Idk

I’m having a problem with follow through on my stories right now. Writing them, that is

And a little bit on reading new books. I’ve thrown a bunch onto my DNF shelf. One of which I dnf’d so hard I mentally started rewriting it in my imagination then flipping it over to a story I had started once upon a time.

So much so that I started looking for the file. But my cloud storage is a confusing batch of storms, none of which I found it in. Which means I should look for it on my laptop. But my desk is full with my work computer and stuff for work and I don’t want to cross that boundary.

Which I get it. I have a whole a$$ house to set up in. And I have too much crap and I get it under control and then it slips the leash and goes out of control and yada yada yada. Just put the work in, and I can have a working solution. I could have the home I want.

And yet something almost always stops me. And that something is me.

I know how I became my own worst enemy in this. Anyone have any suggestions? Because I don’t know how to fix this.

Your first…

Do you remember your first library? Mine was in a strip mall, had paperback racks filled with stories. Bean bag chairs to slip into and read to my hearts content.

Then I started going into different areas of the library. Formula racing, I remember pulling those and checking them out. Dreaming of driving fast fast fast. Then it was rally car racing, spurred on by a movie my sister took me to see.

Ohhh, but in fourth or fifth grade the librarian called my mom on me. I was going for “adult” fiction– romances and Sci-Fi and Fantasy. That poor librarian thought when my mom said she’d be right there, I’d be getting a tongue lashing.

Well, someone got chewed out.

It wasn’t me.

When Mom was younger, she was with foster families. She wasn’t allowed anything of her own, and was not allowed to read what she wanted. She told me of taking a copy of an approved book (hardback), and cutting out enough pages that the real book she was reading could slip in. Those idiots probably thought she was a slow reader.

I don’t remember Mom ever going into the library to check out books. Which is odd because she was a voracious reader.  She had floor to ceiling bookcases in the house, my dad built them on the wall just for her. But library books? Not so much.

The library is about more than books now. Maybe it always has been, but I didn’t see it because I wasn’t looking for it when I was younger.  When my son was super small and I was unemployed, I took him for storytime. It was so needed for me, got me out of the house to a place where he would be entertained and it was free. And there were other grownups there going through the same thing.

As he’s grown, he’s gone to the library for crafts and classes on coding and just to look for books. For people without wifi there is access to computers– and for people who need help with them, there are classes. The local library in California had several classes, for adults, teens and kids. Gardening. Taking care of elderly parents. Diabetes control. Coding. So many classes.

The library has become a true community center and it makes my heart hurt that so many are fighting to stay open. And I think of myself, that little library kid loving all the books.

And I’m thankful.

I think I might need to go to my new library tomorrow.  Find out about my new community. I’ve only been once (twice if you count the returning of books lol). Hope you visit yours as well.

Have you ever met the book

That you wish you’d written, but you’re so grateful someone else did… You’re also so scared the ending won’t live up to it, to the homage? The call back?

I just did.

I make no bones of being inspired by Willie Wonka and his Chocolate Factory. Specifically, Gene Wilder’s version of the candy man. It caught my imagination, burrowed in and still can be found there to this day.

I had no idea what was in store for me when I picked up “The Wishing Game” by Meg Shaffer. Should have maybe inferred it, but there’s nothing blatant about the homage on the OUTSIDE of the book. On that fateful bookstore birthday shopping spree I didn’t check the inside. I never do, unless I’m checking out the writing style. If I had read the praise, or even the dedication, well…

I would have squealed, loudly and proudly.

This book has taken me a few days to read, not because it was slow, or dense or anything else. But because I was scared. Even though I had already flipped to the back of the book. And yes, I’m also the person who cringes hard and looks away (or pauses) when watching TV or a movie when the characters were being cringey, or being embarrassed by others.

I had a lot emotionally invested in this book, even with never having read a lick of it. I hoped for the characters. I wished upon stars with them. And I celebrated with them too.

It does not contain a candy garden, or a chocolate factory. Sorry. No Oompa Loompas, either. But there is a family found and bound with love, and forgiveness and understanding and hope.

It was unexpectedly the book I really needed right at that moment.

Oh! And it contains the poem– the one Gene Wilder says in the boat. Or at least the first stanza. But Shaffer also gives credit (cites the sources as Jack would say): ODE, BY ARTHUR O’SHAUGHNESSY.

How wondrous to buy a book and have it echo so many of your own imagination’s quirkiness.

Goals check up

Well, apparently I had no need to worry about the blip of only a few books in January that were read. Because I read an obscene amount in March. Ripped through several author’s entire back list too!

I’ve been blogging more regularly this year, too. Looks like I’m hitting 3 times per month every month. Not great, but so much better than the years previously that I’ll take it.

I’ve been writing more, too. Sometimes I’ll start and stop. Or play here and there. Flash and poetry are what I’m currently completing on a regular basis. But I am writing. And submitting.

One of the best things for my writing was showing up  for a writing date with Rie. It isn’t about being held accountable. It’s about having someone you can shoot a text to really quick– hey, a short female name that doesn’t start with an M or is Lily?? And get a response. It’s not being or feeling so alone in the process. Forwarding opportunities that might fit the other one’s story, feedback, heck just being “there.” We are states away, but technology is a wonderful thing. Just knowing someone is there for an hour a day, Monday through Friday with me… It’s a beautiful thing.

Now, I’m off to go write more in my silly little story. I’m calling it that because right now I’m writing it just for me. It makes me happy to write it. 

And that is enough.

For today, making myself giggle is enough.

Cheers!