At 7:50p.m. this evening I walked past my daughter's room and tried to shut off the light. She wasn't there and the light wasn't on. Just the echo of the late summer sunshine illuminating a now empty space. The cat waits in vain for her return and the papers, long forgotten, rustle on her desk.
To say I miss my girl is like saying it's hard to breathe under water.
At 7:51p.m. I'm sitting on my back porch with my son, enjoying the light as it filters through the trees illuminating the May Pole I made with my children in Spring and haven't had the heart to fully Autumnize yet. He isn't listening to me, he's got headphones on as he lifts weights to: EYE OF THE TIGER and envisions himself as Sly Stallone. If I were imagining a stud I wanted to emulate, it'd be Jason Statham, but I get the Rocky thing.
8:06 p.m. I'm trying hard not to cry. I'm looking at baby photos. I'm re-living everything I did right and the more than I'm comfortable with list of things I've done wrong, wondering, exactly, how does one summarize a few short years of parenthood where you hope to heck you got it right, and you're scared to death, and you just want to hold them close. My God. My Goddess. My Infinite Consciousness, how do I do this job of parenting well?
I love my deck. I smell the roses. I enjoy the birds. I miss my girl. I enjoy my son. I live, I love, I slay...(my kids will get this)...therefore I AM.
And I miss my girl.
All thoughts on Love and Loss and Change Welcome.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Officially the mother of an Adult (and not feeling old). Warning:Not for young eyes, esp. if you're related to me.
Today, July 14, 2011 my wonderful pea turns 18.
This day was foreshadowed by an almost surreal weekend over the 4th of July. Aidanne has been taking her brother (12) to Blue Mound where they both are working as caddies. This left a full 5 days where my husband and I were alone all day for the first time in 18 years.
It was almost like dating...we actually have something to talk about other than our children...wow, what a concept. I like it.
Vince is loving it. We're young (we've been married 24 years on the 11th, but I was 12 when we said 'I do') so we still enjoy seeing each other naked. (I have a feeling I'm going to feel young enough for this when I'm 95 and he's 99. I'll keep you updated in 50+ years.) We were giggling like teenagers with the thrill of being in the buff in broad daylight without fear of young eyes being scarred for life. Almost gives one a reason to look forward to a sometimes empty nest.
Probably more information than you, dear reader, want or need to know, which is why I'm not publicizing this particular post. My point is this: life changes and gives us circumstances that could and sometimes will be fraught with pain and if not pain a pang for what is lost. It's up to us if we wish to wallow or get naked in the sunshine.
Happy birthday, Sweetheart. I sure am enjoying watching you grow.
This day was foreshadowed by an almost surreal weekend over the 4th of July. Aidanne has been taking her brother (12) to Blue Mound where they both are working as caddies. This left a full 5 days where my husband and I were alone all day for the first time in 18 years.
It was almost like dating...we actually have something to talk about other than our children...wow, what a concept. I like it.
Vince is loving it. We're young (we've been married 24 years on the 11th, but I was 12 when we said 'I do') so we still enjoy seeing each other naked. (I have a feeling I'm going to feel young enough for this when I'm 95 and he's 99. I'll keep you updated in 50+ years.) We were giggling like teenagers with the thrill of being in the buff in broad daylight without fear of young eyes being scarred for life. Almost gives one a reason to look forward to a sometimes empty nest.
Probably more information than you, dear reader, want or need to know, which is why I'm not publicizing this particular post. My point is this: life changes and gives us circumstances that could and sometimes will be fraught with pain and if not pain a pang for what is lost. It's up to us if we wish to wallow or get naked in the sunshine.
Happy birthday, Sweetheart. I sure am enjoying watching you grow.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Ninja-Lawyer-Writes-Romance (and loves it)
Yesterday I started handing out book covers for SECOND CHANCES, my second romance e-book, at the court house, to some of my attorney, commissioner and judge friends and to miscellaneous staff at the court house.
Results and responses were mixed.
Judges, commissioners and attorneys were widely supportive, with the exception of one soon to retire somewhat grumpy male attorney I love but who has no use for anything but male thrillers. Since I love male thrillers too I get it, and although I don't respect his response, I understand it. A win, I'd say, and I took it as one.
The only negative response I got that irritated and grated was when a court reporter referred to the genre in general as "trash" and my novel in particular as one of those "trash novels". Don't get me wrong, I can be as self-deprecating as the next writer, and almost as elitist if I give it the old college try, but trash? Really?
So here's the martial arts part: Be Proud of What you Do. So says my Sensei. So believe I.
I am proud of what I do. All of it. Writing romances that make me and others laugh, cry, empathize, and just plain feel good is more than most of us get to do with our lives. It's meaningful and certainly not something to be bagged and stuck in a land-fill, I don't care how cynical you are, or how literary, everyone loves a love story.
So I say to my writing siblings: Be Proud. You make life better in a time where there's more than enough pain and nastiness to go around.
Trash-My-Ass!
Happy Writing. Happy Reading.
Leigh Morgan
Results and responses were mixed.
Judges, commissioners and attorneys were widely supportive, with the exception of one soon to retire somewhat grumpy male attorney I love but who has no use for anything but male thrillers. Since I love male thrillers too I get it, and although I don't respect his response, I understand it. A win, I'd say, and I took it as one.
The only negative response I got that irritated and grated was when a court reporter referred to the genre in general as "trash" and my novel in particular as one of those "trash novels". Don't get me wrong, I can be as self-deprecating as the next writer, and almost as elitist if I give it the old college try, but trash? Really?
So here's the martial arts part: Be Proud of What you Do. So says my Sensei. So believe I.
I am proud of what I do. All of it. Writing romances that make me and others laugh, cry, empathize, and just plain feel good is more than most of us get to do with our lives. It's meaningful and certainly not something to be bagged and stuck in a land-fill, I don't care how cynical you are, or how literary, everyone loves a love story.
So I say to my writing siblings: Be Proud. You make life better in a time where there's more than enough pain and nastiness to go around.
Trash-My-Ass!
Happy Writing. Happy Reading.
Leigh Morgan
Friday, June 17, 2011
Life in Small Moments
June 15, 2011
Many of the Ah-Ha moments of my life have come from background noise.
I knew from the sound of my father's breathing he wasn't going to be same man coming out of the hospital as he was when he went in. The gentle persistence of Tartan, my then twenty year old cat, as she nudged my hand told me hold me now, I'm leaving soon was such a moment. I held her. She curled into my arms, purred and her spirit passed gently as I silently told her how much she gave with her constant love. The instant my eyes captured my now husband's I knew this was a man who would change my life. No kidding. The whole thing took about two seconds. I'm sure it took a whole lot longer for him, but that's another post.
And Wednesday night, after a double training session at the dojo, feeling exhausted, every minute of eighty-years old and like I was trying to move through quick-sand it hit me that I'd done something very right with my life so far. I was sitting in an epsom salt bath just this side of scorching, enjoying an icy lime beer with my husband when we heard it coming from our soon-to-be eighteen year old daughter's bedroom.
Giggling. Yes, can't-help-but-make-Scrouge-smile-giggling.
Our daughter and our twelve year old son were in her room giggling like the best friends they are with a secret no one else on the face of the planet could possibly see as tummy-hurting funny. I don't know what they were giggling about and it doesn't matter. This is common in our house, a fact for which I am profoundly grateful, and yet in that commonality lay the seeds of so-what.
When my husband looked at me with tears in his eyes and quietly said, "I'm going to miss that." The just-another-dayness of the moment evaporated and the enormity of the reality that in a few short weeks our daughter will be living on campus more than she's home, set in.
So did a deep satisfaction that our children will always laugh together and with us over small, trivial, goofy things. I am lucky to have that connection to them and more importantly, to be there to share the connection they have with one another.
So how is this post all about me? Well, in those self-absorbed-bath-soaked-seconds while I felt the blow of my husband's emotion and digested my own, I knew I would never take that sound for granted again. If I can summon it as my spirit leaves my body I'll set foot on the path of my next journey well satisfied that I helped give the world, and my children, something truly meaningful.
My kids can make me nut's but there is no greater gift I've experienced than the love permeating the air Wednesday evening as I sipped my beer in the bath, my husband next to me, just listening to the background noise of our children enjoying each other.
Aidanne and Cian...thanks.
Many of the Ah-Ha moments of my life have come from background noise.
I knew from the sound of my father's breathing he wasn't going to be same man coming out of the hospital as he was when he went in. The gentle persistence of Tartan, my then twenty year old cat, as she nudged my hand told me hold me now, I'm leaving soon was such a moment. I held her. She curled into my arms, purred and her spirit passed gently as I silently told her how much she gave with her constant love. The instant my eyes captured my now husband's I knew this was a man who would change my life. No kidding. The whole thing took about two seconds. I'm sure it took a whole lot longer for him, but that's another post.
And Wednesday night, after a double training session at the dojo, feeling exhausted, every minute of eighty-years old and like I was trying to move through quick-sand it hit me that I'd done something very right with my life so far. I was sitting in an epsom salt bath just this side of scorching, enjoying an icy lime beer with my husband when we heard it coming from our soon-to-be eighteen year old daughter's bedroom.
Giggling. Yes, can't-help-but-make-Scrouge-smile-giggling.
Our daughter and our twelve year old son were in her room giggling like the best friends they are with a secret no one else on the face of the planet could possibly see as tummy-hurting funny. I don't know what they were giggling about and it doesn't matter. This is common in our house, a fact for which I am profoundly grateful, and yet in that commonality lay the seeds of so-what.
When my husband looked at me with tears in his eyes and quietly said, "I'm going to miss that." The just-another-dayness of the moment evaporated and the enormity of the reality that in a few short weeks our daughter will be living on campus more than she's home, set in.
So did a deep satisfaction that our children will always laugh together and with us over small, trivial, goofy things. I am lucky to have that connection to them and more importantly, to be there to share the connection they have with one another.
So how is this post all about me? Well, in those self-absorbed-bath-soaked-seconds while I felt the blow of my husband's emotion and digested my own, I knew I would never take that sound for granted again. If I can summon it as my spirit leaves my body I'll set foot on the path of my next journey well satisfied that I helped give the world, and my children, something truly meaningful.
My kids can make me nut's but there is no greater gift I've experienced than the love permeating the air Wednesday evening as I sipped my beer in the bath, my husband next to me, just listening to the background noise of our children enjoying each other.
Aidanne and Cian...thanks.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Spirituality, Paganism & Prayer
During this week of Easter, with Beltane quickly approaching, my children and I have been focused, perhaps even more than usual, on living meaningfully and new beginnings. This probably sounds more profound than it is. It's not. It all started with cleaning the house, throwing sh** out (excuse me, 'recycling') and consciously trimming down.
Spirituality is part of daily life here in Mac-Ski Land. Not the structured-organized-religion-type of spirituality that my husband and I grew up with and still admire, but a more visceral and immediate spirituality that keeps nudging and pushing and clobbering us over the head until we pay attention to it, kind of spirituality.
It goes something like this: clean up, simplify, see beauty in the everyday, love deeply, be thankful, appreciate life (that includes the environment which we have an obligation to keep healthy), intend to do good (then follow through and actually do it).
Sounds preachy. It isn't. It's pretty self-centered actually, but I digress.
I am currently writing an adventure-romance that has myth, magic and pagan spirituality as a back-drop, sort of the way Christianity is the back-drop for Raiders of the Lost Ark. So I sent away for some information from one of the modern Druid societies. My son and I were reading the information they sent to help inspire me while writing my current pages. (An alternative and perhaps more valid reading of these events involves my continued ability to procrastinate whenever I sit down to write...but that's another blog).
Another piece of this involves my continued search for ways our family can help the environment, even if only by using fewer resources and conserving the ones we have. This has been a constant theme so its energy is ever present permeating the collective consciousness of our household.
So, getting back to my story...
My 12 year old son who makes connections that boggle my mind, and does it with lightning speed, said to me: "You know how you always tell me that saying 'Thank You' is a prayer..." (and for the reader I had forgotten this 'always' conversation so I nodded with parental certainty and answered "yes")
Then he followed with: "So, is saying 'I love you' a prayer too?"
WOW. Neither an under-graduate degree in philosophy, nor five years of Catholic school and daily mass (I'm not Catholic by the way) nor a life-time of UCC attendance quite prepared me for that one.
Then the skies opened (figuratively) time stood still and I heard "ahhh" resonating through my synapses. The answer I gave? A resounding "YES".
The Pagans got this one right.
At least the modern Druids seem to on the face of their statement about who they are, which my son was reading at the time. That statement embodies in part: Love of Life, Love of People, Love of Environment, Peace & Justice, Beauty, Reverence for Ancestors & Story & Myth, among others. (To a writer, this is like crack...again I digress).
My son put all the pieces together and wove them into a thing of beauty I couldn't consciously contemplate in my frenetic and sometimes disjointed life. And he did it in less than a second. Talk about reality check. Time to slow-down,see the interconnectedness of life and smell-the-roses-stupid (that's me I'm referring to).
So here's what I came up with when my son-induced AH-HA moment smucked me up-side the head.
When we say or think "I love..." we are in fact saying we inherently have the capacity to love and that capacity (I would argue) is a gift to be thankful for. We are also saying: I am worthy of giving love and I am worthy of receiving it. Again, something to be grateful for; a prayer of thanksgiving or simply an expression of joy for being alive. (Same thing. Different name.)
If this all seems a little convoluted perhaps I should say it's all connected. I suggested early on to my children that when they pray they start with: "Thank you for..." instead of starting with "Please let...X...happen". They can always ask for "X" after they indicate their initial thanks for being here as long as they end with 'Thank you'; sort of a 'Thank You' sandwich if you will. So now 'Thank You' has become a prayer of gratefulness and they self-identify as praying several times a day (some call it meditation or simply being present and aware of the moment).
My son took it a step farther, enlightening me, and strangely or not, making my universe a happier place by reminding me that Love, no matter what its form, is sacred and a reason for rejoicing in the everyday.
Love as Prayer. Love as Mediation & Meditation. Love as the Ultimate Expression of Life.
Wow, I CAN slow down and listen to the birds and smell the flowers and be thankful for the people who enrich my life and for the peace my home and my environment bring me. I got that part of being alive right. The work of the day is important, but it's secondary to the purpose of the day. This I learned by paying attention to my children. (Can hardly wait to find out what my grand-children will hit me with!)
What a wonderful reason to glory in story-telling and to write romance. It's all connected.
Thank You, my son, for asking the question. I Love You. (AMEN. So-Mote-it-Be & Blessings.)
My wish for all of you: Happy Writing, Happy Living and Much Love. And may you all have someone in your lives who asks thoughtful questions.
Spirituality is part of daily life here in Mac-Ski Land. Not the structured-organized-religion-type of spirituality that my husband and I grew up with and still admire, but a more visceral and immediate spirituality that keeps nudging and pushing and clobbering us over the head until we pay attention to it, kind of spirituality.
It goes something like this: clean up, simplify, see beauty in the everyday, love deeply, be thankful, appreciate life (that includes the environment which we have an obligation to keep healthy), intend to do good (then follow through and actually do it).
Sounds preachy. It isn't. It's pretty self-centered actually, but I digress.
I am currently writing an adventure-romance that has myth, magic and pagan spirituality as a back-drop, sort of the way Christianity is the back-drop for Raiders of the Lost Ark. So I sent away for some information from one of the modern Druid societies. My son and I were reading the information they sent to help inspire me while writing my current pages. (An alternative and perhaps more valid reading of these events involves my continued ability to procrastinate whenever I sit down to write...but that's another blog).
Another piece of this involves my continued search for ways our family can help the environment, even if only by using fewer resources and conserving the ones we have. This has been a constant theme so its energy is ever present permeating the collective consciousness of our household.
So, getting back to my story...
My 12 year old son who makes connections that boggle my mind, and does it with lightning speed, said to me: "You know how you always tell me that saying 'Thank You' is a prayer..." (and for the reader I had forgotten this 'always' conversation so I nodded with parental certainty and answered "yes")
Then he followed with: "So, is saying 'I love you' a prayer too?"
WOW. Neither an under-graduate degree in philosophy, nor five years of Catholic school and daily mass (I'm not Catholic by the way) nor a life-time of UCC attendance quite prepared me for that one.
Then the skies opened (figuratively) time stood still and I heard "ahhh" resonating through my synapses. The answer I gave? A resounding "YES".
The Pagans got this one right.
At least the modern Druids seem to on the face of their statement about who they are, which my son was reading at the time. That statement embodies in part: Love of Life, Love of People, Love of Environment, Peace & Justice, Beauty, Reverence for Ancestors & Story & Myth, among others. (To a writer, this is like crack...again I digress).
My son put all the pieces together and wove them into a thing of beauty I couldn't consciously contemplate in my frenetic and sometimes disjointed life. And he did it in less than a second. Talk about reality check. Time to slow-down,see the interconnectedness of life and smell-the-roses-stupid (that's me I'm referring to).
So here's what I came up with when my son-induced AH-HA moment smucked me up-side the head.
When we say or think "I love..." we are in fact saying we inherently have the capacity to love and that capacity (I would argue) is a gift to be thankful for. We are also saying: I am worthy of giving love and I am worthy of receiving it. Again, something to be grateful for; a prayer of thanksgiving or simply an expression of joy for being alive. (Same thing. Different name.)
If this all seems a little convoluted perhaps I should say it's all connected. I suggested early on to my children that when they pray they start with: "Thank you for..." instead of starting with "Please let...X...happen". They can always ask for "X" after they indicate their initial thanks for being here as long as they end with 'Thank you'; sort of a 'Thank You' sandwich if you will. So now 'Thank You' has become a prayer of gratefulness and they self-identify as praying several times a day (some call it meditation or simply being present and aware of the moment).
My son took it a step farther, enlightening me, and strangely or not, making my universe a happier place by reminding me that Love, no matter what its form, is sacred and a reason for rejoicing in the everyday.
Love as Prayer. Love as Mediation & Meditation. Love as the Ultimate Expression of Life.
Wow, I CAN slow down and listen to the birds and smell the flowers and be thankful for the people who enrich my life and for the peace my home and my environment bring me. I got that part of being alive right. The work of the day is important, but it's secondary to the purpose of the day. This I learned by paying attention to my children. (Can hardly wait to find out what my grand-children will hit me with!)
What a wonderful reason to glory in story-telling and to write romance. It's all connected.
Thank You, my son, for asking the question. I Love You. (AMEN. So-Mote-it-Be & Blessings.)
My wish for all of you: Happy Writing, Happy Living and Much Love. And may you all have someone in your lives who asks thoughtful questions.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Peeps flying the Nest.
My son, who turns twelve tomorrow, said to me this morning as I was combing the political and financial news like the maniac I've been since the 'bail-out', "I'm so glad we can hear the birds in the morning. I miss that in winter."
Me too, Buddy. Me too.
My son gently reminds me of a quote by Don Henley in the song: THE LAST WORTHLESS EVENING "...There are just so many summers And so many springs..."
Is that depressing. NO. Not really. Not if it helps me appreciate the birds in the morning and my son's unadulterated joy in just being part of the human race. Enjoy life. Take nothing for granted. Man, it's good to have peeps around the nest to remind me to seize the day.
I have a tendency to tune out the birds in the morning because I've got bigger or better or more important things to do than sit for five minutes and just enjoy them. That brings me to my peeps and the frantic rush to school and homework and band and karate and...and...and...all of that is BEFORE I drag myself off to work for money and profit and something meaningful to do with my life (which I take quite seriously)...and then the seriousness of the day takes hold...
It's that seriousness that gets me into trouble.
When I slow down and say, it's not the end of the world if we're late for school, or even miss a day to go to a movie or the museum or simply a walk by the lake, I enjoy life a lot more. So do my peeps.
My daughter is graduating from High School this year. She's already taking college classes in the afternoons three days a week. She'll turn eighteen in a few months and I wonder just when I closed my eyes and the beautiful woman she is walked into my life.
I remember when she was two and she'd say, pointing excitedly to the numerous finches, doves, sparrows, wrens, killdeer and robins as her tiny body jumped up and down: "Burds, mama. Burds!" Still one of my favorite quotes. It never ceases to make me smile. Knowing this, she says it even today when I'm in a foul mood. I'm going to miss her terribly when she goes to college full time. (But that's another Blog)
Not caring whether I won mother-of-the-year, I took her everywhere with me before she started school full-time. When she started school I kept her out one day a month and we had a "movie day". For all of you who know I work as a child advocate this may shock you. I didn't care then, even though it angered my husband until he gave up, quietly shaking his head certain I was a corrupting force of nature (True, and yet another Blog).
I am profoundly grateful for those days now. My husband tells me now, so is he.
So when I hear the birds joyfully singing at the crack of dawn I try not to shut them out in order to focus on the serious business of life. Instead I try (and when that fails I force myself) to listen and to greet my day with the optimism and sheer joy that my children bring to each day. Some days it's easy. Some days it takes a focused effort. But being grateful for the day is never a wasted effort and enjoying our spring and our summers is more serious than anything on our collective business calendars. Business fades. Time spent with those we love lives forever, imprinted on our psyche; intangibly meaningful.
So my friends, may you enjoy the "BURDS"! CARPE DIEM!
Leigh.
Me too, Buddy. Me too.
My son gently reminds me of a quote by Don Henley in the song: THE LAST WORTHLESS EVENING "...There are just so many summers And so many springs..."
Is that depressing. NO. Not really. Not if it helps me appreciate the birds in the morning and my son's unadulterated joy in just being part of the human race. Enjoy life. Take nothing for granted. Man, it's good to have peeps around the nest to remind me to seize the day.
I have a tendency to tune out the birds in the morning because I've got bigger or better or more important things to do than sit for five minutes and just enjoy them. That brings me to my peeps and the frantic rush to school and homework and band and karate and...and...and...all of that is BEFORE I drag myself off to work for money and profit and something meaningful to do with my life (which I take quite seriously)...and then the seriousness of the day takes hold...
It's that seriousness that gets me into trouble.
When I slow down and say, it's not the end of the world if we're late for school, or even miss a day to go to a movie or the museum or simply a walk by the lake, I enjoy life a lot more. So do my peeps.
My daughter is graduating from High School this year. She's already taking college classes in the afternoons three days a week. She'll turn eighteen in a few months and I wonder just when I closed my eyes and the beautiful woman she is walked into my life.
I remember when she was two and she'd say, pointing excitedly to the numerous finches, doves, sparrows, wrens, killdeer and robins as her tiny body jumped up and down: "Burds, mama. Burds!" Still one of my favorite quotes. It never ceases to make me smile. Knowing this, she says it even today when I'm in a foul mood. I'm going to miss her terribly when she goes to college full time. (But that's another Blog)
Not caring whether I won mother-of-the-year, I took her everywhere with me before she started school full-time. When she started school I kept her out one day a month and we had a "movie day". For all of you who know I work as a child advocate this may shock you. I didn't care then, even though it angered my husband until he gave up, quietly shaking his head certain I was a corrupting force of nature (True, and yet another Blog).
I am profoundly grateful for those days now. My husband tells me now, so is he.
So when I hear the birds joyfully singing at the crack of dawn I try not to shut them out in order to focus on the serious business of life. Instead I try (and when that fails I force myself) to listen and to greet my day with the optimism and sheer joy that my children bring to each day. Some days it's easy. Some days it takes a focused effort. But being grateful for the day is never a wasted effort and enjoying our spring and our summers is more serious than anything on our collective business calendars. Business fades. Time spent with those we love lives forever, imprinted on our psyche; intangibly meaningful.
So my friends, may you enjoy the "BURDS"! CARPE DIEM!
Leigh.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Too Much Information...Too Little Spring.
I've always been interested in what is happening in the world, at least since I can remember. Part of that probably comes from a fascination with princes and princesses and the Loch Ness Monster as a child; and at least with the monster the fascination continues.
Since undergraduate school, I've read the foreign papers sporadically. In Law School, I read nothing but law and romance novels to keep me sane and grounded, and to nurture my happily-ever-after fix.
Lately I've been a news junkie. I read no less than seven papers a day online, which inevitably take me to sites I just have to know about to be more informed and less opinionated. The result? I need romance more than ever. I need to write it and I need to read it and I need to experience it to keep my hair on my head and not in piles on the floor.
I've also found this new need to DO something about what I'm reading; to CHANGE what I can for the better instead of just bemoaning the facts as they stand.
I blame Spring.
I'm also experiencing an unprecedented need to clean and de-clutter and all around spruce-up my physical surroundings. I am also going through a career shift that is major and scary and exciting and once again scary, scary, scary...
So I ask you, what do you do when the world or the news or the stressors we all feel pushing our psychic energy around, threaten your equilibrium? What helps you focus? What makes you want to stand up and do something pro-active to facilitate positive change?
Happy Spring! Here's to less news and more action! Happy Writing...Happy Reading.
Leigh
Since undergraduate school, I've read the foreign papers sporadically. In Law School, I read nothing but law and romance novels to keep me sane and grounded, and to nurture my happily-ever-after fix.
Lately I've been a news junkie. I read no less than seven papers a day online, which inevitably take me to sites I just have to know about to be more informed and less opinionated. The result? I need romance more than ever. I need to write it and I need to read it and I need to experience it to keep my hair on my head and not in piles on the floor.
I've also found this new need to DO something about what I'm reading; to CHANGE what I can for the better instead of just bemoaning the facts as they stand.
I blame Spring.
I'm also experiencing an unprecedented need to clean and de-clutter and all around spruce-up my physical surroundings. I am also going through a career shift that is major and scary and exciting and once again scary, scary, scary...
So I ask you, what do you do when the world or the news or the stressors we all feel pushing our psychic energy around, threaten your equilibrium? What helps you focus? What makes you want to stand up and do something pro-active to facilitate positive change?
Happy Spring! Here's to less news and more action! Happy Writing...Happy Reading.
Leigh
Monday, March 21, 2011
Work, Writing and staying Positive
The first day of Spring is always a good day for me, if for no other reason than the days are getting longer and seemingly brighter and the air is getting warmer. Like many first days, this one didn't start out too well. I woke at 5a.m. to be a guest blogger and because of a glitch that fell through. My daughter then handed me a scholarship essay she completed last night, when she found it by chance. It was actually due last week on the 15th but the school was still accepting requests on a non-priority basis. After much hair pulling and some angst we got the forms completed, essay checked and she's on her way to deliver it as I type. Then my husband called and informed me that his biggest project in years is now "on hold" until a new piece of land can be found since the wetland issue is worse than first assumed. (Please send good thoughts out to the Universe that 40 acres of suitable industrial land can be found soon and my husband's project is "back on")
That's the bad news.
The good news is I'm writing anyway. My daughter is still on her quest for a full-boat scholarship. My husband is contacting commercial realtors and sending out inquiries, and I decided to do my own blog and actually attempt to promote it. So I guess the first day of Spring, as always, is turning out to be a pretty good day. What is your hope for this Spring and how do you turn obstacles into opportunities for something even better? I'd love to hear your stories.
That's the bad news.
The good news is I'm writing anyway. My daughter is still on her quest for a full-boat scholarship. My husband is contacting commercial realtors and sending out inquiries, and I decided to do my own blog and actually attempt to promote it. So I guess the first day of Spring, as always, is turning out to be a pretty good day. What is your hope for this Spring and how do you turn obstacles into opportunities for something even better? I'd love to hear your stories.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Six times down, Seven times Up.
I am writing this blog today more for the practice, this is my first time, than for the content. That said, the content is vitally important to everyone who ever has or ever will succeed in one's given endeavors, no matter where on the path we find ourselves. The journey really is the point. Destinations keep changing.
This is clear in martial arts practice where a true practitioner screws up (think Jackie Chan out-takes) and must jump back up and figure it out. Then it's on to the next mistake and we fix that too, and so on, etc. Nothing like falling on your tail, or getting the wind knocked out of you to keep the ego in check and the hands up protecting while you edge your way in for your attack.
This concept may be easier for those of us used to making mistakes, shrugging it off (hopefully after we learn from it) and moving on to the next step on the path. This is especially true for writers who constantly, no matter how successful, face rejection and uncertainty. We get so used to hearing "Not Interested", "No, Thank You" or my personal favorite, "Love the Story. Writing's Great. We just can't sell it. Send me the Next One". Yea. Right. Good wine, soft cheese, chocolate, bubble bath, a good cry and then get up tomorrow and start something new.
This works for me most of the time. Sometimes the rejection is more acute and brushing it off takes days. When this happens I'm lucky. I get to go to the dojo, surrounded by people I respect and trust and have not only an affinity for, but, a deep and abiding loyalty and then I get to punch and kick at them until I can barely suck air into my raw, burning lungs. Something about this soothes my savage beast and puts everything back into perspective. The planets align and I can once again breathe without being heart-sick.
In our dojo you get knocked down six times, you get up seven. It's the best way to roll with the punches I know. How about you? In this time of rampant greed and unprecedented hardship for middle America, what helps you get back up when you stumble?
Hope I get better at this blogging thing. Stay tuned and find out. Happy Journey and Keep on Getting back Up.
Leigh
This is clear in martial arts practice where a true practitioner screws up (think Jackie Chan out-takes) and must jump back up and figure it out. Then it's on to the next mistake and we fix that too, and so on, etc. Nothing like falling on your tail, or getting the wind knocked out of you to keep the ego in check and the hands up protecting while you edge your way in for your attack.
This concept may be easier for those of us used to making mistakes, shrugging it off (hopefully after we learn from it) and moving on to the next step on the path. This is especially true for writers who constantly, no matter how successful, face rejection and uncertainty. We get so used to hearing "Not Interested", "No, Thank You" or my personal favorite, "Love the Story. Writing's Great. We just can't sell it. Send me the Next One". Yea. Right. Good wine, soft cheese, chocolate, bubble bath, a good cry and then get up tomorrow and start something new.
This works for me most of the time. Sometimes the rejection is more acute and brushing it off takes days. When this happens I'm lucky. I get to go to the dojo, surrounded by people I respect and trust and have not only an affinity for, but, a deep and abiding loyalty and then I get to punch and kick at them until I can barely suck air into my raw, burning lungs. Something about this soothes my savage beast and puts everything back into perspective. The planets align and I can once again breathe without being heart-sick.
In our dojo you get knocked down six times, you get up seven. It's the best way to roll with the punches I know. How about you? In this time of rampant greed and unprecedented hardship for middle America, what helps you get back up when you stumble?
Hope I get better at this blogging thing. Stay tuned and find out. Happy Journey and Keep on Getting back Up.
Leigh
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