Here's wishing you all a year filled with the things that inspire growth...
For me, this has been a year full of Challenges, full of Change, full of Pain, and full of Fear. And I am grateful for every moment, every Obstacle, and every Setback. I look forward to more of the same. Why? Because "Life is Pain, Highness", and without these things, we cannot hope to have Growth. I have Grown more than I have Hurt, I have Learned more than I have Feared, and I have Achieved more than I have Stumbled.
My love to you all. I wish you a year full of the worst that life can throw at you, that you may become a better person because of it.
Monday 31 December 2012
Friday 7 December 2012
Writing: A Sensual Experience
The written word is the one thing that I can turn to when pain, sex and vodka have failed me. In high school, I wrote a lot of poetry. Some of it is trash, sure, but some of it is truly stirring. Sometimes when verbal communication fails me, I turn to the written word. My mother would sometimes see me struggling for the right words during a conversation and tell me to write her a letter, instead. Funny how mom's tend to know us better than we know ourselves. Today, I often open serious discussions, or communicate a frustration through an email before talking over the finer points in person or over the phone. I do this with friends and family alike.
I was interviewed for a blog about long term pain and debilitating diseases. It gave me the push I needed to finally start my own blog. I now write one under my given name on my struggle with pain and my mystery disease, and a second under my professional pseudonym that is a platform for my fledgling business as a Coach/Companion to the geek culture and other minorities.
A dear friend started a blog when he and his wife parted ways, and I immediately started editing that for him, as I understand how he thinks and can figure out what he is trying to say with a post, even when he cannot.
One of my best friends in Hamilton actually writes THREE blogs, and I edit hers for much the same reasons. She is a writer by trade, having recently branched into the world of freelance writing. One of her blogs is just fun stuff about her life and the many creatures she shares it with, one is all about literary women and their books, and the last is more I guess her own writing and thoughts. I've been blessed to edit a piece of fiction that she is working on that gives me goosebumps when it's polished.
I did editing of essays and what not in high school for extra cash. The editing that I do now, I do for the joy and the experience. There is a great sense of pleasure that comes from being able to help someone craft their thoughts and ideas into the written word. Tedious is not a word that I would associate with the experience. In fact, tedious is a word I reserve for all things Mathematical in nature :P And hell, if either of them ever gets published, that's an amazing thing to have on my resume ;)
A friend of a friend recently read my blog for the first time. She had many complimentary things to say about it, but the comment that stuck with me, and truly touched me was 'She writes like she does it for a living.' Thank you, E. That simple phrase means more to me than you can possibly imagine.
I like to tell people that I am a writer by trade. However, I have no formal education in English outside of my regular studies in school. My parents did encourage me to read and write at every given opportunity. In fact, I was reading long before I started school. I was that crazy kid in the third grade who was perusing the Novels section in the school library looking for Jack London's, White Fang, while everyone else was looking for picture books.
I was a hyperactive child, and rather than medicate me, my Dad made up reading, writing and arithmetic assignments for me to do. We had a leather bound collection of Funk & Wagnals encyclopedias that I became very familiar with, and one of those massive dictionaries with the little thumbnail indents for each letter. It was old and fragile, but I loved to reverently turn through it's pages in search of the definition of a whatever new words I had stumbled across in my studies, or that Dad had listed as part of my Definitions Hunt.
Two of the books that I remember reading for assignments were Kon Tiki, and a biography of Abe Lincoln. I remember struggling with Kon Tiki because it was written in the form of a journal, and was therefore often boring. The story of Abe Lincoln, however, was fascinating. Both, however, are beloved pieces of my childhood. In fact, my parents gifted me with a copy of Kon Tiki when I moved away from home. I think it was mom that read me The Call of the Wild, by Jack London, over the summer between grades 2 and 3. I loved it! It was her that sent me to check the school library for White Fang, by the same author, to read on my own.
I am a lot like Picard and Kirk in that I like the feel of a book in my hand. My Android has an E-Reader on it, but I'm really not interested in that. I want to feel the heft of the book, smell the scent of the pages. I actually pouted when I realized that I was going to have to start purchasing paperbacks instead of hardbound, because of my health. The strength and dexterity in my hands is so unpredictable that trying to hold a hardbound book, even in two hands, is often quite difficult. For my birthday last year, one of my best friends got me a gift card for a book store, knowing that I wanted to add to my collection. I bought the second book in one of my favourite series, and in paperback. The first one is hardbound. Makes for an odd pattern on the bookshelf, I'll tell you.
Alright, I'll stop pouting now.
I've actually taken to listening to audio books as I walk or on the bus, or before bed, or while I'm doing housework. Drives my housemates nuts because they'll come into a room jabbering at me and I don't even know that they're there. If you get the right reader, it makes it worth not having the book in your hands. I'm just finishing up the third book in Nora Robert's 'In the Garden' series. The reader is pretty fabulous. I'm hoping that my next audio book adventure is my favourite book of all time- The Redemption of Althalus by David and Leigh Eddings. I hope that it's read at least half as good as it sounded in my head.
Before life got quite as hectic as it is, I also used to write long, handwritten letters to my friends and family. It's been probably close to six years since I've done that on a regular basis. Though I do from time to time, write to a friend or family member, hoping that it brings as much joy to them to receive the letter as I felt while writing it.
There is something about the written word...
It does not frustrate me that I rarely finish a story. It does not bother me that the only thing that I've ever published and sold was Self Published and only took me half an hour to write. What does bother me is that I don't write every day. That I no longer eat, live and breathe the written word. When I move, I always have one box just full of half filled notebooks, stationary. pencils, and pens. I used to have to restock every couple of months. Right now I'm staring at a jar full of pens that rarely see use anymore, and a stack of paper and notebooks that I've had for going on two years.
It's not writer's block. It's just a fast. And it's getting frustrating. I'm getting frustrated. Hell! It feels an awful lot like sexual frustration! But I guess that ties into my opening statement, and my title. Writing has always been a sensual experience for me, and I have been craving that sensation in the same way I crave sensations of the flesh. It's time to get serious about the Written Word, again. Let's see what sort of havoc I can wreak on that stack of notebooks.
*rubs hands together in anticipation*
I was interviewed for a blog about long term pain and debilitating diseases. It gave me the push I needed to finally start my own blog. I now write one under my given name on my struggle with pain and my mystery disease, and a second under my professional pseudonym that is a platform for my fledgling business as a Coach/Companion to the geek culture and other minorities.
A dear friend started a blog when he and his wife parted ways, and I immediately started editing that for him, as I understand how he thinks and can figure out what he is trying to say with a post, even when he cannot.
One of my best friends in Hamilton actually writes THREE blogs, and I edit hers for much the same reasons. She is a writer by trade, having recently branched into the world of freelance writing. One of her blogs is just fun stuff about her life and the many creatures she shares it with, one is all about literary women and their books, and the last is more I guess her own writing and thoughts. I've been blessed to edit a piece of fiction that she is working on that gives me goosebumps when it's polished.
I did editing of essays and what not in high school for extra cash. The editing that I do now, I do for the joy and the experience. There is a great sense of pleasure that comes from being able to help someone craft their thoughts and ideas into the written word. Tedious is not a word that I would associate with the experience. In fact, tedious is a word I reserve for all things Mathematical in nature :P And hell, if either of them ever gets published, that's an amazing thing to have on my resume ;)
A friend of a friend recently read my blog for the first time. She had many complimentary things to say about it, but the comment that stuck with me, and truly touched me was 'She writes like she does it for a living.' Thank you, E. That simple phrase means more to me than you can possibly imagine.
I like to tell people that I am a writer by trade. However, I have no formal education in English outside of my regular studies in school. My parents did encourage me to read and write at every given opportunity. In fact, I was reading long before I started school. I was that crazy kid in the third grade who was perusing the Novels section in the school library looking for Jack London's, White Fang, while everyone else was looking for picture books.
I was a hyperactive child, and rather than medicate me, my Dad made up reading, writing and arithmetic assignments for me to do. We had a leather bound collection of Funk & Wagnals encyclopedias that I became very familiar with, and one of those massive dictionaries with the little thumbnail indents for each letter. It was old and fragile, but I loved to reverently turn through it's pages in search of the definition of a whatever new words I had stumbled across in my studies, or that Dad had listed as part of my Definitions Hunt.
Two of the books that I remember reading for assignments were Kon Tiki, and a biography of Abe Lincoln. I remember struggling with Kon Tiki because it was written in the form of a journal, and was therefore often boring. The story of Abe Lincoln, however, was fascinating. Both, however, are beloved pieces of my childhood. In fact, my parents gifted me with a copy of Kon Tiki when I moved away from home. I think it was mom that read me The Call of the Wild, by Jack London, over the summer between grades 2 and 3. I loved it! It was her that sent me to check the school library for White Fang, by the same author, to read on my own.
I am a lot like Picard and Kirk in that I like the feel of a book in my hand. My Android has an E-Reader on it, but I'm really not interested in that. I want to feel the heft of the book, smell the scent of the pages. I actually pouted when I realized that I was going to have to start purchasing paperbacks instead of hardbound, because of my health. The strength and dexterity in my hands is so unpredictable that trying to hold a hardbound book, even in two hands, is often quite difficult. For my birthday last year, one of my best friends got me a gift card for a book store, knowing that I wanted to add to my collection. I bought the second book in one of my favourite series, and in paperback. The first one is hardbound. Makes for an odd pattern on the bookshelf, I'll tell you.
Alright, I'll stop pouting now.
I've actually taken to listening to audio books as I walk or on the bus, or before bed, or while I'm doing housework. Drives my housemates nuts because they'll come into a room jabbering at me and I don't even know that they're there. If you get the right reader, it makes it worth not having the book in your hands. I'm just finishing up the third book in Nora Robert's 'In the Garden' series. The reader is pretty fabulous. I'm hoping that my next audio book adventure is my favourite book of all time- The Redemption of Althalus by David and Leigh Eddings. I hope that it's read at least half as good as it sounded in my head.
Before life got quite as hectic as it is, I also used to write long, handwritten letters to my friends and family. It's been probably close to six years since I've done that on a regular basis. Though I do from time to time, write to a friend or family member, hoping that it brings as much joy to them to receive the letter as I felt while writing it.
There is something about the written word...
It does not frustrate me that I rarely finish a story. It does not bother me that the only thing that I've ever published and sold was Self Published and only took me half an hour to write. What does bother me is that I don't write every day. That I no longer eat, live and breathe the written word. When I move, I always have one box just full of half filled notebooks, stationary. pencils, and pens. I used to have to restock every couple of months. Right now I'm staring at a jar full of pens that rarely see use anymore, and a stack of paper and notebooks that I've had for going on two years.
It's not writer's block. It's just a fast. And it's getting frustrating. I'm getting frustrated. Hell! It feels an awful lot like sexual frustration! But I guess that ties into my opening statement, and my title. Writing has always been a sensual experience for me, and I have been craving that sensation in the same way I crave sensations of the flesh. It's time to get serious about the Written Word, again. Let's see what sort of havoc I can wreak on that stack of notebooks.
*rubs hands together in anticipation*
Tuesday 4 December 2012
Winnowing the Chaff
This was something that I wrote and published to the Writings section of Facebook, years ago. I stumbled across it today, and decided that this was a good forum to post it anew. Shall we step into the time machine?
October 24, 2009
"Put aside relationships that are unfulfilling".
This was a one-liner from my 'Faith and Religion' discussion group from way back when, but it continues to strike a chord with me. I'm sure we all have the kind of relationships that we feel are more draining than fulfilling. But what do we do about it?
Well, I suppose it depends on the type of relationship; How much time, energy and how much of yourself you've poured into it, and the degree of drainage; How much damage you feel is being done to you mentally, emotionally, physically or even financially- though I tend to think that last one is more a final straw, and of less import. For instance:
I cut ties with an Ex that I had been with for 7 years, living together for 4 years, and still friends for a year after that. It took me the last two years of the relationship to figure out that to be happy, I had to walk away. Away from 4 years of routine, 7 years of dedicating myself to him. Away from most of my friends, away from home, hearth, and family. I left him and the North behind and started anew here in Hamilton. It took me another year to figure out that even being friends with him was still draining me mentally and emotionally. It took my mom giving me a lecture that I have given friends in the past, to finally cut all ties.
It's a good feeling not to panic every time the phone rings...
I recently cut ties with two friends who, after numerous times of throwing my friendship in my face, apologising, and then doing it again a few weeks/days down the road, I finally decided that it wasn't worth crying guilty tears. After all, it's not my fault that they can't accept the help given them, the help they've asked for.
I feel lighter for the loss, and yet, part of me still feels guilty, like I didn't do enough...
At a point in my mom's lecture, she tried to tell me to stop feeling guilty. That I am obviously a good person, but that I have to stop blaming myself for these failed relationships. I had developed the mentality that I was failing as a friend, not giving enough of myself to the relationships, even though, in truth, I tend to pour too MUCH of myself into my relationships. Mom said that while this is proof that I am such a good person, it is what makes me to vulnerable to heartache.
Is it just me, or do we 'good people' often end up the victims of relationship leaches? How many people are draining you? And why are you still letting them? For me, it is because I feel I owe them something. But when I stop to think about what, or why.... Why should I feel I owe my continued support and friendship to someone who is causing me nothing but misery and continue to throw said friend ship in my face?
It's my nature, I suppose. I want to help everyone.
I often quote Scripture or Poetry when I rant like this. So here's a couple of bits of poetry for our food for thought for today:
"The hardest things to hear, are those you always say,
When looking for advice, your own is hardest to take."
and-
"Worse that taking without giving,
Is giving without taking.
As the takers grow stronger,
The givers give themselves away."
And the ironic thing? I'm the Poet.
Well, I suppose it depends on the type of relationship; How much time, energy and how much of yourself you've poured into it, and the degree of drainage; How much damage you feel is being done to you mentally, emotionally, physically or even financially- though I tend to think that last one is more a final straw, and of less import. For instance:
I cut ties with an Ex that I had been with for 7 years, living together for 4 years, and still friends for a year after that. It took me the last two years of the relationship to figure out that to be happy, I had to walk away. Away from 4 years of routine, 7 years of dedicating myself to him. Away from most of my friends, away from home, hearth, and family. I left him and the North behind and started anew here in Hamilton. It took me another year to figure out that even being friends with him was still draining me mentally and emotionally. It took my mom giving me a lecture that I have given friends in the past, to finally cut all ties.
It's a good feeling not to panic every time the phone rings...
I recently cut ties with two friends who, after numerous times of throwing my friendship in my face, apologising, and then doing it again a few weeks/days down the road, I finally decided that it wasn't worth crying guilty tears. After all, it's not my fault that they can't accept the help given them, the help they've asked for.
I feel lighter for the loss, and yet, part of me still feels guilty, like I didn't do enough...
At a point in my mom's lecture, she tried to tell me to stop feeling guilty. That I am obviously a good person, but that I have to stop blaming myself for these failed relationships. I had developed the mentality that I was failing as a friend, not giving enough of myself to the relationships, even though, in truth, I tend to pour too MUCH of myself into my relationships. Mom said that while this is proof that I am such a good person, it is what makes me to vulnerable to heartache.
Is it just me, or do we 'good people' often end up the victims of relationship leaches? How many people are draining you? And why are you still letting them? For me, it is because I feel I owe them something. But when I stop to think about what, or why.... Why should I feel I owe my continued support and friendship to someone who is causing me nothing but misery and continue to throw said friend ship in my face?
It's my nature, I suppose. I want to help everyone.
I often quote Scripture or Poetry when I rant like this. So here's a couple of bits of poetry for our food for thought for today:
"The hardest things to hear, are those you always say,
When looking for advice, your own is hardest to take."
and-
"Worse that taking without giving,
Is giving without taking.
As the takers grow stronger,
The givers give themselves away."
And the ironic thing? I'm the Poet.
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