Tag Archives: life

I live in a world of nightmares and long for a world of dreams…

So often, I think, we humans do what the title of this post suggests. We live in the world we’ve got, where we perceive things as nightmares and droll, dull, and bad, and yet still yearn to live in a place where dreams come true, life is good, and the boring things disappear in excitement and happiness.

Growing up sucks. I’m sorry, but it does. When you’re a kid, your imagination is the center of how you view things. Monsters exist, but so do heroes. If something bad happens, more often than not, there is someone there to direct you to something more positive and shelter you from all the “bad.” As an adult, that filter you most likely had as a kid is gone. Instead, every pain is felt deep, people really do go and not come back, people you love don’t love you back, and the world is a bit duller, the days move faster, and instead of holding onto hope it’ll be different, you start living in this doubt you’ve learned exists.

I wrote a poem recently. First poem I’ve written in 10 years. Nope. Not an exaggeration. It started off as most of my poems do. A simple line that triggers an image. Living in a nightmare…hoping for a dream. Then, as most writers can tell you, the words and ideas took charge and I ended up in a different place than I started. Thematically, it worked. The poem’s far from my best. But, rereading it tonight, it kinda did what a poem should do for me. It encapsulated exactly what I’m feeling and exactly what I’m filled with fear about.

I’ve always told people I tend to write when certain emotions take me over. I’ve been very reluctant to go there this year, as my last post would hint as to why. Growing up just sucks, and the difference between being the writer I used to be and the grown-up writer I am now is not just a measure of skill or technicality. I don’t want to jump and serve the feelings. I don’t want everything I write, everyone I communicate with, and everything I do serve what’s going on inside like I used to. My writing was prolific in quantity then, but I really don’t like it. It’s confusing. It’s angry. It’s alienating, and quite frankly, only shows one side of who I am. I’m mercurial. There’s always more than one side, and it’s about damn time people got to see it.

People get the angry, cranky, sheltered person I am. They don’t see the girl that feels everything everyone around her feels. If you’re hurt, I’m hurt. If you’re sad, I get sad. They don’t see the person who is willing to throw down and put everything on the line for someone who barely glances at her. The person that smiles when she wants to cry. The person that jumps cliffs just to prove herself to the one person that’s never watching. I’m the girl that sits against the walls at parties, watching everyone mingle and instead of being jealous, just enjoys the atmosphere of the room. I’m the girl whose voice muddles with everyone else’s. I’d rather feel than not, and I remember what it’s like when I shut myself down. I could read a book in a room surrounded by people talking among themselves, and feel a part of the book’s world and the people’s world I’m in at the same time.

I’m the girl that stares at stars and wonders who also looked. I like playing in mud and dirt, and I’ve been known to dance in the rain. I hate the cold, but I won’t hesitate to play in the snow. I don’t want to be weak. I don’t want help. I want to be more than I am thought to be. I like to travel, even if I can’t go where I want. I love knowing where I came from. I want to see the land my ancestors walked. I want to know every bit of what made me me.

I miss the people that are gone. The same way anyone reading this misses the people they’ve lost. I miss the full heart I used to have when I could walk through a day and just know that this person existed. I miss being aggravated with them. I miss the normal of it.

Nothing’s gonna change with that. They’re gone. I’ve accepted it. I don’t like it, but I’ve accepted it. That’s what I am good at. I’m adaptable. I’m Gemini. I’m a Monkey (Chinese astrology y’all…look it up. haha). I can change. I can grow. I get it. But, I don’t like it. And, I think there’s just some things that won’t change.

My love for my family won’t change. I forgive everything, but I don’t forget everything. I’ll continue to put my heart and my soul out there for others, even all those people that logical part of my brain says not to. I’ll continue to stare out the window at night and gaze at the stars, listen to a song 12 times in a row to memorize lyrics that I won’t care about in two years, write crappy poems about crappy subjects that I’ll feel stupid about for years to come. I’ll continue to wake up, go to work, and put on that happy face, and I’ll continue to fall in love as I always do. I’ll still find the beauty in a sunset, or dance in a summer rain. I’ll still listen to the sound of peepers in summer, and shudder when the woodpecker sounds (it’s the Predator, don’t you know?). I’ll love the smell of manure, as bad as it is, and the smell of fresh mowed grass and the cold, brisk wind during a snowfall. I’ll still lift the snow’s weight on a shovel, and I’ll still enjoy the taste of hot cocoa (PEPPERMINT MOCHA FOR THE WIN!).

I left that world of dreams behind me more than a decade ago. That world was one where I willingly left responsibility to the side to foster being “taken care of.” I call it my world of dreams, not because I have given up getting them, but more that they were real then. Truth is, I felt I mattered in that world of dreams, not because of who I was, but because of who I wanted to be. It was easy to pretend, to fill a role, to let that become my focus and my life. I live in the world of nightmares now. It’s not that it’s scary. It’s just…not dreamy. It can hurt. It can bruise. But, it’s real. It’s who I am.

And yet, even so, the dreamer in me hasn’t let go. Maybe she never will. Maybe I’ll never let her.

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Posted by on 11/24/2014 in Uncategorized


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Posting commencing shortly…minor hiccup in the works.

A few writing thoughts have infiltrated my brain lately, but as I’ve been dealing with a lot of family and work issues (the family issues of which I’ve attempted to write a post about 12 times. No, I’m not exaggerating. 12 is the times I’ve opened the document I started last month), I’ve been reluctant to write in a state of stress and unhappiness.

So, I’ve spent the past couple of months trying to comprehend why things work out the way they do, why I’m obsessive the way I am, and why I wrote poetry as much as I used to. I can’t say I’ve found the answers to those things, but maybe that’s the point. I am a questioning sort; what fun is it if the questions get answered?

I spent last night going through my writing files and digesting some of my poetry. This is a good and bad thing. Good because it inspires me and gives me hope that I’m not a total hack when it comes to writing. Bad in that I regret that I’ve somehow lost that momentum and inspiration I had to just write whenever the mood came upon me. Some of the last few posts here have concerned themselves with writing of the past, and I’ve longed to come up with something new, but failed.

In a couple days, I’m going to work up the courage to write about my sister. It’s not going to be easy. In fact, the last 12 times I’ve attempted to write a post before this one, I’ve ended up in tears and abandoning the document. While I think a facebook post detailing, briefly, the sentiment I feel when thinking of my sister helped say what I wanted to then, as the weather turns colder and the holidays approach, those thoughts won’t suffice. I think I will need to say what’s been swimming in my head, and here is my outlet.

The bonus in all of this comes from the fact that I had the courage to open some dusty files and have those seductive writing thoughts I pushed away. Perhaps this time I won’t lose it so quickly.

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Posted by on 11/10/2014 in Uncategorized


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Realizing all the while, you’ve been doing it wrong.

Once upon a time, I wrote a fantasy novel. I haven’t spent too much time on my specific works in this blog, mostly because I had intended on having another blog serve to deal with my “I’M A WRITER, DAMNIT!” thoughts. However, I’ve been in a weird sort of mood lately, and I really just want to talk about stories.

I didn’t start out writing fantasy when I decided writing was the craft for me. In fact, I was just a little obsessed with a time period of history/country called Ancient Egypt and writing a story set there. I was so obsessed that some of my early internet usernames were based upon characters in that novel series. I started that series when I was 17, finished the first book when I was 21, and started up the prequel (because writing out of order is just awesome, let me tell you). Then, the story just crashed and burned.

It wasn’t because the plot couldn’t sustain itself. It could, and I still hope that it can. However, the time of life I was entering, I found myself consumed with other things that distracted me further from the closeness I had experienced with the characters.

Two years later, after writing hundreds of poems, reading a dear friend’s own fantasy work, and trying to work through some visions of plot that danced in my head, I decided to start working on a fantasy novel. It started a lot smaller in scope, and now it sits as a waiting trilogy, but I really believed in the storyline and I admit, it was a lot of fun to write.

That’s the background. Now, here’s what I’m trying to get at.

A few posts ago, I wrote about going through some old writing, finding that 23 year old me, and reliving the past relationships that have since faded with time. I have struggled for years to get myself back into a writing sort of mood, and that Monday was a trigger moment. The following weekend, I actually worked on my writing. I was happy, but a little sad, too.

Since I left high school, writing wasn’t just about me getting whatever thoughts in my head out on paper, but rather a sort of social interaction I held with classmates, friends, other writers, and often, I would just spend an entire night talking about plot points, worries, and directions I wanted to take. It wasn’t selfish. I listened just as much as I talked. I spent countless hours with other creative people, letting the pulse of their own exploration inspire and motivate me to be bigger, better, and stronger as an artist.

I really enjoyed myself, reading the words I wrote about a decade ago, edited seven years ago, and wrote in a very changeable winter. But, part of what I missed was knowing I couldn’t really share that with anyone. I couldn’t do anything but pace the rooms of my house, whispering my thoughts on working through the bad areas of writing. It was a lonely process. I really didn’t like it.

This isn’t a foreign feeling. I’ve been struggling with it for the past seven years. Every time I went to write, that beautiful urge faded as I felt so alone with it. I wasn’t comfortable with the change, so I’d give up.

Yeah, self-inflicted writer’s block.

It doesn’t have to be that way. I don’t want to be that way. I’m sick of letting it be that way.

Time for a change.

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Posted by on 11/12/2013 in blogging, writing


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When you need to be AWAY…

Sometimes, when you’re looking at 300 plus people on a daily shift, the prospect of being social, answering phones, and putting a smile on your face is too damn much.

I’m not miserable. Actually, compared to about ten years ago, I’m much happier. I am smarter. I’m wiser. I’m older, sadly, but such is the consequence of life.  I’m much less motivated to write, which is distressing, but at the same time, I’m not writing crap that only serves to whine as I did about ten years ago.

I don’t like the phone. I never have. I avoid phones if I can. If I can write it or type it out, I’m much happier. Lately, though, these feelings have gotten worse. I can’t really explain it outside of being an introvert and how often the damn phone rings when I’m at my work. My last day of work, I think the phone rang 20-30 times during an 8 hour shift. Combine this with talking to hundreds of customers during that time, it is no wonder that when closing time happens, I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to call in a take-out order. I don’t want to hold a phone to my ear. I don’t want to discover how to save 20% on my electric bill. I just want to be left alone. I want to curl up with my Kindle, or play a mindless game on my computer, or glance at Facebook and just be quiet.

I’ve never been that social. This isn’t to say I don’t like people or being around people. I like being around people that accept me for who I am. My family, for instance, is a very busy network of people. I love just sitting at family gatherings, watching other people reconnect and be social. I don’t feel left out. I used to. I don’t know. I’m just not that way. I like being in the corner and watching. I like feeling a part of things while being on the fringe. 

Beyond that, being with my family in a social way is ten times different than being around people like my customers. I don’t hate my customers, so don’t get me wrong, but they’re not blood related. I don’t look at each of them and see the part of me that I’ve become stemming from who my family is. My family is loud, bold, and the most loving bunch I know. For an introvert like me, that’s a lot to handle, and I love every damn minute of it because they’re MINE. That’s my family, my blood, and the legacy handed to me. I wouldn’t trade it for a damn thing in the world. 

I don’t go out every weekend. I hate bars. I hate crowds. I don’t enjoy myself in them. I don’t like being watched; I don’t like being a part of someone else’s commentary. Sometimes, I just want to sit with another person or two, someone I feel 100% comfortable with and not saying a damn word. 

Best damn therapy in the world…


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Posted by on 06/17/2013 in Uncategorized


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Anger shouldn’t be a motivator…

Here I am. Again, I’m posting after a time away, apologizing for the silence and hoping those that are reading (*waves*) forgive.  I wish I could say I was traveling Europe, fighting some massive disease/disorder/family problem, or digging up a mummy in Egypt, but frankly, the mundane details of life are to blame.

See, I had a post I was going to write last week. It was a list, of sorts, of things I’ve observed and/or believed people should think about. It was very angry. It came from pure frustration, and without looking back, I know that I named the post: Frustration.

Sometimes, I miss being the writer I was. When I was in college, I was constantly stimulated by what I was learning. I admit it. I’m MAD about school. I love learning. I love delving deep into topics, even if other people think they’re over the top. Heck, an average night for me is researching random points of history or pop culture just so I can learn as much as possible in the shortest possible way. I’m a junkie for it, and in my day to day life, it’s something I miss from being 20 and in school.

I miss it because that intellectual stimulation was enough to make me believe and trust in the ideas in my head, and being informed by all I learned, I was eager to apply such new knowledge to my writing. Thus, any new book I read became a new way to explore the worlds already in my head, and every new history lesson gave me a lot more input in the world building I had out in front of me.

Then, I sorta became an adult. Sorta because I still haven’t figured out how to have my cake and eat it when it comes to the dividing line between responsibilities (jobs, bills) and the temptress of writing.

I wish  I could wisk away all the damn frustration and stress of the day, and just let loose in writing. However, I’ve never been a stress writer. I write when happy. I write when in love. I write when I feel confident and happy. I can’t write when I’m ready to wring someone’s neck because the responsibility to show up to work is too much, or I’m exhausted, getting home at 1am, and hoping that the next day doesn’t involve any unexpected maneuvers. I just wish I could go back to the days of easy writing.

But, I can’t. Somehow, I now have to teach myself to write in all this stress and conflict. Somehow, I have to revel in it. My life’s not going to get any easier. Things aren’t going to fall easily in my lap and work out. That’s just simply not my life’s trajectory. Yet, for so long in my writing past, that was how it worked. How do I teach this old dog this new trick?

Maybe this life-long learner needs some new lessons…

Until next time, when things hopefully will be brighter!

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Posted by on 06/11/2013 in Uncategorized


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Yes, I’m still alive. Sorry to have been absent.

This will be a short entry, as I’m more motivated to spend the writing urge that I just had on a piece of work that might eventually garner me some money and a publishing contract, but I have felt nothing but guilt the past months. I wish I could give a good excuse as to why writing has not been a priority for me lately, but as usual, I don’t really have one.

Work has consumed my life in so many ways, mostly due to the inevitable turnover that happens in the service industry. Thus, I’ve been working several different shifts a week, and each week presents a new set of variant shifts to basically induce insomnia and a real want and need to check out of reality.

So, to make the readers/writers out there possibly perusing this blog entry with some interest happy: I may not have been writing copious amounts of fiction or blog entries, but I’ve certainly spent a good deal of time reading some ebooks on my Kindle and allowing my brain some space to relax enough to even think of writing. 

So, soon,  I hope to have an actual, interesting blog to write. As it is almost Spring (at least, I keep telling myself that), I think that my mood and energy levels will lift, and in general, the more intriguing plotlines in my life so far have always started or happened in the spring and summer. Or, perhaps that is just what I keep telling myself. In any case, if any of you are still out there, I hope to start entertaining you soon.

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Posted by on 03/17/2013 in Uncategorized


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I’m Baaaack!

If someone were to ask me if I wished I was ten years younger again, I would probably answer yes. Not for the typical reasons people give. I don’t have a ton of regrets, and if I did change a thing or two, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I kinda like me. 

But, I would go back for one reason: I never seemed to have a lack of energy to write. There was always a story idea, poem, or novel to work on. There was always some crazy concept lurking in the back of what I have as a brain to delve into and explore. I always seemed to have something to say, and unfortunately, the folly of youth made me believe I had the wisdom to share it. Especially when I was wrong.

I miss writing. Writers talk about writer’s block and running into a point where they cannot progress on a story. I feel like I cannot make any progress on anything. It’s not just my fiction. It’s everything. I always have things to say. I actually say them out loud, in a way entirely different than I ever intended, far more than I write anything down. This is the complete opposite of who I’ve always been. I miss it. I miss it a lot.

People say that you just have to write, even if it’s crap, to keep yourself writing. I don’t want to write crap. I sit down, I attempt to write, and if it sounds crappy, I stop writing. I’m not in the craft to make crappy stories. I’m not enjoying forcing myself to write things I hate just so I keep in a habit. Unfortunately, that also means very little writing gets done.

I miss being young and staying up late. I used to write until 3 or 4 in the morning, propelled by this awesome dialog racing in my mind, and the visions prompted by my character’s surroundings. I used to chat with friends and family online with a word processing document open, words piling up on the screen, working together to make one of those awesome sentences that you read and wonder if you even wrote that amazing stuff.

I want that back. Who knows if I’ll get it back, but I’m sure as heck going to try. If I can’t churn out my stories like I want, I will try to at least write some blog entries.  Hold on: Bumpy roads ahead.

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Posted by on 06/20/2012 in Uncategorized


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