I Am NOT a Writer! Surprise!!

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Well, try as I might, I can’t seem to make myself write. Not fiction anyway. It comes to me that I am a “writer wannabe,” but that is not the same as folks who have stories and plots in their heads, folks who are driven to write, folks who will go hungry to pursue their dreams of making writing their vocation. I am not that, no matter how hard I try. I start, get some characterization going . . . and then . . . nothing. So, rather than try to be something I’m not (doomed to fail), on this first day of the year 2012, I admit: My name is Cecelia, and I’m not a writer.

On the other hand, I love to blog. Short pieces. Reflections, Commentary, etc. That I could do all day. So, rather than try to write a story, I will concentrate on my other blogs. I seem to be able to maintain those sites and do it with joy, without force. I’ll keep this site up for awhile should I get a hankering to try something out, or to write a longer-than-usual article, but for now I will not keep beating myself up for not pursuing the fiction writer roll. There are many of you who are quite good at that and I will enjoy your blogs. And I invite you to come on over to my blogs to see what I’m doing (see menu at top of page).

For everyone, have a blessed, joy-filled, prosperous–and honest–New Year!

the blogger,

Cecelia Futch :-)

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Fears

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It is not the fear of dying that was troubling Anne, it was the fear of never having lived her authentic self. Or more accurately, having relinquished her “self”, the person she was coming to know and like, the vivacious, alive, happy person she had become in the years following her divorce. When she met Alex, he offered security and stability that she missed. Living with Alex was quiet, serene in many ways. Yes, she was happy. At first. In fact, Anne thought she was happy all the time. No squabbles, or at least few and far between. Her family and friends adored him. Her parents loved him because he was such a steadying, calming influence on Anne’s flamboyance. He was her anchor, she his sail.

But . . . with the diagnosis, all that changed. No, Anne was not afraid of dying, Anne was afraid of having never lived to her fullest. 

yuk yuk yuk this needs work . . . . yuk yuk yuk …. hmmmm…..maybe not as bad as i think but will come back to it later. let’s check in on alex…. he’s a sweet, unsuspecting sorta guy. ;-)

 

******

 

Alex finished showering and as he dressed for work hummed a tune that Anne used to sing to him in the early years that they were together. “You are my sonshine, my only sonshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You never know dear how much I love you. Please, don’t take my sunshine away.” Alex was a lucky man and he knew it. He had given up on love, and then he met Anne. He was her senior by eleven years but age seemed not to matter to her. The past ten years had been wonderful in his book. Anne, with that warm gracious smile, seemed not to have aged a day. She had not been herself these past few days, but she did have her moods, but the moody times were rare. She never stayed “down” for long. Theirs began as an internet romance. He found her on a dating site and was immediately struck with her beauty. Anne did not have movie star good looks; hers were better. Anne just looked like an approachable, warm person, the kind of person everyone wanted to have as a friend. Even though he only had a thumbnail photo on an internet dating sight, he felt her genuiness. It appears that every other man in the universe thought so, too, by the looks of the number of names in her contact box! Alex hesitated to contact her. How could he stand out from all those other suitors who were pusuing Anne. In the end Alex sent a simple note: “I love your warm smile. I wish you the best and pray that you find whatever you are looking for. Warm regards, Alex.” Not very romantic. A rather bland note to be honest. There was absolutely nothing that stood out about that message. it could have come from her uncle. But Alex was befuddled by Anne and he had never even met her. He was tongue-tied in her presence, and, well, he had never been in her presence. Alex did the best he could do. Online dating was a new adventure for him, and Alex was awkward with the whole process. 

Alex had been married once before, but only for a short time. The marriage had not lasted even three years. His first wife had children by a previous marriage, all under five when she married Alex. From the beginning the marriage was awkward (the proverbial adjective for Alex) and it didn’t take Alex long to realize that he had made a terrible mistake. His wife was not a bad person, far from it. They just weren’t a match. Furthermore, having had no childrn of his own, Alex simply couldn’t handle toddlers ways. It wasn’t long before Alex and ****** were sleeping in separate rooms. The divorce was an easy one, with neither party contesting anything. Afterwards they each went their merry ways with no hard feelings.

Alex was in his forties then. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He decided that marriage was probably not for him and went on with life not really pursuing marriage, or women for that matter. Not that Alex didn’t date. For some reason beyond his comprehension, Alex was a magnate for women. The fact that he was unaware of his appeal made him all the more appealing. Alex only went to the dating websites when he was bored,which was not too often. Alex was a scientist. He spent his days doing research, his nights dreaming of ways he could use science to make the world a better place . . . and possibly invent a patent that would bring in enough money for the rest of his life so that he would no longer have money woes, ever.

The day that Alex received a response from Anne was forever etched in his mind. “I like you. Anne.” That was it. What did it mean? He felt giddy, like a teenager whose first crush actually spoke to him. “I like you.” Alex repeated it over and over for the next week. Every time he started to respond though, his sweaty hands shook and his heart pounded as if it were struggling to break free from his chest. “I like you.” Nothing more. Here he was, a 56 year old man, smitten by a woman whose photograph was no bigger than a postage stamp, and whose voice he had never heard. He told himself that he was being ridiculous. This was affecting his work as he found himself daydreaming  at odd times. He knew he had to respond when Tom asked him who the new love in his life was. Alex protested that there was absolutely no one in his life. Tom threw his head back and laughed, then slapped Alex on the back in a friendly way as he walked out the door. “Whatever.” Alex emailed Anne that evening.

For the next three months, the two emailed back and forth. Anne laughingly wrote that she was afraid she had scared him off, and that her heart started pounding when she saw his name in her contact email at the dating sight. They laughed. They shared their histories, white washed and watered down, of course. Alex never understood what Anne saw in his very first email that make her want to email him. After a few months, Alex and Anne had still not met each other. In fact, Alex did not even have her phone number, or address. He knew she lived in the east, but where? Was this going anywhere? Alex was afraid of coming on too strong, or pressing too hard for info. He wanted to keep this going and he was afraid that if he were too forward, Anne would drop him and he would never be able to find her again. As it was, he was enjoying her intelligence, her humor and warmth, the stimulating conversations as they emailed back and forth. They really needed to join a chat room, but when Alex broached the subject, Anne became evasive. Alex backed off.

Then Alex recieved the dreaded email, the one he tried so desperately to avoid. Anne wrote that she didn’t see where the relationship was going, that she didn’t want to lead him on, that she felt bad for having kept this up as long as she had.The geographical distance between them was daunting. Anne respected Alex too much to keep stringing him along when the nothing would probably come of it. “I wish you well in your search. May you find what you are looking for. Anne.” How ironic. His words come back to haunt. This time there was no hesitating as Alex ripped off a heartfelt plea to Anne. Once again his hands were sweaty and trembling and his heart beating as if attempting to free itself from his chest as he poured out his heart to Anne for the first time.

Anne, I am here because I want ot be led by you. I want to be strung along. I was smitten with you from the very first time I saw you. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but once we started emaiiling, I knew you were the one. Your wit, your warmth, your graciousness, your kindness, your beauty shine through every word you write. I have never heard your voice or held your hand or gazed into your eyes, but I do believe that God will bring two people together regardless of the distance or the obstacles that threaten to keep them apart. It is like two halves that come together to make a whole. You say the distance between us is too far, that we live in different worlds, that you need to know that the man in your life will cross tha chasm for you, as you have for so many others only to be spurned. Anne, I am willing to cross the chasm and risk being spurned. I would do that if you lived in China, or Tibet, or any country or state. I believe that much in the power of two people to come together from any distance if so granted by Divine providence. I am willing. Yours, Alex” And then he hit send.

The next weeks were pure torture. At work Tom started to say something then thought better of it. It was obvious that Alex was hurting. Every once in a while in the days ahead, as Tom would walk by Alex, he would reach out and squeeze Alex’s shoulder as if to say “I’m here for you, buddy.” Everyone who has ever had a broken heart could see that Alex’s heart was breaking. Not even his divorce had affected him this way. Alex threw himself into his work with a vengence. His colleagues and friends watched helplessly.

One night late, after working a grueling 15 hours, then stopping at the pub up the street for a drink before returning to his empty apartment, Alex walked in flipped on the light, and booted up his computer. He walked to the refrigerator, opened it and stared vacantly at it contents for a full five minutes: seven cans of beer, half of a half gallon of 1% milk, some cheese with a little mold growing on it, four eggs, a couple of bottles of Ensure, ketchup, mustard, three hotdogs in an open package. That was it. Not very appetizing. He closed the refrigerator and walked back to the computer. He only opened it these days to check his email. After being on the computer all day doing research, the last thing he wanted to do anymore now that Anne was gone, was spend time on the computer. He sat down and opened his email, then his heart skipped a beat. There was Anne’s dating site email address. He stared at it motionless for quite a while. Then, hesitatingly he opened it. 

“You win. Call me. 555-555-5656. Anne”

That was ten years ago. Alex and Anne got married just months after that. He remembered everything about their meeting online and in person as if it was yesterday. The ten hour drive to her town, seeing her walk into the lobby in a flowing skirt and loose blouse, curly hair falling around her shoulders, tall, slim, and that smile, that wonderful smile that showed through even in a postage stamp sized thumbnail photo print on a dating websight, that smile is how he knew it was her. For ten years now they had been together, had grown in love, had traveled life’s ups and downs. He got to know and came to love her family, her children. 

Alex loved Anne with every cell in his body. He knew something was bothering her, but he didn’t press. He had learned that when Anne was bothered by something, it was better to let her mull it over and tell him in her own sweet time what was going on. So, he left her alone. Even though he knew something was different this time. Even though in his deepest heart, he sensed something ominous.

 

Something amiss

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She had overslept. Usually by 4:30 or 5:00 am, long before the sun peeked over the horizon, she had the coffee brewing and was waiting for that first jolt of java to kick start her day. It had been like that for years. Sleeping in until 6:00 was almost unheard of, but it did happen from time to time. Today was different. Very different. Eight o’clock and Anne was just rolling out of bed. Head pounding, joints aching, feeling sluggish and anything but awake, she padded into the kitchen to get the morning brew started. She could hear his voice in the bathroom as he sang and shaved or showered or whatever he did in there. Staring at the wall above the kitchen sink, she listened to his jolliness from far away in the bedroom bathroom. Once the coffee was brewed and poured into her favorite coffee mug, she stumbled into the living room and opened the shades. Then she went and sat on the opened futon leaning against the wall and gazing out the window at the bare trees and sun streaming in. This was late for her. Very late.

“What am I doing?” she mused. “How did I get to this point?” She mulled the questions in her mind for a brief moment, but mostly she just started out the window. Soon he would want his breakfast. Let him get it. Something was different this morning but Anne was unable to put her finger on it. Usually a cheerful, bubbly sort of person, few people ever saw her when she was in one of her “moods.” Today was going to be one of those moody days. She could tell.

Anne and Alexander married ten years ago. She knew that Alex was a good man even though at the time she didn’t have any particularly strong feelings about him, just that he was a good and honorable man. And she had been right. Alex had indeed proven to be a good man, the kind of man any woman would want to marry. Alex adored Anne. He never bought her expensive gifts or lavished her with flowers, but Anne did not mind that. Her first husband had done all those things, thing that other women would get jealous over. But Anne’s first husband had a roving eye, and the gifts were showered upon her when he was feeling guilty over some fling. The more lavish the gifts, the more involved the fling. Anne didn’t mind the gifts after awhile. She and her first had long before abandoned shows of affection, and so the gifts were sort of compensation for being the betrayed. Without the first messing with her, Anne was able to devote herself to building her career and figuring out ways to get out of that marriage. Of course it didn’t work out quite that way, it never does. But Anne did get free of the marriage even though it nearly killed her.

For the next five years Anne was a “free” woman. It took a while to get back on her feet. Times were lonely. Work hard all day for low wages, go to school at night to get a degree that leads to a job (or so she thought), living in empty, quiet, lonely apartments. Anne missed the chaos of children and children’s friends and phone calls to get together with girl friends, or getting with other adult couples who she would discover were really his friends despite his appalling behavior. But maybe it was for the best. The kids were old enough that there were no custody squabbles. There were no his friends/her friends so no awkward run-ins with each other. Yes. Their’s was a clean break.

In time Anne acclimated herself to the single life. For over twenty years she had been the “Mrs.” It was part of her identity. She was wife and mother and until the latter years that seemed to be enough. Once she was single Anne had to reinvent herself, learn who she was as a woman without the adjectives of his wife, her mother. She discovered that she really liked herself and the life she was creating for herself. The loneliness never ever completely left her, though. She had a few dates here and there along the way. Speaking of dates, Anne noted that the healthier and stronger she became, the more balanced and healthy the men she attracted. Not bad. There was something to getting one’s act together before jumping back into the fire again.

And it was a fire once she took the leap. Anne dated more, and was far more adventuresome than when she was young and beautiful. Then men (boys to her now) were interested in her as “friend,” nothing more. She was the go-to girl to talk to when the guy needed advice about his girlfriend. A few years after her divorce, she was the girlfriend the men wanted hanging on their arm. She was the one who went skydiving and spelunking or rappelling on dates with daring adventuresome handsome men.

But then Alex entered the picture. Soft-spoken, heavy accent, slightly over weight and balding gray hair and mustache. The first time Anne saw him she was struck by his gentle smile and kind eyes. Her first thought was “I can see myself beside him.” Chatting with Alex was easy. It was as if they had known each other for years. She drove because she knew the area better than he did. That was certainly a first for Anne who was used to the man driving and opening the doors and being chivalrous. Mind you Alex was certainly polite, but none of the put-on try to impress her garbage that quickly disappeared as soon as the woman was in the bag. . . so to speak. First date? A hike in a state park. Second date? A trip to the supermarket to grab some food and then to the city gardens to spread out a blanket on the ground and have a picnic among the roses. It was months before Anne and Alex saw a movie, or went to a nice restaurant. But Anne was finding contentment and the loneliness had dissipated.

Alex and Anne married is short order. Anne somehow knew that Alex was the man for her. No fireworks. No bells clanging or angels singing. Just that Alex was the one. For the most part, the past ten years had been wonderful. Not at all like her first marriage. Even though Alex was not a gift-giver, or a flower-bringer, he let Anne know every day how happy he was to have her beside him, to be married to her. He fussed over her at times, which could be annoying. Anne had learned to be quite independent and she wasn’t going to give that up without a fight. But Alex made sure she made her doctor’s appointments, ate the right foods, got exercise. And while there was no skydiving or mountain climbing or motorcycle racing to add excitement to their lives, there was forest hikes or visits to coffee shops and bookstores to quietly read and sip coffee together. Over the years theirs had become an intimate, loving relationship, the kind of marriage that counselors and religious leaders tout as the model for marriage.

But this morning Anne woke up knowing that something was different.

 

 

December 7, 2011 :-)

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Sooo….this started out as a nanowrimo blog, but as we all know by now, that never happened. To be honest, I knew going into the challenge that November was chock-full of other obligations (mainly grad school) all requiring lots of writing . . . academic writing to be exact (ugh). Academic writing requires a great deal of energy, rewrites, citation checks, APA style stuff, and is graded. In addition to that I happen to write three other blogs (see menu), each quite different from the other but all “scratching an itch” of mine. Anyway, there was no time or energy for writing blog number four, even if it was a temporary 30-day project. Many (as in tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands) participated in nanowrimo, and I’ve enjoyed reading some of the blogs of those who suceeded in reaching their goal of 50,000 words, as well as those who fell short of that mark but suceeded in writing more in one month that they ever thought possible. Kudos to you all.

But now that November is over, what to do about this blog? I do not want to abandon it, nor can I stand to see it on my dashboard, ignored, empty, silent. After a little thought, I changed the name of the blog and decided that this would be the place for writing out ideas for writing, journaling (maybe), experimenting with poetry and other writing genres, etc. (emphasis on the etc.). I intend to experiment with writing uncensored, unedited stuff on this blog. It is pretty safe since I don’t and won’t link it with social networking sites, or anything else for that matter. I expect that there may be one or two people to come across this blog now and then, maybe three people. The purpose, much like nanowrimo, is to simply get the words out of my brain and onto the screen. I call it brain-drain. This is not my photography spot. Words only allowed!

As difficult as it is (I’m already feeling it) I will not edit. This may be equivalent to the morning pages that are so popular with many writers. I make no commitment with regard to how often I post. In other words, I may go through a flurry of activity and post five times a day for two months (ha), and then go through a period of three months with nothing. Grad school, course work, and even the types of courses I’m enrolled in will play a large part in determining how often I show up on this blog. My other three blogs continue come hell or high water. This blog is the overflow. :-) I like that! (The other three cannot contain me, do not constrain me, and actually motivate me to do this blog! Ha! So there!)

This is the penultimate week of the fall quarter, and I have two big projects due at the end of this week (Sunday). Next week is merely wrapping up the quarter, usually pretty easy. So, after my projects are submitted, I’ll be back. In the meantime you can check out my other blogs (see the menu that I am about to update . . . as soon as I post this!) 

If anyone is reading this, thanks. 

What can I say . . .

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Well, I’ve had some unexpected things happen this month, and my assessments class is far more demanding than expected so I’ve not written in the way I had hoped. My apologies. I will leave this page up for the simple reason that I still want to write, but it’s looking more like it will be DecWriMo . . . December Writing Month. I’m not giving up, just amending. :-)

 

It’s almost THAT time!

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Tomorrow is the day…. mmmmm….  The butterflies are fluttering in the stomach. I still cannot believe that I took the challenge and am getting ready to take the plunge! One thing I know about myself — even when I bite off more than I can chew, I do not shirk something once I’ve taken it on. It’s a pride thing I’m sure. Even more so when I’ve chosen a public venue to display what I am doing. Others’ know that I am attempting to write a whole lotta words everyday, and they can see whether or not I’m meeting the challenge. No duping anyone on this one for sure. So I take a big gulp and am poised to dive right in.

One thing I will do today is try to come up with some sort of an outline; that will make this task easier. I also plan to have fun with it. Anticipation aside, what use is accepting a challenge such as this if I don’t have fun with it. I’m also thinking that this kind of writing will be a good break when the academic stuff has twisted my brain into a pretzel. At any rate, I have several ideas about how to do this thing. It probably won’t be in a regular novel form, rather more like a “diary” of a story unfolding, or reminiscing about the past while some big thing is looming in the future. Not sure but as the starting moment is nearing, I’m beginning to think about how to do this.

Even so, I am also planning how to maintain my other blogs. I enjoy them. However, I have no problems keeping each post short and sweet. The studies are a different matter, though. I’m taking an assessments, tests and measurement course this quarter and it is proving to be a bear of a course! The counseling course challenges me to spend time in reflection. That is good. I can handle that one.

I’ll also be taking two trips this month, so that will add a bit of stress to the mix. This coming week I’m headed for Chicago to see the girls and their families. That will be fun, but not sure how much writing I’ll do. I’ll find a way, though. Then during Thanksgiving week we are headed home to Mom’s and Dad’s. The whole family will be there for the first time in years. It will be good to see everyone. How much writing will get done is another story.

AND I will want to spend time with my husband, too. He’s a great guy. He has no idea that I’m doing this. In fact a lot of people know, but not my family. They will try to talk me out of it. They think I’m half crazy anyway, in a good sort of way though. I wonder if it’s ok to illustrate my story with photographs???? Probably too time consuming. I can add the photos later if  I choose to do so.

Did I tell you good readers that photography is one of my favorite hobbies? I’m good enough that my family and friends think I’m “awesome” but far from being good enough at it to impress the professionals, whoever they are, with my expertise. The truth of the matter is that I’m a photographer wannabe. I don’t really have the discipline to pursue photography as a profession. I enjoy the hobby the way I do it now. I also enjoy writing and blogging. But that, too, is more of a hobby than a profession. Sooo, I’m going to school to learn the “profession” that most inspires me, with the intent of using blogging, photography, and whatever other creative activity comes to mind, to create the career that will take me into my old age. I want to be my own boss. I don’t want to have to rely on someone else, usually younger than my children, telling me what to do in order to get a paycheck. I’m too old for that sort of nonsense. Whew….glad I got that off my chest.

That last paragraph was about three paragraphs all rolled up into one. The most difficult aspect of this challenge (next to writing a whole bunch of words each day) will be not editing myself as I go along. It is hard. I am now to 700 words and I can’t tell you the number of times I’m corrected spelling, punctuation or grammar thus far. . . but not all of it. I’m trying to force myself to just write without any editing. If the STORY ends up being something good, something that I want to work with and possibly pursue a bigger fantasy, then I can go back and edit later. It may take me a few days to get to the point where I can do that.

OK, so now I’m over 800 words of rambling around. Double this each day and I will be on track. I will keep reminding myself though, that I am challenging myself to only 25,000 words this year. If I go over that, wonderful. So, I’m stopping for now. This has been a “warm-up” as I prepare to begin the challenge bright and early tomorrow morning.

Good day all, and I’ll see you back here later! :-)

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Oy vey…. What Have I Done!

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Hello world! As if I wasn’t busy enough already, I’m creating a new blog, my fourth! Have I lost my mind? Most assuredly, YES! You see, I have never been very good at walking away from a challenge. And this is no exception. November is National Novel Writing Month and people are encouraged to write a novel in a month, or at least the rough draft of a novel. To succeed at this task, the writer must write a 50,000 word novel. Yuppers, 50,000 words. I don’t recall how long this challenge has been around, but folks have been accepting–and completing–the challenge for years. In fact, a few writers actually end up with a great novel to publish (after a great deal of editing, of course.) Here’s the kicker for me: I don’t write fiction. Never have. So with my dearth of experience I signed right up for this challenge to write a novel in November.

In true “Cecelia form”, I accepted this challenge knowing that I am a graduate student who has to write a LOT for my courses every day. Yuppers. Every day. By the way, I did not tell my husband that I accepted this challenge. And to make the challenge even more adventuresome, I don’t have any inkling of an idea what I will write about. But in a matter of days, November 1 to be exact, I will start writing a novel . . . or something . . . every day for the  month of November. This should be interesting. The way I figure, I will have to write between 1600 and 2000 words a day in order to meet the challenge. Whew. That’s a lot of words!

But don’t fret for me. While 50,000 words is the challenge, I accepted 25,000 words as my personal challenge. If I reach that goal then I will have succeeded in reaching my goal. But I sure would like to reach that 50,000 word goal. School will come first though. And photography, too. You see, I’ve also started this little card business on the side. I make notecards with my photographs. So this month will be filled with grad school, notecard making, photography, NaNoWriMo, and somewhere in the mix — near the top, mind you — is my husband. And isn’t this the month, too, of Thanksgiving and holiday travel to see the family and eat some turkey?

I am just now reaching 400 words with this blog. I will have to write close to five times this much every day for one month to reach my goal. Oy vey…. what have I done?

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