Vacation!

Just a quick post today.

Monday Memoir and Friday Fun (Story Prompt Challenge) will return later in August.

Why?

In less than two days I’m flying out of state to visit family members for a few (or longer) weeks.  I hope to be able to blog while I’m there…but, in case I can’t, don’t worry, I WILL be back!

 

Advertisements

#Poetry: Alone (Video Format)

I’m continuing a series I began on my other blog (Only the Lonely Press), Dead Poets Society, with a poem by Edgar Allan Poe:

 

 

 

Monday Memoir: An Eccentric Outsider

 

I was almost six years old when I was diagnosed with nerve deafness.  I received my first behind-the-ear hearing aid shortly after the initial visit with Ms. Audrey.   The device helped as I was finally able to hear the sounds around me more clearly.  I could finally hear myself talk as well as whoever was trying to talk to me.

I was now able to understand and learn in school.

It certainly was not a “cure-all” as I was still very much a loner.  An outsider.

I spent the next two or three years attending speech therapy at a distant school.  About twice a week, a transportation vehicle would come and pick me up at the tiny private school I attended, and took me fifteen miles away to a moderate size elementary public school where I met with my speech therapist for our one-hour sessions.   Then I would board a public school bus with kids I didn’t know which took me home.

The speech therapy sessions helped, but I still spoke funny.

My accent was odd.  Out-of-place.

People, kids looked at me with strange expressions.

I felt very much alone most of the time.

Imaginary friends helped me through this period, as they would throughout my life.  Even as an adult, I still have imaginary friends.

Does that make me strange?

An outsider who’s not quite all there?

Hmm…yeah, I guess so.

And you know the funny part about all this?

I’m fine with it.  Totally and completely.

Why?

Because I have an excuse to be strange and odd, and what’s that word that a coworker once used to describe me?

Eccentric.

However, by the time I was eleven I’d developed a slight problem with having imaginary friends.   I started to act out some of the things they wanted me to do or where they wanted me to go.

Adventures in other lands.  Or, more like misadventures.

Like this one time when I was playing with my various superhero friends when one of them convinced me that I was Wonder Woman and could leap over a line of six chairs.   I almost cleared them all.  I ended up straddling a rocking chair and spent that evening in the ER.

When I was eleven my best friend was Melanie.  She was a red-head with a fiery temper.  I can’t remember what sparked the idea but she put out a challenge to see who could write the best short story.  I took the challenge and wrote a story about a haunted house where a girl went in to explore and found a decapitated head in the fridge.  Pretty morbid, but this particular challenge altered my life forever.

That day I learned there were other ways of participating in adventures with my imaginary friends; not to mention, much safer.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the writer within me was born.

Friday Favorite: Helen Keller and Poetry

 

It’s Friday–FINALLY!   🙂  🙂  🙂   Hope your week has been productive, and fast.  Mine was a bit chaotic with both hubby and son home sick for the past few days with colds.  I had a MRI done on a shoulder, and the results were positive–no surgery will be needed.  Just more physical therapy, but that I can handle.  🙂

Can’t help though but to feel a tad frustrated since I hadn’t done any writing this week.   It’s not that I’m feeling unproductive, but if a day or more pass by and I hadn’t created anything, that’s where the frustration lies.  I feel like an addict in that if I don’t get my fix (in the act of creating), I feel pent up, and agitated.

Sounds familiar?

Anyhoo…

A question popped in my  mind earlier this morning when I began thinking about Helen Keller (one of my favorite inspirational writers): how did she feel about poetry?

Reason this question came to mind is that I’ve been doing some soul-searching as I start to make plans for a memoir (which will be written around a series of poems I wrote throughout various parts of my life).  A realization struck me in how important writing poetry was to my healing (and dealing with losses), and I’ve begun to look at the role of how poetry therapy played in other people’s lives.

I knew Helen Keller had written at least one memoir, and several essays, but I wondered if she ever wrote poetry.  So, I hunted online to find the answer.  Although I did find it, I also found this particular quote by Keller that I’m considering to have framed and placed on my writing desk:

 

Poetry is liberating.   Writing poetry enable me to delve deeper in emotions and experiences that have been too painful to voice orally, and even openly about.

What about you?  Have poetry been instrumental in certain aspect or time of your life?  Do you have a favorite poet or poem?

 

 

#YouTube Tuesday: Dead Poets Society Series

I enjoy creating videos for various poetry, and have started a new series on my You Tube channel called “Dead Poets Society.”

This is my latest one, “Waking in Winter,” by Sylvia Plath:

 

 


 

If you enjoyed that one here are three more:

 

God Lay Dead in Heaven by Stephen Crane

I Felt A Funeral, In My Brain by Emily Dickinson

Fire and Ice by Robert Frost

 

Detours

Photo Credit: Pixabay Free Images

“The road had detours, stop signs, missed turns, hills and valleys, deep, deep tangled forests, ruts and potholes, icy patches, and spin-outs along the way.” -Jazz Feylynn

 

I notice that the older I get, the more reflective and contemplative I become.

Not necessarily a bad thing; but, it tends to be painful at times.

Regrets.  So many of them.

It’s amazing how one’s past can ruin the future if you dwell on it for too long.

My fear is ending up a bitter old woman like my grandmother.   Her own family (parents) were unfair to her and she allowed that to poison her.  In turn, she lashed out on her own family (husband and children), and ended up alone and miserable in a nursing home.  Her last days were tormentous I’ve been told.

No, I do NOT want to end up like her.  Allowing regrets to poison my heart and soul.  To end up dying all alone when I’m not truly alone.

As a child, you have such dreams and hopes for the future; only to have them tainted or crushed by various circumstances of which many were out of your control.

In life, there are many roads; almost limitless.  Each road you choose to follow takes you through various types of terrains.  And on occasions, you’ll come across a detour that takes you well out-of-the-way.  Some detours bring unexpected joy and amazing experiences; while others only result in pain and heartache.

In the end, it is up to us to choose how we’ll react to these detours.

For many years, between the age of 21 and 44, I chose anger, resentment, and anxiousness.  These served me poorly.  I found no peace in them; just this growing misery that slowly ate away my heart and soul.

I got so tired of feeling negative about everything.  I longed for peace, and calmness.  I desired to use the various experiences in my life to help others.  To let them know that there is more to life than misery.  That there is beauty, and hope.  All that’s required is faith, and never stop believing in dreams.

“Embrace the detours for they are the keys to discovering yourself.” -unknown author

 

#IWSG A Rainy Day For This Writer

Click on the image to access this group’s official page

 

This month’s question: When your writing life is a bit cloudy or filled with rain, what do you do to dig down and keep on writing?

 

Photo Credit: Alexander Tayson

 

I’m experiencing this weather phenomenon right now.  If you look out my window, you’ll see the partially bare ground laced with dirty snow.   The air is frigid as the arctic breeze sweep through the barren trees that pepper our farmstead.

It’s April, but winter is sticking around.

I’ve been cooped up indoors for months.  I leave the house only once a week for grocery shopping, and that’s it.

No fresh air.  No real exercise (the treadmill only goes so far).

Depression is settling in heavy, and affecting my writing life.

With several projects lined up to be worked on, all I’ve done is watch medical dramas on Hulu.

I feel the dark clouds billowing over my head as I ignore the jabbering of characters in my mind.   Rain comes in form of tears as the frustration (with myself) grows.

I must find a way to jump-start my writing.

Writing is my sun.  My fresh air.

But right now, the storm clouds are winning.

Bottomline, the problem is I’m a writer with very little outside contact (other than family members).  No one to spur me on with a pep talk or encouragement.  Being a shut-in (self imposed), there is no one to blame for my predicament other than myself.

Granted, I can’t just hop in a car and drive because of my blindness.

However…

There is this lovely thing called technology that allows one to keep connected with people from all walks of life.  This for me has been a blessing.

So, instead of wallowing in self-pity, I’m here, blogging, and in essence, writing which is all the kick in the pants I need for the clouds to roll back, and allow the sun to peek through.

 


 

#WritersLife: The Dreamer In the Writer

Photo Credit: Pixabay Free Images

 

As a young child and still today,

I’d stare out a window

and dream

 

Of other realms and ages,

of people and creatures

large, small, but never

inanimate or dull

 

In my mind, they are all

alive and loud

 

Chattering, lots of chattering

which push me to the

edge of insanity

 

I then lose myself

in them as the pen

marks the paper…

 

and the story begins

 

 


 

To see this in video format, click HERE.