Archive for April, 2008
Just when you might have thought I’ve abandoned my goofy nature with all these posts on recycling and traumatized children…I can’t resist a new dog picture: Exhausted dog after spending a warm spring day with all five of my grandchildren. Back in a few days…currently in a writing frenzy…
When Pap and I took custody of the oldest two grandgirls over a year ago, removing them from the nightmare our oldest daughter had created through alcohol, drugs and men who treat her like a punching bag…I commented to him that I was concerned that the girls were not exhibiting the anger, fear, frustration, or angst I thought they should considering what they’d been through. They settled into my house with very little problem. They laughed and giggled all the time, had good grades at school and really enjoyed their visits with their mother as she got her life back on track. When Children’s Services cleared my daughter’s case and the girls moved back in with her, they were excited to reunite their family. Happy to be back with Mom. Most of the family thought we’d dodged a bullet…call me pessimistic, but I knew the gavel would eventually fall. Nobody goes through what they did without getting totally and royally pissed.
My daughter is finding out that nobody exists in a vacuum. Everything we do or say affects somebody else and results in repercussions. If you’re sending out good – that’s what bounces back. If not – you get the ten year old daughter from Hell. Now that the pressure is off and life at her house looks like it did at my house, Jazz is thoroughly and completely furious at her mother. From screaming tantrums to name calling to open rebellion on chores and curfews…she’s giving it back. But the worst part of this ugly scenario, is Jazz doesn’t know why she’s angry, she’s just mad all the time and usually out of proportion to the situation at hand. What’s saddest to me is seeing the light seeping out of this child that occupies such a piece of my heart. Counseling is forthcoming, and my hope is that the psychiatrist is successful, because too many of these pictures keep showing up on my camera.
Of all the things we relocated or gave away in order to scale down our lives, Pap and I miss the dogs and cats the most. Well, we miss the kids too, but they haven’t tossed a ball or snuggled in for a hug with us in many years. This little guy needed a new home so when the call came in, how could we say no? His name is Wimper (I just adopt ’em, I don’t name ’em) and he looks so much like our last Shih-Tzu, after just one day I feel like I’ve known him forever. He’s one, the same age as my youngest two grandgirls, likes vanilla ice cream and believes his new chew bear belongs on my bed. Ought to be an interesting ride with this guy.
Now that we’re settled into our new little jewel box of a home, a few truths have emerged:
- It grows larger any time you have to mop the floor.
- One thing out of place makes the entire house look trashed.
- Spiders that invade a small house are just as big as spiders that invade a large house.
After two days of breaking my back trying to get the garden in shape at this new house, I was very happy to see rain on Saturday. This town was built on clay, you might think you have top soil, but it’s no more substantial than foundation and blush on a ladies face. I had forgotten this fact after working on the gardens of my old house for 15 years. Luckily, we had this early great weather, I’m nowhere near planting anything.
Progress on my new book continues with the exception of my main character’s sidekick who has gone totally rogue. I keep telling him I’m going to write him out and replace him with a girl if he doesn’t knock it off, but he’s not listening. Lest you think I’ve gone totally insane, remember the story acts itself out in my head and I just record the action. Despite this technique, I do have a plan and a rough outline for where I want the story to go…then something like this happens. Punkin’ headed supporting character keeps pushing his way to the forefront.
The sun is shining and I have a new flower bed filled with dandelions. Back on Monday!
Last night was the monthly meeting of my writing group. Of all the committees and groups I’ve ever belonged to, this is my favorite. There’s much debate in the writing world about the benefits of a writing group. By its very nature, writing is a solitary pursuit. But not all writers can continue to be productive without the stimulus of time spent with other writers. I’m one of those writers.
Our writing group was formed in 2004 with the following purpose: To provide a safe and inspirational place for local writers to assemble for motivation, inspiration, instruction, guidance and the resources needed to complete their work. We’ve stayed true to that purpose and while we have yet seen a member get something published traditionally, our group is as fresh and vibrant as it was the first day we met. To a member, everyone is writing. What started as a hand full of townies, has grown to a full page of names and e-mail addresses and includes members from towns as much as forty miles away. Our membership includes fiction writers, journalists, playwrites, poets and historians. We range in age from 17-73.
As I looked around the room last night I couldn’t help thinking we’re onto something. We’re doing something right. Some of our people have come from other groups that failed, but nobody has ever been able to clearly tell me what led to that failure. I’d like to know, so that those mistakes don’t creep into our program.
Do you belong to a writers group? Have you in the past? Tell me about it.