And then love happened.

Hand on mouse, fingers hovering over a keyboard. Ready. Waiting. Ideas tumble out of my brain. Vortices of possibility twirl towards the 4am sky. 80 words to go. Will that be enough? This morning my thoughts have tuned to love and in my core, at the very base of me, I know that not any amount of words or finely tweaked sentences will be enough to bring these thoughts to fruition.

Devotion is an enigma wrapped neatly in decorative papers of blue and gold.  We tie bows around love like it is a package that once passed along will provide some predestined shroud of unending happiness. The very idea of falling in love encapsulates us. It is somehow protective simply in its impression. Let us fall. Fall from where? Fall from one intended to another? Fall from a tall building and have hope that the recipient of our ultimate adoration feels that same way we do. Heroically coming to save us from our plummet.

Some of us do get lucky. Some of us, somehow, in the cosmic wilderness of modern day romance find the love we had sought out for. It begins with shyness. Everything does. The coy wariness of perfect strangers meant for something more. Lightly fingering our way through the idle and awkward moments of the first few years of the togetherness. We will whisper wants to one another. Furtively, with a nonchalant air about our words because God forbid our new and shiny dearest thinks us odd.

We silently chant mantras of normalcy and routine ourselves. We are super-human people with no foibles or flaws because that could be undesirable and if even one of these idiosyncrasies flops to the surface, this tentative thing, this love thing, will surely wither and die. It is a wonder any of us survive the initial staging process. However, after an undetermined amount of days, weeks, years, millennia moves past we become easier, more ourselves. The weirdness leaks out onto the floor whether we like it or not. And the floor hasn’t been mopped up in days. The cautious stroking of yesteryear has evolved into a weighty hand on familiar skin. A comforting presence among the constant chaos of the everyday.

This love will manifest itself in the tiny places we never think about. It is the intense light between the bulb and the shade, only those inside the lamp’s protective cover can understand its brilliance. It is brown leaves pressed delicately between the softened pages of an ageing book. It is a blanket placed over chilled shoulders, a promise of warmth when the room seems subzero.

Love is not grand and glorious. It does not lift us up out of the depths of depression or carry us over the puddles of sadness which accumulate over a lifetime. It is not like the songs say. It does not fix our worries but usually causes us more worries to worry about. It is not magical or almighty.

Love is small and sacred. It is to be nourished. Grown from nothing over a lifetime of trial and error and strife and hardness. Love makes the difficult certainties of life a bit easier to live with. Love gives us the courage to try the new things. Love holds us tight when the new things do not work out as we had planned. Love comforts. Love soothes. Love does not define who we are but grows alongside us as we determine our unique paths in life.

Love is not our life preserver but the warm cup of coffee after we’ve fought off the flood. And if you should be lucky enough to find this sort of love, do not take your fortune lightly. Know that it is delicate and rare and beautiful. Hold it carefully and cherish it always. And in turn, it will have you too.

 

Advertisements

Warming up the in-inside

 

I am so much warmer than I use to be. The blanketing heat of self-assurance, confidence, comforts me like the safe embrace of a mothers hug.  Before starting 100 Words a Day the thought of writing would cause a deep stab of guilt and regret to course through me. I knew I should be writing but, oh whoa as me, I did not have the time, I could not find the words, my fingers were broken.

It felt as though sitting down to write would be the most difficult thing in the entire universe to do. I’ve birthed babies, nearly died from blood loss, raised a family, built a business and slapped a smile on while doing it all but writing? God no. No thank you Ma’am, that…that will definitely flatten me.

Writing was the easiest thing to push to the sidelines. How could I make time for something that I was not receiving immediate kickbacks from? What I didn’t see was that the rewards we draw from our creative enterprises are more beneficial to our souls than our pocketbooks. The prospect of a healthy soul is difficult to put a price on. We value our inside, our in-inside, differently than we do our physical body and external world. If we can see it, we can sooth it. No point in wasting time with the places that aren’t apparent to us.

It is an easy practice to fall into, one that I took on wholeheartedly. All the while the small nowhere-space next to my heart was crying out for a little kindness.

In times of chaos our creativity can seem as though it is a useless thing. A washed up nothingness that is better castoff for later days. We push it to the side and say, “I don’t have time for you now, Creativity.” Even though there is a slight longing in our voice as we toss it to the proverbial can.

I’ve discovered that it is precisely this creativity that helps to smooth out the chaos. Round out its edges. By shoving the meaningless things, the Facebooky and gossipy things to the side it was simple to make room for some souly things.  And I am already so much warmer because of it.

Our creative ventures are worth it. They cradle us unlike any material expedition could. As humans we forage creativity like bees to nectar. It is our nature to nurture the in-inside. But the external world, the sensible money making, “I have a million things to do” world tells us these prospects are a waste of time. Stop fighting it. Take a few minutes each day to do a little of what you love and then allow the rightness of it make you warm again.

Another post on writing and junk, you’d think we were all writers or something around here…weird.

 

The power in our small bi-level home surges as I hit the SUBMIT button. Wait, was that a sign? A message sent from the great beyond? My skin turns to gooseflesh. I think of Grampa Bert, my all-time favourite storyteller. Maybe? Bah! Hogwash. It’s an old house and the electrical in this bitch sucks. I guess it is more likely that my brain, the soft part that need constant reassurance, is really just teeming with anxiety over the new flood of rejection messages I will be receiving in two to eight weeks. Prepare yourself, rejection is coming.

Side note: there is a fly in this room right now. A FLY IN DECEMBER! Its buzzing is infuriating not only for the distraction but for the sheer perplexity of its existence.

I’ve begun sending out stories, essays, blurbs and whatever else a publisher may want to take a look at. I’m like a teeny-bopper clad in fluorescent pink and the personality to match—look at me, pay the attention to this gal over here!

A few days ago my sister-in-law asked me why I write online. Well she didn’t come out and literally ask me. We were talking about writing and I naturally assumed she wanted to know every possible detail of my writing career so I willingly divulged my secrets…that are no more secret than my dirty erotica writing forays.

I told her that I write to obviously become rich and famous because, you know, that’s what all art is about. Duh. But as a secondary motive I write to simply tell the stories that are buzzing around (like this damn December fly) in my brain. It seems as soon as I drag one out and place it to word processing document another one begins to unfold into reality.  The more I write, the more stories are waiting to be written.

I think about reading stories that stick with me for days, weeks, hell years afterwards. I will remember images or a plot twist or the simple construction of the first sentence, the hook, and I realise how essential the written word can be. Stories entangle our imaginary lives with reality giving us the perfect amount of unrealistic expectations to keep us moving forward and striving on. They feed our waning imaginations. The older we grow the more fiction we must consume to keep our brains hale and hearty.

Great literature from the past, blogs posts, short stories, online magazines, a funny Facebook post; we read and write to connect with one another.

The idea that something I’ve written could affect someone like this intoxicates me. I could be like an imagination doctor! To think one story, one sentence even will stop the reader and make him say, “Hey, I never thought of it that way.” It is a mesmerising goal to reach for. If I can write one blog post that someone reads and thinks, “That is exactly how I feel too sometimes, at least I’m not alone.” I’ve scored the big one.

I’m a peopley person. What can I say, I love them humans. And I’ve obsessed over writing since the beginning of time, my beginning at least. Writing and the human condition fit hand in hand. Or existential crisis in existential crisis. I guess it depends on how you’re looking at it, where you’re positivity meter stands at the moment.

So I’m going to keep on writing, keep on submitting my work and rejection messages be dammed! I’ll wear them down eventually…or I’ll get better I suppose. Whichever comes first.

I’ll show ‘em, I’ll show ‘em all! One day you’re gunna see my name in lights!

writer-1129708_960_720

The shiny things have distracted me again.

My eyes part to the sound of an energetic whirring that is coming from my right. The sound seems to be magnified in the otherwise dead quiet of our bedroom. It drones merrily, LLLLLIIIIIIIIIINNNNNDDDDDSSSSSSAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYY (but not really because in the morning ones imagination is soft and pliable, it will believe anything). It nearly jumps from the ledge of my bedside table.

I wish I was the kind of person who did not need an alarm clock. You know the type. Those people who boast that they are so in tune with their own body, the internal clock which lives somewhere in their brain—or maybe it’s their foot, you know, to get them moving—anyways, it wakes them without incident every single morning. Yeah, I wish I was like that.

Alas I’m still using my trusty cell phone (like a sucker) perched to the side of my bed with a message splayed across it saying, “GOOD MORNING!!!” in what I have come to believe is a seriously passive aggressive pre-dawn text revulsion.

The street is speckled with hundreds of tiny multi-colored lights. Cheer bottled-up into filaments the size of a cat’s claw. The radio serenades me with Jingle Bell Rock and I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus because it knows that is what I want to hear this fine and frosty morning. Obviously.

I had toyed with the idea of writing something profound this morning. Wowing you with my inexorable insight, my glass-windowed vision. I imagined exhibiting my heartache, my unrequited culpability, up like a farmer does his heifer for market. I would try to sell it to you, get it into your brain and out of mine. Pass the pain along. Share it among the healthy folk. Or, perhaps, the unhealthy ones. They will gobble it up faster. No questions asked.

I was thinking of showing you the guilt that sometimes claws its way to the surface and spills over the top (because it is over the top) in ill at ease times of aforementioned heartache. The times I let down those I love and those I do not love in a cataclysmic foray of disappointment. The times I must deliver the bad news, the stuff of plugged ears and dull faces.

I could have wrote, this morning about misery and mountaineering. I could have turned it all around and shone some upbeat and blinding light of positivity into the murky thoughts that sometimes cloud my better judgment. I could explain (in my very best self-help voice) that if we shoot for the sky we will reach the stars.

I might have slid words together like children gliding down an icy knoll. Content with jibber jabber and momentary answers to questions never asked, at least not by me. My prophet days are probably still ahead of me, oh how I will profit one day.

I could have carved it all out upon this word document and felt lighter in the end. I should have tossed it down intending to leave it where it lay. Rid myself of the word plague I struggle against everyday. Instead the flicker of pink and green and red and blue lights dance just off the flank of my vision. It distracts me for the times being, it is shiny and bright. Familiarity hugs me, and what kind of monster fights against hugs? I guess the lights will do for now. I’ll preach tomorrow.

 

FEAR

 

Some days I am afraid. I am afraid to start writing each morning for fear of discovering I no longer fall fast and deeply in love when placing pen to paper, finger to key, idea to world.

Some days I am afraid. Most days in honesty, panic strikes long and unabashed as I ready the babes for their school time escapades. Am I enough?  Can I do right by them? Will my guiding hand be strong and kind enough to chaperone them around life’s sadness and hurdles?

Some days I am afraid. Afraid of the tiny soloist who lives in the deep of my character and sings stridently about wasted opportunities. Rejections. The awkward moments and the ill-advised decisions. He will remind me of former days and he does not quiet. He does not calm.

Today I wake with a different type of fear dripping from my better judgment. Afraid that the fear which drives, the fear which pushes me to places I once imagined never gracing, will leave me lonely and lackluster.

For it is not the fear that holds us back—that keeps us indolent. It is a lack thereof. It is an emptiness in that place that gives us butterflies when dreaming of future days. It is a hole in the fabric that weaves together our motivation in all things seemingly impossible. It is a gap in the driving force that gives us grounds to reach into the farthest depths of our will for the people we love. It is desolation upon our plain of imagination.

It is this loss of motivation, this loss of fear that scares me most of all.

We tell ourselves that the fear is what we should fight against. The fear of this and the fear of that is what is holding us back. I have come to disagree. It is the fear that keeps us going. It is the fear that tells us we will never be good enough. Never be strong enough or smart enough or happy enough. It is this terror of “not enough” that keeps us striving. It keeps us living.

I suspect the fear will forever live somewhere just beneath the surface, and in hopes of eradication it will remain just out of reach. But close enough to keep me lively. Incentives towards growth. An aid in personal evolution. So I will hold my fear close at hand and continue to do the things which scare me.

girl-535251_960_720

Progressing is key, it is time to delve into the deep.

“You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.”
― Anne LamottBird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

If I could choose just one quote to love more than any others it would be this one. If there was one group of words which summed up how I usually feel or at least how I want to feel about life as a writer, this group would be it.

Unfortunately (or I suppose fortunately) for me there are far too many astounding humans quoted every damn day to choose just one as a favourite.

As I meander once again through the shallow waters of script and sonnet I can feel myself wading dangerously close to the deep end.  Currently I splash cheerily, absent-minded, in superficial thoughts. Words flow easily over my toes and out into the beyond. I think little of these sentences I scroll because little thought is required. It is all rhetoric. Pretty prose echoed agreeably as I spill it from my soul. Thoughts on life and love and being human. These are the easy things to write. They are safe but with little substance.

My words today will not strike any profound cords in those who read them. They will not rummage up memories which have been tucked away for safekeeping. These sentences are not dangerous. They will not provoke any deeper wondering or wake the harboured yearnings of moments lost to oblivion. They do not strip away the beautiful fluff we humans shield ourselves with to protect against anything weightier than the daily grind. Instead my words today will gently settle down upon you, resting easy while a war still rages beneath the surface.

There is an itching in my brain and it is growing stronger as my confidence as a writer ripens. I know it is not feasible to continue to write from this comfort state in which I currently live. To grow we must go out on a limb. We must use our doubt as a parachute and fall into the unknown with the tools and the belief that we will thrive against all odds. If we stay in this place of ease, the art of the matter will halt and nothing new will emerge.

There are many projects, ideas and visions I can so clearly see in my minds-eye. They will require hard work, resolve and a promise to write real and true – which is sometimes the most difficult requirement of all.

It is just a matter of finding the resolve to shut my eyes tight and jump, without reservations, into the deep.

new-brighton-1239724__340

I nearly broke my perfect streak!

I tried to cheat this morning. *Sigh* I tried to cheat and hide it from you guys. I tried to hide it from myself – mumbling under my breath that it would be okay if I did it just this once. I had justification. Ugh I disgust myself.

Moments ago I found myself surfing through my Google Docs. I was looking for something that hadn’t been published that I could pass off as my daily post. I was literally about the CHEAT! I’m having a bit of a panic attack here. Well not really, it’s actually more of an attention attack so you’ll just have to excuse me while I let this pass.

*

*

*

Okay, so why did I almost do it?

Well like I said I had justification. Since starting this writing project I’ve mustered up the wherewithal to take a look at some of my unfinished projects. And some of them (not all of them, let’s not go crazy here) are actually pretty good. They need some spit shining and a few rewrites but I want to try submitting to a few publishers. Again. This is actually a big deal because the mental and emotional trauma a writer endures while submitting their work to hundreds of publishers only to get rejected over and over again is pretty heavy stuff to say the least man.

So my plan was to sluff off my daily post and work on more pressing matters. But isn’t that sort of defeating the purpose Lindsay? *She types to herself in a borderline psychotic break sort of way.

The entire point of this thing is to warm up my writing skills. Isn’t getting this inspiration/guts to delve into the publishing world again only proving that my new writing habit is working. Why would I stop now?

Plus, 100 words a day isn’t difficult. Look, I’ve just got down over 300 in the few minutes I’ve been mulling this over!

Thanks writing friends, you guys are sure swell to talk to.

1c386ce2c39158e64fd8a1bc3b747c57

 

Do you ever feel the pressure of waiting projects and overlook the process? Tell me what helps keep you on track and maybe I can adopt some new methods so I don’t try to cheat again!

 

 

It is Sunday and I’m Writing Stuff Down

A steaming cup of coffee sits to my left and just like that I am rejuvenated. A bit of this has to do with the coffee (well, maybe more than a bit. Coffee is life.) But more so it is a feeling of reemergence that is warming my heart this early Sunday morning. It has been exactly six days of writing at least 100 words a day and despite my misgivings about this project in the beginning I can already feel the difference in this once-weary writer’s soul.

Ideas are springing up seemingly out of nowhere. A newfound verve for unfinished projects has encapsulated me. Any spare moment I have I find myself meandering through writing projects I haven’t glanced at for years.

I no longer have that hardening feeling of it all being much too much. That overwhelming pressure when looking at all of the unfinished projects on my computer. The desperate feeling of inadequacy which ultimately stopped me dead in my tracks and inhibited me from pressing forward at all.

By writing every day and having the knowledge that I will continue to write every day I am reminded about how much I purely love to write. It is not about the end result yet. It is about the forming of sentences, the formulating of stories. It is about writing my truth down and knowing that I am doing this simply to improve and strengthen my craft. It is about growth as a writer and the growth of becoming my own human being.

What comes from that is yet to be determined and I’ve decided that that is alright by me. I have learnt that looking too far into the future is detrimental to my own creative process. So for now I will not take this writing time for granted but instead celebrate in the muse I have been so fortunate to once again find.

images

Turns out, we all just have to communicate like there is no tomorrow.

Being a human is pretty damn lonely sometimes.

There are moments when I become so introverted in my thoughts and feelings that for a while I wonder if I will ever be able find my way out to civilisation again. Because let’s face it, sometimes it’s just easier to withdraw. It is simpler to go inwards and stew over that weird thing you said at that party ten years ago rather than face our concerns head on. That would involve confrontation, and if you are anything like me, confrontation is the root of all things uncomfortable in life.

I just finished reading, “The Last Tribe” by Brad Manuel. This book you guys. It. Is. Amazing. Read it now, my recommendation is strong with this one. Look I can’t even form a proper sentence because I am so obsessed with this book. One of the great qualities of The Last Tribe is how developed the characters are. Not only the main group of characters but ALL OF THEM. They all have little quirks and flaws but as a whole possess a purpose to survive in a dead world after a terrible pandemic catastrophe wipes out of the world.

With this attribute comes a similar communication technique which I wholly agree would be crucial in surviving a post-apocalyptic world. They are all exceptionally straight forward and candid. There is no skirting around issues or tippy-toeing around others because, I suspect in that type of a situation, coyness would likely get you killed.

These characters live in a new world where community is key to their survival. If one member of the group doesn’t like an idea they actually voice their concern (crazy concept right?!) There is no malice in their objection. They are simply pointing out the flaws where they see them. And on that token there are very rarely hurt feeling from these rebuttals. If someone’s idea is shot down due to serious design faults, they have the wherewithal to step back from themselves, look at it from a non-ego wielding point of view and acknowledge that it likely was not the best move for the group.

I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this happen in my everyday life. In this reality we are not in dire straits. We do not need to worry about survival. Teamwork and communication between peers is far less relevant. At least, this is what we’d like to believe.

The human race (at least most of us) has evolved to this point where we all just think we are the smartest smarty-pants whom have ever walked the earth. We can do it all. We don’t need no stinking input from others. It has actually become rude to rebut someone’s idea. I don’t actually know how we have progressed as far as we have. And when we don’t know the way, when we are feeling at a loss instead of asking for help we hide away. We retreat into our caves of concealment because some part of our brain has begun to think that needing help is a sign of weakness.

The reality is, we all need help sometimes. We may not be living on a post-pandemic world of fleeting technological resources but we do still need to work together for our survival. Maybe in our case it is more of an emotional survival but it is survival nonetheless.

I have decided as a personal goal that I am going to try much harder to be straightforward with the people I love. Not mean or hurtful but to tell those I live with how I am feeling about certain situations and voice my opinions on how to make things better. With that said I am going to put great effort forward to toss away the ego exerting mindset which causes me to get offended when someone suggests something be done differently than “my way”.

We all have areas of expertise and different ways of thinking around a problem, doesn’t it make sense to listen to all of the thoughts on the table? When they say, “Two heads are better than one” I don’t think they are talking about mythical monsters.

This idea had begun slowing creeping into my brain and now has taken on a fully formed shape which I cannot remove. I think that to begin living a happy and healthy life we must begin to communicate with one another like we are all just trying to survive a post-apocalyptic world. It is time to start speaking with truth and communicating effectively again.

f0e3dd528c0f1815a10ab1a59f9af130--spongebob-memes-spongebob-squarepants

Just get the hell on with it why don’t you!

 

I look at the day ahead. I am reeling with anxiety. Timelines and schedules disco-hop through my mind’s eye in a fashion that leads me to believe that my brain has an evil ulterior motive. My hands quiver as I type and I have to wonder if I should even be taking this time to type at all because, damn, I just have so much to do today.

I am the sort of person who gets overwhelmed easily. Can you tell? I have a very difficult time dealing with too many responsibilities over one 24 hour time period. For example, raising children isn’t a stress factor (well it is, but not in the same way) because this endeavour spans an entire lifetime. If I want to feed them popcorn for dinner or skip homework one night  it’s going to be okay because I have a plethora of child-rearing days to make up for the misstep. Having three business meetings, a large quantity order going out during the lunch rush and having to do it all before 3pm when I pick the kids up from school…that gives me the spine chills.  These are the days I am an anxious ball of pent up stress that is undoubtedly radiating a gross amount of sweat and negative energy. An absolute treat to be around I’m sure.

And yes, oh yes, I’ve tried about every possible remedy for this fretful behaviour. From calming teas to lavender oil…to actually attempting to will away the busy onset of events—nothing seems to work.

Except there is actually one thing.

And that is, simply getting on with it. Just doing the shitty, stressful, wholly unwanted thing with a smile on your face and a can-do attitude in your heart. Yeah, yeah, lamest thing I’ve ever written. I know guys, but the truth of it is this is life man.

Sometimes we must simply get into the car and drive to the place we’ve never been. Despite the worry about getting lost and the stress of not knowing anybody there. Sometimes there is no simpler solution than to just do.

I find when managing my time efficiently and using up the leisure time I do have with productive ventures such as reading and writing I am more willing to participate in the tougher stuff with a positive attitude. As a general rule, a can-do ‘tude is one of the best qualities one can have…even if you are feeling the shit storm of obligation encompassing you like that mighty claws of a great griffon, sometimes you just gotta smack that griffon on the talon and say, “let’s fuckin’ do this!”

We humans are resilient and we typically thrive in high pressure situations, revealing to ourselves and others how remarkable we truly are. As we continue to “just get on with it” each time this feeling of conquering the beast becomes easier and easier to overcome.

We do not have the ability to learn or live well without experiencing a little trepidation in our lives. Anything worth doing is going to cause stress because it is new and unknown. In most instances, we must just get on with it or else life will get on without us.

1401133228bw567

I Want To Write Poetry…Sometimes.

 

I wanted to write poetry this morning.

Mourning how many months, years, millennia

It has been since verse has scrawled across this screen.

I wanted to write beautifully

Words that scratch some surface

Suitably.

I wanted to write about appetite:

Strange passions.

Outrageous actions.

Famous fashions.

These moments-

They sometimes consume me.

Entangling me in yet-to-be-made memories.

Seeds for tomorrow days

Unmade ways

Ablaze with stories running with haste

In my brain.

I wanted to write something truthful

It seems.

I wanted to explain the emotions

Which reign.

I wanted to share pain,

Releasing and freeing. I wanted to freeze

This feeling of wellbeing

And peace.

To paper, to screen

To forever be seen.

I wanted to write poetry this morning.

Not only to mourn over time mislaid and misplaced

But to celebrate what life and writing has

Forever encased.

1382590539wtiay

Feeding the ego – one of the best ways to self sabotage.

 

Yesterday I mentioned ego and how we often tend to use technology to feed that ego in today’s society. I have several friends on my Facebook who use the motto “there is no such thing as bad press” to a fault. They air their dirty laundry as though it had been sitting in a pile of cow shit for days. Breakups, makeups, gripes and grimaces everything goes published in the land of Facebook statuses.

Random Facebook Status: ugh I love it when people stick their noses into my life without even knowing what is going on.

Comment 1: Don’t worry about those losers, you’re awesome!

Comment 2: *hugs*

Comment 3: People are so just jealous of you. You keep doing you babe!

This randomly generated Facebook status is a prime example of how easy it is to feed the ego in today’s tech driven world. The ability to boost ourselves up with a false sense-of-self from a list of randos who we have not seen or spoke to “IRL” in YEARS is literally at our fingertips. We are connected by this amazing technology that has the ability to do so much good in our lives and yet we squander its wonders with worrying relentlessly over how many “likes” we’ve received on our last profile pic update.

 

For so long I wrote for not myself nor those wanting to read my writing. I wrote for the likes. I wrote for the shares and the “wow you’re a really good writer” and the “oh my gosh you’re so funny!”

635963672933534977-1211500914_overly-confident

I wrote for the sheer high it gave me to hit the publish button and watch the ego feeding frenzy come rolling in. I didn’t care about the content. It did not matter to me if I was writing true or not. I was simply looking for anyone to tell me I was good enough.

The problem was, eventually the “likes” and the shares stopped coming. The posts I was producing had become rushed and sloppy. The content was, in all honesty, shit. Running loops around pointless subjects that in the end, nobody cared to read about.

And this my friends is where the problem lies when seeking out self-aggrandizing methods upon social media platforms. Eventually, people catch on to your sly ways. They begin to see through the bullshit and your audience gets bored.

I no longer cared about the writing itself or who was reading it. I only cared about the number of views I received and how far my writing had travelled. The stories meant nothing to me, in all honesty the stories had all been done before. I wasn’t even trying anymore. It was the numbers that had somehow moved into the priority spot in my brain.

And as a writer, when the numbers takes precedence over the words…you know there is a bit of a problem.

So like all mentally healthy individuals, I threw my hands up in the air and said, “fuck it! I’m done with writing. I’m not getting the views and feedback I want so that equates to me not being good enough to carry on. Obvs.”

It took about six months of me subconsciously stewing over my writing to realise what had been happening. Yeah I know, that’s a long time to take to comprehend something so obvious.

So now I am back. No Facebook, no more feeding the ego. Just writing. It is time to get back to the words. To sling sentences and once again fall in love with the wholeness of writing something well. It is time to starve a little for my craft.

5520806412_c54889bbeb_m

 

I’m back, and it might be a little awkward because I said that I was leaving forever but we are just going to have to persevere through this together until the weirdness abates.

 

My reflection hangs in the protective glass of a topographical map of Middle Earth. My husband has made it recently and it is an amazing piece of work. A stab of jealousy, or is this envy? Courses through my chest. It is not jealousy over his time nor envy for his talent. It is something else that I cannot quite name. Perhaps his resolve? His willingness to put his own hobbies before the meaningless hubbub, the monotonous pretexts of life. He loves creating these maps, therefore he just does it.

It seems to me any time I have an inkling about “doing” something for myself a flood of excuses washes over me and stops the notion in its tracks. I can’t write that book because I’m not smart enough. I can’t work on my short stories because I don’t have the time to put in the heavy editing that needs doing on them. I couldn’t possibly start up the spoken word poetry again because nobody listened to it in the first place.

My heart hurts when I think that these are the reasons I’ve held myself back from engaging in the thing that I love. Yes time is a factor, I am busy. We all are busy. But life is also flexible. It is an unending corridor of possibility an unrelenting miasma of options if only you learn how to wrangle it for your own.

If we do not allow ourselves to make the time for the purists which make us happy, what are we doing here? I suppose work and making money and being financially accountable are the “responsible” things to do at this point in our lives, but there must be something else. We must be able to mark and create the designs that live in our souls doing what makes us feel whole in order to live a rewarded life.

Ray Bradbury said, “Just write every day of your life. Read intensely. Then see what happens. Most of my friends who are put on that diet have very pleasant careers.”

Somewhere between all of the worldly concerns of growing older I had forgotten his advice. I swept all fervour away and practicality became my main driving force. Admittedly, at the time this is what I needed. Sometimes to get on track with our professional goals we must batten down the hatches of our own whimsy and get down to business at hand. But I think I’ve come to a point where I have room for a little whimsy to creep back in. To be truthful, I believe it is exactly what I need.

So here we are, same blog, different name, new content. I would like to tell you what this thing is going to be about but, hell if I know man. I think it is just going to be the place where I come, every day, to write one hundred words…and maybe a little more if the muse decides to take me.

 

chalkboard_quotes_mann

They Are The Reason

As my word processing program boots up and blinks back into existence it scowls at me. It’s been a while old friend, I quietly say, as I am hesitant to let people know that I talk to inanimate objects.

It’s been over a month to be precise. But when I say things have been busy, I mean it literally.

The shop is getting busier and busier as the days go by. I’m not complaining because just between you and me I like money. I like it a lot. What I am complaining about is the achy feet, the stiff joints (because apparently I’m 279 years old these days) and the reeling to-do list which accosts the tiny bits of relief that momentarily surface in my brain. Oh the joys of being alive!

This last week however Jamie and I have got a bit of reprieve from the daily grind.  We shipped the small humans up to my parents house to stay with them for the week and by the looks of the photos I’ve been getting they are in their glory. And James and I have gotten a small taste of what it’s like to run a business without having tiny people in tow.

So, I’m just going to throw this out there guys…All of you humans that have no kids, um, what are you doing? Why aren’t you ruling the world right now? How are we, the exhausted parents, not your underlings yet? You are clearly the dominant species and should be prevailing over all civilisation. You surely have the energy for it!

Maybe that’s going a little far but after experiencing this last week, I have a newfound appreciation for ‘the working parent’ that’s for damn sure!

After dropping the babes off and heading back to Lethbridge we were solemn and sad, wondering how we could possibly stand this week without our darling littles.

After day one back to The Hot Wire there we were counting our float with huge grins on our faces, signing;

 

Image result for dolla dolla bills y'all gif

 

For the next week we got up early to prep and stayed open late when the customers just kept on rolling in. We seemed to have endless energy! The work we got accomplished was unprecedented. We felt like we had the world by the small and curlies and there wasn’t anything or anyone holding us back.

Now as I am writing all of this there is a tiny screaming voice in the back of my thoughts saying, “there is a special place in hell for people like you Lindsay!” Because really, who actually talks about how much easier and more productive life is without children? It’s fucking blasphemy. It’s despicable. Its ludicrous!

But it is also the truth.

This morning I was in the shower, enjoying the uninterrupted cleansing time thinking about all of this. I thought about how productive life has been these last six days and how thankful I felt that our business was doing well.

And then just like that, discreet images of my two favourite people started nonchalantly dancing around in my memories.  Sophie mopping the floor at the shop while giving me her famous “Sophie look”. Lars, sitting at the table across from the till playing Uno like a pro. The hilarious things they say and the weirdo stuff they do flooded my brain and  it occurred to me that these two small humans ARE the shop.

They are the reason we started this thing up. They are the reason we work so hard to make it successful. Their smiles brighten the place on Saturdays and their presence gives us the drive to keep on going even when things seem impossible.

Yes a week here or there is nice to catch up on the little stuff. We all (including the kids) need a break from the routine now and then. But as I sit here typing my gaze continues to drift towards the clock and I find myself anxious to go pick them up.

Because as fancy-free as life was without them, the real adventure is experiencing the growth and evolution of our beautiful family together. They are the reason for everything we do and I don’t think I will ever be able to thank them enough for that.

12885729_10153912614961068_7442829593521567712_o

 

 

The Expo

f2a9e5617abbc576767aa59bfa1dff93

I haven’t told you guys about the expo yet. The expo. THE EXPO. This thing is what our life is revolving around right now. It’s official name is the Alberta Food and Beverage Expo and The Hot Wire Panini Café is in it. This is not an event to enter into lightly my friends. They are estimating around 6000 people to be in attendance and an average of 600 patrons to visit each booth. Don’t quote me on these numbers, they are just what my frazzled mind picked up when we were going over the details with Chris. He’s the mastermind of this beautiful thing.

Four months ago when Jamie and I were approached about buying a booth we were thrilled! The Hot Wire Panini’s name had travelled far enough for an actual real live food expo to seek us out and ask if we wanted to join. It was flattering and gave us just a big enough boost of confidence to believe that we could pull this off. No problem-o, was probably my naive reaction at the time. However presently, as the expo draws nearer we have begun to feel the pressure.

Here we are, just the two of us running this entire place by ourselves. We eat, sleep, and breathe The Hot Wire Panini and that definitely cuts in to our socialising time. When we told Chris that it would probably just be the two of us working the expo he actually LOL’d. “Sorry guys, there is no way just two of you will be able to do it alone. You’ve got to get some help.” He said after the awkward realisation that we weren’t in fact pulling his leg came to pass.

So this is our first quandary. We need help for this expo that is taking place in two weeks from now and are not 100% sure that we will be able to get it. We’ve lined up a few of Jamie’s chef friends from back home but that is a four hour drive away and we all know how quickly Alberta roads can turn on a person in the mid-January weather. So who knows if they will even be able to make it? We can’t afford to hire anyone, that thought is actually laughable. And we aren’t close enough to anyone here who would be willing to work for the prestigious payment of beers at our place afterwards. So it comes down to one thing, hoping to the good baby Jeebus that the weather is on our side.

Second issue, the small humans. Oh how (hashtag)adorbs it would be to have the wee panini pipsqueaks running around selling paninis to all of the people at the expo, alas, NO MINORS ALLOWED. So now I have the pleasure of attempting to find a babysitter for a 12 hour timespan. No problem-o my ass.

Then comes the prep work of feeding 5-6 hundred bitesize panini samples to prospective customers. Finding all of the necessary decor to make our booth look inviting—alluring if you will. All the while running the shop during its regular hours.

Wowza, by this point you must be thinking that Jamie and I are gluttons for punishment. We’re not, we swear. We just really get off on the onset of regular anxiety attacks.

They say that owning your own business takes everything you have in you. That’s a lie. It takes more than everything. It takes resourcefulness. So much resourcefulness in fact that you must reserve your resourcefulness to uncover more resourcefulness. It takes having the nerve to try new things and pick yourself up off the floor when they fall flat.  It takes so much risk that sometimes you just crave a boring, dreary kind of day. It takes patients. Patients with yourself because everything you do is a trail run and 50% of it isn’t going to work out the way you intended. It takes the ability to make a botched attempt into a new opportunity. And enough confidence to know that all of this pressure and fear and failure and heaviness in your heart will eventually be worth it. It takes the optimism to glance contently into the future. Many of these qualities I didn’t know I possessed until we started really getting into the nitty gritty of entrepreneurship. Perhaps they were born out of necessity.

This expo is a fantastic way to get The Hot Wire’s name out there. We know our product is good. The reviews speak for themselves. Now it is time to showcase our panini perfection in one convenient location for all to enjoy. It isn’t that the shop is doing poorly. Our numbers are good. But we do have our slow days, sometimes even slow weeks. These are the days when it is a struggle to find a positive outlook on things. These are the moments when the fear creeps in and we have to will it away with thoughts of what tomorrow might bring.

It is a terrifying business to be in, but a thrilling and challenging one too. And the only way to achieve our goals is to work hard, takes chances and get the word out. The panini word. The Alberta Food and Beverage Expo is our golden ticket and there is no way we are about to squander that.

With a bit of planning, a little luck and a lot of culinary craftiness I’m confident we will get through it. We’ll make our impression on this city of Lethbridge and they will be talking about that one time The Hot Wire Panini rocked the Alberta Food and Beverage Expo for years to come!

And that, my friends, is what this whole shebang is all about.

Think Big. Act Accordingly. Stay Humble.

Jamie and I are officially on our Christmas break. We get an entire two days off and I don’t think I’ve felt this much Christmas glee in ages! It is the morning of December 24th and I am enjoying a warm cup of coffee at my computer. I’m not stressed out about getting to work on time to make bread or having to get the kids ready for school. I’m not thinking about upcoming Hot Wire orders or money or anything for that matter. I am just here in this moment and that feels great.

This last week has been a trial. We sort of snowballed when it came to making holiday trays. I put an add on Facebook that seemed to attract a lot of attention and long story short,  over the last three days Jamie and I have made around 500 eggnog flavoured cream puffs. This wouldn’t have been so bad if we, say, had two ovens to work with and, oh I don’t know, an employee or two. But really, what would a business be if it didn’t have some trials and tribulations to tell tales about in the years to come?! And you know what? We did it! It was probably a Hot Wire Christmas miracle but we did it none the less.

This time of year always gets me thinking about life and I am in awe at what we’ve accomplished since moving to this city. The friends and connections we’ve made have been irreplaceable and this experience; simply unbelievable.  Some days I come home and my back is killing me and feet feel as though they have lead pipes fastened to them. A better spouse would likely quiet this fact and ask how her partner was doing. Not me.

“Ugh, FUCK I’m so tired!” I will say in a bitter rage to my husband.

“It feels like I slept for an entire minute last night!” Jamie will rebut because if we are anything, it is on the same page about how close to zombies we’ve become since opening The Hot Wire up.

We persevere though because the shop means life and life is the shop. This is mantra as of late. ZOMBIES I TELL YOU — ZOMBIES!

A few days ago we had a couple of fellows stumble, and I literally mean stumble, through our doors. They approached our patrons asking each one if they would buy them lunch. Of course, once I caught on to their shenanigans I quietly asked them to leave.

“Well who the heck do you think you are little girl?” The one man slurred as the other fell to a nearby seat.

“Look guys, I’m not trying to be rude here but if you aren’t going to buy anything you’ll have to leave.” I repeated.

“Well what can I buy for two bucks?” He asked throwing a pile of change on the counter. I knew what he wanted but I find it difficult to give to those who barge into my life with unpleasant confrontations.

“Any of the baked goods.” I replied.

“What only these things?” he said smudging the display case`s glass with his oiled fingers.

“Yes sir…those things.” At this point he must have picked up on the condescension which was creeping into my tone of voice.

“Hey, so what, you work here or something?” He said as he swayed to imaginary music.

“Yeah, I own this place.” Screw Christmas kindness, I’m done being cordial to this jackass.

“Oooh whoopidity doo!” He replied rolling his eyes. “All of your food is too expensive anyways. You`re a joke.”

“Okay well you can leave then.” I reiterated for the tenth time.

I will spare you the gritty details, because in all honesty this conversation (if you can call it that) went on for another five minutes in loop-de-loops which resulted in nothing other than the man calling me a chubby cow and asking if I was smart enough to count change. All the while I kept a pretty decent cool if I do say so myself. Jamie managed to finally get them out of there by threatening to call the cops.

I could dwell on this. I could worry that I said the wrong things. I could waste so much of my precious time rolling it over in my mind thinking about what I could have done differently and how I can prevent this unpleasantness from happening again. But that would be pointless. The sad truth of it is, these things just happen. Rather than being angry about these two men coming into our shop, harassing us and frightening our customers, I am going to feel sorry for their lack of social interaction skills. I do however wish that if these guys were actually hungry and cold, that they would have approached us differently. We are happy to give what we can and provide a warm place from the cold to anyone in need. And I am so grateful that we have the ability to do so.

I`ve come to realise that Jamie really is my best friend. Together, it seems, that we can accomplish anything. We`ve grown a family, moved to a new city, built a business from nothing and created a life together. We are the epitome of the definition of partners; in business but more so in life. At the end of every month when our numbers get tallied we can see our hard work paying off slowly but surely. Our children are growing up healthy and happy and cared for. Yes we are tired. Yes we`ve had to make huge sacrifices. Yes some days it is difficult to find the wherewithal to go forward. But we will go forward. We will keep moving on with our plans and dreams and hopes and aspirations because that is what those who live in happiness will forever do.

Merry Christmas Friends and Family! I hope this post finds you all in positive spirits and looking forward to a new and exciting year ahead.

Grab a ticket and hop on

I’m sitting at this computer, a coffee to my left and a pile of Hot Wire paperwork to my, er, further left. Don’t you know, coffee always takes precedence.  I am looking at this keyboard and thinking, “it’s been a while old friend.” I’m feeling a little dramatic because a life without embellishment would result in me withering away into an endless black hole of worthlessness. And that would be a bummer man.

It’s been weeks, month’s maybe since I last sat down and wrote. Sure, I spew a few lines here and there. When I do write, as I’m sure my long-time Mama readers will vouch, it’s a little on the fatalistic side. I swear, I’m not as angry and disgruntled as my latest writings would suggest. It’s just what seems to be spilling out at the moment, and as they say, you can’t argue with art.

Every week or so I horde a little time to scour through some of my old Me Plus Tree columns or pull out a few Blogging Mama bits and revel in all of the time I used to have for writing these long drawn out blurbs of hilarity. As you also know, I am horribly, dreadfully, without even a little bit of shame one of the vainest human beings I know when it comes to my writing. I literally laugh out loud at my own work. Perhaps I shall seek help one day about this.

The kids have done a 360 on their blogging position and now are loving the fact that I have a treasure trove of funny stories involving them. Some of the more appropriate tales have come to be their bedtime stories and they laugh and laugh as I recite these babblings to them in loud and outlandish voices. This arrangement works well in the fact that we can achieve our nighttime routine and my need to satisfy the teeming narcissism in my soul at one convenient time.

It’s pretty great and I must admit I love being able to make these stories what they were always intended to be; a journal for my kids. Rereading these moments helps remind us all where we’ve come from and how far we’ve journeyed. And that is a really cool thing.

Last night I spun a well-known tale for them about a wee girl hiding under the computer desk with shitty pants and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. They laughed and my heart swelled at the sounds of their giggles over a story I crafted so many years ago. That life seems like it is so far away now and I’m so thankful I have these writings to keep us connected with that time in my young family’s lives.

It got me to thinking. There are so many things happening right now. Amazing, tough, terrifying and thought provoking things and…I’M NOT DOCUMENTING ANY OF IT!!!

Of course there is the fact that we are running a business, working at that business full time, bringing up babes and trying to find a life somewhere in-between all of that too. Where do I find the time to write? I’m sure all of the great story tellers of our time found themselves asking the exact same question. And the answer? Well, I guess the answer is, I have to just find the time. Whether it be a break at work or early in the morning hours or long after the kids are snug in their beds at night.

I could probably just stop binge watching Gilmore Girls a few nights a week and all of my writing quandaries would be solved. Ah! But they are just so saucy, who couldn’t love that quirky mother/daughter duo?!

My coffee has stopped steaming and the pile of paperwork is still staring at me relentlessly so I suppose it is time to start the day. However today I will go about my work, with a contentedness I haven’t had in some time. I’ve wrote. Perhaps it wasn’t the start of a great novel or a short fiction story that really makes you think, but it was something. Something my children will one day rummage up and begin to read, reminding them of our adventures on this wild ride we call life.

Self Love

There is a lot of talk these days about self love. Now I`m not really sure if in fact when people use this phrase they are talking about, you know, feelings and confidence and inner happiness and junk…Or, if they are talking about getting freaky with yo` bad self.

I`m cool with both options A and B.

However I`m especially talented at reminding myself how indeed awesome I am. And when I say awesome, I literally mean awe inspiring (probably just to myself, but a win’s a win in my books). So like, deadly awesome.

I mean, I sat down to the computer the other day with a bowl of popcorn, logged onto Facebook and scrolled MY OWN FACEBOOK WALL because I find myself so fucking interesting. And I laughed and laughed at my own clever posts and status updates.

I don`t know guys, I might have a problem. Can there be too much self love? Well obviously the answer to that question is yes because of the unfortunate reality of chaffing.

But when it comes to inner love, I don’t think you can over do it. Sure people may think you are self involved and kind of obsessively vain, but, I’m pretty sure there are worse things to be in this life.

Example: a killer clown who roams dark streets harassing innocent humans who are simply trying to go out on a goddamned jog because they are feeling a little bloaty that day.

**As a side note, regarding the newfound phenomenon of these stupid ass clowns – I will run a face-painted bitch DOWN if I happenchance upon one. I don’t care how scary it is or how fast the bastard is coming up on me, my first instinct is to eradicate the danger. Henceforth go even more psycho on said danger and terrify the living beejesus out of it. Like, probably start singing Adele’s “Hello” in some sort of indistinguishable accent while crab walking towards him with the toothiest smile I can muster across my face. That’s survival right there people.

But this clown conversation is clearly meant for my latter post (Rage Demons) and is feeling a little out of place with all of this self love talk. So I digress…Just, be careful out there friends.

Anyhoo, as I was saying, it’s okay to love who you are and what you got. It’s actually great to do so! Maybe balance it out with some occasional self loathing over awkward teenage memories and the constant worry about a looming apocalyptic future; because we can’t be happy ALL THE TIME that is an outrageous thing to ask of anyone.

That’s why the clowns have all gone cray.

UGH so much more to talk about when it comes to self love! I could go on and on and on and on. But I think you guys get it. I think you feel me when I say go forth and love inwards with fervour and the pure intensity that your bitchin’ self deserves.

And if anyone tries to tell you that you’re a “sociopath” or have a “narcissistic personality disorder” don’t worry about them, they’re probably just a psychotic clown in their off time anyways.

The Room

It is three o’clock in the morning.  My eyeballs are stinging and lack their necessary moisture. The smell of pungent urine assaults my nostrils. I was awoken several minutes ago by a waif looking four year old staring into my soul from the side of the bed. Her hair perpendicular, astray. Her eyes are wild and unpredictable.

“What are you doing baby?” I am hoarse and a disenchanted reality glides over my conscious brain. I was having the most delightful dream that Margaret Atwood and I were chumming it up and talking about all kinds of amazing literary stuff. Tough break Lindsay, she says in the cool way she would as the last of her presence flits out of my mind.

“ Mama.” Sophie is crying.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, but as I reach towards the girl to pull her up to snuggle I feel the cold devastation of pee-pants. She hasn’t peed the bed in months. However the evening prior I was at Red Deer Collage listening to a captivating talk by Margaret Atwood, hence the dream, on the creative process. The kids were already in bed when I arrived home but according to Jamie’s account Sophie was not pleased with my forsaking her at bedtime.

I stumble into her room with an armful of fresh sheets and un-peed-upon blankets. As soon as my big toe crosses the threshold of daughter darling’s room, the soft under skin of my foot is molested by something squashy, soggy, and that possesses too much give on impact. I hear the slight sound of a POP. I look down to find I have ruptured the splatter toy which she often throws at my walls, leaving a darkened stain on the tan paint. The carpet is soaking wet with a fluid from the toy I cannot identify. It will have to wait until tomorrow. I need to focus on more pressing matters at the moment.

In the amount of time it takes me to cross from one side of the room to another, I trip over a deconstructed Barbie house, three Bratz dolls with obscenely pointed features that bite at the already sopping  sole of my foot, and an oversized wicker Easter basket that holds all sorts of half-eaten treasures.

I pull off the bedding and bundle it in a tight ball then chuck it to the hallway. I want to let out a he-woman war cry to vindicate my swelling frustrations but before I let loose, I see something. Sophie’s closet is full, jam-packed really, of odds and ends. I drop the clean sheets on the bed and move closer. For some reason an ominous film darkens my mind and for a second I become overly concerned I am going to see someone eyeing me from the collection of objects in the closet. This is what happens when you’re awakened in the dead of night with residual thoughts of Atwood and her superb story telling abilities circling your peripheral intellect. I don’t see anything in the end, which is okay by me. Instead I note the excess of stuff crammed lovingly all over my kid’s room. Things like old cardboard boxes, thousands of scribbled on sheets of paper, Barbie’s with their heads popped off and those heads peppered throughout space and time.

I turn back to my task, realizing what it is that must be done in the morning hours. I will have to come and clean this place. No longer can I shut the door and pretend my ignorance to this problem of unpleasant proportions.

Sophie stumbles back into the room from the bathroom. Her eyes are beginning to weigh their lids down and sleep will most likely come easy once I finish making the bed. I realize I have forgotten to grab a pillowcase, because yes, the pee has indeed reached the corners of the pillow. I must incoherently say what I need aloud  because next thing I know Sophie is digging through the disaster that is also beneath her bed and pulls out a pink flowered pillow. Of course she had one stashed away, what four year old doesn’t have a reserve head cushion on hand?

I still think a good old fashioned purge and clean would be good for the girl child’s room. I’m a little concerned that next time the dog ventures in there he may just get swallowed up and lost forever.  As I finally am able to close my eyes and return to dreamland I briefly wonder if Margaret ever had to stumble over pointed toys and mayhem messes. If so, she probably wouldn’t have lost sleep over it, so neither will I.