We spend so much time

full length of man sitting in city

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

We spend so much time waiting.

These last two days I spent a lot of my time, energy, and brain power waiting to pick up my medications at the Walmart pharmacy.

Yesterday a woman with huge thighs and butt that jiggled under a tight pair of jeggings let her two sons rifle through a bin filled with bandages.

As the line slowly creeped and the time ticked away, I tried to distract my mind from the time, from my next appointment, from anything that would turn me into a whirling Tasmanian devil. I managed barely. I even managed to be polite when I found out that my wait was in vain.

Yesterday, I was angry. Today, well, I wonder why we spend so much time waiting and in this case, waiting for no result. I suppose I could have tried to cut the line, but that woman in front of me had the shoulders of a linebacker. She was even able to get all of the objects out of her boys’ hands with a cellphone tight to her ear as she was talking into the phone and to the pharmacy tech.

I tell myself that it is all good. I can practice my descriptive skills and maybe in one of my next stories, I could make the pharmacy tech a villain. Although she was less a villain and more an overworked and underpaid woman that just wanted to have a lunch break.

I suppose in this country we wait because we have that inner need for fairness and justice. We believe that the line is for all. No one gets to cut. At least not until you become sick in the middle of the store in some way.

I’ve been in Panama where you thought you were in line and find that you are being pushed away from the counter by the mob instead of getting your turn. I learned there to use my elbows and muscle my way in. I even got a hamburger and a Coke.

But this malaise of lines goes deeper for me. I have been in so many lines the past two weeks that I want to bang my head against the wall, causing brain damage of course, so I won’t have to do it again. There is a particular type of torture with lines.



The sounds of words


From Pixabay

My first love is sound.

My second love is poetry.

If I sit in the square of any city in any world and allow my ears to unfocus I can hear rhythms and music. I have done this in Johannesburg and Misawa. I have listened to the sounds of Ramstein. Each have their own rhythms and sounds.

So to me language is just sound. When I have to put sound to meaning then there can be a problem, especially when I have to be attentive. That takes energy.

To me, poetry is one step from sound. My English professor would tell me that poetry was the essence of meaning and that every word should be distilled for maximum impact. It is true that poetry must be pared down until the meaning is clear, but it is not poetry if the sound is not right.

I have written formal poetry with formal rhythms and I have also written free verse. In my experience, even free verse has its own consistent internal rhythm. So poetry needs sound and rhythm.

If it sounds like a music, then you would be right. In my small world every poem is a small sound. It might be why I like to write sonnets, which means a little poem or if you go to the Latin root it means a little sound.

When I switched to stories, I had to learn how to write again. Those little pieces of poetry that I loved so much sometimes had to be cut because they were not a part of the story. I had to learn characters and how those characters interacted with others.

Other people would sit in the squares and make up stories about the people around them. I was listening to sound. I had to switch my thinking. I admit that I told stories to my brothers at bedtime. They were stories I had read and sometimes I would change the story just a bit so that young boys would enjoy them. But until fifteen years ago, I had not written stories. I had written poetry, memoirs, and essays.

It has been a challenge. Sometimes I wonder if I am writing interesting stories. Then I talk to other writers and authors and find out that deep dark secret. Most of us think we are frauds.

We don’t know if we are writing well. In my case, I write and hope someone else will enjoy my books. If not, I would write anyway because even though I believe I can quit anytime like an addict, I can’t. If I didn’t write stories, I would write poetry. If I didn’t write, I would dream.

This is my manifesto. I have lived adventure. I have explored Northern Japan, Panama, and Germany. If I could still travel, then I would. I would probably not write though and would feel emptiness and restlessness.

I was born to be a poet. I have made myself a writer.

The dog is sleeping

So as much as I think my words are exciting and my stories are fun, the dog has other plans. Foxy sleeps as I struggle with words, scenes, and characters. I am tempted to get off this chair and walk into the other room. She will sigh heavily as if I am interrupting her sleep time, and then she will follow me out of the room.

I am fortunate that I can have a writing room. When I am finished using the computer, I shut the door. This room is only for my projects, which include my novels. Unlike the other apartment, I don’t have a mirror staring at me. It made me very conscious as if someone was staring at me as I wrote my thousand words.

I am learning to appreciate that I can walk and talk. I have met others who are so bound in their minds and bodies that I look healthy beside them. I still have Stage 4 kidney disease. I will always have a Vasculitis disease and I will be in pain for the rest of my days. I am still able to smile and appreciate a little doggy who sits on my lap when I watch movies or who wakes me in the morning when I sleep too long.

So the main purpose of this blog is to tell you that I have finished writing and editing “Dragon Boy.” Once it is back from the Beta readers, I will do the final publishing– ebook and digital. I learned several years ago that some of you do want to have an actual book instead of just ones and zeros.

I started the third book in this series called “Unlicensed Sorceress,” which will be Hilda’s introduction to city politics and regulation. I assure you that she will not be happy.

Since I am only on Chapter two, I can’t give you more details. Let us say that the story hasn’t completely unfolded to me either.

May you have a great holiday season and a Happy New Year.

May you get all the rest you need to succeed.

May you receive success and joy throughout 2017.