This was written by my 13-year son. Out of the blue, he decides to write a poem.
The Wolf Inside
When the moon rises
You feel the heat
You taste the anger
You smell the meat
When the flower blooms
Deep in your heart
You feel the change coming
And it begins to start
When the blood is consumed
Get ready for a ride
Forming a mongrel hide
You lose control
A blood lust created
They razed the village
Which is why they’re hated
You can’t run
and you can’t hide
From the beast within
And the wolf inside
Madeline Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time was my very first science fantasy read. I remember it because it hooked me into reading science fantasy rather than the silly pre-teen angst novels my friends were reading. It defined me as different.
After a friend introduced me to Pat Frank’s Alas, Babylon in high school, I fell in love with post-apocalyptic novels and how mankind survives near annihilation. Take everything away from a person and throw them into survival test after test. What happens to ensure success? As fascinated as I am by the stories, I’m not sure I’ve learned anything from the books.
I discovered hard science fiction in college. Stories spun by turning known scientific theories on their head. Settings created unlike anything we know on earth. Time travel. Alternative universes. Space and planet explorations. Changes in human anatomy. Communication without words or speech. When I want to put my mind at ease, I dive into science fiction.
- Some choices over the years…
Reading more non-fiction than fiction, just a few years ago I got on a kick of reading about Henry VIII’s reign after seeing the Elizabeth: The Golden Age movie. I wanted more background on her, her family, her rise to the throne. As a degreed Americanist historian, I always felt I needed a more thorough understanding of the passions behind the Reformation that eventually pushed the Pilgrims to America.
Then I found a writer that wrote non-fiction of that era as well as fiction. Her books are fiction in the sense that the dialogue is made up yet set in real historic facts. Historic fiction can be difficult for a historian to read, yet I have let it incite a passion that I had buried deep inside my mind: to write my own science fiction, alternative history, time traveling, post-apocalyptic, historic fiction novel.
Choices going back to 3rd grade have defined my current desires. Be careful in what you choose to read. It might determine what you do tomorrow.
Four years ago this month I decided whatever I did, however life happened, no more excuses. Over time I have adapted to that motto in all areas of my life save one: my dreams. I knew what was holding me back but didn’t know how to overcome it.
Why is it so easy to make the excuse that I can’t accomplish something because I’m scared I will fail? I actually had to utterly fail at something before deciding to figure out a way to kill my fear of failure. Last year I came across a magnet that says, “What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?” As the list grows to answer that question, I often wonder why I waited so long.
My dreams are not far-fetched and are very achievable. One in particular, to write a book, has been a dream since I was in the third grade. I’ve written a lot of things, but never a book. I have many ideas for books but the beginning formulation for a particular one came to me in 1993 on a flight to Boston. Not only has that idea not left me over the years, it has haunted me.
Progressively, without writing a word, I have researched, dreamed, thought and sometimes been hit from out of the blue with another idea for the book. As I sit tingling with the thought of laying down the plot of the story, I think about everything that interests me and it all serves as a conduit to this book in my head. In other words, it has become my passion.
Realizing I have no more excuses is a relief. More importantly, I’m ready to get this book out of my head and share it. Do I fear that others will not find it interesting, worth reading or worse? Yes, but I don’t have a problem with risking that now. They will never have the chance to tell me if I don’t write it. If I fail, I will learn from it and write the next one better.
So, I’ve run out of excuses. What now? What else? Write.
This week was difficult – at work, at home, with friends and family. I will say I made it through but not unscathed or unaffected.
One friend hurts and I want to fix it but can’t. One friend met with disappointment that surprisingly hurt me but I could not expressed it properly so it came out selfishly. Another friend found joy but suffers loss all the same. I can only hope they all know I’m still here.
My son is suddenly all grown up. While he continues to pull away he still clings. He noticed my distress one evening and as we said our goodbyes the next morning at school he told me that he hoped it would be a better day for me than yesterday. He’ll never know just by saying so that it was.
Work was the easiest to deal with but was really busy. I worked hard to be all things to all people and it physically and mentally exhausted me. I remain true to myself but the push-pull sometimes keeps me off-balance. I continue to enjoy what I do, what I learn and what we are able to get done.
My husband and I continue to struggle to stay connected with all that we have going on as workaholics, parents and friends. Preserving a little of ourselves for each other was just a bit more difficult this week. Time for deep, meaningful conversations came at the expense of sleep but we were able to carve out that time.
I paid less attention to the news because of all this and primarily due to the fact that no news could be bigger than that of the beginning of the week. Osama Bin Laden was killed. Details of it getting hashed out did not interest me. The churn of negativity made me angry at the media. One eye for so many seemed too fair. The rest doesn’t matter to me.
With Mother’s Day nearly here, I feel the distance all the more between me and my mom. Being so far away is not easy. I try to ignore the pain of it but I feel it most on Mother’s Day because no matter what anyone else thinks of their mother, mine is the best. I miss her very much despite how busy my life can get here.
Feeling the splintering of my time and attention is disconcerting when I don’t get my introverted time I need to reflect. My writing and reading time suffered this week but I will try to catch up next week. The busy week served to remind me my life is not my own; it belongs to so many others. If it belonged to just me, it would be empty and meaningless. I am happy, even grateful, to share it.
Filed under Life, writing
This blog was my first I created sometime ago. When it came time to name it, I wanted it to mean something to me and possibly even describe myself and the blog’s contents. It took 4 seconds to come up with the name “Bare Bones’ Blather.
“Bones” is the nickname my mother gave me because I was a very skinny, lanky child. The name is straight forward with an endearment attached to it.
The act of writing can be revealing in many ways. My thoughts have always been something I value and sharing them can sometimes be difficult for me. Putting my thoughts and feelings on display is like stripping me bare.
Is there a need to explain the “blather?” Somedays I think I make some sense. Somedays I don’t make any sense even to myself. But, I will continue to blather on, practicing my thought flow to the screen and laying bare my bones.
Filed under Life, writing