Category Archives: Studio30 Plus

motionless

I was consumed with a calling. This calling came with a voice. Write, dig deeper, delete, write. Phrases and purpose filled my head and filled me. This is what I’m supposed to do. This is what I have to do. I fell in and out of love. I got goosebumps. I cried. When I was unsure, and felt like I was not cut out for this, I put my memoir down and it wasn’t long before a question demanded to be answered, a chapter needed to be completed, and I’d return to the computer.

When you’re consumed with a calling and that calling comes to an end, the voice satisfied, what do you do when purpose leaves? Instead of relishing the quiet I panic, worried about how I’m going to fill the void. I was busy making a tragedy count. I was busy pursuing. Focused, I wrote. I received criticism. I harassed agents. I found a publisher. I revised. What happens when the pursuit is over?

You can read the rest of this post here. I’m with the wonderful community at Studio30 Plus and I’m honored to be one of their featured writers today. Studio30 is a great way to connect with fellow writers as you find support, advice and inspiration for your writing. See you there as I figure out what to do when purpose leaves.

resting place

Over coffee we squeezed in conversation before our kids woke up to begin the day. I asked Scott, “Do you think we’re meant to be? Because I don’t know if I believe in that.”

Steeped in reality, soul mates and destiny weren’t ideas I indulged. It was great fodder for novels, but not for me.

Scott said, “I don’t know if I believe in it either, but.”

I finished, “But sometimes it feels that way.”

Before the car crash we had been together for only 6 weeks, new to love. We fell hard, fast. After the crash we loved each other in the hospital, during rehabilitation, through vows and the birth of our babies.

I didn’t know what to expect when I got married. I knew it wouldn’t be a fairy tale. We had already experienced life in all its reckless glory. So, what now? What would a life together hold, bound by contract and rings? I discovered marriage is: belly laughing, sobbing on his shoulder, being tempted to walk out the door, throwing salt on icy stairs so I don’t fall, a place of contention and calm. It wasn’t what I was expecting. It is more and less, imperfect and perfect. Scott is my resting place, a sanctuary.

‘Meant to be’ can be dangerous, as if I have no control over my life.  I’m hurtling toward a destination and my decisions don’t matter. There are no forks in the road. Soul mates are sewn together, not to be torn apart. But, what if things don’t work out? What if we just can’t be together anymore? It happens.

I believe in mystery and the unexplainable, in magic and God. And I believe in choices. I choose commitment, marriage, love. Scott and I choose each other every day. We are meant for each other because we’ve made each other our destinies, our soul mates.

I wrote this in response to the writing prompt ‘It wasn’t what I was expecting’ at Studio30 Plus. They have a new site which you should check out and then you’ll totally want to join. It’s a community of writers and bloggers for those of us 30 and up. I’m fairly new over there and it’s been a great, rewarding experience.

I’m also with YeahWrite this week because they’re awesome, another fabulous community of supportive writers.

something good

In the dark, near midnight where magic and reality blur, I can dream anything. “Do you think it will happen? I feel like this could happen.”

Scott’s answer is instant. “Yeah, I think it will happen.”
***

In school my favorite class was creative writing. I took on every assignment with gusto and conviction. This will be the best thing I ever write! I scratched out stories and poems on my bedroom floor. Born with longing I kept journals; logging my days, my feelings as if everything I wrote was meant to be. If I wasn’t writing I was reading, safest among words.

I wasn’t a writer. I just loved to write.

After the car crash words failed me. I had little to say, nothing to write. I couldn’t put pen to paper, afraid of spoiling the page. My fear, my pain in ink. Empty journals traveled with me from hospital to rehab to home. They remained blank and unharmed.

In May 2005 a good friend asked me to speak at a fundraiser for firefighters and burn survivors, to tell my story in 5 minutes on a stage in front of two thousand people. I picked up my pen.

Two and a half years ago on a dare and a dream I began to write my memoir. I didn’t know I wanted to be a writer until my very first writer’s course when all the longing I was born with shook my hands and my heart. After the first class I walked swiftly to my car, keys in hand. I slid into my seat, slammed the door shut and sobbed. I don’t know if I can do this, but I’m home. I’m home.

On March 15th 2012 I received a call from Elizabeth Kracht from Kimberley Cameron & Associates. I am thrilled to announce (because, my friends, it is an announcement) she is now my literary agent. My agent! To say I feel lucky doesn’t begin to do this, me, my life justice. I am lucky, blessed and elated! It’s another piece of redemption, something good from something bad.
***

Scott was right. It happened.

I wrote this in response to a Studio30 Plus writing prompt this week just when I thought that luck didn’t exist. I’m happy to say it does.

Swept up
In these gorgeous celebratory roses from my friend Tanya who was there from the beginning.

changes

Benjamin lifts the blanket warm with sleep, and squeezes my arm, “Mommy, let’s snuggle.”

I open my eyes slowly, one at a time. Gray morning light peeks through closed blinds. “Okay, Ben. Let’s.”

He buries his face into my neck and he begins the day with a sigh, “I wish you had your feet.”

I look over to where my ‘feet’ reside. Made of acrylic and metal they lean against the nightstand waiting for me to slide into them. I whisper, “My feet are right there, Ben. I’m okay.”

And I mean it…

I am honored to be featured over at Studio30 Plus today! I just became a member of their wonderful blogging community for people age 30 and up. I submitted an original (not from the blog archives) piece and I am absolutely delighted to be in their magazine. I wrote it in response to their writing prompt this week which was changes. You can find the rest of the story called Whole here. Please join me, won’t you?