So yesterday I was a busy blogger. I really should be more regular in my posts…. But I am not good at regular. Now that I have the app on my phone it is more likely. I am a creature of convenience. I try to improve my actions, I try to get into the habits that I want to have. Still routine is not easy for me. My life is very chaotic. I warned you with the tagline… Lol. Crazy rarely is predictable. Still, when trying to deal with a blog, and selling what I wrote, I am aware that if there is no updates then I will have no readers. So I will attempt to do better. If nothing else, I will try to share some of the awesome blogs that I read.
I read something last week that has been bouncing around in my head. As I was not planning to write about it, I did not save the blog link, or I would refer to it. I enjoy reading and on any given day read a dozen different blogs. Most do not stick around taking up head space. This one did. The gist of the blog was that though it had been a bad year, perhaps it was not as awful as it seemed. It spoke about how we are exposing ourselves to news in a constant barrage. The blog likened it to an assault on the senses. Now it is that idea that has been bouncing.
Is the level of available information a bad thing? As a writer I enjoy being able to research anything whenever I want. However, I have had days where opening social media was oppressive. Simply because of the horrible things man does to each other. I remember that my grandma did not watch the news and did not read the paper. She was able to be blissfully ignorant unless she chose otherwise. She was one of the most intelligent people I have ever known. Now we assault ourselves with the news and wonder why we are depressed. I can’t help but think that there must be a better way.
Those who don’t know me may not understand this. I am a pacifist. I really and honestly believe that violence does not solve anything. To my mind, violence only exacerbates any situation and makes it worse. That being said, I am deeply worried about the state of affairs in the United States. I feel like we went from the melting pot to the boiling pot overnight. I worry that the suicide rates will go up with this revelation of the new president and of the hardships we as a nation will be facing for the next four years. Don’t get me wrong. I am scared. But allowing fear to overtake me solves nothing.
We have to recover from the shock, and start to put our brains to use. This country is still the same, even if it feels different. There is laws to prevent the abuse I am seeing reports of on social media. There are places still to assist you if you are in danger. No one has the right to harm another person, no matter what the people who follow the hate believe. Practice Kindness. It is needed now more than ever. Do art! Please put more beauty into this ugly world. Speak and write truth, even if it is disguised as fiction. We have so much ugly in the world, that many believe that is how things have to be…show them that it is only one way. Violence is NEVER the answer, and we as a species need to find out what is. Please be good to each other. ❤
Some one I care very deeply for was upset because she couldn’t face someone who had abused her. Well I got to thinking about that. Fear is a healthy reaction to danger. If you have ever survived any form of abuse, you understand that. I am a survivor. I have been raped, molested, beaten. I have been in abusive relationships. I am not now, because I found my way out of that darkness. I don’t think I could be brave enough to face those who abused me. When I tried to stand up, and tell someone…. Well I was not believed. I was told I was lying. Even though I showed the signs of the abuse. So when I was raped by a group of five at thirteen, Fear kept me silent. Fear turned into the backbone I needed to become who I am. So I would not be a victim again. However, even as strong as I have become, I doubt that I could face my molester or the five who raped me. And if I did, I doubt that I would have anything to say. The piece of me that was stolen is gone. I am not that girl anymore. Nor do I want to be. So I will keep my fear, as it strengthens me. It allows me to realize that there are really monsters out there. It allows me a chance to know that I won’t break, for life has tried. Be proud of what you are, and do not hide your truth. For that is what made you.
Vacation seems like it should be a bad time to write. It’s work, right? Still for me, at home I find it harder to actually set the time aside for writing. Too much else to do. So much household chores that never seem to be done. Too many distractions, social media and other entertainment options. I realize I should be more disciplined about my writing, but if I structure too much, my muse will abandon me. I have spent two hours today writing. Cleaning up my projects helped. I backed up a couple of projects that really aren’t working, and cleared them from my writing app. I rewrote two pages that were lost in a save mishap. I wrote more on a couple of my works in progress. I wrote another poem for Life Drops. I am also of course writing this blog post. Still. I am doing so much better on my vacation with my writing than I do normally. I have no internet to distract. No housework to distract. I only have my kindle and my family. I am hoping that I can publish the second book in the Bedtime tales series before summer ends. I am aiming to finish one of the other books (full novels) before my 45th birthday. That gives me a little over three and a half years. 🙂
Since you see the darkness
Your eyes are wide.
But in your disdain
Not that I think you wrong,
Yet still it seems that
Judgment taints you.
With a brush of hatred formed.
See their actions
And look away,
For sadly you may
That which drives them
Hide disdain and sneering glares,
For tis themselves
Their hate brings down.
You are better
For not being involved,
For not allowing yourself
To them to devolve.
Each creative person goes through it. The crippling self doubt. One often expects encouragement from those in the life of said person. And it really doesn’t always happen. I’m not alone there. For me it’s just a baffling thing. I am seven time published. Four volumes of poetry, two children’s books and a novella. Still there are days when I wonder if my writing is any good. And since my family doesn’t seem to be proud of me and what I have done… it seems to wear on my confidence in what I do.
Then my bestie, my sister I chose, who is also a writer asked for my help. It doesn’t seem like much to a outsider I am sure… but for me this was huge. It felt like validation of my writing. My writing is such a big part of who I am… this felt like I was being accepted. So it got me thinking. Why does my family, my blood, not accept what I do? Really the only thing I can think of is that to them, since I have always been a writer, it is simply nothing new. So perhaps I am going to have to accept the idea that those who are not showing pride in me aren’t doing it in cruelty. Perhaps it is in ignorance.
So perhaps I should not expect the world to have faith in me, and be thankful when it does. Instead I should have faith in me.