Someone asks me how I am.
I am exhausted. I have spent the week simply trying to keep my head above water in this raging sea of grief. The waves shove me around and currents drag me down. Many times my head dips beneath the surface. A heaviness constricts my chest making it impossible to breathe. So I thrash and kick until my head breaks through to open air. I take in as much oxygen I can while fighting against the pull of the sea. Then it happens over and over and over again so I am exhausted.
I am on edge. From Thanksgiving to the first week of January I must tiptoe through a field of emotional landmines. I never know exactly when or how they will be triggered but they are filled with sweet and bitter memories - with the smell of hospitals in winter - with banana popsicles - with corrupted lyrics to "Happy Birthday to You" - with the laughter and tears of someone I haven't seen in almost seven years - with millions of things that will tear me to pieces. For my protection, I keep my head down and my eyes glued the ground before me. I step oh so gingerly and I bury myself in every bit of armor I can get my hands on. Still in the end it won't be enough. Eventually a mine will be triggered; the memories will come pouring out; and no amount of armor can save me then. So I am on edge.
I am afraid. The pain is like a bird trapped inside me. It cries out in a muted wail that even I can't hear. It's desperate to be free so it slams into the walls of my body. It creates cracks in my form. I tightly wrap myself up in an attempt to hold myself together but the bird continues its assault and I don't know how much more I can take so I am afraid.
I am all of this and more than I can articulate but in answer to the question I simply put on a brittle smile and say I'm fine.
Because I'm fine is the socially acceptable answer and the truth will only make everyone uncomfortable. I don't want to be the person who brings the room down.
Because I want to be fine. I want to feel happy and celebrate the Christmas season. So I lie in the hopes that it will become the truth. I lie to keep the conversation going in a positive direction and I laugh heartily so that I will be distracted from the darkness draining me, if only for a second.
Because I feel guilty for not being fine. I know I am blessed and well loved. I have things to celebrate. I realize that the pain will pass. I will survive this and by mid January I won't have to fight to be happy. So I feel weak for letting it bring me down now.
Because my mouth has never been good at expressing what my heart feels so I'm fine is the easier answer. I have to think about my words and consider them carefully before I can get to the heart of the matter, which my brain won't allow me to do when I'm talking.
Since I can't vocalize the answer to the question honestly, I thought I would write it out because I need people to know I'm not fine. I could use some support and encouragement or just a hug. Then again, maybe all I am really look for is someone to say "How are you and if you say you're fine, I'm going to punch you in the face"
. . . or a text telling me I'm a rough and tough ;)
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Mourning
Beware of Mourning with her hair of frost
and Grief with his eyes of coal
or something precious will be lost
and the ghrybs with eat your soul
In their fourteen years, Mourning and Grief Lovelace rarely had visitors and they prefered it that way. The citizens of Mortierella were a superstitious lot and, as such, the twins’ inferiors. The children yelled insults at the twins because they always dressed in black and they never smiled. The adults had christened them the Doom Twins and believed death followed close behind them. One popular belief held that Grief, with his dark hair and eyes so black they swallowed up everything around him, had leached all the color out of Mourning as they shared their mother’s womb, leaving her with pale hair and eyes that could only be called clear.
The rumors started two months before the twins were born, when their mother decided to name them Grief and Mourning in memory of their father's tragic death. All their lives, Mrs. Lovelace saw any joy the twins found in life as dishonoring to their father. Still, what truly kept the gossip mill rolling was that occasionally people did die or lose a family member after encountering the twins. Like the day, old man Jasper took his fatal fall shortly after barking at Mourning and Grief to get out his way as he wobbled to his house. He had angered the twins but he had angered everyone he passed that day on his slow journey to the hardware store and back home again. Any one of them could have cursed Mr. Jasper. Anyway, what did everyone expect would come from a ninety year old man attempting to fix the leak on his roof?
Despite all the superstitions surrounding the Doom Twins, Mrs. Lovelace’s death brought with it social rituals that could not be ignore and respects had to be paid. Mrs. Lucinda Brown released a shiver as she and Miss Jane Habersham stopped in front of the Lovelace’s home.
“I don’t care who died. This is a terrible idea.” Mrs. Brown attempted to peep into the yard as she spoke but the tall evergreen shrubs block her view. “I have it on good authority that they killed their mother. According to their house maid, they haven’t shown the least bit of distress at their mother’s death. She was present when their governess told them the terrible news and the Doom Twins didn’t react at all. Not one tear or wail or single mope to be seen from either of them. They only stared in that bored way of theirs.”
“That hardly points to murder.”
“Who else could be so unfeeling and heartless than a couple of cold blooded killers?”
Grief chose that moment to call over the hedge. “The cold blooded killers are bored with your conversation.”
Mourning watched from her bench as her brother pace away from the shrubs without any regard for the chaos he created on the other side. “That was a bit rude.”
“They were rude.” Grief leaned against the oak tree that shaded the bench. “Anyway I convinced them go away, didn’t I?”
Mourning felt too relieved the they had left to argue with her brother. Normally, she was immune to such talk but today their words gnawed at her confidence. As she looked up at the window to the bedroom where Mrs. Lovelace's body would rest until the funeral tomorrow with nothing more than a feeling of resignation, she wondered if the superstitious fools had been right all along. "Grief, what if there is something wrong in us?"
Grief studied his sister. "They've not convinced you that we are evil? We did not kill our mother. She died from a build up a fluid around her heart. All that weeping, I suspect."
"I know but Mother died and I don’t feel sad. Neither of us have cried at all.”
Grief pushed out his chest. “Of course I haven’t cried. Anyway why must we feel anything?” He began to pace about the garden. “Mother spent our entire lives in misery and did her best to make us miserable with her. We should feel relieved she’s gone.”
“Grief, she was still our mother.”
He shrugged in response.
Mourning quit the bench and wandered over to the oak. Her ears picked up a rustling in the hedge but her mind was too busy to register it. “Have you ever experienced sorrow? I mean true heartsickness like the stuff of poems or what plagued Mother?”
“I don’t care for poets. I never understand poems. I say they're just a bunch of nonsense. I prefer my National Geographic and my history books. Things you can depend upon.”
“I don’t care who died. This is a terrible idea.” Mrs. Brown attempted to peep into the yard as she spoke but the tall evergreen shrubs block her view. “I have it on good authority that they killed their mother. According to their house maid, they haven’t shown the least bit of distress at their mother’s death. She was present when their governess told them the terrible news and the Doom Twins didn’t react at all. Not one tear or wail or single mope to be seen from either of them. They only stared in that bored way of theirs.”
“That hardly points to murder.”
“Who else could be so unfeeling and heartless than a couple of cold blooded killers?”
Grief chose that moment to call over the hedge. “The cold blooded killers are bored with your conversation.”
Mourning watched from her bench as her brother pace away from the shrubs without any regard for the chaos he created on the other side. “That was a bit rude.”
“They were rude.” Grief leaned against the oak tree that shaded the bench. “Anyway I convinced them go away, didn’t I?”
Mourning felt too relieved the they had left to argue with her brother. Normally, she was immune to such talk but today their words gnawed at her confidence. As she looked up at the window to the bedroom where Mrs. Lovelace's body would rest until the funeral tomorrow with nothing more than a feeling of resignation, she wondered if the superstitious fools had been right all along. "Grief, what if there is something wrong in us?"
Grief studied his sister. "They've not convinced you that we are evil? We did not kill our mother. She died from a build up a fluid around her heart. All that weeping, I suspect."
"I know but Mother died and I don’t feel sad. Neither of us have cried at all.”
Grief pushed out his chest. “Of course I haven’t cried. Anyway why must we feel anything?” He began to pace about the garden. “Mother spent our entire lives in misery and did her best to make us miserable with her. We should feel relieved she’s gone.”
“Grief, she was still our mother.”
He shrugged in response.
Mourning quit the bench and wandered over to the oak. Her ears picked up a rustling in the hedge but her mind was too busy to register it. “Have you ever experienced sorrow? I mean true heartsickness like the stuff of poems or what plagued Mother?”
“I don’t care for poets. I never understand poems. I say they're just a bunch of nonsense. I prefer my National Geographic and my history books. Things you can depend upon.”
Mourning sighed as she twirled a leaf between her fingers. “I can’t remember ever feeling sorrow either. Do you suppose we were pieced together wrong?”
“I don’t know. Do you remember ever feeling happy?”
She dropped the leaf and considered the question. She found a hazy memory of Mother reprimanding her for giggling. She tried to focus on what had made her laugh or how she felt in that moment but she came up empty. “No.”
“I can’t remember it either.” Mourning’s distress must have shown of her face because Grief embraced her. “It’s nothing to worry over. The poets are foolish. Come, let’s go inside and read about ancient cannibals.”
She allowed her brother to lead her towards the house. As the passed, she looked at her mother’s window and resolved to feel something before the woman went into the ground.
Once the house settled into its evening sleep, Mourning slipped inside her mother’s room. She tiptoed over to the bed and placed her candle on the table there. She took her time in studying her mother. The maid had brushed out her colorless hair so it fanned around her head like the tail of an albino peacock. Her hands had been placed over her chest in restful pose but her face looked as tormented as ever. Mourning started to take her mother’s hand but the coldness made her recoil.
Desperate to prove to herself that she was not evil, Mourning gave up on thoughts of her mother and focused on the only person who mattered in her life. In her mind’s eye, she saw Grief stretched out before her. His normal pallor turned chalky in death. His hands folded on top of a chest that no longer rose and fell. His dark eyes forever hidden. Mourning fought for breath as a terrible weight settled between her lungs. A sharp pain pierced her heart, making her cry out and her eyes water. She thought she might be drowning.
At the moment, Mrs. Lovelace’s mouth popped open. Mourning's anguish turned to horror and she stumbled backwards, as a brown furred covered paw complete with four inch long curved claws slipped out of her mother's mouth to push against the bottom half of her jaw. An identical paw appeared to shove at the top half. They stretched her mouth open until she reminded Morning of a snake regurgitating its meal. A creature resembling an overgrown hedge hog rose out of her mother. The roly-poly monster was roughly a foot and a half tall with soil and leaves matting its spikes. Its swollen belly and face was bald and matched the inflamed pink color of a skin infection. It planted its feet on Mrs. Lovelace's face and shook saliva off itself. Then it fixed its greedy black eyes upon Mourning and they gleamed with hunger. She screamed with all the breath in her, which seemed to puzzle the creature.
Then the door slammed open and Grief spilled into the room. "What is it? What's wrong?" Mourning pointed a trembling hand at the bed. Grief mumbled an ungentlemanly phrase as the twins ran towards each other. They stood together in the middle of the room watching the creature as it appraised them from its spot on Mrs. Lovelace's face.
Finally, the creature spoke. Its words came out in a garbled growl but they were words the twins knew. "How can you see me?"
Since the twins did not know what they saw nor whether or not they should have the ability to see it, they didn't bother to respond. Instead, Grief grabbed the iron poker from the fireplace, pointed it at the thing and ordered, "Get out of here, demon!"
The creature chuckled but hopped over to the window. It moved with a shocking spryness for something so round. Perched on the window sill, it grinned a mouthful of pointed yellow teeth their way. "I'll be back soon," it promised and then disappeared.
Mourning fought the urge to rest her eyes as she stood next to Grief in the cemetery. They spent all night awaiting the creature's return. It never showed and the preacher's voice lulled her mind into a restive state. She glanced across her mother's casket at the handful of mourners on the other side. Those brave souls whose sense of duty outweighed their fear of the twins. She knew that they watched her. If she fell asleep, the whole town would have heard of it by dusk.
Mourning let her eyes travel the cemetery in search of something stimulating. They alighted on a young woman wandering amongst the headstones. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Mourning took a moment to appreciate such a gentle display of sorrow, when she noticed a much smaller version of last night's nightmare skipping from headstone to headstone in pursuit of the woman. Mourning squeezed Grief's hand and tilted her head in the widow's direction. They watched as the creature launched itself at the woman's back. Its sloth-like claws allowed it to cling to the woman. It pressed itself against her so that it looked as if the widow had a huge spiky mole growing from her back. Then the creature vanished and the woman's tears changed into wails.
Mourning and Grief turned to each other with mirroring looks of panic. Over Grief's shoulder, she noticed three more of the creatures tripping towards them. Before she could warn Grief, he turned Mourning around to show her the five approaching from that side. She looked to the preacher and the mourners and spotted at least twelve creatures creeping up behind them. The creatures surrounded them but no one seemed to notice except her and Grief.
Not sure what else to do, Mourning began screaming, "Run! Run! They are coming! Run!"
Desperate to prove to herself that she was not evil, Mourning gave up on thoughts of her mother and focused on the only person who mattered in her life. In her mind’s eye, she saw Grief stretched out before her. His normal pallor turned chalky in death. His hands folded on top of a chest that no longer rose and fell. His dark eyes forever hidden. Mourning fought for breath as a terrible weight settled between her lungs. A sharp pain pierced her heart, making her cry out and her eyes water. She thought she might be drowning.
At the moment, Mrs. Lovelace’s mouth popped open. Mourning's anguish turned to horror and she stumbled backwards, as a brown furred covered paw complete with four inch long curved claws slipped out of her mother's mouth to push against the bottom half of her jaw. An identical paw appeared to shove at the top half. They stretched her mouth open until she reminded Morning of a snake regurgitating its meal. A creature resembling an overgrown hedge hog rose out of her mother. The roly-poly monster was roughly a foot and a half tall with soil and leaves matting its spikes. Its swollen belly and face was bald and matched the inflamed pink color of a skin infection. It planted its feet on Mrs. Lovelace's face and shook saliva off itself. Then it fixed its greedy black eyes upon Mourning and they gleamed with hunger. She screamed with all the breath in her, which seemed to puzzle the creature.
Then the door slammed open and Grief spilled into the room. "What is it? What's wrong?" Mourning pointed a trembling hand at the bed. Grief mumbled an ungentlemanly phrase as the twins ran towards each other. They stood together in the middle of the room watching the creature as it appraised them from its spot on Mrs. Lovelace's face.
Finally, the creature spoke. Its words came out in a garbled growl but they were words the twins knew. "How can you see me?"
Since the twins did not know what they saw nor whether or not they should have the ability to see it, they didn't bother to respond. Instead, Grief grabbed the iron poker from the fireplace, pointed it at the thing and ordered, "Get out of here, demon!"
The creature chuckled but hopped over to the window. It moved with a shocking spryness for something so round. Perched on the window sill, it grinned a mouthful of pointed yellow teeth their way. "I'll be back soon," it promised and then disappeared.
Mourning fought the urge to rest her eyes as she stood next to Grief in the cemetery. They spent all night awaiting the creature's return. It never showed and the preacher's voice lulled her mind into a restive state. She glanced across her mother's casket at the handful of mourners on the other side. Those brave souls whose sense of duty outweighed their fear of the twins. She knew that they watched her. If she fell asleep, the whole town would have heard of it by dusk.
Mourning let her eyes travel the cemetery in search of something stimulating. They alighted on a young woman wandering amongst the headstones. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. Mourning took a moment to appreciate such a gentle display of sorrow, when she noticed a much smaller version of last night's nightmare skipping from headstone to headstone in pursuit of the woman. Mourning squeezed Grief's hand and tilted her head in the widow's direction. They watched as the creature launched itself at the woman's back. Its sloth-like claws allowed it to cling to the woman. It pressed itself against her so that it looked as if the widow had a huge spiky mole growing from her back. Then the creature vanished and the woman's tears changed into wails.
Mourning and Grief turned to each other with mirroring looks of panic. Over Grief's shoulder, she noticed three more of the creatures tripping towards them. Before she could warn Grief, he turned Mourning around to show her the five approaching from that side. She looked to the preacher and the mourners and spotted at least twelve creatures creeping up behind them. The creatures surrounded them but no one seemed to notice except her and Grief.
Not sure what else to do, Mourning began screaming, "Run! Run! They are coming! Run!"
The adults scanned the area but they looked past the terrors hiding in their shadows. The mourners began to whisper, as the preacher attempted to soothe Mourning with phrases like "over-wrought" and "too much for a fragile young girl." Meanwhile, the creatures grew ever closer. She reached for Grief’s hand but he didn’t notice and shifted away from her.
"This will be your last day breathing if you do not leave this instant." Grief spoke with a calmness that demanded attention and everyone fell silent. "The Doom Twins don't want you here. You know we have the power to curse you all to an early grave so leave now or suffer our wrath." His words had the desired effect and the adults tripped over themselves in their rush out of the cemetery.
The twin found themselves alone in the cemetery, except for the few hundred creatures pressing in on them from all sides. None of monsters exceeded a foot and they shared the same greedy gleam in their eyes. The larger creature from last night appeared on their mother's casket. "Hello again, dearies.”
“What are you?” Grief demanded.
“We are the ghrybs.” The giant ghryb spoke and the others repeated grunts of ghrybs.
"If you are thinking of eating us, we won't make a filling meal." The ghrybs met Mourning's attempt at bravery with a hearty round of laughter.
"We don't feed of human flesh. Anyway, we come as friends." The other ghrybs grumbled friends.
"What do you want from us?" Grief kept a firm grip on Mourning's hand as he spoke.
"We only want to help you to reach your potential. You are special children with special powers." This time special echoed around them. "Come with us."
Mourning shared a bewildered glance with Grief and asked, "What if we refuse?"
The giant ghryb's eyes glowed red. "You must come."
"You can have me. I will go with you but my sister has to stay."
"No, we must have both of you." It snarled and lunged for them. The twins tried to run but scores of claws had already wrapped around their calves and ankles. It caught their wrists on its descent from the casket and began tugging them. "You will come with us or we will take you."
"Take you," garbled the chorus. The claws on their legs pushed and pulled until Grief and Mourning started walking against their own wills.
The oversized ghryb led the way to the oldest crypt in the cemetery. He opened the doors and they all entered. As the last ghryb slipped in, the doors shut and darkness swallowed up the twins along with any goodness in them.
A few years later, Mrs. Brown pushed a baby carriage down the street to her home. Her visit with Mrs. Jane Hall had lasted longer than she had intended and most of the townsfolk were tucked inside their homes. Halfway home, her darling boy began crying so she stopped to settle him. When she turned to start walking again, two figures stood before her. The young woman had hair so fair it glowed and the young man had eyes like bottomless pits.
“How pleasant to see you again, Mrs. Brown.” The man said with a cordial nod. “It’s been far too long.”
The woman leaned over carriage. “What a handsome babe,” she cooed and stroke the boy’s cheek. He started crying again.
“We need to be going,” Mrs. Brown explained and hurried down the road but she could not outrun the illness already spreading throughout the baby.
Grief and Mourning shared a grin that was echoed in the faces of the ghrybs hanging off them as one jumped off Grief’s shoulder to follow after Mrs. Brown.
"This will be your last day breathing if you do not leave this instant." Grief spoke with a calmness that demanded attention and everyone fell silent. "The Doom Twins don't want you here. You know we have the power to curse you all to an early grave so leave now or suffer our wrath." His words had the desired effect and the adults tripped over themselves in their rush out of the cemetery.
The twin found themselves alone in the cemetery, except for the few hundred creatures pressing in on them from all sides. None of monsters exceeded a foot and they shared the same greedy gleam in their eyes. The larger creature from last night appeared on their mother's casket. "Hello again, dearies.”
“What are you?” Grief demanded.
“We are the ghrybs.” The giant ghryb spoke and the others repeated grunts of ghrybs.
"If you are thinking of eating us, we won't make a filling meal." The ghrybs met Mourning's attempt at bravery with a hearty round of laughter.
"We don't feed of human flesh. Anyway, we come as friends." The other ghrybs grumbled friends.
"What do you want from us?" Grief kept a firm grip on Mourning's hand as he spoke.
"We only want to help you to reach your potential. You are special children with special powers." This time special echoed around them. "Come with us."
Mourning shared a bewildered glance with Grief and asked, "What if we refuse?"
The giant ghryb's eyes glowed red. "You must come."
"You can have me. I will go with you but my sister has to stay."
"No, we must have both of you." It snarled and lunged for them. The twins tried to run but scores of claws had already wrapped around their calves and ankles. It caught their wrists on its descent from the casket and began tugging them. "You will come with us or we will take you."
"Take you," garbled the chorus. The claws on their legs pushed and pulled until Grief and Mourning started walking against their own wills.
The oversized ghryb led the way to the oldest crypt in the cemetery. He opened the doors and they all entered. As the last ghryb slipped in, the doors shut and darkness swallowed up the twins along with any goodness in them.
A few years later, Mrs. Brown pushed a baby carriage down the street to her home. Her visit with Mrs. Jane Hall had lasted longer than she had intended and most of the townsfolk were tucked inside their homes. Halfway home, her darling boy began crying so she stopped to settle him. When she turned to start walking again, two figures stood before her. The young woman had hair so fair it glowed and the young man had eyes like bottomless pits.
“How pleasant to see you again, Mrs. Brown.” The man said with a cordial nod. “It’s been far too long.”
The woman leaned over carriage. “What a handsome babe,” she cooed and stroke the boy’s cheek. He started crying again.
“We need to be going,” Mrs. Brown explained and hurried down the road but she could not outrun the illness already spreading throughout the baby.
Grief and Mourning shared a grin that was echoed in the faces of the ghrybs hanging off them as one jumped off Grief’s shoulder to follow after Mrs. Brown.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Slow Dancing with Jesus
I have always gone through cycles where I am content with my single status for a period and then completely miserable in it for a period. When I say "for a period," I mean a few days. In all honesty, this is a day of discontent.
My reason has a store of arguments for why I should embrace my singleness. There's the feminist that says I don't need a man to give my life meaning and, even if I spend my life as a single woman, I can still have a full successful life. There's the optimist who shouts that my life is already brimming with love and joy so I have nothing to complain about. The pessimist grumbles that I'm never going to find someone so I should get used to being alone now. The jaded claims that men only want to use me and leave me so I'm safer on my own. The selfish whines that a relationship means sharing my time and energy and decisions with someone else. The pragmatist recognizes that, if I want to do NaNoWriMo properly, then I won't have any time to invest in a new relationship until December. The pious warns against rushing into something that is not from God and reminds me that everything has a season. The faithful urges me to hold tight to promise that God has chosen someone for me and wait.
Still, the heart wants what the heart wants so it doesn't bend to any of these arguments. I only know that I'm sick of loneliness and disappointment. I am impatient for a change so I remain discontented.
Then there a moments like worship this Sunday morning. I closed my eyes as I sang to Yeshua and I felt his arms wrap around me. Just like that, it was only the two of us. We swayed to the music as I buried my face against his chest. He whispered verses from Song of Solomon to me and I knew that I was someone beautiful and precious and desirable. I knew I was someone worth dying for. My fairy tale had already come true. Nothing else mattered, no other relationship mattered under the truth that I belong to my Jesus and my Jesus belongs to me.
It's a shame how quickly I let go of these moments. I allow the world to come crowding in and the memory slips away. I keep playing with the idea of getting "Yeshua" tattooed on the ring finger of my left hand as a constant reminder that's it's a passionate, romantic, all consuming love my Jesus has for me. That truth is all I'll ever need.
My reason has a store of arguments for why I should embrace my singleness. There's the feminist that says I don't need a man to give my life meaning and, even if I spend my life as a single woman, I can still have a full successful life. There's the optimist who shouts that my life is already brimming with love and joy so I have nothing to complain about. The pessimist grumbles that I'm never going to find someone so I should get used to being alone now. The jaded claims that men only want to use me and leave me so I'm safer on my own. The selfish whines that a relationship means sharing my time and energy and decisions with someone else. The pragmatist recognizes that, if I want to do NaNoWriMo properly, then I won't have any time to invest in a new relationship until December. The pious warns against rushing into something that is not from God and reminds me that everything has a season. The faithful urges me to hold tight to promise that God has chosen someone for me and wait.
Still, the heart wants what the heart wants so it doesn't bend to any of these arguments. I only know that I'm sick of loneliness and disappointment. I am impatient for a change so I remain discontented.
Then there a moments like worship this Sunday morning. I closed my eyes as I sang to Yeshua and I felt his arms wrap around me. Just like that, it was only the two of us. We swayed to the music as I buried my face against his chest. He whispered verses from Song of Solomon to me and I knew that I was someone beautiful and precious and desirable. I knew I was someone worth dying for. My fairy tale had already come true. Nothing else mattered, no other relationship mattered under the truth that I belong to my Jesus and my Jesus belongs to me.
It's a shame how quickly I let go of these moments. I allow the world to come crowding in and the memory slips away. I keep playing with the idea of getting "Yeshua" tattooed on the ring finger of my left hand as a constant reminder that's it's a passionate, romantic, all consuming love my Jesus has for me. That truth is all I'll ever need.
Friday, October 26, 2012
The Next Big Thing - Blog Tag
The lovely author Karen Heard tagged me in the "Next Big Thing" so it's my turn to answer ten questions about my work in progress. You can find her answers about her WIP, Qualia, here http://www.misheardfiction.com/the-next-big-thing-blog-tag/. The tag began as a promotional blog at SheWrites.com.
Let's jump in . . .
Ten Interview Questions for The Next Big Things:
What is the working title of your book?
By Any Other Name (at least that's what I'm going with at this moment)
Where did the idea come from for the book?
My sister researched our family tree and discovered that one of our ancestors lost her husband while she was pregnant so she named their twins Grief and Mourning. I immediately began to imagine what kind of life children named Grief and Mourning would have and then I got carried away.
What genre does your book fall under?
Mock Gothic young adult
Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
This one's difficult because my characters are fourteen and odd looking, not your typical adorable and precocious Hollywood kids. I think I have to pass but I'll let you know if something comes to me.
What is your one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Mourning and Grief never knew joy or sorrow until the day a ghryb crawled out of their mother's corpse and changed their lives forever.
Will you book be self-published or represented by an agency?
Not sure but I will probably do the rejection circuit before self-publishing.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
I haven't written the first draft, yet. I intend to work on it for National Novel Writing Month so hopefully it will take me thirty days.
What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
I would say it has a similar absurd humor to Lemony Snicket's Series of Unfortunate Events. A friend said it reminded her of Jane Austen's Juvenilia, which I take as the highest compliment and a complete lie.
Who or What inspired you to write this book?
I had been playing with these characters when a friend mentioned that she would love to illustrate a children's book. I settled on a young adult novel but I do my best to give her interesting things to draw.
When I began to outline the story, I realized that I had a religious allegory staring me in the face. This must have come straight from God because I can never plan out symbolism or allegories without it being cheesy and forced but this one I stumbled into and it fits effortlessly in the story.
What else about your book might pique the reader's interest?
While this story is fictional and has lots of fantastical elements, the underlying message reflects my own struggle with depression after my father died and how Jesus pulled me out of that deep dark pit I dug for myself.
I wrote a scary short story for 13 Stories 'til Halloween, using my ideas and characters for this narrative, that will be incorporate into the first chapter of my novel. If you want to get a peak at the twins or are simply wondering what is a ghryb, you can find out here: http://13storiestilhalloween.wordpress.com/2012/10/22/mourning/
I promise to keep you updated on my progress and share excerpts of the developing story.
~ Moxley
Jordan Drew,
Lucy,
Lynn Blackmar,
PM Kester
tag you're it!
I have one more person that I'm waiting to hear from so I can tag. I also have one more open spot so if you want to participate, just let me know.
Let's jump in . . .
Ten Interview Questions for The Next Big Things:
What is the working title of your book?
By Any Other Name (at least that's what I'm going with at this moment)
Where did the idea come from for the book?
My sister researched our family tree and discovered that one of our ancestors lost her husband while she was pregnant so she named their twins Grief and Mourning. I immediately began to imagine what kind of life children named Grief and Mourning would have and then I got carried away.
What genre does your book fall under?
Mock Gothic young adult
Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
This one's difficult because my characters are fourteen and odd looking, not your typical adorable and precocious Hollywood kids. I think I have to pass but I'll let you know if something comes to me.
What is your one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Mourning and Grief never knew joy or sorrow until the day a ghryb crawled out of their mother's corpse and changed their lives forever.
Will you book be self-published or represented by an agency?
Not sure but I will probably do the rejection circuit before self-publishing.
How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
I haven't written the first draft, yet. I intend to work on it for National Novel Writing Month so hopefully it will take me thirty days.
What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
I would say it has a similar absurd humor to Lemony Snicket's Series of Unfortunate Events. A friend said it reminded her of Jane Austen's Juvenilia, which I take as the highest compliment and a complete lie.
Who or What inspired you to write this book?
I had been playing with these characters when a friend mentioned that she would love to illustrate a children's book. I settled on a young adult novel but I do my best to give her interesting things to draw.
When I began to outline the story, I realized that I had a religious allegory staring me in the face. This must have come straight from God because I can never plan out symbolism or allegories without it being cheesy and forced but this one I stumbled into and it fits effortlessly in the story.
What else about your book might pique the reader's interest?
While this story is fictional and has lots of fantastical elements, the underlying message reflects my own struggle with depression after my father died and how Jesus pulled me out of that deep dark pit I dug for myself.
I wrote a scary short story for 13 Stories 'til Halloween, using my ideas and characters for this narrative, that will be incorporate into the first chapter of my novel. If you want to get a peak at the twins or are simply wondering what is a ghryb, you can find out here: http://13storiestilhalloween.wordpress.com/2012/10/22/mourning/
I promise to keep you updated on my progress and share excerpts of the developing story.
~ Moxley
Jordan Drew,
Lucy,
Lynn Blackmar,
PM Kester
tag you're it!
I have one more person that I'm waiting to hear from so I can tag. I also have one more open spot so if you want to participate, just let me know.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Dreams coming true
I have a terrible habit of letting my fear of failure and my perfectionism keep from even trying. As a result, I went all summer without writing and felt pretty wretched about it. I thought I would always hold myself back from the thing I wanted most.
During the summer, I also began to draw nearer to Jesus. It's been a gradual but steady change. It started with attending a city group (think home group/small group/Bible study) every other week. Then it grew to regular church and city group attendance. Next a job fell into my lap and brought with it long prayer sessions, daily Bible readings, and my city group becoming my family. All of this happened outside of myself. It had to be the work of the Holy Spirit because I could never be so disciplined or motivating to make these changes out of my own will.
This Autumn, God has moved me from blocking His will in my life. A story started to form in my mind, a young adult mock-Gothic religious allegory. The religious allegory part surprised me the most because I always stumble into symbolism and I had to play with the story for awhile to realize an allegory stared me in the face. It remained an idea I only toyed with in my mind until Jordan Drew asked me to contribute to 13 Stories 'Til Halloween a blog counting down to Halloween with a new story everyday. I took my ideas for the first chapter of the novel a turned them into a creepy short story, which I am a bit of a proud mama over. They haven't posted my story yet but the three already up are deliciously chilling so you should check them out.
To stay motivated, I decided to participate in NaNoWriMo for the first time. The goal of writing 50,000 word in 30 days is extremely intimidating. Still, if I am ever going to write a novel, it has to be now and it's going to take lots of support.
Finally, a twitter friend, Karen Heard, blog tagged me to answer ten questions about my work in progress. I will do mine on the young adult novel and it will be appearing this week.
All these opportunities that God has given me make me feel like a true writer for the first time. It's like Moxley Bugg the author has been born and I'm exciting to see how she develops. I will work harder to keep you updated on my progress and give you sneak peeks at my work. So keep reading cause big things are coming.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee
I have been a college graduate for three months now and I still haven't figured out what happens next. My life is in limbo.
I finally found a job at the end of July. It has nothing to do with my English-Creative Writing degree and it's not very stimulating or challenging but it pays the bills and the company I work for is wonder so I am grateful. Still, the job is only temporary. I don't have a date for when the job ends and I don't have a plan for what I will do when it's over.
My apartment lease ends at the beginning of September. My roommate and I agree that it would be best for our friendship if we no longer lived together. She has an apartment waiting on her. Due to just getting a job, I don't have any money saved to put down on a place to live. There are tentative plans to move in with some friends but I would only be living with them until December and then I don't know where I am going.
I had a guy I was seeing for a few months but in June that relationship dissolved. I am currently unhappy with my situation and I zeroed in on the guy-less part of it as the solution but honestly I think I just need some certainty in my life. I need a direction. Still, I recognize this living in limbo is of my own making. I kept finding temporary solutions because I am reluctant to make a definite decision.
You see I had these grand dreams. I went to college to become a published novelist. Last year, I wrote out a plan for moving to England after I graduated. I thought at this point in my life I would at least be working for a magazine or publishing house. Also, there was the shallower, arguably un-feministic dream that I would find the love of my life at my University (I took enough classes dealing with feminist theory to be embarrassed by this admission). Those were my dreams for my life after college. In reality, I am still living in Atlanta, still single, and I work at an accounting firm. So now, I avoid committing to a decision until I can figure out how to turn my current reality into those dreams I had.
Sorry for the bizarre format. It's been so long since I posted that blogger changed up the game on me and I don't have time right now to learn the new rules. Hopefully, I figure it out soon. Also I try to stick to only posting creative writing exercises but it's been so long since I posted anything, I decided to let myself slide this time.
I finally found a job at the end of July. It has nothing to do with my English-Creative Writing degree and it's not very stimulating or challenging but it pays the bills and the company I work for is wonder so I am grateful. Still, the job is only temporary. I don't have a date for when the job ends and I don't have a plan for what I will do when it's over.
My apartment lease ends at the beginning of September. My roommate and I agree that it would be best for our friendship if we no longer lived together. She has an apartment waiting on her. Due to just getting a job, I don't have any money saved to put down on a place to live. There are tentative plans to move in with some friends but I would only be living with them until December and then I don't know where I am going.
I had a guy I was seeing for a few months but in June that relationship dissolved. I am currently unhappy with my situation and I zeroed in on the guy-less part of it as the solution but honestly I think I just need some certainty in my life. I need a direction. Still, I recognize this living in limbo is of my own making. I kept finding temporary solutions because I am reluctant to make a definite decision.
You see I had these grand dreams. I went to college to become a published novelist. Last year, I wrote out a plan for moving to England after I graduated. I thought at this point in my life I would at least be working for a magazine or publishing house. Also, there was the shallower, arguably un-feministic dream that I would find the love of my life at my University (I took enough classes dealing with feminist theory to be embarrassed by this admission). Those were my dreams for my life after college. In reality, I am still living in Atlanta, still single, and I work at an accounting firm. So now, I avoid committing to a decision until I can figure out how to turn my current reality into those dreams I had.
Sorry for the bizarre format. It's been so long since I posted that blogger changed up the game on me and I don't have time right now to learn the new rules. Hopefully, I figure it out soon. Also I try to stick to only posting creative writing exercises but it's been so long since I posted anything, I decided to let myself slide this time.
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