Raised by Wolves…a child’s interpretive

I have recently been diagnosed with an “overactive brain-stem.” I tell you this because I find the diagnosis hilarious, and not a slap-the-knee…holding-my-belly… bent-over kind of funny, after spending thousands of dollars on specialists from allergists to ENTs to neurologists and so on.

I should have quit after hearing the term “highly reactive.”

I’m not hyper-active, but my mind leans heavy on overdrive. I wish my physicality had the tendencies to stretch in the same direction. The funnier thing is I am the calmest person I know…unless you really piss me off then I will never let that shit go.

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Dear Self….get your #^! SH*t together

Ummmmm…where has American Writers Exposed Gone?

Because I surely do not know…

It’s possible I do, so let us see if we can unearth this unkempt void to the beginning. 

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What the triple heck? As surely as eating better, my quest to post articles in a regular, meaningful fashion became lost. Sandi has been long on tour and I languishing on holiday in the cavernous recesses of Mt. Blockheadiness. A dismal vacation I promise.

Excuses are poor and so I shan’t give one.

Let’s talk.

My three year do or die clock has struck. 

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The window I gave myself to make my writing gig happen or pack up. 

There was a time I believed I never procrastinated. My littles complained I stuffed way too many stops into a single trip to town. In this day, I find it hard to prepare for a 3 o’clock appointment. My wonder woman invisible mountain blocks my way.

I mean I have to wake up, which could turn into a 2-hour event. There is showering involved, some primping and whining no doubt. My bed is never made so I don’t have to worry about that, but looking in the closet, the dresser drawers? Yikes, pressure begins to build.

So where in the life of lives of mine does my writing fit? I have acclimated into this clinging seaweed monster of advanced stall tactics smack dab in the middle of living my authorly dreams.

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(This is very close to me but you must add a spin, plus another…circling in the same spot.) Annoying, I know.

Over the past 6 months, I have hooked up with some great people. A phenomenal person. A clever-witted brilliant individual with vision, excitement, and knowledge to catapult me into the penman atmosphere of global literary enlightenment. Like POW, where have you been my whole life?

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And what have I done?

Froze. Deer in headlights, the whole gambit. I have no shame to admit such. What is my issue, fear? Didn’t I give that up the 1st time I submitted anything? posted on the internet? stepped forward and admitted I write romance? 

I’m doing everything I said I’d never do like a middle-aged driving disaster going 35 on the interstate and not in the right lane with hazard lights, but to the left. My personal blog and AWE have been left unattended. Don’t you like that acronym, AWE? See I’m doing it again. 

Deep down I understand my fear. When I started, I believed the hype I’d been told. Never did I dream I’d have more downs than ups. Couldn’t imagine the lack of support I’d receive from my community of related personage. Or realized my ability to be impetuously drawn into non-factorly tasks.

What a load.

So I ask the greatest community of wordsmiths in every stage of their multiple WIPs to send this block of dirt a surge of well wishes to “get er’ done!” (I hate that quote too!) Like, tomorrow, or if I’m seriously serious, today.

 

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Write On ❤ Jess!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

#Confessions

 

Forgive me bloggers for these things about me you should know…

#1-When you follow me I send silent wishings of well-being to your gravatar.

#2-I purposely receive the computer generated follower notice so I can e-mail salutations that you’ll never see. Because they are labeled do not reply. But I issue you a personal thank you and hit send.

#3-At the same time my overwhelming energy of wellness to humanity holds me fiercely in a death grip. Even if you post something that I may not agree on. I will like it for the spirit in which it has been written.

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Why do I write this needless article you wonder? Is is needless? Well, as I sit weekly and return dozens of emails that are absorbed by space, I thought, “is this weird?” From previous entries you know I am a strange-bird. Cue adorable picture.

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Image courtesy of google free images

My humor as staid as my personality, boring and yet full of life. Smiling, I walk on.

What is the purpose? Well, I will tell you what it is for me. I cannot help the urge to spread hope, wishes of well-being and genuine love throughout the universe. You see my daily ramblings @upliftingquotesdaily.com. A vocation to which I dedicate the heart of who I am, wholly.

There is such need for us to stop and appreciate. Ourselves, in this breath and since we have pressures unbounded piled atop of us at breakneck speeds, I hope to do so momentarily for you. A twinkle passing over you in the wind. Positive streams of light and guided energy released and headed to your front door or inbox.

I appreciate you. I care. You matter.

We are all connected in spirit and strength, together we do make a difference. Believe in all things great. You, yours, what can be.

Life’s pressures breed vulnerability. Every day we are fed negativity through various forms of influence and media, everything awful in life for its sensational appeal. And easy to roll into. A flea-ridden blanket riddled with holes offering us misguided comfort. That should be our warning, easy, life is not easy, love is not easy, we as beings are not easy. Forced to believe we are not worthy, but we are.

Take control, project light, move forward, write on! ❤ Jessica

Ps…Does this have anything to do with writing as this blog was intended? Absolutely the bleep not! Breathe pretty flowers, dance.

 

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How I Learned to Speak My Name

And to think …

Ahem-Ahem-attention, please…lol, is anyone listening?

Recently, I was asked to tell my story. My story?

For a writing exercise, I encourage everyone to sit and examine this subject. Questions arise, many, dizzying questions, circling until paralyzed for those of us who not used to talking about themselves. I have never lavished a good yarn about me, never as an individual. I am a unique middle-aged woman described as quite boring, I honor that.

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In this life of mine, the definition of me was always defined by another. I was so and so’s sister, daughter, friend, later to become mother and wife. The single character living inside of me has always been the same but lived by the adage of don’t speak unless spoken to, seen and not heard, humble, not a braggart. I am a helper, a giver, a feeler, growing up—a crier. In this stage of my life, I…

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Everyone Has A Story

If you are available to listen to others and not interrupt, you will find a write-worthy story to share.  The older I get the more I realize the truth of this. But the requirement is your willingness to suspend your solitaire or candy crush game or thoughts about what you’ll be preparing, and turn to the person sitting next to you wherever you might be: bus, waiting room, a queue at the local coffee shop.  A simple “hello” and introduction may stimulate your creative processes in a different direction. You might be astounded.

Many years ago I took a woman from church to an eye doctor appointment. Her time with the doctor included many steps that left me sitting in the waiting room. While there I struck up a conversation with a woman I’d never met.  We began with “excuse me,” as I accidentally bumped her leg retrieving a magazine. Then we chatted about the articles mentioned on the front cover. I asked her a few innocent and nonintrusive questions about her scrapbooking, and, an hour later, she relayed a horrific story about her son’s murder.

I’m not going to give you all the details; I do want to encourage you writers to take a small risk when sitting with a stranger.  You’ll be a safe harbor for someone to tell you about his or her life travails. And— you might have a new idea to weave into your imagination.

Thank you for following us.

Sandi