Writing with Perseverance


My fingers rest on the keyboard, waiting for profound words to flow. The painful delay remains the same each time I write something new. That first sentence, the one needed to hook a reader, remains scrambled like a cryptogram waiting to be solved. I wonder, does it ever get easier? Still, I must persevere. I must write.

Fortunately, I no longer begin my posts, short stories or poems on yellow, pre-lined pads, wadding up my futile attempts on half-filled sheets of paper and tossing them into the recycle bin. My laptop’s delete key has saved many trees from extinction over the past few years.

While I am slow to start the process, once the journey begins, I must complete it. Each muse bares a part of my soul. It requires attention and nurturing, never reaching perfection, because there is no such creature in a writer’s world, but every scrawl has worth and I must give it my best.

There was a time when I clutched my prose and poetry tight to my chest, afraid of the reaction I’d receive if anyone caught a glimpse. Confidence didn’t exist in my vocabulary. Hiding away on my deserted island did little to improve my limited writing abilities. Isolation is lonely and depressing. Desperation drove me to try something different.

A creative writing class at a local college opened my mind to new possibilities. The instructor told us to “Write what you know.” So I started with myself, jotting down cherished childhood memories and funny vignettes. Then I cleaned some skeletons from a few closets. Before long, I had accumulated a collection of short stories. With the help and encouragement of a writing buddy, I published Peaks and Valleys, a compilation of the joys and pains that made me who I am today. The therapeutic trip back in time helped me heal wounds long buried behind the scenes, even though most of those stories didn’t make it into the book.

I share that bit of information hoping to inspire other writers who may be on a similar journey. I had assumed the role of caretaker and servant for most of my life. Taking time to write wasn’t as important as everyone else’s needs. Honestly, it was an excuse. It was fear of failure and a belief that I wasn’t good enough to succeed.

While volunteering and caring for family are commendable attributes and often necessary, they don’t always stoke the fire in your soul. Without fuel, your soul will wither away, your passions will die, and the gifts you’ve been given will have been wasted. I offer what I’ve learned to those whose furnace needs stoking. Dare to pursue your passion, whatever it is. Do it today.

Finding a writing buddy and support group opened more doors for me. I gathered enough confidence to share my stories and risk hearing how I could improve my writing.  I admit, the first few critiques hurt a little, but most every comment helped me improve. With time, I learned to accept critiques that helped me and ignore the ones that did not fit my style. Now, I looked forward to a thorough (sometimes harsh) critique for two reasons: First, it’s a sign the person cares enough to offer insight, not just a cursory glance. Second, I take it as a personal challenge to see my stories in a new light.

Writers have an abundance of opportunities to share their work. There are contests and anthologies open for submissions almost daily. A simple google search provides prompts and on-line help. Local libraries often promote writing groups and allow them to meet in their facilities. I’m blessed to be a member of one of the most successful groups in my area, Saturday Writers, a chapter of Missouri Writers Guild.

http://saturdaywriters.org/index.html.

I’ve won numerous contests and have had my writing published in a many anthologies. I couldn’t have done it without help from my writing partners. If I’d never faced my fears, I’d still be scribbling on a yellow pad, hiding behind a façade of distractions. I still have insecurities, but from what other writers tell me, that’s normal.

If I submit a piece and it is rejected, I don’t toss it aside. I work on it and improve it, determined to get it right, and submit it to another contest. Many of my winning entries were rejections revisited. A few months ago, I found a story I’d begun, but never finished. I dusted it off, put some lipstick on it and sent it off. Winner, winner, chicken dinner!

My first attempt at writing a novel happened during NANOWRIMO, National Novel Writing Month, https://nanowrimo.org/. The concept is to write a 50k word novel in 30 days. I completed the challenge 7 years ago with a novel titled Burning Embers. Through more rewrites and edits than I care to remember, I finally reached a place where I was confident enough to pitch it to an agent a few weeks ago. Much to my joy and amazement, the agent requested the entire manuscript. Now, I wait patiently to hear the results. Both of my feet are planted firmly on the ground, trying not to get too excited, but hoping for some positive feedback. Regardless of the outcome, I will keep trying.

No matter where you are on your writing journey, persevere and keep looking for ways to fulfill your dreams. Consider me one of your writing buddies. I hope you share your journey with me. I’d love to hear all about it.

 

 

 

Her Lifeline


Most of my posts are passionately lighthearted. Even the most humorous writers have a serious moment now and then. A tissue may be required.

Her Lifeline

 

It was a foolish dream, tucked in the corner of her heart for more than thirty years, still it had survived, even kept her moving forward during difficult times, until today.

Rose Ellen stared into the mirror and assessed the changes since she had last seen him. A little sagging, a few more greys, but not too bad she decided. Life had been good to her. No need for a walker, no hearing aids, no serious medical issues, her memory still intact. Yes, she had been blessed in so many ways, yet the longing for something more was always there.

Anticipation accompanied Rose on the walk to the beach. It was the good kind. The kind that made her feel like a young woman again. She took off her sandals and let the ocean splash over her feet as she strolled along the shore, lost in the memory of his warm embrace and passionate kiss. It brought unexpected flutters in her belly, just like the first time. The delicious scent of his woodsy aftershave lingered in the air and she wondered if it was her imagination or someone walking past.

She glanced around and found no one in sight. Her thoughts drifted again and she smiled to herself, picturing him standing on a beach in cargo shorts and t-shirt. His well-toned body and dimpled smile had drawn her attention, but she’d been enamored by his kindred spirit and passion for life. In between work discussions, he’d asked about her dreams and encouraged her, even showed her, how those dreams could be reached. `Dreams don’t just come true, you need a plan. And a plan B` he always said.

He never focused on his own accomplishments, which were significant, rather, he built her self-esteem by recognizing her knowledge and abilities. He urged her to return to school to finish her degree. Their friendship grew as the years passed. They shared childhood memories and family stories that brought laughter and tears. Often they discussed values and strong beliefs, as if testing each other. She never met a man so willing to help others, expecting nothing in return.

He was a man of character and she ached to tell him how deeply she loved him. She knew she’d never summon the courage to say the words that pressed on her lips with every encounter.

A small child squealed nearby and stirred Rose back to the present. The sun beat on her uncovered head and made her sway. She decided to rest for a little while on a bench under a towering palm tree. The glare from the water penetrated through her sunglasses and she closed her eyes, drifting off again.

The intense heat reminded her of the day that changed everything in her life. It started with such a simple conversation.

“I’m leaving early to mark the trail in Ste. Genevieve for my club’s next 10K walk.” Rose’s voice did not reflect her normal enthusiasm.

“What’s up? You seem bothered by something.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. My co-chair can’t make it, so I’m going alone. I’m just a little apprehensive about being in an unfamiliar rural area.”

“I’ll take you.”

“Don’t be silly. You don’t need to waste vacation time on me. I’ll be fine.”

“Consider it done. I’ll clear it with the boss and meet you by my car at noon.”

A smile formed on Rose’s face as she shook her head side to side. “You’re something else. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for someone?”

His dimple surfaced as a grin spread across his face. “For you, no.” He turned and walked into his boss’ office.

Rose tried not to read too much into his response, but excitement and nervous energy made the morning pass quickly. Rose felt her heart pound, like a smitten teenager, during the hour drive to the location. Each time their eyes met she looked away, afraid that he could read her mind. How foolish she’d feel if she blurted it out. She wanted to believe that he held similar feelings for her, but she buried the thought.

***

They finished marking the trail, ending in a park near a lake. The temperature neared 100 degrees as they stood and admired the tranquil waters.

“We could just jump in and cool off.” He laughed as he skipped a stone across the still lake.

“I love the water. It always make me feel at peace.” Rose wiped sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her blouse. “Guess we’d better be going. We’ll both be stuck in traffic if we wait much longer.” Rose tightened the cap on her bottle of water and turned to walk away.

He reached out and took her free hand, pulling her close. “I love you.”

Rose didn’t resist his embrace. She let the tears stream down her face without any effort to conceal them. His lips met hers with an urgent, passionate force. He offered a second, softer kiss that took her breath away.

“I love you too.” He kissed her again. She looked into his deep blue eyes and released a heavy sigh. “I thought those words would follow me to the grave, without ever telling you.”

Neither spoke much on the drive back to the office. He reached across the console and squeezed her hand, a mixture of joy and pain in his eyes. Their unspoken words hung in the air. Both knew that nothing more would come of the revelation. The price to their families would be too great. An occasional, discreet kiss in the parking lot, an especially long squeeze of the hand when no one was looking, silent gestures that only the two of them understood, would have to be enough. An affair of the heart, that’s what they had called it.

Before summer’s end, a job transfer took him overseas. They remained in touch, often corresponding by mail. Cautious to never reveal the depth of their love, each read between the lines. The distance between them probably saved their marriages. The temptation to be together would have been too much.

“That’s why God made oceans,” he once wrote her. It was then that their dream took form. A lifeline they shared. An unrealistic plan that neither controlled. Should both spouses pass before they did, they would meet in Maui on the beach. Many years had passed before they reconnected. Today they’d share another passionate kiss without the guilt of hurting someone else.

The scent of his aftershave, stronger, closer this time, stirred Rose from her nap. She cupped her hand over her eyes, blocking the sun. There he stood, looking just as she remembered. The sandy brown hair showed no hints of grey. His sturdy, toned body much too fit for someone his age. She closed her eyes again, unable to accept the reality of the vision before her.

“Rose.”

She forced herself to look again, then looked away, the pain too much to handle. “When?” The word choked from her dry throat.

“Last week. I’m so sorry.” The young man’s eyes grew moist as he stepped closer and placed an arm around her shoulder.

“You look just like your dad.”

“I hear that all the time. It’s a compliment.”

Rose nodded in agreement. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“He asked me to come, just before he passed.” The younger version of her true love held her as she wept. When she stilled, he continued talking. “Dad loved you very much. He told me after Mom died, but I knew that from the first time I saw you together. Remember the time we all went to the ballgame together?”

She nodded. “I remember.”

“I respected him for not cheating on my mother. And you too.”

The handsome man pulled something from the pocket of his shorts and handed it to Rose.

“He carried this with him wherever he traveled. He said it was his way of keeping you near.”

The gold, four-leaf clover still shined like the day she gave it to the love of her life.

“He said he’d see you on the other side.”

“Always have plan B.” Rose forced a smile and clutched the treasure to her chest.

 

This story won first place in the Saturday Writers July,  2016 “The Sense of Scents” contest.