Read to Write

I had a mentor who taught me that my fascination with books, not only opened my imagination, but also my creative side. I'm trying to work back toward those roots, but it's been difficult because time in the day is limited.

Everyday, the goal of achieving balance between the necessary and the nearly necessary doesn't lend much for the frivolous nor the extravagant.

I think deep down, I have potential that I haven't begun to riddle out or explore. It's going to be difficult to determine which of my ideas are worth exploring further and which need to be crumpled up arcing into the wastepaper basket.

I'm lacking focus right now. I'm reading mostly historical fiction and nonfiction about history, but I'm finding inspiration for multiple types of work, not only writing.

I have short story, poem, and novel ideas ranging from the fantastical to the macabre. I see steam punk crafts everywhere I go, as well as pop-culture geek crafts and canvases, and they're trapped in my head.

How do I put anything in order to release? How do I focus my cascading mind into a productive outlet?

I've looked through many of my old journals and although I only ever trusted that I could write, it seems I've never quite known what to do about it.

I really think it's time I figure it out.

A Little Less Stress, A Little More Action Please

It's no secret that mothers, working or non-working, have a to-do list outstretching the limits of the mind and capability of the body.

I'm finding it very difficult to juggle the demands.

Modern parents have to make choices between yearbook meetings, Girl Scout cookie sales, getting kids into sports, taking kids to church, making sure the pantry is stocked, cleaning the home, as well as the million adult demands in filing taxes, balancing budgets, and solving the current new crisis or family emergency.

The truth is, I don't know how anyone does it. Things fall through the cracks. Whether it's missing a doctor's appointment, forgetting to mail a thank you note, or thinking it's the wrong day and skipping an alarm, the stress levels are high when the plate gets too full.

That's where I am currently--spread thin and trying to keep my head on straight.

I don't think I'd do as well without my planner--it allows me to make lists of important large things I need to do, small things that are important, small things that can wait, and a reminder list of things I've been meaning to get to.

By prioritizing the times of my to-do list, less falls through the cracks. It's not a perfect system (especially if some of the to-do items depend on the actions of others), but it at least gives me a small way to organize my chaos.

I try to remember that rest and exercise are the most important things I can do to resist falling apart under the pressure, but it's hard to take personal time when there isn't any time to take. My biggest recent hurdle is reminding myself that taking care of myself isn't selfish, it's a means to the end result of being the best me I can for my family.

It's hard advice to take. I'm not there yet, but I'm striving to find a balance so that I can accept what I can and cannot complete in a given day, week, or month. Nothing is as damaging as unhealthy expectations.

The Ancient, The Forgotten, The Taboo

Until recently, my book collection lacked non-fiction titles. The only books I had were either on writing, were from a class I had taken, or had been given to me. That's quickly changing.

Although I'd done small bits of research for pieces I'd written in the past; I'm finding that I have a new fascination with learning about things that aren't common knowledge, about places that no longer exist, and about practices that are either no longer the norm or were even taboo in ancient times.

I'm unsure if this new fascination was sparked because I've decided to accept my own past as it is, or if I finally understand what it means to become a good reader to improve my skills as a writer.

I don't think I'm looking to find what was lost, but acknowledge that things are lost. Throughout history, people, places, and customs have fallen away. Although many people have written about them over the years, it's not a societal value to discover knowledge that isn't listed on wikipedia or becomes part of a special on HBO.

We live in a world of self-proclaimed experts and I rarely see people fascinated anymore. If I could challenge anyone to do anything this week, it would be to find something rare and learn everything you can about it. If more people wold learn for the sake of their own curiosity than to impress others, maybe we'd live in a society that could accept itself. I don't feel the need to justify my desire to learn about the bizarre or the ancient, using my imagination to speculate on the possibilities of yesterday.

I don't want to be an expert in anything--if you're an expert, you've been labelled and placed in a box of specific knowledge. I want to be a creative explorer--to take off on cerebral adventures, sharing the best ideas with others from time to time.

For Ten of My Dears

Dear Dragon,

It's been awhile.

Thank you for keeping me safe, even when I didn't know I was in trouble.

I still owe you a drink.

Dear Princess,

Someday, I will forgive myself for not being angry with you.

I'm excited to plan a trip to visit your new castle and new life.

I love you and will always be here for you, no matter the distance.

Dear Batman,

You've taken my name, but I won't call you a thief.

You're small, and I will always love you.

Let's grow together and stop expecting the worst from people.

Dear Angel,

 I hope that I can repair your wings.

I wish you could see the beauty and intelligence that I see in you.

We will get through this together; you are so much stronger than you realize.

Dear Charming,

Sorry for my impatience, adapting is difficult for me.

I'm so sick of waiting for the little things to work out, but I'm glad we're partners.

We're in love, and failing or succeeding, at least we're in this together.

Dear Leveller,

I still trust you--one of my oldest and dearest friends.

Wouldn't it be nice if we could invent extra time,

And actually have a chance to catch up?

Dear Dice-Master,

You're so hot and cold lately--I thought we were friends?

I'm still here, and I care about you

(Even if you insist on being more temperamental than Colorado's weather). 

Dear Cookie Monster,

I want to care about our history, but I don't remember it.

You're not part of my life right now.

I'm willing to work to repair our friendship if you are.

Dear Frostbite,

You have it rough because you depend too heavily on others.

I'm not sorry for keeping a stiff upper lip.

I'm done being a doormat for anyone--grow up or get out.

Dear Flouncy,

You'd probably never expect a message from me, but here it is:

Stop blaming your past and claiming transformations whenever the chips are down.

Making a good decision doesn't mean you get to pretend you've never made bad ones.

A Fresh Start

The truth is, I've avoided writing much publicly because it's been hard for me to come to grips with my reality or admit that I have changed.

On September 11th, 2013, I was in a car accident. A plastic hair-clip initiated trauma to my head, causing memory loss and according to those closest to me, also a noticeable change in my personality.

I've spent the last year and a half trying to sort out the truth from nightmares and falsehoods, but I've decided that my obsession with the truth of my past is an alienating uphill battle that relies on piecing together half-memories and emotional responses with information from possibly unreliable sources. It's futile and time consuming, so I'm going to take my doctor's advice. I'm not going to worry about it anymore.

There are only a few key people in my life who have really known what I've been going through over the last year and they've made all of the difference. I realized that much of my past was spent worrying about how other people saw me and how they saw those I cared about. In some respects, I believe I may have looked for the good in people and made excuses for their actions without ever really questioning my motivation or looking in the mirror at what i had become.

In some ways, the accident was a blessing--a reset button on my brain that allows me to acknowledge I have a past, but also brought me out of the dark, helping me realize that I am not an unchangeable automaton of the universe made up only of those things that have happened to and around me.

This new blog is my fresh chapter--not necessarily a means of finding or defining myself, but more about evolving, like Galatea, from a hardened piece of art into a living, breathing sculpture.

I'm going to be honest--if you knew me before the accident, I have changed. I believe it's been for the better. This blog is for me and my journey, but I do hope that it is also enjoyed.

A final thought for this evening:

“On, there are so many lives. How we wish we could live them concurrently instead of one by one by one. We could select the best pieces of each, stringing them together like a strand of pearls. But that's not how it works. A human life is a beautiful mess.”
― Gabrielle Zevin, Elsewhere