And The Girl Writes On

I sit at my desk, a cold can of Mountain Dew on one side and a huge travel cup of lemon water on the other, the sound of instrumental music streaming from my laptop, and tabs open to the tasks I have to do today. It is with a moment of clarity that I realize I sort of want to ask my thirteen year old self if she is happy now. I am exactly what she wanted to be.

I do not recall the date, because it doesn’t matter. I remember the keyboard though. It was not a fancy laptop, but it was where my fingers felt at home. That old electric typewriter, that weighed more than the scrawny girl who carried it from the office to the second floor apartment, was my whole world. It shook the entire kitchen table when I typed, and the letters often jammed together as ideas flowed faster than the tired keys could keep up. I have no idea how many times I had to stop and untangle the mass of metal arms that clung together in a mass of letters. That little teenage brat had some serious creative flow. And, she wanted so bad to live her life at that kitchen table with words as her trade. She swore she would live in a little apartment in California, with her cats, and live on sandwiches and canned soup. And she would be a writer. Yeah, seriously, that was my big dream at thirteen. Shoot for the Moon right?

Funny thing, she almost had it right. I am grateful that the apartment turned out to be a great little house in the suburbs, so that crazy teenager can cut her lunch from the garden in the backyard instead of relying on canned soup. It is still a favored comfort food though. She didn’t quite make it to California, but Arizona is still far from the tiny town in upstate New York. The cats she wanted are here, and a kid. She never thought about that one.

She also never thought about the path she would take to get to this crazy dream she had. Years of madness as a military wife and a stay at home mom, giving up on school so many times because it just didn’t fit into the schedule, following a manchild across the country because it was the right thing the do, and at least she would be out of New York, a failed marriage, and some seriously cliche storylines.

There are days I want to punch that little teenage brat. To tell her to ditch that bullshit scheme and get a real job. Those usually the days I see the bills in the mail rather than the checks from typing my fingers off. See she never thought about that. Writing is still working, and it doesn’t always pay well.

But then, I move my laptop to the kitchen table and I can just see her sitting across from me, looking over that damned noisy typewriter, a naive grin on her face, and stars in her eyes. Damn that kid’s smile. She did it. She’s a writer. And who cares if it is hard sometimes, it was a good dream, nothing crazy. Solid, realistic really.

Now, get back to work kid. Those words are not going to type themselves.

Writing Prompt: Wishes

When most of us think about wishes, it is typically to do with genies in magical lamps, fairy tale god mothers, good witches, or some other magical creature. We create space for wishes in the real world with birthday candles, wishbones, fountain pennies, first stars, and numbers seen in sequence. There is so much superstition and whimsy that surrounds wishing, but we are always doing it, even if we are stalwart non-believers in any other sort of miracle. The words pass our lips at every age. Why? What is it about making a wish that makes it so easy to ask for? It is separate from region, religion, and dogma. It is something from our earliest memories no matter where we grew up, or what sort of environment.

Even those who do not think of things as simply as making a wish on a star as bringing something into our reality, still create wish lists. Sure these lists of desires, be they material or intangible, can be waved off as merely taking note of something we want or want to achieve, but why then call it a wish list?

There is power to those things we recall as children. If nothing else it brings a moment of joy when we toss that penny and hear it plunk into the water. We pause a moment to consider our thoughts when we see the numbers align on a digital clock, or note when our birth date is discovered in a random arrangement of digits. We make jokes about those three wishes, and warn others to be careful what they wish for.

What would be the point of these words if they did nothing at all. They change us, for a moment however brief, and whisper to a deep part of our consciousness that wants to believe.

Call it what you will, but a wish is a motivator. If we keep wishing and working toward that wish, or letting others know about our wishes, they are far more likely to come true. I think that is pretty magical. I will say this though, a wish should not be kept secret. Tell it to the world. Make that wish list. We never know when someone listening will turn out to be our genie or fairy godmother and make all of our wishes come true.

Where do you keep your list of wishes? Take a moment to tell someone three of your biggest wishes, even if you just leave them as a comment here.

Dream on. Wish on.

Writing Prompt: Admiration

Admiration. Most of us admire someone who has touched our lives. We are inspired to do better in their presences. We feel a bit nervous too, perhaps. It is a natural experience. At some point we have also been the object of admiration. What does that feel like?

I cannot think of just one person I have admired in my life. Experiencing the greatness of others brings me joy and at the same time a little bit of humility. At the same time, I have those exact feelings when someone shows admiration for my work, or just my energy. This past weekend put me in both positions equally.

As I walked down Main Street in Mesa, glimpsing the unique treasures offered by the local vendors selling pieces of themselves on Small Business Saturday, I admired the abilities of each of these men and women. I admired their drive to succeed at their passions and work the extra hours, or go without, to make their dreams happen. They are each offering a part of their lives to the people passing. Whether you bought something this Saturday or simply gave a small business owner a moment of your time, I admire you as well. Anyone who chooses to give a unique gift rather than stock up on the latest mass produced, soulless trinket, is just as deserving of admiration.

It is still strange to count myself among those who are “making it” in their dream. I often feel I am not doing enough, I am not good enough, I am just not enough. So, when I see admiration in the eyes of others, directed at me or my books, or dancing, or praise a reading I have done for them, I admit I am still trying to figure out what to do with that. I am thankful, more than anything. To the young girl who wanted to take my picture beside the banner for Trolls, thank you! To the student from Phoenix Center from the Arts who recognized my book and me, and showed so much excitement at seeing me again, thank you! You made this author’s day. To all of the people who help me in so many ways from publishing my books and seeing something in me I have trouble seeing, to those who help me get out of bed in the morning on those particularly low days, thank you. I admire your gifts and your strength.

This holiday season, as we shop for the material, keep sight of the intangible as well. Give the gift of admiration by letting others know what their presence means to your life. Tell them what you specifically admire about them.

Who do you admire most this year?

When were you in a position to be admired? How did that make you feel?