Writer Dame

D is for Denise

This post is part of the A to Z Challenge. You can find out more about the challenge here.

 

Through a stroke of good fortune, the day for the letter D falls on my sister Denise’s birthday!
So, in honour of my middlest sister’s big day, I am going to write a bit about ways that I would like to be more like Denise.
1) Adventure: Denise is one of those people who greets new experiences with enthusiasm. She is ready to try the new dance, take the different path, check out the new band. I tend to face new experiences with apprehension, but Denise embraces them, gets inside them, and figures out how she can enjoy them the most. I would love to have a touch more of that in my life.

2) Both feet in: When Denise does something she goes all in. When she dances, every molecule of her body is involved. When she sings, she pours herself into the music. When she runs, jumps, skips, or hops, she does them with gusto. When she loves something, she loves it fully and completely.
I do those things sometimes, but overall, I am more of a cautious person, I tread lightly at the beginning. And sure, there can be advantages to that, but I would love to know what it feels like to just jump right in.

3) Get out: Denise has real affinity for being in nature and being outside. She feels drawn to being outside and to go for hikes and to just enjoy the fresh air. I like all of those things I just don’t feel drawn to them – I don’t HAVE to get outdoors the way she does. I mean, I like it when I’m out there but the transition going from inside to outside sometimes seems like a lot of work and it doesn’t always seem worth the trouble. For Neece, though, it is just such a natural thing to be outside that it even doesn’t occur to her to to hesitate. She just heads on out the door when the mood strikes her. I really admire that about her.

Now, I am not being hard on myself here, I like the way I go about things and my methods and inclinations serve me very well. But I really, truly, admire Denise’s attitude toward these things and I would love to be able to borrow her approach when I need it.

I’m so super happy that Denise is my sister and I’m glad that the magic that she brings to the world gets sprinkled on me sometimes.

She has the most incredible ability to find fun in any situation, and I am always astounded by how much energy she brings to things. If you could see her with a group of kids, it would almost bring you to tears – she LOVES them, dearly loves, each and every one of them. She wants to teach them all about the world and she makes them excited about learning and about the part they play in the group she’s leading. The positive energy that runs through a group she is leading is almost tangible – it’s amazing.

Speaking of leading, Neece has that rare ability to be equally good at being a leader and at being a supporter – which is a tricky, tricky thing to do. She takes charge when she needs to but she can also be your right hand when you are the boss and you never have to wonder if she is going to have your back.

I can’t remember when Denise was born per se but I can remember when Dad and I went to pick my baby sister and my Mom up from the hospital. Denise was a little bundle in a blanket on my Mom’s lap on the front seat (it was how things were done in 1977 – odd hey?). I can remember thinking how silly it was that she was so small – how were we going to play?

And I can remember sitting on the edge of Mom’s dresser talking to Denise while she was in her crib. I can remember reading One Fish, Two Fish to her before bed when she was 7 or 8. I had the book memorized so she could turn the pages and I could act as if I was reading from across the room. Come to think of it, that dramatic presentation of One Fish, Two Fish was probably my first experience in storytelling.

I can remember when Denise and I were teenagers and I would come home late from being out and she would be the only one up. My bedroom was in the basement and we would get to talking when I was on my way down over the stairs. We would end up sitting on the steps and talking for hours as if there would be no other chance for us to talk if we didn’t grab it right then. It was a like a secret conversation, like stepping out of time. We were so tired but neither one of us ever wanted to end the conversation.

To this day, when Denise comes my house, even for a little while, we end up in big, deep, important conversations – me sitting on the steps and her standing in the porch. I know that we should just come in and have tea or something, but that would change the nature of the conversation and something would be lost. Even if we have already been talking for hours, there is still more to say while she stands and I sit – we always find more to say, more giant problems to wrestle.

I wouldn’t change a damn thing.

Happy birthday, Neece. I’m proud of you. I love you.

C is for Cake (having and eating)

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This post is part of the 2016 A to Z Challenge. I am looking forward to having a new post up every day in April. I look forward to reading everyone else’s posts, too!

 

I was, of course, tempted to say that C is for cookie (that’s good enough for me), but I opted for cake instead.

I cannot resist cake.* Usually when I bake something, I don’t feel compelled to eat it. I make great cookies but I can leave them on the plate forever.

Cake though?

Cake is not safe with me.  I will slice off sliver by sliver of a cake I have baked and eat standing up at the counter.

Is this evidence of an appalling lack of self control? Probably, but I’m not sweating it.

The other thing I can’t resist is a good turn of phrase.**

I hate the situation but I love the fact that the phrase ‘wanting to have my cake and eat it too’ exists. It so perfectly sums up that kind of situation where you really want to keep all your options open even though you know that you can really only choose one thing.

A lot of the time that phrase is used to criticize people for wanting too much but I can’t help but wonder what would happen if we decided to expand that phrase a bit. What if we expanded our view so the phrase became ‘How can you change things so you can have your cake and eat it too?’

I’m intrigued by the possibilities there. What would it mean to give yourself more choices in the kinds of situations where that phrase comes up? What would it feel like to tell yourself that it isn’t either/or? How can you make it possible to keep the things that are important to you while having the freedom to let parts of them going?

So, what would YOU do to try and have your cake and eat it too?
*I mean, obviously, I *can* resist cake sometimes but I usually don’t and it is more fun to pretend to be swept along in a cake frenzy. Meanwhile, Cake Frenzy should be a band name. What kind of music would Cake Frenzy play?
** maybe I should have used a SEGUE WARNING there? Sorry!

Story-A-Day May: Endings

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(I thought it would be amusing to write a story for the end of this challenge about a writer ending a book but I got a little stuck on how to let it play out. Luckily, my very creative friend Kevin James came to the rescue with a cool idea that turned into this story. Enjoy!(I hope))

THE END

The words leapt out at her from the bottom of the page. After six years, Cynthia was finally at the end of her novel and she was looking forward to being free of these characters for a while. Sure, she was going to have to do a lot of revision but she had a solid framework and she could stop worrying about what her heroine was going to get up to next. It was going to be weird to not carry them with her all the time but it would be nice to think about something else for a change. She sent the file to the printer and headed to the kitchen for a celebratory glass of wine.

“I suppose you think we’ll just be quiet and go away now, don’t you?” a woman’s voice bit off the words in Cynthia’s ear.

Cynthia whipped her head around but there was no one behind her. The TV wasn’t on and her windows were shut so it wasn’t a neighbour’s voice drifting in.

“I must be imagining things,” She laughed to herself. Usually she invented voices in her head, not outside of it – she gave her characters voices and imagined their conversations but she never actually heard them aloud.

“It’s different this time, hey?” the woman spoke again but Cynthia still didn’t see anyone. “You can actually hear me now, can’t you?”

“Um, yes. I can hear you. Who is this? Where are you?” If this was one of those TV show pranks, Cynthia was going to kill whoever had set her up. Their timing was terrible. She had just wanted to enjoy her glass of wine before binding her manuscript and putting it away for a week or two. Editing always went easier if you let your words sit for a while – they didn’t all seem so precious then.

“It’s Simone. You know, your “Character”?” She could hear the air quotes even though she couldn’t see the fingers making them.

“No, seriously. Simone is someone I invented, she can’t be talking in the real world. Who the hell is this? And where are you?” She threw back her glass of wine. If she was going to miss out on celebrating, she was at least going to get to finish her drink.

“I told you – this is Simone. And you’re right, I am in your head. However, once you bind that manuscript, I’ll be stuck inside on page 347 and I will never get any further than that.”

“You’re a character in a book! You’re supposed to stay in there.”

“Well, I don’t want to. You can’t bind that book, you have to keep writing. I don’t like anything about the ending you made up and I insist that you change it.”

Cynthia rolled her eyes. She didn’t know whether Simone could see her somehow but she was sure that the woman knew her author was annoyed.

“I have been writing about you for six years. I want to stop and there is nothing you can do about that.” She set her wine glass on the counter and took the stairs two at a time to get to the printer.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Cynthia.” Simone’s words were hate-laced and bitter. “I can stop you.”

“You can not. You’re a figment of my imagination. You’re in my head!” Cynthia took her manuscript off the printer and started tapping the pages against the top of her desk to get the edges straight.

“Well, Cynthia, it turns out that you are a VERY good writer and you bring your characters fully to life. So, you’re right that I am in your head but I am no longer just a figment of your imagination. I am very, very real.”

“Yeah? Prove it!” Cynthia was glad no one else was home to witness her talking to her self like this. She put the first stack of papers on the desk. She was reaching for the second so she could line up their edges when she felt a stabbing pain in her head just behind her ear. The sheer power of it drove her to her knees.

“Is that proof enough, Writer? Or shall I do it again?”

The pain ebbed and Cynthia stood up up. Could this really be happening? Was her character literally torturing her?

“Yes, yes, I am, Cynthia. Now, why don’t you turn your laptop back on and get back to work on my story. Let’s start by putting me in a different dress, I have always been partial to purple.”

Cynthia sat down in her chair, propped the pillow into the small of her back and reached for the power button on her computer. This was probably not going to end well for either of them.

Story-A-Day May: Burn

(Today’s writing prompt from Storyaday.org is to tell a story with the climax at the beginning and the explanation afterward. This is my shot at it.)

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard the first noises. They were familiar but so very out of place that she couldn’t quite place them. It was when David made that low moan that she put it all together.

There had been flowers on the table when she had come home earlier. She didn’t know much about flowers, aside from the fact that she liked them, so she couldn’t say what the blooms were just that they made her think of happy little faces. She smiled back at them as they sat on the table, and she dropped her briefcase and purse next to the dining room wall.

In the kitchen, she poured herself a glass of water and checked on the spaghetti sauce in the crockpot. She loved when she could get everything set up in advance so her evening would unfold easily. The days she rushed home from work without any idea of what to have for supper, those evenings left her feeling frazzled and unsettled, and she swore they made her next morning at work harder.

The sauce was bubbling away and it was a while before she had to put the noodles on. She decided to take a bath and relax before David got home, she always felt a bit strange relaxing in the tub with her new husband in the house. It seemed like she should be spending time with him instead. She assumed it would change over time, that she would not be as torn about wanting to do her own thing and wanting to be with him. For right now, though, she wanted both equally and it could be very hard to decide. Sinking into the tub before he got home would solve that quandary and they could have a fun evening together, maybe they could watch a movie if she could stay awake long enough.

She walked back downstairs and turned off the spaghetti sauce. In the living room, she picked up their wedding album, and a package of matches and headed out to the firepit in the backyard.

Story-A-Day May: Lesson Learned

If I fully admit that this is my own fault, will you help me get back out?

I know that Mom tells me all the time to stay out of her flower garden, and I really, honestly meant to, but I don’t know, I just kind of got pulled in there. The flowers were so bright and so pretty and the colours just jumped out at me. I wanted to touch them, I needed to smell them, I wanted to know if they looked as good up close.

And they really did. In fact, they looked even better up close and the wind in that section of the garden smelled terrific and it was really exciting to be somewhere in the garden that I usually wasn’t allowed to be. And I admit, I got a bit carried away.

I climbed over the little fence around the flowers. I didn’t want to just see the flowers I wanted to be in among them and I knew that mom gets in there lots of times so I didn’t think it was really going to be that big a deal and I thought I would get right back out again right away. That was my plan. Honest.

Really. I planned to just hop right back out after a few seconds and then I was going to lean back in and sweep the dirt back over my footprints. I figured Mom would never know.

She’s going to know now though, that’s for sure.

I wasn’t even standing in the dirt for 10 seconds when I felt the first tug at my ankle. It was a green tendril from the side of a sunflower. The leaves of some sort of bush reached out to wrap around my other leg as I tried to free myself from the sunflower and then, as I tried to free myself from the bush, something else, something vine-y wrapped itself around my arms. Soon, I was covered in green from neck to feet, with only my head peeking out the top. I’m sure I look ridiculous standing here and I’ve been shouting for at least half an hour but no one has come to help me.

I guess Mom will come looking for me eventually, once it’s time for supper or something. You know what? Next time she tells me not to do something, I will totally listen. I swear.