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The Ocean Rolls Us Away… (away, away)

www.rainydayinmay.com

On Fridays, most of the time, I join some really inspirational and talented writers. Kate over at Five Minute Friday issues a one word prompt and we have five minutes to write whatever free flow, unedited thoughts come to us. Every week I am amazed at some of the really extraordinary pieces I read from the link-up and since this week’s prompt is about my very favorite thing in the entire world, I can’t wait…

~

Oh, the ocean rolls us away

away

away

the ocean rolls us away…

Buds tucked inside of my ears deliver the last touch of a balm my crumbling spirit needed to climb towards the waiting restore…

All of these moments are lost in time

But you caught in my head like a thorn on a vine

To forever torment me and I wonder why

Do I wish I’d never known you at all

Crashing into the atmosphere, competing with the notes the Bravery laments on either side of my mind, the sea foams earthy and present, spraying my sand sprinkled feet while my senses are slammed with salty, sea air.

Everything.

This is everything.

Like nothing else, in the world, this soft beach bottom embraces me naturally as land and sea violently come together, kiss- only to part again, a mere body’s length from me- (assuming that body was really, really tall, of course.) It is the one place where I feel whole, connected, reborn, in unison with God, salvation and the very core of all that my inspiration comes from.

It is where I am me. Where I see me. Him in me…

The lyrics, the sand, the salty-air, slight wet breeze- a raging metaphor for the moments which I have already walked through, and to the ones still just ahead…

The sun and the moon, an ocean of air
So many voices and nothing is there
But the ghost of you asking me why, why did I leave?
Oh, The ocean rolls us away, away, away
The ocean rolls us away
Oh, The ocean rolls us away, away, away
And I loose your hand through the waves

~

(Full disclosure, it is 2:14 a.m. on Friday morning and, headphones in and music playing, I was catching up on a deadline and, blurry eyed, decided to knock out my FMF post as well. As I began my timer, the song The Ocean by the Bravery randomly began to play… Except we all know there are no coincidences. It was a beloved little nod, and I embraced it.)

Obstacle vs. Victory…

Statistically speaking, it was seven miscarried pregnancies, a tiny sneak peek of uterine cancer and a medical procedure to eliminate any chances for the same sort of bad, (or much, much worse) to occur…

Humanly speaking, I was a shattered twenty-four year old woman having an emergency hysterectomy after my heart had been ripped from my soul and trampled on seven different hellish times. My body was worn, my womb twisted, scarred and reaching it’s expiration date…

The two perspectives belong to the very same story, but they each tell an entirely different tale.

In the midst of the story is infidelity, adultery, deceit, abuse and so much more. The bad moments, the broken and bloody miscarriage moments last a lifetime- there, shattered and bleeding on that lime green tile floor. By my now ripe age of forty-two I have lived at least a dozen lifetimes, it feels

And yet.

This humanly statistical story of life and luck-gone-nightmarishly-wrong did not end with the loss of life, loss of womanhood. It continued and holds, within it’s oxygen bound chapters, reconciliation, redemption, reconnection, three lovely little childhood souls without a mother and this aching mother’s heart without children to love. Mine is not a statistical story about loss, but gain. It is not about hopeless longing, though it did contain that then. Instead it is a story of a miraculous weaving, of a family that grows despite the odds. Imperfect and yet perfectly real.

This is my story. We all have them.

We have all had hardships which stood between us and something bigger, something looming impossible. We’ve all known our greatest obstacle- and our stories did not end there.

Rocky is a timeless tale still loved and embraced decades after its creation. This is because Rocky’s story resonates with us. After all, isn’t that why art exists, to connect us with our inner-self, our God, the world around us and each other? Art opens and exposes us…

And just like our own stories, art never ends.

I am really excited to share with you about Creed 2… (like, REALLY excited!)

www.rainydayinmay.com

PRIDE. LEGACY. FAMILY.

This fall, there is more to lose than a title.

In Theaters Wednesday, November 21st

Official Synopsis:  Life has become a balancing act for Adonis Creed. Between personal obligations and training for his next big fight, he is up against the challenge of his life. Facing an opponent with ties to his family’s past only intensifies his impending battle in the ring. Rocky Balboa is there by his side through it all and, together, Rocky and Adonis will confront their shared legacy, question what’s worth fighting for, and discover that nothing’s more important than family. Creed II is about going back to basics to rediscover what made you a champion in the first place, and remembering that, no matter where you go, you can’t escape your history.

Release Date: November 21, 2018

Director: Steven Caple Jr.

Cast: Michael B. Jordan, Sylvester Stallone, Tessa Thompson, Wood Harris, Russell Hornsby, Florian “Big Nasty” Munteanu, Andre Ward, Phylicia Rashad, Dolph Lundgren

Writer: Sylvester Stallone

Distributor:  MGM, Warner Bros. Pictures

#CreedII

Official Site | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

The one with the Do’s and Do Not’s…

I used to wake up, before the sun, every morning. I would make breakfast for my husband and get him out the door. I would write until it was time to wake my youngest. Before any of those things happened, I had made my bed, gone through my diligent face care routine and dressed in real (non-pajama) clothes. She had a home cooked breakfast, every morning, and then we homeschooled.

I was not a coffee drinker.

I managed to write an entire novel this way, make a decent income as a blogger and worked as both a freelance film critic and consultant for Random House. At some point, in 2010, I decided I needed more on my plate, so I turned my passionate hobby of photography into a small business.

Allow me to pause here, for just a minute, to advise you against taking something you creatively love and making it a business. This does seem to work out for some, but for so many of us it only leads to disaster… My DSLR is hardly ever on these days, and after two years of taking orders from people who did not care what my focus or vision was, I closed the doors on that endeavor. There was also the fact that I was tired, my writing was suffering and I was joining the masses as an exhausted/uninspired blogger…

It will probably always come back to this blog.

It’s not surprising that when one pulls away from consistent blogging, allowing months to pass between half-hearted attempts at posts, their audience gravitates elsewhere. Social media and the miracle of micro-blogging was not a thing yet. Somehow I kept this little space of the internet there, at bay, for the someday to come. The someday when I would feel inspired and suddenly once again share everything through the lens of an observer.

The thing is, that day will never come.

Just like sitting on three completed novels, a hundred personal essays and poetry pieces does not a published author make. While I know that several of those projects are nowhere near publishable, it annoys me to wake up at 42 and wonder what I was thinking? I kept my life at bay, waiting for that day when I’d be an agent represented, published author. How I would ever get from point A to G without accomplishing B, C, D, E, & F, I never seemed to consider. It would just happen, wouldn’t it? No. “If you write it, they will read it…” “If it’s meant to be, it will be…” *Insert other stupid nonsense, we put our faith in because we need something to believe in and that might be less vulnerable than actually going after it, here…*

When my youngest left the nest, I knew the season of pursuit was upon me. I knew that the running list of things I used to do, would be mine again-

  • I would blog.
  • I would find an agent.
  • I would publish my book.
  • I would begin a podcast.
  • I would have this amazing army of a support system around me.
  • I would master time management, beginning with a sacred morning quiet time, which would fill my soul with infinite peace…
  • I would read so many books.

The good news is that I did manage to start a podcast, and I really love the experience. It has been like nothing I ever could have imagined, in my wildest dreams. The truth is though, the podcast wasn’t ever meant to be the focus or the most important part. (Someone asked me the other day how I felt podcasting and writing went hand in hand. I couldn’t answer. The truth is, they don’t. Both support my heart, my vision/what I believe is my purpose, but that is the only real connection.)

The rest though, minus point five, is on me. My time management is far from mastered. No longer having kids at home, it is beyond me how I can not manage to find time to do these things. How many times did I say:

When school is out for summer I will…

When Gen graduates I will…

After we move, I will…

Just let me get through the holidays and then I will… 

Because, in some dysfunctional way I believed time would magically appear, but it doesn’t. Time to write, time to sit quietly to connect/pray/reflect, time to work out, time to… IT DOES NOT *POOF* into existence. We adapt and fill those spaces once filled by other things, with new things. Because the habits didn’t already exist, they don’t fall in line.

I have felt so much insurmountable disappointment in all of this. I half heartedly throw a post up and only a couple dozen people may read it. Defeat. I take part in a few linkups in an effort to connect with readers and grow an audience (again), but see little to no traffic increase. Defeat. I start the year off with a simple, lovely little devotional and open it yesterday morning to see five weeks have passed since my last check in with that sweet little book. Defeat. I catch a glimpse of my TBR pile. DEFEAT…

And, to be honest, I find myself incredibly hurt and disappointed by the lack of support in the people I love more than life itself. Which, is ok. It is ok to be hurt when it seems like others should care. HOWEVER, out of an entire list of things bearing my frustration and disappointment, that is the one point I cannot do anything about. Instead of allowing that to debilitate me further, I need to just get up, dust myself off and DO ALL OF THE THINGS. Period.

Instead, I stay stuck, and we all know that defeat and disappointment feel terrible.

I have lived silently within the dimension of my growing frustration at these things. With each passing day, I have felt worse, but did little to change a thing. Then I became a part of a conversation with others. Other women, women I respect and admire, who are living an almost identical chapter. What?!?!?! Something magical happened though, when this conversation began…

I was able to start addressing these things, one little bit at a time. I am still chipping away and maybe that will sum up the next ten years of my life. That’s ok too. I’ll get there and it WILL be worth it.

This early Wednesday morning I do not have time management mastered, but I am managing to use my time better. I am realizing my mistakes within the dream world of overwhelm.

I am doing something, and so at least there is that.

Restorative?

rainydayinmay.com/blog

On Fridays, Kate issues a simple writing prompt into the vast internet. Those of us who wish, write free flow style, for five minutes and then we link up to share, support and encourage others. It’s pretty great. If you haven’t read theirs, you should… This week’s writing prompt is: RESTORE

~

This is, perhaps a letter. A gentle, pleading note to the core of me- my soul… to the world around my spirit which needs to loosen its grip (or at least handle me more kindly)… A plea maybe, most of all, to the God who designed, orchestrates and holds it all within the palms of His hands…

Restore within me an eye for the goodness surrounding me, that I might see the specks of its glitter sparkle amidst the settling dust and ash.

It is there.

It has to be.

I know it is…

Or do I simply believe it? And are they the same? I am wondering.

No, I am wandering…

I am lost.

Nearly three years of uncertainty and sadness pull me beneath that space where water meets air. Over again I kick to the surface, inhaling sharply before I am dragged back down again. Feet slamming into the murky floor of a depth rising as the seconds pass. The pressure builds, my strength wanes. I can’t imagine having the ability to kick much more, yet off I go.

How many times has it been now?

Even more draining is the wondering how many times more.

Restore within me the ability to need nothing new. Nothing else from anyone, because once I lived in that place and though the not needing felt invigorating and free- the living it weighed a bit heavy and cold. As I have allowed myself to grow more see through, I’ve found my needs appear as well. When your transparency becomes you, wounds often happen easier.

Needs forever unmet have a way of producing in me the feelings of never having been met-

never having been seen.

never having been.

~

Well… There were my five minutes. A little dark today, I’d say. The brain goes where it goes…

I actually adore Fridays and put out a weekly email spotlighting the things I loved the most, within the week. I share personally, in a way more appropriate for the intimacy of an email- and though it’s authentic, it is much less dark! I’d love to connect with you, too!

Personality and the Writer, an introspect…

www.rainydayinmay.com

My husband is an engineer and, especially in the past eighteen months, whenever I’ve found myself in conversation with another woman there are certain statements I may make which illuminate the personality types attached to his profession. You must be married to an Engineer! she’ll say, her smile one that understands. It has been my experience that there is a lot of truth to this. Though I am yet to understand how all of the personality tests and enneagram guides work, I do comprehend one hundred percent that if I type “gifts for engineers” in my Amazon search engine, hundreds of things my husband would LOVE fill my screen.

It seems like writers aren’t quite so lucky. There is no one-size-fits-all list of characteristics, within our group. Maybe this is because engineering is so precise and unimaginative, where as in the writer’s world imagination breeds life

I, by nature, am an ambivert. (introverted extrovert) By this I mean that I am a lover of quiet, alone time. I thrive on my routines and the peaceful security of knowing what comes next and where things are. I gladly accept the idea that when one puts on headphones it means to back away and leave them alone. By this rule, I can honestly say there is a huge portion of my life where I would live in headphones! (The big, fluffy/comfortable ones that sound technicians wear. And there would always be music playing, this could never be a fake out for some privacy. Music gives life…) I often need to really talk myself into making an appearance around other homosapians, and when I do, I need to come home and recharge mindlessly from the drain the outing caused.

BUT… (but, but, but, but, but…) I LOVE to host things. If I had my way, most weeks would include dinner parties, book clubs, girlfriends over for cups of tea or mugs of coffee, movie nights complete with popcorn and bowls of ice cream, craft nights, brunches, board game playing and endless glasses of wine… I feel the most like myself when there are people I love under my roof. I also love to travel, and when I travel I want to be out to see and do all of the things. When it is a dinner party (which I am not hosting) or a girl’s night out and those in attendance happen to be people I adore- everyone better buckle in for a long evening because I will come alive with laughter, conversation, spontaneity and be up for almost anything if it means the party won’t stop.

The upside is that I get to live the best parts of each side of this spectrum, the downside is that sometimes the worst parts war each other. (Also, an added downside is that I’m not so easy to gift to lazily, which is also an upside so the complexity continues.) Sometimes people just don’t get it and they want to lump me into their perception of a writer, but those perceptions are always wrong. I’m yet to meet a lazy writer, a rich writer, an eccentrically sensitive writer or a reclusive and resentful writer. Perhaps those people just aren’t on my dinner party invite lists, but I think more realistically these are caricatures of an idea that the unimaginative simply misunderstood.

As a writer it seems as though my introvert times often lead to me feeling a bit uninspired creatively. It is a catch-22 really, because when I hit a solid writing stride I cave myself in, getting lost in the project. The other side of things will likely find me laughing, blooming from the social engagement and so motivated/inspired to record the brilliant stream of things flowing through my mind, but the circumstances won’t allow spontaneous caving, writer’s cramps and reclusiveness. (This could perhaps give us a line of insight into the fictional idea of the reclusive and resentful writer of lore…) Neither side of this spectrum aids me as a writer, consistently. Both help, both hinder, it simply depends on a plethora of other moment by moment circumstances.

Within the writing community I have found many who fit either side, and they generally (not always, mind you) expect that same practice of others. Over the years I have made a few writer friends, but this was made possible by online forums and not in person writing tribes. I love the idea, but I have never found one that looked and felt the way these groups are pitched to writers. Within them there was more competition where there should have been support. Perhaps it is true in any industry, that the general frame of mind is that of scarcity thinking, but within the art community that can be even more damaging. We are not operating within the guidelines of a profession, the art we create is a deeply connected part of us. It can get complicated… (which is showing me how a person of our craft could possibly be deemed the eccentrically sensitive writer.) I’ve known writers so extroverted in nature that they must constantly be surrounded by people, and likewise those who need to be alone with absolutely no desire for human interaction. I cannot understand either extreme, and likewise they cannot understand me and my little pieces of their strides. Those of us caught in the middle might be the most lonely…

The times when I have worked on fiction projects, I have found that my characters tend to balance that fine line, like me. Sometimes they might be just to one side, more than the other, but still somewhere in that balancing range. I hesitate to say that out loud because it could come across as narcissistic, but honestly I would guess it is a reflection of my ability to understand and relate to those characters born within my brain. When I have read over fiction pieces I’ve written, I do not feel that I’m reading a hundred variations of the same person, so at least there’s that. Even so, fiction simply isn’t my favorite genre to pen. I’ve done it, and I will continue to, I am sure. There is something about my core which constantly pushes me in other directions, even when they may be uncomfortable or new, and I am growing into a writer who chooses to listen. (And the writer who, when I am in a social setting or shower, prays with everything I can muster to remember the brilliant thoughts raining down on me. This works roughly 8% of the time, but I’m pretending it used to be 7% so this is great progress, don’t you agree?)

Writing might be the easy part. The editing can sometimes feel like shredding pieces of our flesh, and it is exhausting. The marketing myself, as a writer, might be the most difficult though. I am learning more about the hows and whys of the whole process. I find myself really fighting my introverted urges to hide from the world while attempting to take my extroverted enthusiasm to share myself with everyone, down several notches. Truth be told, it is an exhausting roller coaster that makes me both grateful and eager to wake up in the morning while simultaneously longing to hit snooze and fall back asleep. This pretty much points to my deeply committed relationship with coffee, which might be one of the few things which connects writers across the intra/extraverted spectrum. (well, along with stylish notebooks, great pens and love of obscure bookstores…)

*This blog was written as part of a collaboration with:

CONTRIBUTORS:
Name: Jaq Abergas
IG handle: @jaqveganwriter
Name: Stephanie Ascough
IG handle: @stephanie.ascough
Name: Audrey Bodine
IG handle: @audrey.bo.author
Twitter: audreybo_author

Name: Lori Briggs
IG handle:@lorifbriggs
Name: Robin Davis
IG handle: @robi_victoria85
Twitter: Robi_Victoria85
Name: Melissa Frey
IG handle: @melissafreyauthor
Twitter: @melissamfrey

Name: Alika Guan
IG handle: @alikaguanwrites
Name: Hollie Martin
IG handle: @ourlittlecollective
Twitter: @abreathingroom
Name: Melanie Vallely
IG handle: @verityandviolets
Twitter: @veritynviolets