End of the World?

Here lately I’ve been hearing nothing but talk about the end of the world. Big booms in Wisconsin waking people in the middle of the night, the government scrambling to make sense of it all. Nation rising against nation. War, pestilence, famine, a society of moral-less inhabitants and we wonder, where does that leave us? You and I?

I think as writers, it is our duty to bring to the world truth. I always felt there was a place for writers in any given age; take for example the writings in the Bible or even before the bible was written, there were writers. I feel as this age passes, we writers will also have a place in this society and we can either bring people fantasy, fact or fiction.

As humans it is our nature to turn a blind eye. We see people getting beat up and all we can do is watch. We see a house burning down and we just stand there with our mouths wide open for precious moments saying, “Wow, looks kinda bad.” and that is BEFORE thinking to dial 911 for help!

We’ve become a society of voyeurs and a lust filled nation thriving on sitcoms with nudity and profanity garnering the laughs a minute, and a majority of people are eating this stuff up and turning their heads to this lewd behavior. Are we that gullible or are we that weak as to allow this to take place and still walk with your head up? Do you hold NO shame in your actions at all?

We as writers are the ones who are bringing this stuff alive. Do you not realize that? T.V shows become such because a writer, wrote a script and brought it to someone of the same low moral caliber and weak mind and everyone sat around laughing at the big boobs, killing sprees, murder, and victimization. Writers have desensitized society to the point a young boy can get shot and killed and the police, so called authority, can do nothing, because of a statute?

It is sad when a sitcom can be called GCB -- why not use what it is really-- a show based on a book titled Good Christian Bitches??? Are the words offensive to you but not the letters? What? That is no different than text talk.  You’ll sit and write OMG or LMFAO, but would you speak this way to a persons face?

And we as the good righteous men and women of society sit back and say, “There is nothing *I* can do.” YOU’RE WRONG!!! You have a voice, you CAN stand up! YOU are a writer, you can move mountains with your words but you choose to live in your cave, and tickle the fantasy paint brush and thrive off of the pink slime? Maybe it IS the end of the world, and maybe my VOICE or WORDS will be the last thing on your conscious mind before you go...to bed tonight.

Alone one voice is nothing...
Together we can become a choir!
One voice to tell the world
Two voices bind them
I have HOPE to see in the dark,
And all at once, I’ll find them!
~ Joni Zipp ~

You're Not Alone...

Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds.
Albert Einstein

Have you ever felt like sometimes your writing is in vain? That you’re alone on this intergalactic spaceship filled with words that are taking form but no one is there reading those thought provoking words? I have felt this way many a time in my writing career and that is the reason I join writing sites, so I can share my words with at least SOMEONE who is like minded and cares enough to read what I write.

Often times I post my hard work and it is as if I have the plague. People won’t comment and I realized something this week. I wrote this awesome poem. Yes, I am conceited enough to know when my poems are awesome. Some I might say, “EH.” to, but more often than not I say, “Wow! Where did that come from?” So what did I discover this week? That newcomers to the writing world are intimidated by another writers ‘well written’ work. Even if they like it, they should respect me as a writer and say so. If they don’t like it, then say so that too!

You see, my poem was so awesome that they felt less confident in themselves or they may have felt they didn’t measure up in some way. I’m here to tell you, stop with the ‘I fear, woe is me pity party’ please! You have a right to be nervous, you have a right to be leery of sharing your work with others, you even have a right to feel you won’t measure up. But by golly, if YOU are taking on the name of calling yourself a ‘writer’, you better stiffen up and get in line that stretches around the corner to the pity party.

YOU are not alone! You need leather-like skin in this business. We writers are not here to stroke your ego, we’re not here to make you feel special, we’re here to read what you wrote, and give honest feedback, so you can GROW as a writer! Sometimes people don’t feel like they are in a place where they can give feedback and that they just want to write, post and have people like what they write.

Well I’m here to tell you, not everyone will like what you write, and good writers will be the first to tell you where you might need work, where you did great and where you need a little tweaking. Did you join a writing site to post pictures? Did you join to promote your blog? Did you join to make all the friends you possibly could? I don’t think so, I think you came to learn the craft of writing and to share what you have learned along the way.

Too often I see people who write, but need a picture to visually give an idea of what they have written. If you need a picture to help people understand what you’ve written then you better go find a stock photography site and start posting there. Writers can give you a visual with no picture needed. THAT is what the craft is all about! Being able to fill your readers mind with the visual picture of your spectacular work!

You’re not alone in the journey, you joined a writing site to share the journey with fellow writers. The least you can do is respect the others, and give a kind and gentle comment (if you have nothing to offer constructively) and begin becoming a REAL WRITER.

Writing is an occupation in which you have to keep proving your talent to those who have none.
Jules Renard

Charlie in the Box

"When we feel love and kindness towards others, it not only makes others feel loved and cared for, but it also helps us to develop inner happiness and peace." 

- Dalai Lama

Nobody wants to play with a Charlie in the box.  I love that line in Rudolph when Rudy tries to guess his name, “I know, it’s Jack.” and the reply  “No, my name is Charlie,” the sad crying box goes on to say. So why was Charlie on the Island of Misfit Toys? Because, all together now, “Nobody wants to play with a Charlie in the box.”

As a writer, you will sometimes feel this way as you write things no one wants to hear about themselves in your words. You’ve hit a nerve, and with that you get tossed out onto the Island of Misfits. They don’t mean to, but in their anger, they put up a shield of protection against your words and can not see you there. Either they are justifying their actions, turning a blinds eye, shutting you out completely, or running in FEAR of the truth. They remain at a distance, pretending to care, but really they are the ones that put you on the Island. You are now a misfit.

Nobody wants to play with a ‘Charlie in the box’!

It is okay to be on the Island with other misfit toys, because you have reached into your reader and touched them so much that they hurt, are angered, hate or just want nothing more to do with you, yet they keep on reading your words. You become Charlie; alone, in isolation on the Island, but there, you don’t feel the warmth of being loved and appreciated in life. Or do you? I’m okay with that because I have a mission. I’m not here to please all of the people all of the time, I’m here to strike a nerve within you, as a writer! I am not here waving my arms, flagging down a passing sleigh trying to get someone's attention. I’m not a people pleaser and I’m not an overactive drama queen (or king). I will not conform to a way that others have conformed to because God created me to be more in life. The one thing writers do in life is get easily side-tracked and distracted. You can ask any of them

Why do you think there are so many writing posts on GOALS and FOCUS? It’s because we as writers find the pretty colors and images of the day distracting so we stop writing and put our fingertip in the pool of colors and play. We finger-paint our way through, we play and enjoy what is offered to basically anyone, and you all make sure you put Charlie in his place, and isolate him from Santa’s workshop where all the happening elves are making merry.

Sure why not, as long as you don’t have to write.  You’ll do anything to be distracted from it. Go ahead play all you like, but one day you’re gonna say, “Where did all that writing time go?” Well go look in the sand, there is some words there, oops it’s all washed up, which is what you are, if your not sitting at home, writing the story or novel of your dreams! FOCUS people!

I think I’ve went and isolated a few people with my writings about how addicted everyone is to facebook. Some could care less what I wrote and shrug off my posts. They are the ones confident with who they are, not embarrassed or ashamed at all! They actually HAVE lives. But others have climbed into their closet of guilt. It is theirs, so I let them embrace it for a spell. Me? I’m visiting King Moonracer today and asking him if he has plans to upgrade this place. “Yes, Charlie. You will be our bearer of news to the writing community who tells all the boys and girls about us!” Can you just imagine an isolated writer? :)

 It’s okay, I still have you, all my followers and the new writing sites I’m joining will have new friends too. I might get picked up by Santa after all and put in a nice little home! I’m looking forward to it!

Job 4:16 It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: an image was before mine eyes, there was silence, and I heard a voice, saying,

I walk alone...

"I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be."

- Douglas Adams

In writing, it is kind of hard to focus when insanity rears its head. Sure the folks can pretend to be writer’s but really they are just fooling themselves. The writers that I admire most are the ones who keep their sanity in check, learn and progress at a normal pace in their writing careers, and the only insanity can be seen from their families by way of, “What! Are you crazy?”

I realize they walk alone. They surround themselves with like minded people and the crazy ones, they surround themselves with the gibbering fluctuating frenzy of madness. I realized these past few weeks as the clique isolated me from themselves, the reason they pushed me away, it wasn’t my ‘craziness or madness’ it was my sanity. I’m sane and in the clique, there is no room for sanity.

They throw pity parties, they float in jellybean madness, they gossip like the wind, they toss around God like he was a joint to pass around; they can always be seen huddling around, supporting one another but in the end, they get nowhere except where they began, in the white room.

This all has certainly been an enlightening experience, and I’m glad for it because it peeled those out of my life who were bringing me down.

“People too weak to follow their own dreams, will always find a way to discourage your own.” Author Unknown 

This is true because as I sat getting pelted by ignorance, I realized those folk are weak and just needed someone stronger than themselves to sling mud at. Sure I got mud in my eye, but I’ve moved on to where I can finally focus more strongly on REAL writing, not the circus atmosphere; I seek the pleasant Shady Brooks atmosphere.

Ok, Shady Brooks is a place in my mind where water ripples downstream, I create the illusion of the rainbow permanently above my head inspiring me to move forward in life, sitting on the edge of the water with my notebook in hand. No laughter, just the rushing water, wind-chimes off in the distance and me sitting there, alone, awaiting sanity to brush my face and as they slowly appear, I realize, they are all new people, that have entered my life and are lifting me to the heights that I need to be.

Thanks for the memories my fellow writing friends. You carried me to the hot air balloons lift-off and now I must soar. I’m going to new places to meet new people, and you all will just be a memory. A bad and a few good...but nonetheless... a memory.

Poetry Sunday ~ I Walk Alone

Jer.15:17 I sat not in the assembly of the mockers, nor rejoiced; I sat alone because of thy hand: for thou hast filled me with indignation.

***

I Walk Alone
***

I walk alone this path I’m on
the people all look gray
why have they all melted
and changed to look that way.

Their faces look like lemon peel
the wrinkled up old rind
fingers hang like willow trees
they seek but never find.

I walk alone this path I’m on
the hypocrite tries to join.
He smiles, laughs, barks and bites
with tricks he flips a coin.

Up ahead I see the light
that these others dare to tread
only in the gloomy hedge
they’ll touch when they are dead.

I walk alone this path I’m on
does no one care to follow?
They choose to sit and do their thing
in lust and greed they wallow.

The Light alone embellishes me
I’ll lead you there it’s true.
I can not make you stay for long
it all depends on you!!

Poetry Sunday ~ Alone ~

Numbers 11:14 I am not able to bear all this people alone, because it is too heavy for me.
***

ALONE
***
Alone
in the corners of my mind
I scurry to find
no one there
who gives a care.

Alone
in the crook of his arm
there is no harm
He sets me free
while holding me.

Alone
with nary a friend
at the very end
no one true
who really knew.

Alone
in my walk
allowed to sulk.
I saw pretense
how immense.

Alone
with all my thought
a wish for naught.
Take me home
for my soul to roam.

Alone
with a glorious Light
that scares the night.
I will not fear
because He is here.

Deut. 32:12 So the LORD alone did lead him, and there was no strange god with him.

Contagious Disease...WARNING!

Matt. 10: 16 Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.
***

I have read where writers have this disease that they give to other writers. It’s called the writing bug. They go around encouraging them to write, helps them along in their WIP (that’s Work In Progress for those not in the know) and sees  their friends through the tough times.

I have many writing friends in various communities. I’ve had friends die, move on in their own lives, and some who’ve walked forward without ever looking back to see where it was that they came from. I’ve also watched successful writers hang onto those who've helped them get to where it was they were going.

We’re a strong breed, us writers. When we’re slapped in the face with diversity, we rise to the challenge and slap it back with words. When we’re clobbered by more people taking out money (just because legally they can), and no one putting anything IN to your bank, when people run away from you instead of run TO you, because they are afraid that this freaky evil gnome that has you by the hair, might see them and try taking them down, also.

What they don’t realize is that the gnome has spread across the gardens of the world because people have relished their adorable idealistic seeds for centuries.  Cute little harmless evil gnomes? When have you ever known evil to be cute and harmless??? NEVER!

I’m researching Writers Who’ve Committed Suicide and I’m finding that in some instances the evil gnome has won the fight. I was taken to a Wikipedia page and it listed over 275 writers, whether literary, poets, columnists, or historians, that have committed suicide, because the sword was mightier than the pen.

Just what is it that drives a writer to do the deed? I can bet it is loneliness. They’ve cornered themselves into isolation. All their ‘so-called’ friends abandoned them at their time of pivotal need, and they lay there and slowly sliced their veins, throats; cut out their hearts with a single blade; jumped from a cliff, bridge or overpass, all just to be rid of the nothingness that they felt.

Writer’s don’t carry diseases around and disperse of them. They have a pen in their hand and way too much love in their heart. As I sit here and tears stream down my face causing the puddles to form into a pond of hurt, I find solace in my writing, my isolation, my pain, because with of this clobbering me in the face and no one to hear the sobs, I find pieces of myself strewn all about, and it is up to me to put all the pieces back together, alone.

I watch as the hypocrites use the Lord for their own gain. I watch as they lurk around corners with smiles and pleasantries trying to attack that one little lonely isolated unsuspecting lamb who chose this fork in the road instead of the other. I watch as they become something deviant and I watch as I go, down the right path, into the Lords arms. 




I'm NEVER alone as long as I have Him!

Luke 10: 3 Go your ways: behold, I send you forth as lambs among wolves.

Isolation

Psalms 34:17  The righteous cry, and the Lord heareth, and delivereth them out of all their troubles.
***

As a writer, I enjoy the quiet still mornings where the only sounds I hear is the refrigerator kicking on and off, the creaks of the bed where slumberers are still resting and the wind gently tapping on the window, stirring my muse.

When I was kid, I would go to the park and that is where I would never be found on a seesaw, or a maypole, or sliding board, I could be seen swinging high into the clouds. I’d go so high, I often imagined that I could fly and sometimes, with my eyes closed, I did. In the air of the swings forward motion, I flew off of the swing and soared above the park and saw all the people below laughing, giggling, inane behavior,  while the grass swayed, the clouds spun and I was free, finally free, until I realized, I was just sitting on a swing.

Even as a child I liked isolating myself from people. Maybe that is why I chose to write at such a young age, because no one really liked me, I had few friends, and life was isolation for me, reading and writing.

I don’t isolate intentionally. One day I’m happy go lucky, then I turn around and I’m alone in my thoughts with words bouncing like ping pong balls off the page. Words in a sea of foam, go crashing front and center and elude me but I catch them and toss them onto paper and then, it happens, I’ve written a thousand words that I didn’t even know were lurking in there.

I have this thing with wanting sincere people around me. Whether online or offline, I like people who are sure of where they are going, know where they have been, and have found that God is the only thing in life that will get them from point A to point B.

I can count my genuine friends on one hand, and that’s if I had a few digits missing. The genuine one’s reach out to me, comfort me, and make me feel loved, the others use words words words to convey their sincerity and to me, it is more hurtful than actually comforting me in my time of need. And most, who claim sincerity, wave me off like butter on a piece of toast.

Isolation to a writer is a place of contemplation. The small things run off the shoulder like water off a gooses back, (Canadian friends inside joke there.) It’s the larger and grander things that aren’t so easy to just let roll. They’re there, and you have to face them, write about them and move forward! So today, as my friends whoop and holler and have a grand old time, I will cherish the ones that embrace me in my isolation, love me in the darkness of the day, and bring sunshine and light to a cloudy day. Thank you!

Poetry Sunday~ Lil Green Patch

Pss. 90: 6 In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down, and withereth.
 

Ex. 23:20 Behold, I send an Angel before thee, to keep thee in the way, and to bring thee into the place which I have prepared.
***

Lil Green Patch
***
Where flowers in a field did prance
the moonglow perches ready to dance,
coyotes now howl, the elk they call
on the crux of the rising fall.

Spilling over are leaves on the lawn
silently I await the dawn.
Darkness lingers as frost gives rise
I wipe the stardust from the skies.

Little hearts all take a bow;
shooting stars kiss me somehow.
They reach across the open plain
sprinkle down like falling rain.

Drizzled in an earthly show
something grander is here, I know.
Within my mind I speak to them
give a little of all that I am.

An earthly angel they see in flight
to bear to them a heavenly light.
The heavens open in a fury
to Him I tend to give all glory.

Awakened now from this dream
everything is, as it would seem.
From the pages I dispatch,
the joy I found in a lil green patch.

Day Four: Another Day Alone

Pss. 102:7 I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the house top.
***

Well friends this is day four of the Adam saga. I call it a saga because I’ve never experienced anything like this in my life. Yesterday I did pretty good, I didn’t cry until I saw Adam get off the bus. Such a sense of relief knowing he was home safe, in my arms.

Yesterday as I drove into town alone, I realized something. This is it. I am really alone. With Adam off at school and Steven doing his thing on the computer; I’m riding into town, passing the luscious trees, crossing over the Platte River, inhaling the aroma’s that only the fields of corn can emit, taking in all the sounds of moving cars, while listening to Praise music on my car radio. Alone.

The drama queen in me really wants to curl into a ball and forget I even exist in this world. But the human being who loves God more than life itself, knows I have to move forward with each day and take the new strides as a growth spurt. I know I feel a story in here somewhere. Will I ever get to it? *shrugs*

Adam likes school. He likes making friends, he likes all his classes except Algebra, and his health teacher, who sounds like a bully to me, but hey, maybe that’s what teachers have to do to get kids to listen up! Adam even got into his stickler of a locker! Never having touched one in his life, he had troubles so he just carried the 100 lb. backpack around with him all day.

He’s lost weight. I don’t know if it is from stress, not eating, or lugging those darn books!He came home, we ate, I helped with his homework and we went to bed. A new routine to fall into and one we both need to adjust to because it looks like this is the way it is going to be. I told him that by Friday we’ll know if this is what he really wants. I am not pressuring him in any way. If he succeeds yipee, if he fails, AT LEAST HE TRIED his darndest, and for that, he will never fail in my eyes!

I’ll start  with the writing posts again after this week but really I just needed this week of support from my writing friends. The community that never lets me down.

The next leg of my journey is whether I continue as a writer, or say adios to the writing biz. The life I’ve tried so hard make for myself may just be coming to an end. Only God knows what is in store. I could take this time to dive into my writing, or I can let it go and get a ‘real job’ as I’ve been told to do on so many occasions.

The writing community will tell me to stay, but not having funds to help my own son through this school excursion is darned near killing me. And remember, my son will always come first. The saga will continue... be blessed  or just BE!