Tag Archives: inspiration

I’m Moving!

32858796736_aaf1c32d9d_kHey everyone!

I’ve got exciting news. You probably already guessed what the news is based on my post’s title… yes, I’m moving! I got a new job and am moving across state lines.

It’s a big deal for me because I was born and raised in Maryland. My entire family lives in Maryland. And though I’m only going to be two and a half hours away from them, that’s a long drive!

Anyway, I’ve rented a suite until my apartment is ready in a few weeks. But I’ve already packed all of my belongings over the past three weekends because I’m not getting a break between my old and new jobs. My last day at my old job was this past Thursday and I started my new job today!

I’m a bit tired and nervous about knowing absolutely no one in this area. I’ll have to get involved with the community. (This might be a little dorky, but I was a Girl Scout for ten years; I was even a Girl Scout Ambassador. So, it might be cool to volunteer with the Scouts. Be a role model.)

Thanks for listening to me about my news. I wanted to post something writing related for you all, but time just got away from me. Wouldn’t it be awesome if you could freeze time for everyone but yourself and then have time to do everything you need to? I’m sure there are a ton of unintended consequences to that power… I choose not to think about them. Save that for another time. 🙂

Have a fantastic evening everyone!

(Photo courtesy of Mumes World.)

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Memory: A Trip From the Depths of the Closet

Happy Memorial Day, everyone!!! Hope you’re enjoying the three-day weekend.

I spent most of my weekend cleaning out my closet. I knew I had a lot crammed in there, but I didn’t realize how much stuff. There were things I’d completely forgotten about, like yearbooks…from elementary school. (Yikes! Time to get rid of those.)

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Wasn’t I adorable?

Two of the things I unburied reminded me how long I’ve been writing. They’re two books: one poetry and one essays from high school. These books were the published works of all the finalists and winners for the Northeastern United States high school poetry and essay contests.

I was a finalist in both, and I thought it’d be fun to share a sonnet written during my years of teenage angst.

Wondering

What lies beyond the stars high above us?

The glowing fire that consumes my soul lost,

bright burning fires expand my want and lust.

New life born from the bitter black is just?

Long lost places shrouded in mysteries deep,

long lost souls that I must keep hidden clear,

great nightmares of destruction in my sleep,

I see all this and wait to shed a tear.

Up floating high, no I’m afraid to fly,

wait, do we fly or remain down inside?

Inside is cold and dark and black, oh my!

Loved ones, are you happy or sad, I’ve cried.

I sit wondering for what holds the key;

one day long into the future I’ll see.

That poem was courtesy of ninth grade. Funny thing is that as I re-read that poem, I clearly pictured what I’d intended it to be about. Memory is fascinating: how you can remember so vividly something you’d forgotten about when a touchstone presents itself. My touchstone was the poetry book.

Do you have any long lost writing?

(Photo courtesy of myself.)

Easy and Simple Aren’t the Same for Motivation

Recently someone asked me how she could motivate herself more. That’s not a rare question. Many people ask themselves how they can be more motivated to lose weight, run faster, eat better, get that job promotion, finish a novel… I’ve asked myself countless times how I can be better motivated.8078194256_db53b66f8d_k

Lately, something I’ve struggled with is going through beta reader feedback and editing. I keep finding other things to do. I realize that I’m making excuses, but even though I acknowledge this, I can’t bring myself to focus on editing.

That’s unusual for me, so when someone asked me how to improve motivation, I thought about what I’d want to hear. Better yet, what words would work to motivate me?

I’ve never been the type to seek out motivational quotes. More often than not, I roll my eyes at inspirational sayings. They seem cheesy and hollow. They don’t resonate, and when something doesn’t resonate, how can it inspire?

I started searching for the right way to answer the question of motivation. How could I inspire this person?

There wasn’t a correct answer. Each solution was personal. I couldn’t give that individual what she wanted. Because I could talk and talk and talk to her about inspiration and do anything and everything I could to motivate her, but the bottom was that she had to find what worked for her.

All I could tell her was the words that inspired me:

“When you get into a tight space and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hang on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the tide will turn.”

— Harriet Beecher Stowe

Life isn’t usually easy, but think of the things you’re proudest of. Were they easy accomplishments? Or did you struggle and persevere?

Was the effort worth it?

(Photo courtesy of Luke Kondor.)

Frozen in Silk: A Trip Down Poetry Lane

I’m trying something different today. Something that I haven’t dabbled much in. Something that, when I’ve attempted it, has thoroughly kicked my butt. I’m posting a poem I wrote.

Yikes!

While I’ve studied poetry, I never had too much interest in writing it. Those times I’ve had to for class, I struggled to put words together to create a dense, but flowing story, a story that was supposed to sound like music, but always seemed to clatter loudly.

This poem came together by piecemeal. After many edits, my fingers are crossed that the image and message I want to convey is received. Let me know what you think!

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Frozen in Silk

My love,

 

Do you dare shout?

Do you dare sing?

Do you dare breathe?

 

Or are you forever holding your breath,

staring straight ahead,

a living statue.

 

Do you ever dance?

Do you ever laugh?

Do you ever see me?

 

Or do you stare through me,

never seeing what I hold in my hands,

a heart that beats less and less,

a breath that is turning cold;

I am freezing with you.

 

Soon we will be together,

two statues, a Romeo and a Juliet,

frozen just before their time-shattering deaths.

 

Living, breathing,

encased in ice made of satin and silk.

One day the ice may break, and

we may be free to walk hand-in-hand.

 

But for now we wait,

sleeping an endless sleep.

 

(Photo courtesy of Shutter Runner.)

The Bucket List: Life’s Journey for Experience

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The bucket list. Most likely, you’ve heard this term before, if not from anything else but the 2007 movie “The Bucket List” with Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson. (If you haven’t seen this film, you should.)

But what exactly is a bucket list?
In short, it’s a list of things you want to do before you die.
32495254860_a9e3610d0a_kMaybe, that’s a little morbid? After all, it’s reminding you that there’s the ultimate deadline to your existence.

But, buckets lists are amazing. They help you figure out what you want to do with your life. That’s better than coasting along and then only once you’re out of time realizing all the stuff you wish you’d done!

Mark Twain said, “The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.” While I may not agree that just because a person lives fully means that person is ready to die at any moment, I do believe that one of the reasons people fear death is because they haven’t accomplished all they set out to.

16349247541_c6c2d0d2f4_kIt’s recently that I’ve started thinking about and assembling my bucket list. I have no doubt I’ll add more to it and might even drop some stuff as I grow older, but seeing what I want in writing solidifies it in my mind. It makes my goals more real and provides accountability.

I’m a bit of a homebody, and I suffer from Netflix binges… and getting sucked into the Internet… and researching the things I want to do, but somehow not doing most of them. I wasn’t always this way, but I’ve been so the past number of years. It’s only about the last couple of months that I’ve started altering that.

Creating a bucket list is one step toward that change.

Some of the things on my list I’ve completed; most I haven’t. Here’s 25 things on my bucket list:

  1. Rappel down a waterfall
  2. Ride an airboat
  3. Explore a cave – Accomplished!
  4. Pan for gold/precious stones – Accomplished!
  5. Climb “The Heavenly Stairs” (Mount Huashan Plank Trail in China)
  6. Parasail – Accomplished!
  7. Visit all 7 continents
  8. Relax in a natural hot spring – Accomplished!
  9. Be in four places at once (lay on four corners monument!)
  10. Wade in a cranberry bog
  11. Experience weightlessness (indoor skydiving?)
  12. Climb a volcano
  13. Walk on a glacier – Accomplished!
  14. Be published
  15. Honeymoon in Italy
  16. Take a picture with a tiger (Tiger Kingdom in Thailand?)
  17. Visit Elephant National Park in Thailand and bathe an elephant
  18. See my maternal grandfather’s homeland (travel to Hungary!)
  19. Ice cave in Alaska
  20. Climb Mt. Kilimanjaro (Tanzania)
  21. Relax in a sensory deprivation tank
  22. Wear skinny jeans – Accomplished!
  23. Start a blog – Accomplished!
  24. Adopt a child
  25. Start a fire without matches/a lighter – Accomplished!

There’s so much more on my list, and the funny thing is that once I started thinking of what I wanted to do during my life, I kept wanting to do more and more!

Do you have a bucket list? What’s on it? If you don’t have one, what would you put on your bucket list?

(Photos courtesy of Geraint RowlandNico Trinkhaus, and Bureau of Land Management.)

Gina with the Cross: A Vingette

I first came across vingettes when reading The House on Mango Street. This book is a series of vingettes. Instead of having a single plot, where each chapter flows in chronological order, this novel is more a series of photographs. Each picture shows a scene, a snapshot into a person’s life. In the case of The House on Mango Street, that life is of Esperanza Cordero, as she grows up in an impoverished Latino neighborhood that she’s determined to leave, only to discover that once she fulfills her dream, she’s drawn back through the need to once again see the people she left behind.

Intrigued with the vingette, I decided to try my hand and create a scene that’s more about conjuring meaning through imagery than plot:

Gina with the Cross

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Gina, petite squirrel girl with emergency red flare nails and gold cross necklace, one purple rhinestone and one missing because she liked to pick, was my girlie friend who loved to pray.

“All you have to do is ask for forgiveness,” she said, staring at me, her brown eyes wide. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap and her elbows were going to leave indents in her knees.

Despite her whispering, her words charged down the pews, bouncing off the stone floor and the stained glass windows. Nail polish puddled around the purple rhinestone in her left index fingernail, trying to suck the stone down into the sea of red.

“Why?” I asked. My hair fell about my face, and as I stared at my friend, her face was cut into strips: pale, pink flesh divided between strands of coarse mud.

“If you don’t, you’ll be excommunicated.” She scooted closer to me, until our knees bumped against each other. “Just tell them what you did.”

I tugged at a loose flap of skin clinging to the edge of my fingernail, twisting it around and around and then yanking. A plum of pain stabbed into my flesh. I yanked again.

What I did? I wanted to breathe, to expel all the air from my lungs. Just shove it all out there and away, but my throat was constricting. A lump formed in it. My lump, a callous, lopsided chunk of lard and ash. Soot-coated and reeking, it slicked against my esophagus, twisting, trying to grind up the soft tissue there.

“I have nothing to apologize for.” I frowned. My voice had choked on itself, like some piglet trying to squeal, but who had its mouth taped shut.

“Don’t say that.” She grabbed my hands, squeezing my fingers until pain spiked up my wrists. “You’re going to Hell, if you don’t.” Her forehead bumped against mine; her breath burned my cheek. “Worse, you’ll be ostracized. What will your pa say if he knew? You’re going to give your ma a heart attack.” Her voice dropped, quivered. “What about me? What am I supposed to do?” Her head started shaking, almost as if it had a life of its own. “I can’t keep this secret.”

I ripped my hands from hers. “Then, don’t.” I rose. Pain spiked through my jaw. It raced down the side of my neck and made my ear throb, a double bass bashing against my eardrum.

The backs of my calves banged against the pew and the wood shrieked against the stone. A few parishioners swiveled around from closer to the altar, but I didn’t care.

I opened my mouth to shout: What are you looking at! You think you know me! You think you know who I am! But no words came out.

My gaze fell to Gina. She stared up at me; her lips parted in a stark O, her Bambi eyes bright in the dim candlelight. “Tell them whatever you want. Whatever makes you sleep better at night.”

My palms pressed against my jeans. My index finger poked through the hole worn at my knee. “You can even tell them that I wanted it. That’s a lie, but you know that’s what they’ll say. I asked for it.” The big cross gleamed in the background. Massive and golden, it hung heavily over the altar, waiting for the perfect moment when its cables would snap and it would crash, banging against the stone, and squashing whoever was standing beneath it. Perhaps I should stand there. Perhaps it would fall on me. “After all, our bodies know when to get pregnant and when not to.”

“Aislinn…” Her hand fluttered to her mouth. I hoped she could feel my eyes piercing her. I hoped they seared her ribs black. “I know you didn’t want it. I know you were forced – I believe you – but…you killed your baby.”

The lump grew larger, churning and elongating. It would turn my throat to stone. “It was never mine.” I spun around and abandoned the pew. My Keds squeaked against the aisle. One of my shoelaces was untied. The white flopped against the red of my shoe, and dragged along the gray stone. I glared at it, but didn’t stop.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Gina hadn’t moved.

Solid oak doors rose in front of me, stretching far above my head and arching. Iron bars locking them in place. I stopped and stared stupidly, my hands frozen at my sides, unable to press the bars. I’d been able to enter this place. I should be able to leave.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood. There were eyes on me.

My nails pierced the palms of my hands – there would be little crescent moon imprints that would refuse to fade – as I slowly turned, my heels digging into the stone. Great, golden eyes from a tilted head, encircled by jagged thorns, watched me. They shouldn’t be able to. The head was pointed down and to the side, the ribs jutting out against the flesh, the stomach caving in, but still the eyes were on me.

I could have been so many things. I’d wanted to be so many things. What was I now, to Him? To everyone?

Noise rose in my throat, shoving upward, scraping and clawing at my tongue and lips, trying to pry my jaw apart. An uproar about to burst free, shredding me from the inside out, but my lump wouldn’t allow it.

I steeled my hands – iron could only burn – and shoved open the doors.

(Picture courtesy of arbyreed.)

When Inspiration Surprises You, Don’t Gag (But You Can Grab Your Towel)

I’m normally not one to share bits and pieces from motivational books. So much so, that a friend and I have a running joke: if something she wants to post makes me roll my eyes and say, “That’s gag worthy,” then she knows it’s sufficiently inspirational. We call it the “gag check.”

But I was flipping through a magazine the other day and came across an excerpt from Agapi Stassinopoulos’ new book, Wake Up to the Joy of You: 52 Meditations and Practices for a Calmer, Happier Life. If I’d only read the blurb on the back cover, I wouldn’t have given a second thought to this book. It begins with, “This is your year of self-discovery, a journey to create a life filled with grace, meaning, zest, peace, and joy,” continues on, “And you’ll learn to trust your creativity, keep your heart open, and connect to the bigger spirit that lives inside you,” and ends, “Use it as a tool to unlock your goodness, and wake up to the joy of you!”

It all sounds a bit melodramatic for my taste. And then, I read the excerpt in the magazine article. This comes from the Weightwatchers magazine (March/April 2017) I discovered laying in the middle of the dining room table at my mother’s house:

“Consider this:14993052203_0b32989fc6_k

  • “You have 37.2 trillion cells in your body (compare that to the 400 billion stars in the galaxy!).
  • “The cells that make up your body are dying and being replaced all the time.
  • “By the time you’ve read this sentence, roughly 25 million cells will have died, but you’ll make 300 billion more as your day unfolds.

“Take a moment in reverence of the miracle of life you are.

“We have nothing to do with making this miracle happen; it’s working in spite of use, our inexhaustible life force. yet we take all this for granted. We worry that our breasts are too small, our butt too big, or our nose too long. If you ever feel insecure, insignificant, or inadequate, remember that there are more cells in your body than stars in the galaxy.”

The excerpt continues on in the article, but I found this part particularly interesting. I’d never thought about the human body that way. I’ve had my share of medical issues, and I’ve known others who’ve had theirs, and often I’m frustrated by how the human body can be both amazing–after all, human beings beat out all other similar lifeforms to survive to the modern age–and damaged. It can sometimes feel like our bodies are constantly failing us, and I occasionally wonder how human beings survived at all.

Then, I read this article, and it is incredible how complex our bodies are. We are dying and renewing every second of every day for all the years we’re alive.We’re not perfect, but we have a lot going for us. One of the biggest things is that we are capable of change. As a species, we might not like change because it’s challenging; it’s so much easier to keep the status quo, but we are able to alter our lives.

As Rob Reiner said, “Everybody talks about wanting to change things and help and fix, but ultimately all you can do is fix yourself. And that’s a lot. Because if you can fix yourself, it has a ripple effect.”

I think this can apply to writing as well, because writing can influence how people see the world. Not only your writing, but what you read. In my writing, I attempt to include deeper, more complex topics beneath the commercial plot, and most of my favorite books do the same. In terms of Stassinopoulos’ novel, just the excerpt made me think about my body differently. What I’ve been able to accomplish, while having medical complications, is amazing. My body is still going strong, despite what I’ve been through. My closest friends are the same way.

Take the time to appreciate your body and all the incredible things it does.

(Photo courtesy of Tom Hall.)