This morning, I put on a pot of navy beans to cook all day. When the beans start to get a little soft, then I’ll put in some bacon and onions. I am not sure what else. I might take a look on the internet for recipes. I will eat a bowl or two tonight, then put the rest in the freezer.
I like to have meals in the freezer for those days when I am too intent on writing to remember to make food or even eat. I used to have a schedule. At four to four thirty p.m., I would start dinner. My late hubby would be home after five p.m. It took about five to ten minutes for him to come home.
I would dish up dinner, we would eat, then he would take some time for himself (amateur radio or computer). Last two years he would be so tired that he would nap. It was that schedule that kept me well. Now I have to make my own schedules. It helps that Foxy needs to be fed at certain hours and she will scratch my leg if I forget.
This morning I was thinking of my writings– one of the hardest things I have ever done is allow myself to shine in my writings. I had spent my formative years hiding my true self. When I showed my true colors, I received some severe punishments. I thought I was a bad person. So in reaction to this upbringing, I spent my mid-years (late twenties to forties) tearing masks off myself and others.
I admit that it hasn’t been fun to find the worms at the heart of people. On the other hand, there are a lot of good people out there who do not show their charity in the normal way. These silent people are the engine that run charitable organizations or even their families. In my opinion, families are important for building a civilized society.
Anyone who is willing to raise children to be civilized and productive adults have my admiration. It was hard enough to raise myself and to support my siblings who still need it.
But to be a writer, I have learned bit by bit that I must open my inner world. I can’t close that door and hide it by using shortened symbolism. For one thing, people who read that type of story can feel that something is wrong, but can’t put their finger on it. Another thing, raw emotion is good and well, but doesn’t make for a good story.
Primal screams– I’ve had my share of pain given voice. The screams are so individual that no one else can decipher the meaning.
So I am learning to open myself and to control the primal scream that runs through much of my stories.
Let my hair down. Smile. Show those pretty teeth because here I come.