in the end we only regret the chances we didn't take
It’s not you, Nonfiction, it’s me.
The first few times we met I had these butterflies in my stomach. You were so unlike any book I had read before. At first I loved your clever covers, your cool book jackets. You always look so great in glasses and with your backpack, and I read all those rave Amazon reviews from your adoring masses. If all of those people love you, surely they must know something, surely I am missing out if I don’t read you too.
It’s a question my husband and I have asked each other before, usually over a glass of wine and if we’re lucky, in front of a fire. We first broached this topic late last summer, one of those what-if topics like “What you would do if you won the lottery?” Or another fun question for automotive enthusiasts – “If you had one million dollars and were allowed to spend it only on cars, what would you buy?” It started simply enough, on the heels of the lottery conversation; fantasizing about being so wealthy as to have your very own island and the ability to invite anyone you wish to live on the island as well. The island could be large or small, it could be rustic and undeveloped or feature every luxury imaginable. Your people might live nearby and you would enjoy seeing them every day. Or you may want to see them only once in a while but they still need to be there, so you must relegate them to the other end. It doesn’t have to be a tropical island, it could be in any sort of climate that you wish. It’s your island, you make the rules. We had a good laugh putting some family members who shall remain nameless on the other side of the island, and even cast some of our friends after the characters on Gilligan’s Island and Fantasy Island. But the lighthearted chat for us turned into a much more reflective dialog; who do you choose and why? Read More…
Since becoming a writer, my daily world view has changed. I make a very conscious effort to pause at certain moments, regardless of where I am, to appreciate those with me and observe what is around me. Read More…
“What is your book about?”
This is the first question everyone asks when I tell them I’m writing a novel. Strangely enough, it has been somewhat of a difficult question to answer, at least succinctly. For simplicity’s sake, my default response has been that it is an action/suspense novel, set in the Middle East. Read More…
but fear engulfed rationale
i don’t want to be burned
what color are ashes?
can i choose, can you put my body in a chair?
the wind blew a salty breeze across her face
she couldn’t squeeze the tears back in
they rolled
down
down her cheeks and dripped into the dark ocean
she watched the salty tear
plunge into the sea
but behind the deep the sun still rose
how big is one life?
every drop
together
makes a full glass
Life has a way of throwing curveballs. You think you’re prepared, in a ready stance and watching for the fast pitches to come in on their regular cadence. And generally you hit those, sometimes even knock it out of the park. But a curve is different, it’s slower and it drops when you least expect it. Sometimes you’ll see it right before it happens, but by then it’s too late and you know it’s a miss. Just when you’re settling in and feeling confident about hitting the fastballs, the Great Comedian decides to mix things up to keep your game interesting, maybe even teach you a couple of things along the way. Last week I was thrown a curveball.
It’s been seven months since I sat down to write a blog post, over two months since I’ve written a word of my novel and fifteen months since I decided to start this crazy project. My original goal in June of 2015 was to write a book in one year, a seemingly attainable objective for that timeframe. But a lot has happened in the past year and in fact a lot has changed in just the last few months. We’ve bounced around traveling with our family to three continents and at the conclusion of our amazing trip, in a very short five-week span decided, planned and executed a move over six hundred miles away. That’s a lot of numbers. Enough numbers to make my head spin, maybe even abandon the notion that I can finish a novel. And yet I find myself at my keyboard tapping away, drawn back to my late night habit.
Friendship is a beautiful part of the human experience, an enrichment of our souls. The ability to connect and share your genuine self with another person is all at once vulnerable and immensely gratifying. As I’ve grown into an adult and grown up as a friend, my friendships are more important to me than ever, my true friends rare treasures to be cherished.
It’s not you, Nonfiction, it’s me.
The first few times we met I had these butterflies in my stomach. You were so unlike any book I had read before. At first I loved your clever covers, your cool book jackets. You always look so great in glasses and with your backpack, and I read all those rave Amazon reviews from your adoring masses. If all of those people love you, surely they must know something, surely I am missing out if I don’t read you too.
It’s a question my husband and I have asked each other before, usually over a glass of wine and if we’re lucky, in front of a fire. We first broached this topic late last summer, one of those what-if topics like “What you would do if you won the lottery?” Or another fun question for automotive enthusiasts – “If you had one million dollars and were allowed to spend it only on cars, what would you buy?” It started simply enough, on the heels of the lottery conversation; fantasizing about being so wealthy as to have your very own island and the ability to invite anyone you wish to live on the island as well. The island could be large or small, it could be rustic and undeveloped or feature every luxury imaginable. Your people might live nearby and you would enjoy seeing them every day. Or you may want to see them only once in a while but they still need to be there, so you must relegate them to the other end. It doesn’t have to be a tropical island, it could be in any sort of climate that you wish. It’s your island, you make the rules. We had a good laugh putting some family members who shall remain nameless on the other side of the island, and even cast some of our friends after the characters on Gilligan’s Island and Fantasy Island. But the lighthearted chat for us turned into a much more reflective dialog; who do you choose and why? Read More…
but fear engulfed rationale
i don’t want to be burned
what color are ashes?
can i choose, can you put my body in a chair?
the wind blew a salty breeze across her face
she couldn’t squeeze the tears back in
they rolled
down
down her cheeks and dripped into the dark ocean
she watched the salty tear
plunge into the sea
but behind the deep the sun still rose
how big is one life?
every drop
together
makes a full glass
It is possible to become discouraged about the injustice we see everywhere. But God did not promise us that the world would be humane and just. He gives us the gift of life and allows us to choose the way we will use our limited time on earth. It is an awesome opportunity.
Cesar Chavez
Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.
Dalai Lama
Everything that happens in the universe starts with intention.
Deepak Chopra
Adopt the pace of nature: Her secret is patience.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
If it doesn’t challenge you, it won’t change you.
author unknown
The cure for everything is salt water; sweat, tears or the sea.
Isak Dinesen
Whatever you are, be a good one.
Abraham Lincoln
