Writing Free

Are You Writing About Your Own Life...

and Don't Know It?

     This question came up during a session at a writers’ conference a number of years ago, and I rejected it quite soundly. However, the more I write and the more I look back on what I’ve written, I recognize there is truth in the question’s inevitable answer.

     I’m not going to spell out all the themes—my readers can try to figure those out or not. But one I want to discuss is the theme of surviving—because I have. Sometimes survival isn’t a choice. Sometimes it just has to be done.

     Probably fifty years ago, I started work on a novel that has, as yet, never been finished. It’s come to an end more than once, but somehow the lives of the characters are not yet concluded.

     It began as the saga of six high school friends who hung onto each other through the Depression and three wars, saw dreams and children die, experienced the peace of belonging to a family not made by blood, and who—inevitably—said the final goodbye to each other one by one.

     I wrote it from six POVs and received strong  criticism for doing so. I felt the story was working, but then I decided that perhaps one POV would work after all. But which one? As I considered the six characters, each unique and strong is his/her own way, and all of them survivors in one respect or another, I honed in on one.

     Like a bolt out of the blue, I knew which one I could write with credibility because I knew her. I gone where she’d gone, been where she’d been, and started over more than once, not always successfully. I was her. She was me.

     Will I ever conclude the lengthy tale? I hope so. Meanwhile, it’s still a WIP—a work in progress. So is my character. And so am I.

~~~~~

Think About It…

     Some years ago I resigned from an organization to which membership is granted by genealogical lineage. The reason I resigned is because I learned that one of my granddaughters who is adopted would not be welcome because her blood is not the same as mine. It took me about sixty seconds to decide I wanted no part of such an organization.

     All three of my granddaughters are my granddaughters. They are all part of this family. The Nickles name belongs to each one as much as the other.

     As I understood it, she might be offered an associate membership due to the fact of adoption. I read that as second-class membership. I, for one, do not believe that there are second-class people. If this so-called patriotic organization holds that belief, they have totally ignored the document which established this country 250 years ago.

…All men are created equal…

     I resigned and never looked back. But due to some recent publicity about disagreements in this organization, I began to think about it, and this particular thought came to mind:

     When the landing craft disgorged their human cargo on the beaches of Normandy, the water turned red with blood. No one questioned whether all of that blood was “good enough” to be spilled in defense of freedom.

     Think about that for a few minutes.

     Uh-huh, right.

 ~~~~~

A Plan for Each Day 

For years I lived “by the book”—one being the lesson plan book. I also had a day planner for real life whenever I remembered that I had one! I raced from one thankless chore to another without taking a breath. At the end of the day, I was worn out and grinchy.

For the first few years of retirement, I kept a day planner just to remind me of the appointments that seem to come with getting older and also to look back on and realize I wasn’t as busy as I’d like to be.

Just in the last year, I’ve gotten away from keeping a day planner and haven’t missed it. But simplifying my life while staying productive is important.

I plan—but plans can change, and that’s important, too. Because I’m retired, I don’t answer to anyone but myself, so flexibility is no longer a luxury but a part of daily life.

Boring blog? You bet! But read between the lines:

·         Prioritize

·         Do the next thing.

·         It’s not do or die.

Real life is ever-present and must be dealt with, but living life is much more important!

 Free to be me—that’s what I aim for.

You should, too!

~~~~~

The Seasons Roll By...

     Everyone knows there are four seasons, but there are seasons of life, too. We are young, we are older...we are old. Yearly seasons repeat. Seasons of life do not.

     A casual conversational topic is often, “Would you go back?”

     My answer is, “No...at least, not too far back.”

     It’s taken me most of my allotted fourscore and ten to reach the place where I am now, and I like being here: retired, responsible for no one but myself, without the desire for material things, knowing what’s important and what’s trivial. It’s a good place to be.

     But do I have a bucket list? Oh, yes.

1.                   Get off my backside and finish publishing all the books languishing on my computer for too long.

2.                  Finish compiling years of research into Forgotten Faces and Places of San Angelo.

3.                  Write/submit for publication some of the better short stories I’ve written.

4.                  Write more short stories.

5.                  Read all the books stored on my Kindle.

6.                  Settle on what activities I really want to do—and do them.

7.                   Finish my self-taught criminal justice course and move on to forensics.

     The seasons of my life have come and gone. I was young...then I grew older...now I am old, but only in a sense. Only when one stops learning and enjoying each day does one truly grow old.

     I’m not there yet.

~~~~~

Once Upon a Time… 

Once upon a time, one visited a doctor, dentist, optometrist, etc. and came away with a verbal or written notice of an upcoming appointment. No longer. Now these “reminders” ping your cell phone’s message app and light up your email at the same time.

We are no longer considered capable of remembering or writing down a date and time. No, now the general population is considered to have the brains of a gnat (does a gnat even have a brain?), so we must be reminded—several times.

Recently I had a doctor’s appointment for which I received no less than half-a-dozen “reminders”. (Actually, I think it was seven in all.)

Having had a busy day on the day before this writing, I decided to sleep in this morning. No alarm. Kitties and birds wouldn’t starve if breakfast wasn’t served until after nine or so. Plants on the patio wouldn’t give up the ghost and die if they weren’t “misted” until then.

I am sleeping the sleep of the just at 7 AM when BANG—a message drags me into wakefulness. An emergency? Someone who forgot they are an hour ahead and hit “send”? No. It was—you’ve got it—a “reminder” of an upcoming appointment tomorrow. An appointment carefully listed on my calendar and my daily to-do list.

Evil thoughts invaded my usually calm morning spirit.

Evil joy replaced the thoughts when I texted STOP to never ever receive another “reminder” from this place.

I know people forget. Some people even forget on purpose because they want to do something else. I do not. I respect the allocation of time (which means money) for the office with which I’ve made an appointment. I am there on time—which, when I was growing up, meant at least ten minutes early. Often, I must wait long past my appointment time.

But I am there.

I do NOT have the brains of a gnat.

 ~~~~~

Hello! Are You Listening

There is a conspiracy out there, and I am a victim. I mean, I am a senior citizen, and manufacturers of every product want to make sure we seniors can’t get into what we need to get into! At least, not without great effort and frustration! Let me be blunt: the seals on most products are put there with one purpose in mind—Get Granny!

My first encounter was when pharmacies put my meds in childproof containers. Hello—I can’t take the med if I can’t get into it! I had to sign a waiver at the pharmacy in order to get normal lids which I could open!

Then came the jar lids, the kind that don’t screw off but rather must be pried off while listening for the “safety button” to pop. Hello—do you realize that glass jars can be broken while trying to remove the lid with a flat knife when the lid won’t turn?

And just this morning, for perhaps the millionth time, I spent too long trying to remove the taped seal on a bottle of chocolate syrup—and still had to open the top and remove the seal inside! If it hadn’t cost me $6+, I might have chunked the entire brand-new bottle.

How about the non-edible products sealed in plastic that has to be cut away from the product? Hello—do you realize that nice protective plastic can inflict cuts as deep as a switchblade?

I am a senior citizen, though a Mimi and not a Granny. But my body bears the trauma of trying to access everyday products which I need to get open sooner than next week!

Hello! Are you listening out there?

~~~~~