Slaying the Dragon

“Slay the dragon once, and he will never have power over you again.” –Steven Pressfield

Writing is like slaying a dragon. Be brave. Do it. Don’t stop. Don’t beat yourself up because you didn’t write 500 billion words last week but know your limits and keep going. I skipped a week. Since I hopped back on the blog horse, I have not missed a week until now.

DISCIPLINE

For me, writing a weekly blog post is an exercise in discipline. It’s a deadline. It’s a way to think out loud; a little more than journaling, but much less involved than writing a short story or an article or novel work. Blogging is intended for weeks exactly like last week, when life gets so busy it’s hard to find head space for creativity. It forces me to sit at my desk and churn something out.

I WILL “KILL THE DRAGON”

Yes, I missed one week, but I am back at it now and stronger than ever. I didn’t “kill the dragon” last week, but I sharpened my sword. I read up on craft, took a few notes, was observant in a busy world and sought inspiration. Sometimes the knight needs to back off, exit the cave and regroup.

My word count wasn’t much to brag about, but I committed myself to some important deadlines and took time to set priorities. A writer must have a frame to work within.

PRIORITIES

Lately, I have had so many projects going at once, I finally had to decide where to focus my attention. I will focus on short stories and set my historical novel to the side for now. I am outlining what started as a memoir and is now a novel about abandonment, shame and redemption. This is very exciting as I seek to understand American individualism, family and love. I was given the advice of “choosing the one you can’t stop thinking about.” That is what I have done.

ACCOUNTABILITY

Setting priorities and deadlines now frees me up to outline and churn out words like a crazy person! I am ready for this! A blog post by each Friday. A book review by the end of each month. A short story ready for peer review by June 10. A completed outline for my work-in-progress by June 12. Hold me to it World. I have my sword and I will slay the dragon.

Wild Dreams

Amazing quote from my therapist today:

“This world is too big for somebody’s dream to be too wild.”

When I asked if that was something she said often to her patients, she said no, that it just came to her. I said she might just be the next Bren Brown. I asked if I could quote her, and she said, go ahead.

Also, she said that I should not have to compromise my dreams for other peoples’ expectations. Isn’t this the very kind of thing I have been trying to teach myself? Live your own best life. Others can do as they please with theirs.

UGLY VOICE

I have the talent. All I have to do is put in the hard work.

Yet and still, in the back of my head there is that little ugly voice asking, “but do you have the talent?”  To that voice, I say, “fuck you, there is only one way to find out.”

All my life, I have heard “you should” from the people around me, from my family, from the very people who should encourage me, accept me and love me unconditionally. “Hey Regina, you know what you should do? Let me tell you.”

I know what I should do; follow my own heart. Fulfill my own dreams. Be me. I don’t mind a bit if you be you, just let me be me.

BE YOUR OWN MAIN CHARACTER

It is astounding to consider how the role you play in family, in other people’s lives can stick with you. It’s so easy to forget that you are the main character in your own life, that other people don’t get to be the protagonist in your story. It’s astounding how that can last a lifetime—allowing yourself to be second to everyone else. And it’s extremely convenient for others when you acquiesce so easily.

SELF-KINDNESS

As for me, I have no more time to waste. Getting older forces you to finally set things straight with yourself. My therapist is right, this world is oh so big and there is plenty of room for the wildest of dreams. Don’t make yourself small for others. Don’t allow it. Look inside. Do the hard work. Make those dreams reality. Be kind to yourself. Believe in the possibilities of what you hold inside.

About Dogs

Dogs have made me a better person.

COCO

I first learned about the gifts and needs of dogs because of my silly chocolate cocker spaniel, Coco. He was such a mess! Born in a puppy mill, sold in a pet shop, as inbred as the Prince of Wales. He was a well-meaning thing, but he loved to run off every chance he got.

He was with me through a bad (duh, aren’t they all?) divorce. Then, when my life fell apart, I had to give him up. Oh, the guilt. At the time, I could barely take care of myself. He was a gift. In more ways than one. He was a gift who taught me things I needed to know. Coco was a runner. Every chance he got he would bolt out the door. But then, I was a runner too.

Coco was living proof that a dog should never be presented as a gift, especially if it’s a surprise. The day he was brought home to me, Coco ran, jumped into my arms and proceeded to give me puppy kisses all over my face. Irresistible. He was a city dog living in the country with his thick curls all stuck with sticker-burrs and mud. He needed grooming constantly. He was all energy and not the smartest kid on the block by any stretch. Chasing balls, he would slide into walls. He chased cows and cars. On a leash, he was a kite in a hurricane. Coco was cute and he made me laugh, but I was not good for him. When I gave him up to go to a better home, I was wracked with guilt and just so sad to see him go. It was the right thing to do. Coco taught me that I love dogs.

BONNIE

Later, Bonnie came into my life. The best dog ever! How I love my Bonnie Lass. She is smart and loyal and protective. She is so devoted to us, and we to her. Bonnie was the first born of a litter of 12 females. Her mother is a yellow lab trained hunting dog. Her father was the golden retriever down the street. Bonnie is beautiful, inside and out.

Bonnie’s passion is chasing tennis balls; she lives for it, but she will only play if there are two balls. One is not enough and two is all that will fit in her mouth! Second to ball-chasing, she loves to swim. Combine the two, and she is in heaven.

Every day at 4:00 sharp, she nudges me, puts her paw in my lap and demands attention—it is ball time. She knows words; she knows “ball” (of course), “river,” “toy,” and I swear, she understands everything we say. She knows when we are happy and when we are down. She is there for us. We do our best to reciprocate her love. It’s hard to love as good as a dog. A dog’s love knows no bounds. It is unconditional and perfect.

MIA

Mia is special. She is some sort of cow dog mix. My daughter rescued her (or the other way around, I think). Mia is not a city dog, so she came to live with us. Here, she prances about off leash and smiles a lot. She chases squirrels.  She’s a finicky old woman and can be passive-aggressive like a cat. I love Mia because she took such good care of my daughter. Also, because she is herself and a sweetie pie. She is our winky dog because she has one eye, and she is old, requiring much care.

LOVE

The dogs in our family mean so much to us. They teach us love every single day and remind us what is important. There was a time when I did not consider myself to be a “dog person,” now I cannot imagine life without them. Our lives are richer, simpler, and so much better because of the dogs we know.

Balance: This is for Tara (conversation through blog)

When I put too much on my plate, I become anxious and insecure. The worry of it all overwhelms. I worry that I won’t have enough time to do justice to each task. I worry that something important will be left undone; it’s all important. This is when inertia begins to set in. Deer in the headlights. Panic. Breathe.

LISTS

I try to control it. I am a big list maker. Lists for everything. There is nothing more satisfying than crossing something off a list. Nothing more disappointing than scratching something off a list because you know it just won’t happen. If it will not get accomplished, it doesn’t get to be listed.

CALENDARS

Calendars are the same as lists. And I don’t use the calendar on my phone or my computer. I need, really need, the act of writing it all down. That’s a brain thing. Also, I actually enjoy filling in the spaces. Calendars steady me, allow me to see ahead just a little bit, but not too much.

ADHD

Much of this has to do with being ADHD, I think; not that I have ever been diagnosed. That wasn’t a thing back in the day. ADHD usually conjures up the idea of little boys who can’t sit still. Now we know that ADHD manifests differently in girls: incessant talking, daydreaming, easily distracted, short attention spans (unless it’s something that impassions her). Hello! The ditzy little girl I just described? That would be me! And you know what? She was a pretty smart little cookie once you got past societal expectations and the dreaminess. Recently, much has been written about girls/women and ADHD; it’s high time. I could cite many sources here, but that would send me down a whole “nother” path so that this post would never get finished.

DEADLINES

Which leads me to this: I made a promise to myself that I would post on my blog site weekly. I gave myself Friday as my deadline. This is the first week that I have been late. I have two excuses (my husband says that I am the queen of excuses, but they aren’t excuses, but reasons). My first excuse/reason is that I spent a day resting with mild side effects from my second COVID shot. Fair.

My second excuse is more complicated. I began the week writing what was to be this week’s post about all the dead stuff in our yard that the winter storm caused. However, as I wrote, I began to think about bigger issues. I went from our frozen plants to the depletion of lightening bugs and monarch butterflies and climate change and drought. It was not a post, but four or five posts. I became overwhelmed and put it aside.

BE KIND TO YOURSELF

Please understand, I have lots of pots on my proverbial writing stove. I am excited about them. I want to do them all. Now. And I want to do them well. Blogging, for me, is an exercise in discipline. It helps me focus (believe it or not). I guess that makes a third excuse.

We must pace ourselves. Make those lists. Fill in the calendar. Roll up our sleeves and make these dreams real. Learn to balance those dreams with the hard work that it takes to make them real. That is what we do. Most importantly: be kind to ourselves. Give ourselves a break and enjoy the experience of just being.

I give myself permission to be a day late with this post in the name of learning balance. My hope is that the upcoming week will find me just a little more grounded so that I can fly! There is too much to do to stand still.

Texas Unmasked

Earlier this week I began to write about what I dream of doing when it is once again safe to unmask and go out in public. But yesterday the governor of Texas announced an end to the mask mandate and declared that public spaces can return to 100 % occupancy. We aren’t there yet. I wish we were, but this is not a safe measure based on Science. We have not reached herd immunity. Think about it: unmasked at capacity. Sometimes I wonder if people like Greg Abbott want the pandemic to continue. It makes no sense.

As much as I look forward to enjoying many activities outside my home, I will not be comfortable doing so until we get this thing under control. Because of yesterday’s announcement, I will not be going out in public at all unless absolutely necessary and I will be even more diligent about wearing my mask (if that is possible).

OLD NORMAL

While I am pleased that my husband and my parents have received their first shots of the vaccine, I still don’t qualify. Even with the vaccines we know we need to remain cautious. So many pieces need to come together in order for us to resume as before. If the governor thinks this announcement will bring life back to “normal,” he’s wrong. He is only postponing a return to what we once thought of as “normal.”

POLITICS

This makes me especially angry when I think of loved ones working every day in public. So many of my friends are educators who already lacked the appropriate support for staying safe. Now it will be even worse. My sister-in-law is a grocery store cashier where she will still be required to mask but customers will not be made to wear them. The State of Texas is putting its citizens in harm’s way.

Someday, though, I guess it will be later than sooner now, we will get to enjoy the outside world once again. As much as I actually enjoy being at home, there are some things I miss.

AFTER COVID TIMES

After COVID times, I will go to a concert and dance! I will have a big party in our backyard. I will spend hours browsing a good bookshop. I will go to the beach and travel. I will participate in 5K runs and attend writer’s workshops in person. I will sit at a bar with my husband and strike up conversations with strangers. I will go to the movies and order a giant barrel of buttered popcorn. I will hug everyone I see!

MY PLEA

Please everyone, keep yourselves safe and healthy and do your part to bring this pandemic to an end. Wearing a mask is an act of kindness. I look forward to seeing smiles again, healthy and bright. Mask up now so we can see your big smile later!

The Writer Defined

Who is Regina the Writer?

LIFE ROLES

Throughout life I have worn many hats. I am daughter/sister/mom/aunt/teacher/wife/friend. I am librarian/ paralegal/manager/student/caregiver/provider. Until now, I have not thought to distinguish my writer self from the others. Until now, I have not allowed myself to take myself seriously as a writer. So, I ask myself, what does that look like? Who is Regina, the writer? I must know her so that I can be her. The writer hat must become my primary hat now. In order to do that, I must know that person.

GOALS

First, as Regina the writer, I have dreams and I have concrete goals. I have on-going projects.

MEMOIR

Because I currently find myself in a transition period of life, my memoir is now front and center.  The memoir serves as a vessel to fill and explore how I came to be where I’m at now. In order to write other things, I have to understand how I got here and why certain problems have reoccurred throughout my life. There is a cycle that must be broken, not only in my own life, but also intergenerationally. After some pretty intense therapy and difficult digging deeply into my soul, I can now give a name to the monster that has haunted me for a lifetime and that has colored my relationships, that has shape-shifted into drinking, low self-esteem, self-sabotage and a myriad of other masks. The monster is abandonment. When I write about this, when I use my own life as an example, I can help others to understand their own abandonment issues. Through sharing this pain, my daughter will understand me better and together she and I can break the cycle of abandonment that has been passed down from one generation to the next in our family.

A NOVEL

When that is done, as I see it, I get to roll up my sleeves and do the fun stuff. Several years ago, I set aside a novel I started. When I don my writer hat, I have so many questions about the plot and the characters of this story. I struggle to know these people. There is a connection, I believe, between my Cat Island story and my memoir. There must be, they are my ancestors. after all. Getting to know these people in my head is so difficult because they did not leave behind diaries or any written artifacts to help me. Not only were they illiterate, but amongst themselves they did not even share a common language. On a small island, three generations spoke French and Spanish and likely Choctaw as well as English.

There are other topics trying to find their way out of me too. Finally, I have reached a time in my life when I can make my stories a priority. My next step is to get organized. My desk looks like my brain.

IDENTITY

Who am I as a writer? I am a woman who is deeply passionate about words. Like other roles I play, as a writer I hope to serve others, that is to help others find a better way. I hope to weave stories that fascinate, empathize and explore our amazing world. I love sharing my discoveries with others and that is what I want to do as writer.

Rubber Band

The smell of dust, body odor and overly sweet air freshener permeated the air within the stuffy cab. Cabs always made her want to bathe after even a short ride. The driver watched the road. He didn’t speak. His disinterest in the passenger precluded him from noticing her profound sadness that brought her close but not quite to tears. She sat completely alone and empty in spite of her swollen belly. She was not capable of a simple smile, much less her usual small talk toward a stranger. Any mention even of the weather would cause her to break down uncontrollably. So she sat silently and watched the city pass her by. She observed her immediate surroundings of the cab’s interior—the dark-skinned man at the wheel, the dusty plastic seats, a photograph, perhaps the driver’s daughter, clipped to the sun visor. Also on the visor was a large bunch of scraps of paper, receipts perhaps or licenses, held together with twenty or so rubber bands. Maybe he was an avid reader of the daily paper, she thought, and each morning when he unwrapped the rubber band from the paper he would wrap it on the visor from habit. She watched pedestrians cross at a red light. She thought about her husband whom she just left. She thought of him returning to their empty apartment, alone without his pregnant wife. She wondered if he would bring his girlfriend there while she was away. Would he cook for her? Play her records on the stereo? Her face went red and burned at the thought of that. As she stared through the front windshield one of the rubber bands, old and rotting, suddenly cracked, broke from the papers and shot into her face. She was startled. The driver didn’t see. They drove on.