"Don't talk to strangers!"
An admonishment I often heard from my Mom and Grandma while growing up. Apparently I never understood their advice. If someone showed an interest in talking to me, I talked back! Granted, this was in a safer time. A time when reading the newspaper, and watching the local news on a black and white television every night at 6pm was the primary source of news for most. A time before Amber Alerts. When kidnappings were a very rare thing and apparently happened only to people who had influence and money.
The fear that your child is going to be snatched when you turn your back is not a new fear. Parents hover protectively over their children from the time they are born. It is only natural that we begin to teach our young early on that talking to strangers is risky business. You just never know what lies around the corner, waiting to turn your world upside down.
Once, I threw a fit about something in a department store. As the story goes, I was around three years old. My Mom and Grandma were out shopping and somewhere along the way I became stubborn and began to cry. We were all walking, no shopping cart or stroller to contain me. I was an independent little girl they say. As the fit escalated I threw myself down onto the store floor and continued to wail. My Mom looked down at me and calmly said, "When you are done throwing your fit, you can catch up with Grandma and me." She continued walking down the aisle. I continued to throw my fit, but Grandma slipped off to the side, hid behind a clothes rack and watched. Once I realized that my Mom was walking away from me and I was going to be alone in that big, scary store, I straightened up, quit crying and scrambled to catch up with her. Grandma slipped back into the aisle and quietly took my hand as we continued on our way.
Today, I love talking to strangers! I love talking to people in general. I learn a lot from casual conversations with common, every day folk. People just like me, who have fears and joys, stories and concerns. People who just enjoy talking because it makes them happy.
I often feel "butterflies" in my tummy when I am facing something new and I wonder if it is because I watched my Mom walk off that day and leave me wailing in the aisle. I don't think that it was cruel of her to do what she did. It taught me a few lessons. Lessons that have stuck with me for over 50 years. Throwing a fit doesn't accomplish much. There is safety in numbers. The world can be a scary place when you face it alone. Trust the ones you love, even when you don't necessarily agree with their actions or advice. There is usually someone watching out for you when you are out of control and when you calm down, they resume their place by your side.
I am nervous right now. I have sent out the invitations for my very first book signing event. I chose to have my first book signing at our home, where things are familiar and I will have my husband and two very close family members there as support and encouragement. But I am nervous. What if no one shows up? What if no one is interested in my book? What if they don't like my home? What if they don't like what I am serving? What if my hand cramps up and I can't write my name? What if...what if...what if?
I have invited my neighbors and writing peers, along with some family and close friends, but even though I feel like I may have a good turn-out, that nagging "What if..." still flutters in my tummy. In essence, this is my "coming out" party! I am showcasing my hard work and celebrating a milestone that has been years in the making. I look forward to sharing my excitement with those around me, but if I am being perfectly honest here, I am currently a social butterfly with nervous wings.
One week from today my event will be here. One week from today, our home will be dressed and ready for company. One week from today, the pies will be cut, the coffee and tea hot, the table set as I anxiously await the ringing of the doorbell to announce that at least ONE person shares in my excitement besides my husband! One week from today, you may feel an extra breeze around you. My nervous wings will be working overtime, stirring up the air. When you feel that breeze, say an extra prayer for me that all will be well, and people will enjoy themselves. After all, that is what this is all about, sharing my joy with those around me and seeing them smile! Who knows, maybe a stranger will wander in and we will chat. I will smile and look to the heavens, thanking my Mom and Grandma for giving me the courage to just be me even when I talk to strangers!
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
The Chromosome that explains Y.
I'm an X. I had a Y along the way in the genetic code, but not being a scientist or a geneticist, I cannot explain to you where it went and why I became a double XX. Eating too many pasta dishes may have had something to do with that, but honestly, that is for another blog.
Way, way back in time, when all of the stars were lined up just perfectly for my creation to begin, it was determined by the good Lord above that I would be a girl. I'm not sure how I got so lucky. But I did, and I am forever grateful. I have fully embraced being a girl from the time I was tiny to this very minute. I love everything about my gender. I would not want to trade places with my male counterparts for all the pasta in Italy. Nor, I suspect, do any of them wish to trade places with me!
My second book is well under way. Okay, well under way may be stretching things, but it's coming along. Character development is key in the early chapters of a book, as is the plot. Herein lies the problem, that darn Y chromosome that dropped off into the black void when my cells were dividing in rapid succession 55 years ago. When I lost that chromosome I lost the ability to think like a male. I am after all, a female. I have been a female all of my life.
Oh, I've lived with my husband, who is a male through and through, for 63% of my life, but that really hasn't helped me think like he thinks. In fact, I think I think less like he thinks now than I did when we had only lived together for .04% of my life. You would think I would have learned something about how a man thinks over the course of 35 years, but I am here to tell you, I have not.
"The Liars' Club: Town Hall Chapter" is my new book, written from the male perspective by me, a female author. Talk about a the ultimate dichotomy! I am wrestling with tone and timbre, inflection and tempo. Typically, I am wordy and flowery in my descriptions and writing. Men are clear cut and concise. Do you know how difficult it is for a woman like me to just get to the bottom line? For heaven's sake. If there is a line in front of me, with say, seven people waiting to check out, chances are I will know something about at least three or four of those people before I reach the check out clerk, and then I will learn something interesting about that clerk as well! My husband on the other hand could not even tell you the color of a woman's jacket standing directly in front of him for twelve minutes while he was waiting to pay for his purchases. He could however, recite to you every shot he took on a golf course in the summer of 1981 in Kankakee, Illinois and tell you what the weather was like and where every water hazard was while we were moving along in that line!
How do I wiggle my way into the male psyche with this terribly slanted female perspective? Oh, the challenge. My peers are offering all kinds of suggestions--read Women are from Venus; Men are from Mars or hang out at the sports bar on a Sunday afternoons or watch the Superbowl with your husband and his friends. In essence, a crash course in male bonding rituals. Oh my aching head!
As an author, research is paramount to a believable storyline. After all, if your facts don't line up because you have not done your research, then your credibility goes straight out the window, unless of course you are a fantasy writer where you have card blanche to write whatever your heart desires because the facts are made up anyway!
So, do I suddenly start belching after supper, scratch myself in inappropriate places, and laugh loudly and slap my friends on the back when they say something remotely funny in order to understand where men are coming from? Of course not, my husband doesn't do any of those things. He is a gentle man, a quiet man, an intelligent man. He takes time to think through things and doesn't act impulsively. He is calm and collected in a crisis. He has reasoning ability beyond my comprehension and he is trustworthy and loves deeply. I am a lucky woman. I hit the jackpot when I met him at the tender age of 15. I have learned a lot from him over the years, but I still have difficulty understanding how he thinks.
So, for now, I think my best option is to continue being the observant person that I am. Listen intently to my husband and male friends when they are sharing their lives with me and learn from them just what makes them tick. Who better to help me understand the male psyche, than those I love most, the men in my life?
Way, way back in time, when all of the stars were lined up just perfectly for my creation to begin, it was determined by the good Lord above that I would be a girl. I'm not sure how I got so lucky. But I did, and I am forever grateful. I have fully embraced being a girl from the time I was tiny to this very minute. I love everything about my gender. I would not want to trade places with my male counterparts for all the pasta in Italy. Nor, I suspect, do any of them wish to trade places with me!
My second book is well under way. Okay, well under way may be stretching things, but it's coming along. Character development is key in the early chapters of a book, as is the plot. Herein lies the problem, that darn Y chromosome that dropped off into the black void when my cells were dividing in rapid succession 55 years ago. When I lost that chromosome I lost the ability to think like a male. I am after all, a female. I have been a female all of my life.
Oh, I've lived with my husband, who is a male through and through, for 63% of my life, but that really hasn't helped me think like he thinks. In fact, I think I think less like he thinks now than I did when we had only lived together for .04% of my life. You would think I would have learned something about how a man thinks over the course of 35 years, but I am here to tell you, I have not.
"The Liars' Club: Town Hall Chapter" is my new book, written from the male perspective by me, a female author. Talk about a the ultimate dichotomy! I am wrestling with tone and timbre, inflection and tempo. Typically, I am wordy and flowery in my descriptions and writing. Men are clear cut and concise. Do you know how difficult it is for a woman like me to just get to the bottom line? For heaven's sake. If there is a line in front of me, with say, seven people waiting to check out, chances are I will know something about at least three or four of those people before I reach the check out clerk, and then I will learn something interesting about that clerk as well! My husband on the other hand could not even tell you the color of a woman's jacket standing directly in front of him for twelve minutes while he was waiting to pay for his purchases. He could however, recite to you every shot he took on a golf course in the summer of 1981 in Kankakee, Illinois and tell you what the weather was like and where every water hazard was while we were moving along in that line!
How do I wiggle my way into the male psyche with this terribly slanted female perspective? Oh, the challenge. My peers are offering all kinds of suggestions--read Women are from Venus; Men are from Mars or hang out at the sports bar on a Sunday afternoons or watch the Superbowl with your husband and his friends. In essence, a crash course in male bonding rituals. Oh my aching head!
As an author, research is paramount to a believable storyline. After all, if your facts don't line up because you have not done your research, then your credibility goes straight out the window, unless of course you are a fantasy writer where you have card blanche to write whatever your heart desires because the facts are made up anyway!
So, do I suddenly start belching after supper, scratch myself in inappropriate places, and laugh loudly and slap my friends on the back when they say something remotely funny in order to understand where men are coming from? Of course not, my husband doesn't do any of those things. He is a gentle man, a quiet man, an intelligent man. He takes time to think through things and doesn't act impulsively. He is calm and collected in a crisis. He has reasoning ability beyond my comprehension and he is trustworthy and loves deeply. I am a lucky woman. I hit the jackpot when I met him at the tender age of 15. I have learned a lot from him over the years, but I still have difficulty understanding how he thinks.
So, for now, I think my best option is to continue being the observant person that I am. Listen intently to my husband and male friends when they are sharing their lives with me and learn from them just what makes them tick. Who better to help me understand the male psyche, than those I love most, the men in my life?
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop." ~ Lewis Carroll
"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop." ~ Lewis Carroll
A step back into time.
August 30, 2012
I have a voice you know. It defines me as a writer. Some like the timbre of my voice, others cringe, as though the cadence of my words are screeching down the chalkboard of their mind. But that’s okay. At least I have elicited a response and really, isn’t that what we aspire to do as writers? Elicit a response?
I wonder, will the baby steps I am taking by building this blog help me in the process of publishing my book? It certainly can’t hurt, and by putting myself “out” here, raw and transparent, surely someone will hear me and respond. I am doing a lot of research about the world of publishing and I don’t always like what I find. It is a pretty cut throat business. It is not for the faint of heart. I am careening toward the conclusion that it will be brutal. But with determination and a solid network it is attainable. This blog is the beginning of my broader network. After all, I only have so many neighbors, friends and family members who will throw some cash down for a signed copy of my book. So, logically, building a solid, reliable network is key to my overall goal. A goal which may surprise you. My goal is not to climb my way to the top of the best sellers list. My goal is to make a name for myself so that people nod their heads and say, “Yeah, I’ve read her books” when they stop and chat at a bookstore or in a library.
I want my readers to be able to relate to me as a person AND a writer. I want to transport them beyond their everyday lives into the lives of my characters and give them a reason to escape for a little while. I want to paint word pictures that capture their imaginations. I want to feed their courtship with reading. I want them to live vicariously through my voice. Which brings us full circle. Voice, network, publish, move and voice.
‘Tis an arduous task. But I am up for the challenge. My very first challenge is to be heard. So again I say, “Hello out there! Does anybody hear me?” Go forth and write!
My son-in-law found an old blog that I started a couple of years ago.
The entry above is from that blog.
Today, January 21, 2014
I
am
a
PUBLISHED AUTHOR!
It is amazing how far I have come!
Lewis Carroll was a wise man,
"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end; then stop."
I'm not at the end yet. I have more to say. It's not time to stop.
I think I'll go to the library and pick up a copy of Alice in Wonderland.
We're never too old to revisit the past.
August 30, 2012
Hello?
Is anybody out there?
Monday, January 20, 2014
It will only hurt until it stops hurting.
Ouch! I could never get a tattoo. It would hurt too much, and I have an aversion to pain. I had breast cancer in 2001. Radiation was part of my treatment plan. I had to have three very small pin-prick tattoo marks showing where my radiation points triangulated for future reference in my medical care. Those three itty-bitty pin-prick tattoo marks hurt like the dickens - to coin an old phrase my Grandma used when I was a little sprite - I cannot imagine what a beautiful work of art, spread across an arm or back or side, would feel like as it was being created over a few hours, days, or weeks. This art form is exploding in pop culture today.
My friend recently said to me that she felt like a minority while we were sitting at a trendy restaurant waiting for our husbands to join us for supper. I looked around, puzzled as to why she would think that and looked at her inquiringly. Her response surprised me. "Look around us, we are like the only people here who do not have tattoo's." And she was right. Besides the small children and a table of octogenarians behind us, everyone had a tattoo. (I think I saw a snake with a skull head on the calf of one of the octogenarians if the truth be told here.)
Anyway, tattoos are very prevalent in society today. The artistry involved is often astoundingly beautiful, the colors so vivid and vibrant. It is like reading an open book about the life of the one who proudly wears their story for all to see.
The evolution of tattooing has come a long way from the tattoos my Uncle's got when they were in World War II and the Korean War. A small anchor or a gal's name inked onto a bicep or forearm using a weird blue-green ink that always seemed to be blurry somehow. Today, complete pallets containing multiple story lines are created over long periods of time, blending time lines and tributes that have lasting meaning to their human canvases. It is truly amazing when you think about it.
This past weekend, I read several articles regarding new studies surrounding the risks involved with unregulated inks used by tattoo artists and the long-term effects these inks could have on those who get tattoos. We don't know the full ramifications of these studies, but it caused me to pause and think about the validity of what the studies are trying to determine. Unregulated inks, pigmentation, going beneath the skins surface and traveling into the blood stream, becoming a permanent part of the body. Some of these pigmentation's are the same that are used for auto body painting. What might that be doing to the body that they become a part of? Nano particle technology was mentioned. Lymph nodes were mentioned. It is all new, there are no parameters by which to base a conclusion, but it causes one to wonder. Is it safe? I've had cancer. It is ugly. I never want to have it again. I don't want to risk introducing carcinogen's into my bloodstream in the name of art. I will tell my story using words and admire the risks takers from afar.
My friend recently said to me that she felt like a minority while we were sitting at a trendy restaurant waiting for our husbands to join us for supper. I looked around, puzzled as to why she would think that and looked at her inquiringly. Her response surprised me. "Look around us, we are like the only people here who do not have tattoo's." And she was right. Besides the small children and a table of octogenarians behind us, everyone had a tattoo. (I think I saw a snake with a skull head on the calf of one of the octogenarians if the truth be told here.)
Anyway, tattoos are very prevalent in society today. The artistry involved is often astoundingly beautiful, the colors so vivid and vibrant. It is like reading an open book about the life of the one who proudly wears their story for all to see.
The evolution of tattooing has come a long way from the tattoos my Uncle's got when they were in World War II and the Korean War. A small anchor or a gal's name inked onto a bicep or forearm using a weird blue-green ink that always seemed to be blurry somehow. Today, complete pallets containing multiple story lines are created over long periods of time, blending time lines and tributes that have lasting meaning to their human canvases. It is truly amazing when you think about it.
This past weekend, I read several articles regarding new studies surrounding the risks involved with unregulated inks used by tattoo artists and the long-term effects these inks could have on those who get tattoos. We don't know the full ramifications of these studies, but it caused me to pause and think about the validity of what the studies are trying to determine. Unregulated inks, pigmentation, going beneath the skins surface and traveling into the blood stream, becoming a permanent part of the body. Some of these pigmentation's are the same that are used for auto body painting. What might that be doing to the body that they become a part of? Nano particle technology was mentioned. Lymph nodes were mentioned. It is all new, there are no parameters by which to base a conclusion, but it causes one to wonder. Is it safe? I've had cancer. It is ugly. I never want to have it again. I don't want to risk introducing carcinogen's into my bloodstream in the name of art. I will tell my story using words and admire the risks takers from afar.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Circles
Circles
I need to write a poem, said the writer to her muse.
I don't know what to tell you, said the muse to her writer.
That's no help, groused the writer to the space around her.
A twig scratched the window outside.
The writer sighed and felt a chilly breeze swirl around her ankles.
What are you trying to tell me?
You never listen anyway, grumbled the muse in response.
Why am I arguing with you?
I don't know, I'm a muse, it's a little nutty, if you ask me.
You're telling me.
You need therapy.
Go away.
You called me here.
Now I'm telling you to go away.
What about the poem?
I'm not going to write one now.
Too late, laughed the muse.
You are annoying.
A breeze blew the curtain around the writers face.
The writer swore she heard a giggle in the distance.
~ Sheleena Courtney, 2014 ©
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
WIN AN AUTOGRAPHED COPY OF "LIFE ACCORDING TO THE SIP & KNIT LADIES"
GIVEAWAY!! Chance to WIN an AUTOGRAPHED COPY of "Life According to the Sip & Knit Ladies"
http://tinyurl.com/pqtms5d
These are exciting days over at my Facebook Page for "Life According to the Sip & Knit Ladies"! We are growing in leaps and bounds! Soon we will hit a new milestone of 250 LIKES!! When we do, I will be giving some lucky winner an autographed copy of my newly released book. So head on over and LIKE my page for YOUR chance to win!! Good luck!
~ Sheleena
http://tinyurl.com/pqtms5d
These are exciting days over at my Facebook Page for "Life According to the Sip & Knit Ladies"! We are growing in leaps and bounds! Soon we will hit a new milestone of 250 LIKES!! When we do, I will be giving some lucky winner an autographed copy of my newly released book. So head on over and LIKE my page for YOUR chance to win!! Good luck!
~ Sheleena
"Joy is peace dancing, peace is joy at rest" ~ F.B. Meyer
~ The above has been my life quote for many, many years ~
Eight years ago, while my husband and two youngest daughters were hiking in the jungles of Haiti on a mission trip and I was holding down the fort back home, keeping the fires burning at our restaurant in west central Indiana, I had an idea. I clicked buy on a website and purchased a laptop that would later be delivered to my doorstep via UPS. That purchase was the beginning of a journey that brought me to where I am today. A little idea about a yarn shop and some wacky women led me to the newfound, exciting world of publishing! I am an author!
It didn't take me eight years to write my book.
I had the idea eight years ago.
I told two dear friends about my idea--Wendy and Bethany--they just smiled at me and looked at me with that, "Uh-huh, that's nice," kind of look that people who are not quite sure about your sanity give you when they are just being nice because they are nice people. You know the look. I get that look quite often, from many people who know me. Maybe it's because my sanity is often questioned by those who know me best. Anyway, Wendy and Bethany asked me from time to time over the years if I was working on my book. I would answer, "Oh, I've written a few pages here and there." Which was a truthful answer, but I just never went any further than a few page here and there.
Fast forward to 2012.
Our youngest daughter, bless her heart, met and married the love of her life.
She married Bill on what would have been the 65th Anniversary of her Grandparent's, my Mom and Daddy ~ March 31st, 2012. It was a beautiful day for the beautiful couple and the legacy of
being married on the same day as her grandparents. Many happy tears were shed.
Fast forward again.
May 2012.
My husband and I closed our restaurant, sold our home, most of our possessions, and packed up most of what was left over (including that crazy laptop purchased nearly six years prior), shoved it all into a 24 foot U-Haul truck, 8-foot trailer and/or our SUV and headed to Central Florida.
Fast forward again.
June 2012.
I wandered into my first Writer's Guild meeting.
It was here that I gathered the courage and encouragement to finally allow my ladies to spring to life. For the next eighteen months, the Sip & Knit ladies became my friends and confidants.
Each week I would write and read their story to my peers.
Each week my peers would help me pare and hone their story.
Each week we all would embrace their world.
In short, we all wanted to know more about these women I was creating!
Patience is a tedious exercise.
Exercise.
When someone tells me they enjoy exercise my left eyebrow twitches.
I do not enjoy exercise. I find it boring and repetitive.
So even though I am an extremely patient person...I could wait until the cows come home
on any given day of the week...I would not want to be exercising while I was waiting for said cows to come wandering into the pasture.
Anyway, cows and exercise have absolutely nothing to do with anything I am talking about.
I wrote a book.
I had an idea eight years ago.
I bought a laptop eight years ago because I had an idea.
Wendy and Bethany thought I was a little cuckoo eight years ago.
They probably still think I am a little cuckoo.
Eighteen months ago I really started exercising my brain and my fingers.
Six weeks ago I launched my book!
Today I am an author!
I am gaining fans!
It's an exercise in patience.
Joy is peace dancing, peace is joy at rest.
I am resting in the joy!
Welcome to my wacky world!!
Monday, January 13, 2014
Jeepers, creepers...where'd you get those peepers?
I picked up new peepers today. My eyes are shifting. In a few weeks I will reach a milestone birthday...the speed limit...double nickels...the big 55...and for some reason my eyes have decided that they don't want to grow old with me. It's odd, they've gotten better, refocused, and cleared up a bit. So, I had to get new glasses. Funny how that happens. Some things break down, sag, wrinkle, droop, and leak while other things get better.
To celebrate my milestones ~ I am going to have a book signing here at our home on my birthday in a few weeks (February 4th). The evening shall be called, "A Big Birthday Book Signing Bash" and I will serve home made pies, coffee, and teas to my friends to go along with the theme of my book.
I wish my Sip & Knit ladies were "real" so they could join us. It would be so much fun to see what Marty would wear, or to have Olma May keep track of how many pieces of pie Mrs. Baldock ate. It would be delightful to introduce Hugh Clancy and Jerrilou to everyone.
But I digress. Book signings are a lot of fun! My friend, and fellow writer, Judi Cianci, and I have several coming up. So stay tuned. You just never know where these peepers might take me. We may be in a shopping center near you! You just never know!! I'm excited about the days ahead. Meeting new people, telling them about my book, and signing it for new fans--that's what it's all about! Making people happy!!
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Standing on the precipice...
Standing on a glass bottom bridge
300 feet above the gorge on the edge of the French Broad River in Seiver County, Tennessee
Last October, my husband and I traveled from our home in central Florida, north through the Carolina's, across the beautiful Blue Ridge Parkway into eastern Tennessee, to see our oldest daughter and her family. While we were there, we ventured down to the Pigeon Forge area and found this wonderful glass bottom bridge. I am an adventurous person, curious by nature, and always ready to try something new. This glass bottom bridge jutting 135 feet out over the gorge and 300 feet above the French Broad River fascinated me. I couldn't wait to walk out there! My daughter and husband on the other hand were not too sure about it. They went with me, but were not nearly as thrilled about the experience as I was! The picture above was taken with my iPad. The view was stunning and absolutely breathtaking.
My husband, granddaughter, and me
French Broad River stretching out behind us in the background
As I think about my journey in writing, I realize that it is very much like my experience on the glass bottom bridge and the beautiful French Broad River. The words have always been there, just like the water flowing down the river. But just as the river is held in check by river banks on each side and the flow is contained and directed, so are my words. I have limited experience in the world of writing for publication, so I rely on the knowledge of those with more experience to guide me through the maze of confusion and obstacles. Then there is the glass bottom bridge. I had to have a willingness to trust that the bridge was not going to collapse and that although I could see through the solid surface that I was walking on, it would carry me to the end safely where I would be able to take in all the glorious beauty around, above and below me. Publishing my first book was like walking on that glass bottom bridge. I had to step into the world of publishing without fear and trepidation. I had to trust that those who read my words would see the beauty around, above and below any human errors I may have made in my journey to becoming a published author, and I had to stand in awe and absorb my success when that first proof book arrived in the mail. Realizing that you can conquer your fears, capture your inner strength, overcome your greatest obstacles, challenge the naysayers, revel in your successes, and realize your dreams is the best feeling in the world! Just like standing on the precipice 300 feet above the French Broad River with nothing between you and a gorgeous gorge except a sheet of glass, publishing your first book is thrilling! Both experiences are breathtaking!
Friday, January 10, 2014
Imperfect timing
Time is of the essence. Time marches on. There simply is not enough time. What time is it? If I've told you once, I've told you time and time again, if I only had enough time. Time to go! Excuse me, do you have the time? I'm sorry, you have run out of time.
Twenty-four hours in one day seems like a workable and reasonable allotment of time to accomplish the things that need to get done in the business of life on a daily basis. Yet more often than not, those 1,440 minutes just never seem to stretch far enough to get it all done. So we expand our thought process and think, Hey, I have 86,400 seconds to get this done, that's plenty of time! But time has no mercy for the procrastinator and keeps on ticking without regard to our harried and frenetic protests. So, we readjust our priorities, pare away the unnecessary, focus on the most important, and give ourselves additional time. When we allow ourselves extra time, tomorrow becomes the today we thought about yesterday and suddenly we realize that we now have 259,200 seconds to accomplish that vitally important task at the top of our 'to do' list. Now we have 4,320 minutes to 'git 'er done' and our twenty-four hour time slot blossoms into seventy-two hours! Finally, we can breathe and wiggle the kinks out of our tense shoulders. It's all going to work out. There is plenty of time!
I am a notorious procrastinator. I am a poor manager of time. I flit from one thing to another with nary a backward glance, only to remember later that I need to finish something I started long before I got distracted. This has brought me to the conclusion that blogging is an exercise in discipline and time management. Dangerous territory for a woman who wanders through life one adventure at a time.
Here is a perfect example: One morning recently, I found a fairy-ring of toadstools around a squat palm while out riding around in our golf cart. Instead of passing glance at this delightful surprise of nature, I had to stop, pull out my camera, and take multiple pictures from various angles of this unexpected fairy resort. My mind began to conjure up all kinds of stories that could explain why fairies would need a Floridian resort. After about twenty minutes spent photographing and reveling in the spontaneity of my find, I realized that once again my imagination had hijacked my schedule and I was hopelessly behind on my 'to do' list for the day, again. My poor husband would have to eat a cold bologna sandwich for supper instead of the delicious crockpot chicken that I had planned to make before deciding that the day was just perfect for a ride through our neighborhood in our golf cart. To my dismay, the crockpot was still sitting on the shelf in the pantry and the chicken was in the freezer, while I was fantasizing about what the fairies were doing at their 5-star resort!
I am never at a loss for words, but sometimes I am quiet. I love to share my thoughts, writing comes easily to me, but time is a fleeting and often an elusive phenomenon that stretches the patience of those around me. Which brings me to the point of this entry. Blogging is my new exercise in discipline. Perhaps, in time, blogging will strengthen my time management skills. Perhaps it will befuddle my readers, it's hard to say, really. But through it all I think you will gain an understanding of my absolutely distracted personality. After all, isn't that what blogging is all about? Peeking into the mind of the writer, one word at a time? Wander with me. I'm on an interesting journey through time!
Twenty-four hours in one day seems like a workable and reasonable allotment of time to accomplish the things that need to get done in the business of life on a daily basis. Yet more often than not, those 1,440 minutes just never seem to stretch far enough to get it all done. So we expand our thought process and think, Hey, I have 86,400 seconds to get this done, that's plenty of time! But time has no mercy for the procrastinator and keeps on ticking without regard to our harried and frenetic protests. So, we readjust our priorities, pare away the unnecessary, focus on the most important, and give ourselves additional time. When we allow ourselves extra time, tomorrow becomes the today we thought about yesterday and suddenly we realize that we now have 259,200 seconds to accomplish that vitally important task at the top of our 'to do' list. Now we have 4,320 minutes to 'git 'er done' and our twenty-four hour time slot blossoms into seventy-two hours! Finally, we can breathe and wiggle the kinks out of our tense shoulders. It's all going to work out. There is plenty of time!
I am a notorious procrastinator. I am a poor manager of time. I flit from one thing to another with nary a backward glance, only to remember later that I need to finish something I started long before I got distracted. This has brought me to the conclusion that blogging is an exercise in discipline and time management. Dangerous territory for a woman who wanders through life one adventure at a time.
Here is a perfect example: One morning recently, I found a fairy-ring of toadstools around a squat palm while out riding around in our golf cart. Instead of passing glance at this delightful surprise of nature, I had to stop, pull out my camera, and take multiple pictures from various angles of this unexpected fairy resort. My mind began to conjure up all kinds of stories that could explain why fairies would need a Floridian resort. After about twenty minutes spent photographing and reveling in the spontaneity of my find, I realized that once again my imagination had hijacked my schedule and I was hopelessly behind on my 'to do' list for the day, again. My poor husband would have to eat a cold bologna sandwich for supper instead of the delicious crockpot chicken that I had planned to make before deciding that the day was just perfect for a ride through our neighborhood in our golf cart. To my dismay, the crockpot was still sitting on the shelf in the pantry and the chicken was in the freezer, while I was fantasizing about what the fairies were doing at their 5-star resort!
I am never at a loss for words, but sometimes I am quiet. I love to share my thoughts, writing comes easily to me, but time is a fleeting and often an elusive phenomenon that stretches the patience of those around me. Which brings me to the point of this entry. Blogging is my new exercise in discipline. Perhaps, in time, blogging will strengthen my time management skills. Perhaps it will befuddle my readers, it's hard to say, really. But through it all I think you will gain an understanding of my absolutely distracted personality. After all, isn't that what blogging is all about? Peeking into the mind of the writer, one word at a time? Wander with me. I'm on an interesting journey through time!
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Writers are an odd lot...
Sometimes I think it would be interesting to sdrawkcab etirw just to see the comments I would get after posting. Our brains are wired a certain way and when we creative types challenge that wiring system, simultaneous cerebral explosions occur instantaneously. Welcome to my world. A world where viewing things from the downside up, inside out, and sometimes through a squinted left eye only, paint a slightly different picture than what you might see through your two, normally focused eyes.
If we were to meet on the street, greet and take a seat, you would think I am perfectly normal and rather sane by all outward appearances. It is when we start the journey through an untethered brain that the possibility of questions might roust your suspicions about my connection to reality. That's okay. If we all viewed the world in the exact same way, we would be drones and the color of life would be gone...forever. I have made it my personal challenge to keep the colors around me vibrant and deep. Infused with laughter and curiosity, I want those colors to wrap round me and guide me to the intense joy of life.
I am a writer. Not by choice, but certainly by accident. I have a lot to say and sometimes my voice gets tired, so out of necessity I have to write. Words spill out of me like the colored bits of a broken kaleidoscope. No story is simple. It must be explored, absorbed, contemplated, digested, wadded up and tossed about, after all, when telling a story you are painting a word picture. How dull it would be if all word pictures were two dimensional, black and white, sleepy stories. Letting the geometric patterns of a story expand and grow creates one of the most beautiful, captivating, delicious word experiences known to man. So I write.
What will I blog about? It will be interesting to see. My brain hasn't caught up with this new idea yet, so once it does, this blog might make sense...but then again...well, you get the picture! Strap on your goggles and throw on a scarf, it might get a little windy up in the clouds!
Life According to the Sip & Knit Ladies
If we were to meet on the street, greet and take a seat, you would think I am perfectly normal and rather sane by all outward appearances. It is when we start the journey through an untethered brain that the possibility of questions might roust your suspicions about my connection to reality. That's okay. If we all viewed the world in the exact same way, we would be drones and the color of life would be gone...forever. I have made it my personal challenge to keep the colors around me vibrant and deep. Infused with laughter and curiosity, I want those colors to wrap round me and guide me to the intense joy of life.
I am a writer. Not by choice, but certainly by accident. I have a lot to say and sometimes my voice gets tired, so out of necessity I have to write. Words spill out of me like the colored bits of a broken kaleidoscope. No story is simple. It must be explored, absorbed, contemplated, digested, wadded up and tossed about, after all, when telling a story you are painting a word picture. How dull it would be if all word pictures were two dimensional, black and white, sleepy stories. Letting the geometric patterns of a story expand and grow creates one of the most beautiful, captivating, delicious word experiences known to man. So I write.
What will I blog about? It will be interesting to see. My brain hasn't caught up with this new idea yet, so once it does, this blog might make sense...but then again...well, you get the picture! Strap on your goggles and throw on a scarf, it might get a little windy up in the clouds!
Life According to the Sip & Knit Ladies
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