The Character Arc of Covid

Who are we, and what do we stand for?

As a writer, this is an important question to answer about your characters before writing a single word—the “who” and “what” is the central basis of why our characters do anything. If you don’t know the answers–you’re going to have an uphill battle in the piece you’re writing.

This is a conversation I recently had with my twelve-year-old son. At school, he’s learning about “The Hero’s Journey,” which is, by far, the most epic of all plot journeys. But my child is unimpressed. He has no urge to watch Frodo and Sam hike across Middle Earth to Mount Doom. He has even less interest in knowing the story of Katniss Everdeen. His one passion and love are comic strips–and character arc is the enemy of a good comic strip. Can you imagine Garfield deciding it is time to treat John and Odie with love and respect? Or if he went on a diet and gave up lasagna? This would mark the end of Garfield’s antics and laughter because no one tunes in to see him change. They keep reading to watch him mess up. This deep love of comic strips or slapstick driven stories makes it difficult to explain what a character arc is and why it’s crucial to story craft. So I did what I know he’ll understand the best–and I made it about him.

As in writing, so is in life. While Garfield had better never changed, I know for sure, my son will. It’s a natural character arc. He will grow up and move out, etc. But that’s too far off, so I picked something much closer: the Covid pandemic and 2020 in general.

My son and I have witnessed much in the decade+ years of his life, but there has been nothing like Covid before now. This is true for all of humankind.

We’ve been hit with an event so large, we’re simultaneously being forced through the grinder of life. In short, we have to learn, adapt, and grow to archive and survive. Early this month, LA Magazine published an article stating that “According to 28 American and British historians surveyed by virtual therapy company Bloom, 2020 was one of the most stressful years in history. The historians ranked this year among the top ten most stressful both in U.S. and world history, just below years marred by tragedies such as the American Civil War, the Black Death, the Holocaust, and the sack of Rome.” After each of these events, came great change.

This extraordinary time has forced us to twist, bend, mold, and shove ourselves into new versions of our old lives. Our jobs have changedOur schools have gone online. How we socialize is entirely different, from staying connected with friends and family to meet that “special someone” it’s not like it used to be–even a little. At the same time, divorce is on the rise, “For some couples, pandemic friction has involved a few more fights about the laundry or the savings account. For others, the lockdown has exposed issues that run deeper and offered ample time for reflection, leaving them to wonder about their options for pursuing separation during the pandemic.” We’ve seen those we love get sick and die. We’ve seen chaos. We’ve been abandoned. We’ve been picked back up. It’s been a nonstop roller coaster for going on a year here in America–and the rest of the world.

So, of all the things we may never have in common–we have this. We have Covid-19, and we have how Covid-19 has changed us. We have grown as people. In great depths, we have learned if our relationships with ourselves, our partners, our friends, our families are the real deal. Will they last? Are the bonds we’ve cultivated strong enough to keep us together? And we have learned if it’s time to sever ties and move on.

I am barely scratching the surface with my examples. But no matter who you are, I’m certain you have had a major character arc in your life story. I can say this with certainty: We are not now, nor will we ever be who we were before 2020 and Covid-19. Even if you thought your life was fine how it was, you have grown, you have changed, and you are no You 2.0.

After speaking with my son, I asked this question on Facebook, “What has been your Covid-19 story arc?” and only received one reply–so I’ll accept that maybe we aren’t ready to divulge such a personal answer publicly. Or, maybe you haven’t thought about it, but I’m telling you, you should.

What is your arc? How have you changed? How has the Covid pandemic touched you? As I used this example with my son, I saw a light bulb flip on. From something as simple as, “I’m a foot taller than I was before Covid,” to something more emotional, “I’ve learned it’s hard to be so isolated,” we all have a story to tell.

If you’re a writer, self-examination is a fantastic way to learn who you are as a writer and who your characters are. Yes, you should read, read, read, and you should write, write, write–but taking a moment to be introspective about who you are, what your journey has been, how you have changed–and what emotions were involved will also help you grow in your craft.

If there is one positive thing you can take from 2020, Covid-19, and what it has done to us as a global society, it’s using this time to know who you are, what you want, and why you want it. These things can unite us and help us grow stronger, and if you nail a perfect Character Arc in the process, good job you.

And if you don’t want to–Garfield hasn’t changed much since 1978. It’s okay if you haven’t either.

Say No to NYE Resolutions!!

Hey, friends! Let’s make a pact that this New Year’s Eve that we won’t make any resolutions. Maybe you want to set a goal. Fine. 

Maybe you like a good vision board to keep you on your path. I get it.

But no New Year’s Resolutions. 

Planning: yes! 

Organizing: for sure! 

None of this wishful thinking and acting like January 1st is a gene’s bottle containing the power to grant you that one wish you’ve always wanted to come true.

Turns out: nothing changes on New Year’s Day. If you want to invite change into your life, you’re going to have to do the work all by yourself.

And you know what else? That is okay!

Please don’t let this post depress you. I’m not saying you can’t create change in your life. I very much believe you (and I) can and will. While the flip of a calendar date does not guarantee general progress and substantial life changes, both are obtainable. Just not by placing all your eggs into the New Year’s Eve Resolution Basket, but by understanding that every single day of the calendar year holds the same potential and magic as January 1st. 

Usually, I wouldn’t even comment on New Year’s Resolutions or suggest you should or should not do something—but this year is different. 2020 was a lot. It has been a constant battle on all fronts, from the pandemic to job loss, and an election that was an emotional battle comparable only to being stalked by a hungry tiger. We’re all tired. 

But know, some good things to ignite in 2020. Firstly, the protests come to mind and the marches. 2020 was the dawning of a new generation that accepts Black Lives Matter as a movement, not merely a dismissable moment. We have removed racist statues across America. The plight of Transgender people has been brought to the forefront — bringing awareness and acceptance with it.

What else? Oh! The Earth can breathe more comfortably, with the amount of carbon released into the atmosphere dropped 17% during the pandemic. I know March 2020 feels like twelve lifetimes ago—but remember as we ran around scared and collected toilet paper like it was the 1990’s and toilet paper was beanie babies—but dolphins swam in the canals of Venice, Italy. The FIRST TIME in sixty years. 

See! It hasn’t been all bad. So let’s not go over board and act like you fail in 2020, and now you have not choice but to punish yourself 2021. Say NO to NYE Resolutions. 

Let’s not pretend this year is the same as any other New Year’s Day. Let’s not set unattainable goals for weight loss. Everyone has gained weight over the last year. How could we not? We’ve been sitting home, eating all day long, watching every single last show on Netflix. But this is not a reason or cause to body shame ourselves into believing the mega-million dollar diet industry is something more than just that: an industry.

I’ve joked with family and friends that over the last nine months, I’ve gained “the Covid 19.” 19 lbs on my hips and midsection sit like a Covid Life Preserver to remind me that I’m less active daily. I’m eating more. I’m sleeping less. 

When is it okay or give yourself a break? Answer: this very second. 

Maybe you’ve been looking for a sign that it is okay not to have a New Year’s resolution. This is that sign! DON’T DO IT! 

Like I said, set a goal. “In 2021, I’d like to tell myself I’m beautiful, every day, and mean it!” But let’s leave all those hurtful resolutions to dissolve with the last seconds in this long year.

Today is December 30th. Take some time to write a list of positive things that have happened to you:

  • I read (number) books
  • I learned to cook
  • I gave up drinking
  • I began a new job

Write a list of things that make you proud of yourself. Tape the list to a wall. Add to it daily.

And if you feel you need to disregard this post—fine—but don’t spend your New Year’s Eve resolution on putting yourself down, shaming yourself, hating yourself. Pick something glorious!! New Year’s Eve resolution is to learn to fly a plane!

Please remember when you are saying those mean things to yourself: The world isn’t a melting pot, it’s a stir-fry, and each of us is the spices that make it unique. You are amazing. Stop saying those things! Stop.

While you may dismiss this post, please consider joining my pact: No More New Year’s Eve Resolutions. Then look yourself in the mirror and say, “I’m a sexy beast!” kiss yourself on the glass, and be happy — because you’re a survivor. 

If 2020 has taught you nothing, let it teach you that. 

Life. The Universe. And COVID-19.

Back in the ’90s, if you would have told me I’d live through a plague, I wouldn’t have believed you. I would have said, “You’re crazy!” shook my head, assumed you were trying to pull a fast one and sighed audibly at your attempt. A decade before that, somewhere in the ’80s, you would have received a better response if you told me the same. Growing up, I was a good catholic girl and had read about plenty of plagues. There were locusts and water that turned to blood, frogs fell from the sky, flies, boils, and hail, to name a few. So, if you said, “Aryn, one day, you’ll live through an honest to God plague!” I would have conjured an image of Moses or God or some other biblical entity and been like, “That’s totally awesome!”

Because even in the bible–plagues are sexy. 

Now, if you weren’t raised reading the Catholic Bible, or any religious books at all, you’re still not ignorant to plagues. You’ve heard of the Black Death. Also a sexy plague. Sexy because it didn’t happen to you. Sexy in a “Man, why were they so dumb? I’m smarter than that!” way. Then, you would think about the Spanish Flu.1918. End of World War I. Also sexy, in a “that’s crazy” kind of way. 

And now, in 2020, here we are in the middle of a plague–and you know what? It’s not sexy in any way at all. However, it may be sexist or racists, depending on who you are. But for everyone, it is mostly depressing.

Even with my love of history and a general understanding of how cyclical it is, I attached myself to the idea that something like a plague could never happen to me. Still, I’ll give myself, and all of you, a pass for not predicting the last, nearly ten months of pandemic bliss on planet earth.

But! And this is a big but, while I can give us all a collective pass on not anticipating a global pandemic of this magnitude in our lifetime, I’m having a hard time giving a pass for how humanity has dealt with it. 

Since March 13th, I have lost my job and been at home with minimal to no venturing outside. If you know me personally, you’ll have a general understanding of how hard this is for me. In the pre-COVID world, I planned my child’s life around his school breaks to include so many day trips, we’re out in the world more than we’re stuck in our apartment. As this plague pulls longer and longer, and the number of times I’ve had to explain to him that COVID-19 is not my personal doing and I’m not intentionally keeping him at home out of punishment for something he said/did is wearing on me, heart and soul. 

Since the beginning, I have spent my days playing schoolmarm, being a best friend, a play companion, a parent, and a cook to a twelve-year-old who ended fifth grade in quarantine and started middle school–at a new school–the same way. In between those moments, I squeezed in workouts, chatted up people on social media, joined a writing critique group, and worked on writing projects and pieces via google drive–because it’s easier to use a platform I can seamlessly jump from device to device. I’ve grown accustomed to drinking too much coffee during the day, too much alcohol at night, and then sleeping too little after that because, as it turns out–none of this is sexy. I have remained inside my apartment nearly all day, every day, for 289 days. When I do go out, I wear my mask, even when I’m jogging. If I’m at the grocery store, I wear latex gloves to be extra safe. 

Some days I’m so crabby I turn off all devices and do nothing but the mom bit. Other days I cuddle my dog and listen to music. The Gods created headphones for this very thing. 

To put it plainly, I am tired. Still, I remind myself I am fortunate. 

I’ve watched the rise of domestic violence in our country; the proof is in police blogs and daily newspapers listed as “murder-suicides.” (Rise in child abuse and abandonment as well.) I’ve monitored how the opioid crisis no one seems to talk about anymore is also taking more and more lives during this time of isolation. Then there is the massive hike in homelessness not only in Los Angeles but across the country as a whole, on top of suicide rates topping the charts. 

I know I am lucky, even if that luck does feel more like survivor’s guilt, the longer this plague continues. Antsy. Tired. Angry. I stay in quarantine to ensure the safety of my family and of those who can’t stay home because they’re essential workers.  

Then I see all the people who don’t stay at home. Those who go to parties and are traveling from one state to another. The people who are hosting picnics and barbeques for birthdays and graduation. And all those who refuse to wear their masks because they believe rantings on Facebook over scientific data. Then, I get angry. 

While I use the word lucky attached to my life, it hasn’t been easy. None of this is easy for any of us. The only difference is how we deal with it. That is the part I’m having issues forgiving. Out one side of everyone’s mouths, we cry for this pandemic to end, and then out the other side, we have that choice to do something about it: stay home or go out.

Back in the ’90s, if you’d known and told me about COVID-19, I wouldn’t have believed you. Right now, as I live through COVID-19 day in and out, I believe every word of it. I also think I’ve had the wrong picture of humanity wedged in my brain all of my life. I embraced the term, “Avoid it like the plague,” not realizing that people would say no when it happened. “I’ll be careful.” “It can’t touch me.” “But, it’s the holidays.” Through all of this, I have learned that we have come to sacrifice community wellness for individual comforts. This idea of embracing ourselves over society has happened for such a long time we can no longer see humankind as part of a global neighborhood. We no longer can accept that sometimes we should do what’s right for everyone–even if the immediate benefits isn’t our own. 

The next leg of this plague for me, I will be working through all this because I don’t want to live in a world where people pick the selfishness of a single moment over kindness for longevity. I’d rather be part of a world where we tip essential workers; we miss this holiday so we can be together at the next one; we believe scientists and doctors, so this pandemic ends. 

So, maybe I didn’t know what 2020 had in store for the world, but I have always believed it’s best to give humankind the benefit of the doubt. So, while I juggle with these emotions, please, be safe, wear a mask, stay home as much as you can. Know, you’re not alone in this. We’ve made it nine months; we can be strong a little longer. 

2 + 2 = Dizzy

It has been 9 months since I lost my job and have been home, every single day.

That’s 268 days of me trying to figure out how to use this “down time” to work on writing. Sad reality is… there is now “down time.”

Yet, here I am, 6432 hours into something that was supposed to last “three weeks.”

385,920 minutes of a situation so repetitive I feel I shouldn’t be moving forward–maybe I’m not moving forward–maybe I’m just spinning in circles. I’ve become a broken clock that twirls on a pin attacked to a cog that isn’t touching anything else.

Well, damn. I guess that’s a top. I am a top.

Yes, sirs and ma’ams, theys and thems — 23,155,200 seconds of me going round and round and round and round… no wonder I’m so damn dizzy.

The world is a blur that has lost its color, pigment drained from the thick black lines outlining what I’d come to perceive as my reality. I’ve found myself missing something I wasn’t sure I liked in the first place–but it’s is the something I knew, the something that was comfortable.

Spinning isn’t comfortable.

Especially without color.

Now, if you’re wondering what is the point of this post? I supposed it’s me sharing with you that I’m not okay. I’m just okay enough. I would say I’m fine but that’s a complete lie and I could say I’m terrible, but it’s not that bad. It’s just the spinning.

One day I hope to post about writing (because I’m still writing) or about books I’m reading (because I’m reading two at this moment — one by Nico Walker and the other by Joe Hill.) Words form in my head to describe them to me but not in my mouth to describe them to you.

Guess I’ll just keep on spinning and hope when I fall the couch is at my side, and I tip in the right direction. Until then, this is me saying, if you’re not okay, you welcome to be not okay with me–we can be not okay together. Until we’re all okay again.

Best,

AS

Never have I ever…

Never have I ever: thought I would see the world in such disarray. I never thought I’d live in a time where I watched my neighbors dance in the street in utter happiness as the last president was voted out. It reminds me of many a history video of a fallen regime and the citizens dancing with joy.

Never have I ever… but it happened.

Never have I ever cried so hard at all the nothing around me because my last nerve balanced my life on its tiny end. Points of pain became so numb I didn’t realize I was bruised and bleeding.

Never have I ever… but I was. I am.

I’ve spent most of the past week working through more emotions than I should have ever felt in the last four years — yet they all came at once. My workout sessions have transformed into mini-self-therapy modules where I jump, squat, bargain, cry, push up, lift, grow angry, and cry some more. And now, other emotions are wiggling their way out of the compartments I tucked them into.

Today, the death of a friend who passed in February hit me hard. Her face popped into my brain as I pressed weights above my head. There she was — right there — floating above me. At first, I talked to her in my head, and then it was a rapid unraveling. She died two weeks before quarantine began a month before her birthday.

And I thought — Never have I ever processed your death, dear friend — I just kept moving. Now, as I exhale for the first time in forever, here you are. I’m sorry.

I have so many plates spinning in the air. It’s my fault; I forgot to count how many I tossed up there and kept adding to them. Now my neck hurts from looking up.

Never have I ever been expected to keep going when it’s so obvious I need to stop. But I can’t stop. There is no stopping. Stopping is certain death, I’m sure of it.

Yet, I worry what the next feeling, memory, a moment will push its way free as I fumble around doing side-planks and whatever is on my HIIT routine that day. What else have I forgotten? I fear it’s so much that I’ll be trapped in 2020 well into 2021.

Never have I ever wanted to celebrate a new year as I do this year in the desert with the roadrunners and coyotes. That’s where perfection is — nature.

A scheduled transformation, sitting on my calendar, reminding me — life’s not all bad.

Never have I ever learned SO MUCH in such a short amount of time. As I process all the things I’ve tuck away, I know that I can process some more.

One burpee at a time. One cry at a time. One apology at a time. With knowing this, I can say:

Never have I ever wanted to be right where I am — at this exact moment. My hand was forced. It will continue to be pushed. With each new memory left to handle, I become a better version of myself.

Never have I ever wanted to play witness to a world on fire. For I would have happily remain in my make-believe land, prancing a joyful dance in long skirts as I hum along to Frederic Chopin’s waltz no.3 in A minor. But, someone struck a match, and left me no choice but to participate in the birth of tomorrow.

Never have I ever… but it burns, and it burns. I spin, and I spin. The world transforms — and no one can stop it.

Never have I ever thought I wanted any of this — until I was left with out a choice — then I did.

Never have I ever, until now.

Dreams. Dreams. Dreams.

pexels-photo-267684

Once upon a time, there was a woman, and she had dreams…

Dreams. Dreams. Dreams.

She loved to soak herself in them like the warmest, most perfect bath, ever drawn.

Dreams. Dreams. Dreams.

Wisps of them–the dreams–wafted off her much like morning dew on a warm summers morning. She loved every second of them. Every single moment of those dreams. They were her happiness.

Then, one day, she realized the world was changing around her. A society that once felt forever stagnate and motionless spun and turn like a possessed top. While she was still tethered to her dreams (dreams. dreams. dreams.) Their tails wrapped around the ball of life, a long, twisted bit of twine created a tangled ring of all her moments in time.

Of all those dreams…

Until she felt stuck.

The dreams that once felt as silky as honeysuckles on a humid night’s breeze transformed. Sweetness went sour. Silk became burlap.

You may think the spinning whipped and turned her around. The tether lassoed to her ankle, wrist, heart–pulled her from her origins, thrusting her into the world. They didn’t. She was a damsel tied to the railroad tracks–a locomotive barreling down on her.

She knew it was wrong. All of it, but she’d become too obsessed, confused, disoriented to begin to understand what was happening. Especially, now… without her:

Dreams.

Dreams.

Dreams.

But one day, a notion dawned upon her. A perfect ‘a-ha’ moment pushed her through the clouds of her mind. What she figured out was none of it is real.

The tether.

The spinning globe.

The disorientation.

They were all illusions conjured by the most wicked evil maker of them all–herself.

…dreams…dreams…dreams…

She’d become so concerned with the outside perception of her she’d neglected her truth. That neglect led to her forgetting who she was and accidentally distanced herself from those                                            dreams.

The moment expanded, growing like a bubble stuck to the tip of a child’s plastic wand. Rainbows and stripes of swirling color encased her. She was the nucleus. She was the yoke floating in the center of it all. And just outside the thin veil separating her from those awful thoughts and her truth–were those dreams.

(dreams. dreams. dreams.)

She knew, while she stared through the stained glass coloring her vision, life was what she decided it to be. She was the creator of her illusion and understood what she stared at the longest became her truth.

Her fingers uncoiled and the tethers released–completely.                                                      Her dreams. All of those…             Dreams. Dreams. Dreams.

Caught in an upward current, floating high above.                                                                                                    Each dream holding every desire she’d ever harbored–bobbing reminders of who, and what, she was.

She was herself. Perfect and true.

She was the right amount of everything because she could never be her or her or even him. And her dreams… all of those dreams! (dreams. dreams. dreams.) kept her afloat and moving forward–high above everything trying to hold her back. High above herself.

The End

 

What, you may ask, is the moral of the story? Simple. You are never too old to dream. Your dreams are valid. Just because someone else doesn’t understand your dreams will never and can never diminish your dreams. And even if your first had your dream many years ago doesn’t mean it’s not the right dream because dreams don’t have expiration dates–they only fade if we give up on them.

You are perfect just as you are.

The Blog Post

It’s so difficult for me to come on here and write. Not because I don’t want to, but because of life. I write and maintain another blog, one for a whole other branch of my life.

The more I do it, the harder it feels. Not because I don’t like it–I do. But this is what I’ve always wanted the most. Writing. It’s been my greatest love since I was seven years old. I married a writer. I gave birth to a writer… <- that is a 100% true statement. That kid, he loves to spin a good yarn. (and boy does he have the punishments to prove it.)

Does anyone else feel this way? Like, maintaining a blog is too much?

I use my spare time to work on my current WIP. I wake up at 5 am. I stay up late. I sneak in minutes here and there. I work out scenes in my head before I fall asleep, so they’re ready to go when I have my next second to sit in front of this here old computer.

The other bits of time are filled looking back at older, completed (and in dire need of a good edit) WIPs, or forward to a series I have plotted out in my head. Just like the idea of my first High School boyfriend, it’s all consuming.

And the blog is forgotten.

A land of crickets and mothballs. Cobwebs line the pages.

Yet, I want to do it! I want to have a weekly post, but the lists of “Inspirations for Writer’s Blog Posts” are about as inspiring as a cookbook from the 1970s.

How’s this for inspiring:

70s-dinner-party

In case you aren’t sure what I’m referring to ^^ that’s what I mean.

So, dear reader, please forgive me for not posting weekly, monthly, or at all. I have good intentions, much unlike the team at Betty Crocker when the staff thought, “You know what we should stuff? A head of iceberg lettuce! BRING ME THE PIMENTOS!”

“Don’t forget the olives for the fish eyes!!”

Lordy… I’m making a promise to myself to try harder. Maybe I can write about uninspired recipes from each decade? Or I can get back to working on my WIP…?

It’s not a tough decision.

Till next time…

A

 

The Internet–a rant about out society

The internet. Oh, the internet… how it has changed things. It’s changed EVERYTHING, even if we want to turn a blind eye and pretend it hasn’t.

A decade ago, when I first half-heartily considered walking the path of a writer, the world was a different place. That really wasn’t that long ago… but here we are. Turned on our heads.

The saying used to be, “Everyone is a critic,” but now it should be, “Everyone thinks they’re an expert.”

This LOOK AT ME mentality isn’t helping anyone.

Yes, I want people to read my blog. Yes, I want an agent/publisher to be interested in my books–but I want them to be interested in my work. Insta-fame is overrate.

And this constant need for *instant* notoriety and gratification is deflating.

I loath the down side to the accessibility of information and communication. I despise how many people tag themselves an expert on one topic or another. If they are an actually–certified–expert, great job! But it’s the wannabes that make my blood boils.

Once, I followed a blog that claimed themselves a grammar king–and received numerous newsletter with grammatical errors. But said site has THOUSANDS of followers. Moo-train! Moo!!

~sigh~ Obviously this tangent isn’t solving any issues, but it sure feels great to vent.

Yes, there are people out there who are knowledgeable and are willing to lend a hand. But any more, I feel there are more people selling snake oil than actual information.

Everyone wants to be famous.

My son told me he wants to be famous. He said it with a glint in his eyes.

I told him to aim higher.

Oh, the damn internet. It is such a double edge sword. One hand you have actual information and facts, and the other–“Look at me! Look at me!”

More people should look at themselves. Maybe then we’d have quality–rather than pile upon piles of know-it-all’s with limited to know knowledge of anything.

Counting down = a fun way to add stress!!

I slept terribly last night. This is another trend in my life–and another reason for the yoga/writing/change–whatever I’m calling this. (I really need a better name…)

So, this is how this how my life is, almost daily these days. My child wakes early, so I try to go to bed early and to wake even earlier than him. This way I can suck down a couple cups of coffee, and write, before he wakes.

Some days it works, others, I’m not so lucky.

Last night, for example– I couldn’t sleep, or I should say, I couldn’t stay asleep. It’s always the same story. I’ve tried valerian root and melatonin and they help me fall asleep, but I’m twice as jittery when I wake up. So I stopped taking it.

On the good nights, who cares! Life is good on the good night–am I right?

On the bad nights, like last night, I’m a mess the next day. (depressed, crying, angry, unfocused… all the good stuff.)

I fall asleep and wake up several times. When I wake up, my brain ignites with the power of the sun, and my calm is constructed like Icarus’ wings. It melts away and I’m stuck with a ‘to-do’ list longer than the Mississippi, and if that isn’t what keeps me from drifting off again–it’s some random song (last night was, This is Halloween, from Nightmare Before Christmas) that plays on a continual loop in my brain.

Then the boy wakes up early, and here I am.

Getting on the mat was a wrestling match. I spent a lot of the morning telling myself how I wasn’t going to do it. Or, I should say, Doris spent a lot of time this morning telling me it was a waste of time.

I did it anyway.

Forty-minutes. It felt like ten. It was worth it. Oh, and I’m sore. Going from periodically practicing and mostly running, to practicing daily and concentrating on strengthening poses–well, it hurts.

That is how the anxiety crumbles! (Totally not a saying and should probably never be one.)

Three down and fifty-eight to go. (Not sure why I’m counting down… what happens at one, besides 2016? What I hope is that I keep going, but for now I need to make it that fifty-eight… baby steps.. baby-baby steps.)

…maybe counting isn’t such a good idea…

Anyway! Let’s see how this goes, shall we? In the mean time… I have thirty-five pages left to edit (in this edit) so I should be getting back to that.

Until I write again… 😉

The trials of writing a short story… who knew?! (That’s right, everyone did.)

wise-asteroid

 

Look up! It’s a giant rock headed right toward us!!

…or is it?…

That’s how all of this feels – and I mean “life” by “this.” Life feels like a giant rock falling out of the sky aimed directly for my forehead.

Things take longer than planned, even with all the organization I try to put in place and the schedules I create for my writing – life comes in and…

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So there is a delay, but the story will happen. I WILL have a short story to post on this site, for you to read – if you like (which I hope you will because I’d love that. No pressure… seriously. Thank you either way…)

I have no date – but the plan is before the end of the year. Secretly (not really a secret if I post it online…) I hope it will be ready for everyone to read on Holiday break! It’s the least I can do for lovelies like yourself.

UNTIL THEN! Promise to stay positive and write more posts to keep you writing!!

xx

A