Hi! I’m creating a new blog. I hope you all will follow me over at that blog. I’ll post links to it here for a while before I stop posting altogether on here. The new page is spellboundscribbler.wordpress.com and please feel free to share it. I just posted my first blog at spellboundscribbler. Come on over and take a look!
I survived the move. More or less. I’m staying with friends for a bit while I find something I can live with for a long time to come. It works. I still haven’t stopped sneezing. Decided to go for full-blown bronchitis. But I’m heavily medicated so we should be right as rain soon. Now that the move is over (for now), I’m trying to get back into my writing. I made sure not to pack all my writing gear into the storage unit. I have been making notes on a new alien story. I don’t usually write aliens but I can’t get this idea out of my head. I’ve let it stew long enough that it’s about ready for a full outline and some serious writing. It’s funny and has a point and I am liking this idea a lot. Now I just need to stop coughing…
Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re saying. Isn’t it a little early for that? To give you a quick answer, No! I’ve decided not to buy the little house I’ve been staying in. It’s not so little and a bitch to keep warm and tons of stuff need fixed or freshened up. I’m just not that in love with the house.
That means I’m packing again. But it’s not just packing up all the stuff I have. I’m cleaning out, too. I’m asking myself if I really need all those empty binders and notebooks. Do I really need to keep the two dozen magazines I’ve not looked at in over a year? Do I need two dozen pairs of shoes when I only have about four pairs I wear regularly? How much stuff am I holding on to simply because I remember growing up without a lot of stuff?
Don’t get me wrong. My brother and I had everything we truly needed as kids. But we didn’t get a lot of the stuff we wanted because it wasn’t possible. So I’m cleaning out boxes and drawers and notebooks. I’m packing up the stuff I will use and need. I am not packing the other stuff. The fluff and detritus of 43 years. I’m trimming the fat, so to speak. And once I stop sneezing from all the dust, it’s going to feel really good.
Do you remember your dreams? Ever woke and thought you were still in one? Are you afraid of clowns? Then there’s a new book you really need to read.
The Forty First Wink plunges you into a strange world that’s a gloriously weird hybrid of Labyrinth, Legend and Who Framed Roger Rabbit with a fast pace that doesn’t let up. Characters are strong and distinct, keeping up with the action and keeping you turning pages.
This debut novel is funny and terrifying at the same time, making you relive your own hellish nightmares and wish for companions like Walley’s characters. With flying pirates, talking canaries and deranged clowns The Forty First Wink is a wonderful roller coaster of a read. I look forward to much more from James Walley.
Okay, yes, I know I’ve been a bad blogger. It’s been a couple of weeks since I was here. No excuses. I simply have not had anything to say. Don’t get me wrong, I always have something to say. I just didn’t feel like sharing anything. I’m not really sure what I want to talk about.
A writer at a loss for words is a strange thing. I could tell you how much better I feel after the major sinus infection I had. Or how I’m working on rehabbing my knee. We could discuss a particular Canadian who is still hiding behind his computer. Maybe I’ll tell you about the fingerless gloves I made to stave off the ache & pain in my hands when they get cold while I type. (I’m wearing a pair of them now.)
I had a really weird night last night. Didn’t sleep well, strange dreams, aching knee, plus I had to be up early. Once I was out and running I heard the song My Immortal by Evanescence. It speaks to me on several levels. Made me cry a bit this morning.
The opening speaks of being suppressed by childish fears. How do you know what to be afraid of? My brother was afraid of spiders. A cousin watches horror movies and laughs at them. I will not ride escalators. We fear the things we are taught to fear by parents, other siblings, teachers, preachers, our peers. Why?
Why do I have to be afraid of finishing something? Of accomplishing something? Just because my mother chose to be a housewife most of her life and never reached any of her dreams, I’m supposed to curl up in the corner of my room and not try to achieve any of my own dreams? Who says?
The video and lyrics for My Immortal are about being in a relationship and still being alone. The flip side is after the relationship is over and you are alone but the other person is still in your head. One of the weird things about last night’s dreams is that my ex was in them. Yet again. Bloody bastard.
Granted not all of the marriage was bad. We did have some good times. But there were plenty of bad times, too. Moving from pillar to post because we were behind on bills. Moving in with family because we were both unemployed.
Sometimes I feel like I wasted 13 years. Not a damn thing to show for it. I pawned the jewelry. At least I did get some cash out of that. Sound cold & petty? Not when you consider how little money we actually had at any given time. My parents lived like that. I swore to myself I would not do the same thing and there I was, borrowing from Peter to pay Paul. We actually lived without power for over a year.
But I chose to stay. I didn’t really know any better but to stay. Once I saw life on the outside, it scared me. Scared me that I did not know who I was. The last four years have not been easy, but they are getting easier. I have a job, a car, health insurance, a place to sleep without mice.
I know I needed to learn that lesson. And yes, I do things the hard way. Thirteen years is a long time. I wish it had not taken me so long. But I am stronger for having learned that lesson.
There’s a line in the song that says “but you still have all of me.” That’s what made me cry this morning. There was a time I would have defended him against the devil himself. I was so busy trying to save myself from my mother that I gave myself away to a man who was no better.
That does not mean that I have to still let him have any part of me. He does not deserve any part of the person I am now. We both made mistakes in that relationship. But I will be damned if I will let myself repeat those mistakes. I know how to look in the mirror now and see the truth. I’m a much quicker study now than I use to be.
I’ve been learning how to redefine myself. And there is no room for him. This may very well be the last time I blog about him. The lessons I’ve learned I will still talk about. But I’m not giving him any more credit. He was a stepping stone. Letting him go is the last step of the old me. The first step of the new me is in front of me.
Guess I had something to say after all…