Wow!

I didn’t realize it had been so long since I’ve written. Sorry about that. My mother was diagnosed with cancer several months ago, and although I don’t live near her and am not involved in the care-taking, my concerns about her have distracted me from almost everything else.

The good news is that the cancer (non-hodgkin’s lymphoma in the salivary glands) was caught *so* early, she has so far only needed three chemo treatments. She has another MRI in November to see how things are going; I will know more after that.

My writing is starting to go better. I can still only write for 5-10 minutes at a time, but it’s not as anxiety-inducing as it has been in the past. I’ve discovered that using a code I created helps a lot. It has helped me get my head out of the *emotion* of what I’m writing, and into worrying about getting the code right, so I can decode it correctly later!

The Meg – Movie

There’s a new movie coming out called ‘The Meg,” based on one or more books written by Steve Alten. I’ve read “MEG: A Novel of Deep Terror,” and it is very good! I hope (against hope) that the movie will closely follow the plot line of this book. Unfortunately, most movies based on books take a lot of creative license, so I’m not counting on the movie being similar to the book. After looking at the cast/character list, I only recognize one name from the book, the main character, Jonas Taylor.

Real Life, and Writing

I just spent a week in the hospital with a “fever and infection of unknown origin.”

It started two weeks ago with a deep cut on my right pinkie toe. I have no sensation or movement, and circulation is decreased in my legs, so when I get a cut, especially a deep one, I have to worry about getting an infection. I went to Urgent Care and was put on an antibiotic (the name of which escapes me at the moment). True to form (for me), the antibiotic caused a yeast infection. But, it took a few days for me (or anyone else) to recognize it as a yeast infection; I only realized it for what it was when the rash reached my stomach (that itch is one of the most intense feelings in the world, IMHO).

By the time I recognized the yeast infection for what it was, it had apparently gone systemic, spread throughout my body. So, I needed different antibiotics to treat the yeast infection. It’s ironic, isn’t it, using antibiotics to treat an infection you got from using antibiotics? Maybe it’s just me, but the irony gets me every time.

Now for some hard truths (hard for me) about my writing. I keep putting off writing here because I’m embarrassed that what I have to say may not sound all that great, or may be embarrassing in and of itself, or hurt someone I love.

The last one, I can’t do anything about. I just have to bite the bullet, and if it hurts feelings, it hurts feelings.

The others I *can* do something about. The only way to get better at writing is to write, right? RIGHT! So, I’m going to start with some writing exercises that aren’t necessarily personal. I tend to put a lot of background with my fictional stories…. to explain to the reader how the idea got to where it is, how the character got to where he/she is, etc. I’m going to try *very* hard not to do that; but if I do, please don’t put it against me.

I feel like I’m in a swimming pool where everyone knows how to swim at least 10x better than me. And I feel like all those other swimmers are watching me, watching my form, my distance, and shaking their heads in shame and embarrassment. And in turning to look at me, all those swimmers are creating waves that I have to swim against using only my upper body. I keep getting chlorinated water in my mouth, and choking; but I’m determined to reach the other side!

So, from now on, the majority of this blog will be based on writing prompts; I’ll put the title of the prompt in the “Subject” line of each post. I would appreciate any *helpful* feedback I can get (NO SNARKINESS PLEASE) from other writers out there.

More Real Life

I’m still struggling with mom’s cancer diagnosis. I guess that’s normal. I’m trying not to be a “Nervous Nancy” or “Hovering Helen,” but it’s hard. When I talked to mom about a week ago, she mentioned she was getting ready to go to a high school reunion. It took everything inside of me NOT to say “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I had to remind myself how angry and frustrated I feel when she tries to “mother hen” me in regard to my own disability and health issues.

My mind is swirling with writing ideas, but I can’t settle my mind enough to get any of them written/typed down. When I do write, I’m using a code of sorts. Not sure it’s exactly “unbreakable,” but hopefully confusing enough that most people will look at it and go “WTF?” and give up pretty quickly on trying to figure it out.

In other news, M’s mom’s diagnosis is pretty bad. It’s the most aggressive form of brain cancer; she probably has about a year. I told M I’d be here if she needs to talk; I will be…. but I’m not doing well with MY mom’s diagnosis; how can I help her?

At some point, I may start actually *writing* here (what do you call this, Sami?) I mean writing to create a story. Maybe this IS my story; the one I’m meant to write. I don’t know. I’m not surprised no one has been reading this blog; my posts are pretty rambling and confusing. *I* don’t know what I’m thinking and feeling half the time; how can I explain it to others in a way that makes sense?

It’s nice to have a place to get these thoughts out of my head.

 

Real Life

My mom has been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The first few days after I found out, I felt like my heart was in the pit of my stomach. I’m doing a bit better the last few days. My boyfriend’s mother had cancer when he was a teen; it returned a few years ago, and she ultimately died from it. He has been my rock. I can ask him “I’m feeling/thinking this; did you?” And he’ll confirm that yes, he did. Another friend I’ll just call “M,” is dealing with a similar situation –  her mom was just diagnosed with a brain tumor. As with my mom, her mom’s tumor hasn’t been “typed” or “graded,” yet; they don’t know if it is malignant or benign. We know my mom has cancer, but we don’t know where it originated, exactly which cells are affected, or if/how far it’s progressed. As I told my boyfriend, I hate that the (three) of us have all been in this situation, but it has been a relief for me to be able to talk to others who understand how I’m feeling and why. I don’t have to explain my mood swings to them; they get it.

I’m having trouble writing lately, more just because my mind and heart are so focused on my mom, than because of any writing-related fears. This blog may be focusing on my thoughts/feelings about different things more than I had originally planned; I can’t write when my brain is filled with all these worries, fears, and concerns. I’m hoping putting them down here will help.

Focusing On the Words Instead of the Story (AKA: Why I Stopped Writing)

I stopped writing for over 20 years. As a child, I *loved* putting pen (or pencil) to paper, and putting down my thoughts, feelings, and ideas.

But when I was 13, my mother read my diary. She barged into the bathroom one day while I was on the toilet, and started berating me for things I had written. I should clarify here that because of my disability, I sometimes needed help, especially in the bathroom. So although the door was always closed, I never locked it.

It’s not just that my mother had read my diary that bugged me; it was that instead of coming to me when I was in my bedroom, or in the kitchen, she waited until I was in a position that I couldn’t get away from her. And no matter what I tried to tell her about the writing not being about her, or that she shouldn’t be reading my diary, she kept yelling.

I stopped writing until I left for college. Away from my mother, I finally felt comfortable again with the idea of putting my feelings down on paper. That changed one day when I was home from college. Several months before, I had been angry at my mother, and written a story based on those feelings. It wasn’t directly about her, but while going through my writings one day, I came across the story, and I knew that if my mother came across it, I would be in big trouble; so I threw it out.

Apparently, I didn’t shove the paper down deep enough into the trash can because later that day, she and my father confronted me about it. I was like, “It was in the trash! So, obviously something changed about how I felt about the piece. But seriously, you’re going to yell at me for something I threw in the trash????” “Well, you shouldn’t be writing stuff like that! What are people going to think?” “Well, it was in a notebook that said “PRIVATE!” So obviously, it wasn’t meant to be read by others!” We argued for hours, but in the end, I ended up feeling like I was the one who had done something wrong. Afraid that everything I wrote would somehow end up getting me in trouble, I stopped writing again.

The next 20 years were me arguing with myself. In my soul, I’m a writer. It’s what I know how to do, and it’s what I love to do. But the fear of getting punished for things I wrote was (and is) constantly there. Even though I am an adult, my parents still think they have the right to go through my things when they visit, and if they don’t like what they see, I get in trouble. So, I just decided not to write.

But at the same time that they were yelling at me for what I wrote, they’d be telling me what a wonderful writer I am, that I needed to keep writing, and that they wanted to read something I’d written. They still do this.

So, my thoughts started turning from getting my thoughts, feelings and ideas out, to focusing on making sure the subject and the wording wouldn’t get me in trouble. I stopped focusing on the story, and started focusing on the words. Trying to make sure every word was right was mentally paralyzing to me. It still does. I don’t know how to get back to focusing on the story, instead of the words.

 

Characters

Zoi – four month old female

Chloi – 1 1/2 years old

Sami/Samantha – 5 years old, born with Spina Bifida, Hydrocephalus and Chiari malformation Type 2. Getting ready to start Kindergarten.

Dani/Danielle – approx. 13-14 years old, 7th grade. Struggles with calculia, a learning disability that makes math difficult

Andi/Andrea – 17 years old, graduated high school a year early. Getting ready to start her first year in college

Tiffany Whiskur – mom to all the girls; six months after John abandons the family, she “goes grocery shopping,” and doesn’t return

John Whiskur – Dad to Sami, Chloi and Zoi – left the family after Sami’s birth, saying he “couldn’t deal” with having a disabled child. He and Tiffany have tried to reconcile a few times, hence the births of Chloi and Zoi. Ultimately, the relationship does not work out.

Beau – Dad to Andi and Dani – was in and out of Andi’s life for the first three years of her life; abandoned the family soon after Dani was born. Dani has never met him, and he’s no longer in the picture. He’s not talked about much, except for vague mentions of “My/our dad” by Andi and Dani.