Thursday, January 1, 2015


There are many kinds of medicine.  To me writing is medicine. It guides me through injuries, good times, and difficult changes. I have been one person for so long I am not certain how to go about this thing called change. So I sit.  I think.  I ponder.  I am uncertain still. I am uneasy, wobbly, and sitting in a kind of void.
Photo Courtesy of Martin Cordes

As author Julia Cameron says, "Writing allows us to rewrite our lives.  When injuries are buried instead of acknowledged, they create a potent writer's block."  She suggests 'writing for revenge'.  Try writing 'to show them.'
In the background on the television downstairs I hear the Marine Hymn.  Somehow ironic perhaps, or yet perhaps not.  The fight is on the football field, yet to me it is in my soul. I can't find the right keys on the keyboard. The words I want to write seem to be stuck in a black hole somewhere.  But I know to remain true to myself I must forge ahead and see what comes out.  I have been severely injured.  I don't know how to take a step forward. "One step at a time" I am told. 
Yesterday I mentioned I had not written since February 8th of last year.  Since then I have been blocked, having to put my sole focus on something else. It was folly to think I could sit down and the words could come out of my fingertips in any meaningful way.  I have temporarily been leeched of my writing power. But hope comes, as I hear what Cameron says, "Made conscious, our creative villains can be actively faced down."  So today I will try to write for revenge. 
Writing is who I am and the words I write show this.
Today is bleak and cold, depressing, and wet here in South Texas.  Winter storm warnings are in effect.  The glitter and glitz of the past holiday is weakened and solemn. Music is missing.The world seems asleep and somewhat numb.  This morning I listen to my life.  There is something missing.  I am missing joy...unbridled joy. It has been sucked out of me.  I want to remember, no I must remember, what it feels likes to be wrapped in layers of laughter, joy, love, respect and peace.  But I don't seem to be able to remember that right now.
I like to say I feel 'bended, folded, stapled and mutilated'.  That pretty much says it all.  But does writing make that feeling vanish and do I feel revenge? Or is it in the focus of writing and no longer being a puppet where I will find solace.  When I write I am quite clearly rearranging my life and my thoughts.  There is a clear beginning and an ending.  My life this past year was focused on something I was not prepared for, nor qualified for.  It took a great toll on me, both mentally and physically.  But what I did, I did with passion, love, and discipline. I did the best I could. Now I yearn to return to writing. And in so doing I will rearrange my life and 'show them.'

I remember when I divorced in 1992. My ex bid me farewell with "You will never make it without me."  Well guess what...I have written 57 books, owned and operated three bed and breakfasts, founded multiple non profits and still have a roof over my head and food on the table and warm furry best friends at my feet that love me no matter what.

I have much knowledge to share and will begin that journey.  The new year will be a new beginning and an ending at the same time.  I will no longer be battered, and I will no longer let my dreams and goals and skills be stifled. Today I begin writing not out of anger, angst, outrage or indignation. 

Today I write for joy!


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