you simply must read. It’s fabulous! And it already has a sequel!), and hoped to meet her again.

I’ve had the pleasure several times and I can’t get enough of her. She is an excellent writer, no doubt, but she’s one of the best people I’ve ever had the chance to meet. She is kind. She is gracious. She is smart, beautiful, and funny. I truly like her.

An example of her kindness? She’s awarded me a meme!

Yep, all that intro was shameless kissing-up. (Except that it totally isn’t, Josi. You’re wonderful, truly.)
The best sort of kindness is the sort you can pay forward. Lucky me, I get to choose 5 others. I adored Josi’s method of choosing. She said: “…the five fabs I will give it to are the following: Each of them have a quality I am working toward developing in my life…”

So I’m going to copy her. =]

Charrette. I’ve mentioned her before and there’s good reason. She is good, unfailingly so. Her art is breathtaking—her soul is without parallel. I adore her blog. Her, even more so

Elena is one of the smartest women I’ve ever met. I’ve only recently had the chance to work with her and I am blown away by her insight and intelligence. I kind of want to steal her brain—except that I’d lose a valuable friend.

Carolyn is so ridiculously funny. She and her husband are also some of the finest parents I’ve ever seen. My hubby and I frequently say that we want to grow up to be just like them. (Yes, we’re pretending not to be old.)

Terresa is the finest living poet I’ve had the pleasure to read (and she can rival some dead ones too!) Her posts are like word feasts and I’m a pig at the trough. Yes, I’m jealous.

Michelle, also known as Lady Glamis, is all around incredible. Her blog is a fantastic resource for any writer. She’s an excellent photographer and has a work ethic that puts me to shame. I mention all of these traits because I want to harvest all of them. =]

Along with the award comes 35 fun-filled questions. Here’s mine:

1. Where is your cell phone? In my purse, stuck between the pages of a paper notebook.
2. Your hair? Is falling out in the shower. It’s kind of worrying me. I already have thin hair. I don’t have much to lose!
3. Your mother? Is fierce. About her religion, her beliefs, and most importantly, her family.
4. Your father? Is my Hero. If I should be a tenth of the person he is, I will have lived a full, rich life and have done service enough to make my maker proud.
5. Your favorite food? Indian. The spicier, the better. =]
6. Your dream last night? Was a mix of a murder-mystery (common in my dreams), great escapes, and...er...some...sexy stuff. That General seduces even in sleep.
7. Your favorite drink? My dad’s homemade root beer. Although I love Pepsi and Ginger Ale too. (I know! The Shame!)
8. Your dream/goal? To find peace with myself or at least a truce. Also, I want my loved ones to know how much they mean to me.
9. What room are you in? My Family Room, snuggled up against The General.
10. Your hobby? Embroidery, actually. I love the peaceful, repetitive motions. I don’t do it often but I enjoy it.
11. Your fear? Disappointing my husband and children. Hurting others.
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Still madly in love with my family. Working with Tor wouldn’t suck either. ;)
13. Where were you last night? At my parent’s gorgeous cabin, helping get it ready for final inspection. Yay!
14. Something you aren't? Finished.
15. Muffins? Poppy seed or Einstein Bros Blueberry. The only blueberry I like.
16. Wish list item? A Kindle. Oh. Baby. (Thanks, Karen. You’ve ruined me for life.)
17. Where did you grow up? On a suburban farm.
18. Last thing you did? Type that sentence above. :)
19. What are you wearing? Comfy jammies. In fact, the whole fam is chillin’ in our comfy jammies. Oops. Time to get ready for church!
20. Your TV? Has a lithe blonde on it, snowboarding and defying gravity. Totally unrealistic but too fun.
21. Your pets? 1 dog, Winston and 2 cats, Scratchy (the kids named him when they were 2. Give you one guess why) and Italics (Guess who named her.)
22. Your friends? My crack. Don’t ever want to live without them. *hugs*
23. Your life? So much better than I anticipated. Not easy but worth it.
24. Your mood? Content.
25. Missing someone? Always. Come home, Pyg!
26. Vehicle? Bonnie, the minivan. She’s divorced from Clyde. The bullet holes were killing us. (har, har.)
27. Something you're not wearing? Contacts. Lousy eye scar.
28. Your favorite store? The bookstore. ANY bookstore. Stocked with lots of books. (Funny tid-bit about me: The General and I spent many dates at the bookstore, reading to each other and playing chess in the café. We still love to go there.)
29. Your favorite color? Purple. (Fav. Clothing color: Red.)
30. When was the last time you laughed? The General keeps me in stitches daily. Although Trooper A made us crack up last night with this convo:

Trooper A: Jenna S. at school brought tummy-yummies to school. I think they’re good for you.

Trooper B: How?

Trooper A: I think they make the Swine Flu go away.

31. Last time you cried? Yesterday.
32. Your best friend? The General. Always, forever, and no matter what.
33. One place that I go over and over? My twins room at night, to smooth their brow and thank God each night that I’m their momma.
34. One person who emails me regularly? Carolyn. And if she doesn’t, I stalk her down until she does again.
35. Favorite place to eat? Taj India. Best indian food EVER.

Did you survive the length of this post? Hooray!

Until next time,
L.T.

My Little Stroll

I heard a song recently that’s just dancing in my head. Want to hear it? Well, I wish I could show you but YouTube is being difficult about it. However, I’ll give you the link:

One Step At a Time

It’s by Jordin Sparks. I’m sure many of you have already run into it (unfortunately, I’m behind the times with my music).

Of course, it’s made me think about this writing journey. Sometimes I feel so eager to just get up and go, get it over with, get that publishing contract and rock the New York Times! (Yeah, I know it’s a wild fantasy. So sue me. But don’t. I’m not rich. Yet. Ha ha!)

This song made me step back and realize that there’s a time and I need to enjoy where I’m at too. Also, there’s a line that specifically struck me.

“It's gonna happen and it's supposed to happen and we find the reasons why one step at a time.”

Someday, it will happen. It’s supposed to happen. Perhaps I’m taking liberties with the ladies of fate but I think, just maybe, it is supposed to happen for me. Maybe not the way I’m thinking but I think I’m supposed to be a writer. I’m happy here. And that is supposed to happen.

So, to spread a little sunshine your way, I’m sharing both the link and the lyrics with you in the hope that you’ll remember to take it one step at a time and cherish the walk.

Until next time,

L.T.

"One Step At A Time"
Hurry up and wait
So close, but so far away
Everything that you've always dreamed of
Close enough for you to taste
But you just can't touch
You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name yet

Wonder when and where and how you're gonna make it
You know you can if you get the chance
In your face as the door keeps slamming
Now you're feeling more and more frustrated
And you're getting all kind of impatient waiting

[Chorus:]
We live and we learn to take
One step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love
It's gonna happen and it's
Supposed to happen and we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time

You believe and you doubt
You're confused, you got it all figured out
Everything that you always wished for
Could be yours, should be yours, would be yours
If they only knew
You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name yet

Wonder when and where and how you're gonna make it
You know you can if you get the chance
In your face as the door keeps slamming
Now you're feeling more and more frustrated
And you're getting all kind of impatient waiting

[Chorus]
When you can't wait any longer
But there's no end in sight
when you need to find the strength
It's your faith that makes you stronger
The only way you get there
Is one step at a time

[Chorus x2]