I like this guy. His initials spell out the first 3 letters of his given name. Dominic Owen Mallory. DOM. Niiiiccce!
Anywayz. I LOVE what he said: “Dreams are more real than anything in the “real world.” That certainly feels true to me. In solitude, it is easier for me to block out reality (to deny it, if you must have the truth). Alone, I can be my truest self. Alone, I don’t have to prove myself. I can be the me I am in my head, all the time. With other people, no matter who they are, I tend to get a little worried about expressing myself correctly. It takes more courage than you know to open my mouth in front of a stranger… and even with the people I know and love, it’s hard. I hear one voice, and they hear another. I don’t know what’s wrong with my ears… maybe my brain is protecting me from the truth. Protecting me from utter devastation, from disappearing inside of myself. In solitude, I can dream, and those dreams become real in my head. It’s nice. It is only in denying everything I can truly be me.
“Refuse normalcy.” There was a time in my life when I would have embraced normalcy. And who knows, maybe I still would today. I don’t know. It’s so freaking hard being different in this world, where everything moves at warp speed. Now that I don’t have to deal with it unless I choose to, it’s easier. It’s easier to hide. I used to get so mad when people stared at me in public. I used to go running to my parents with this. My mom used to say they were just staring because they were jealous I was so beautiful. Ha ha. People still stare today. I mostly ignore them. What else can I do? This is part of the reason why I think printed cards would be a good idea. When I see someone staring I would hand one to them, and they would read it and be aware. They would be aware that not everything is as it seems. I don’t exactly embrace my disabilities today, but I have accepted them. They are a part of me. They have made me who I am.
There is, within me, a universe of potential. I need to dig into it. Exhaust it, as Dominic Owen Mallory instructs. I need to “live and love so immensely that when death [sweet release] comes, there is nothing left for him to take.” And I plan on doing just that, from this moment on.
I started this blog to motivate me to write more than I was before. It’s working. For someone who wants to be published so badly, I sure do procrastinate a lot. Mostly on facebook. I have seen some improvement though. For some reason, it’s easier for me to blog than it is to write with a pen in a notebook. Mainly because I edit so much as I go. Ha.
For me, personally, writing is a way I can express myself clearly, without fear of being misunderstood. I have to live with that fear every single time I open my mouth. It’s not my fault. That’s just how I am. I’ve accepted that. I don’t like it – I’ll never like it, but I’ve gotten used to it. I want to be a novelist because I want to be able to escape in my writing. Make up worlds beyond this one, like in my dreams at night. Most of the time, I am not disabled in my dreams, which is nice, you know? I have a way to escape. In reality, my mind needs to escape, and it does that by spilling out through my fingers to the keyboard, to the screen and onto my blog (where it remains until a) it’s deleted by me or b) cyberspace eats it.
So, in short, I blog because I really don’t have a choice. I want writing to be my life, and so it is. It has to be, because without it, I am afraid that I wouldn’t have much of a life… either within me or on the outside. Having a blog is like being in school again and having homework, something I used to get giddy about until time passed and it got old (I know… geek, much?).
Maybe I don’t miss school as much as I do the structure of it, as well as the feeling of accomplishment that goes with completing something.
Blogging allows me to drop pieces of myself into cyberspace… for all to see and read. And yes, I know I will be judged by what I put out there and what I don’t. Who cares? Life is short. We have no idea how long we have. So we might as well make the most of it, right? If I am lucky, I will help others through my words, through this blog, and hopefully SOON, I will start to help myself begin a novel. I want to write one soooooooo bad. You have absolutely no idea how much I want to. I want to do it to help myself as well as others, so it’s not entirely selfish. Writing a book, however, does not mean that people will read it – or the RIGHT people will read it. All I can do is just write it, send it out into the world , hold my breath, and see what happens next.
It sounds easier than it actually is….
I am talking GOLD as in a real good book. “A Watershed Year” by Susan Schoenberger is so freakin’ good I didn’t want to put it down. I managed to do it though, only once. Once I got to the heart of the story, there was no stopping me, even though common sense told me I better put it down and turn off the light and get some sleep.
Sleep? Who needs sleep when you’ve got a delicious book?
“It made me feel better to think that we could talk, somehow, beyond the end of my life, that I could preserve my presence in some small way. And I haven’t told you everything I should have. I wasn’t finished yet, at least where you are concerned…”
~ from “A Watershed Year”
The book is about a thirty-something year old woman named Lucy who is mourning the death of her best friend Harlan, who died of cancer. Two months after his death, she receives an email from him, the first of several he has arranged to be sent after his death. It is only through these emails that Lucy fully realizes that Harlan had been in love with her. His first email sparks something deep inside her – her yearning to be a mother – and she starts looking into adoption. She finds this Russian agency that is run by a woman named Yulia, and on her second visit, Yulia hands her a picture of a four year old boy named Azamat. His mother was in a car accident and his father gave him up. Lucy forges ahead with the adoption, traveling to Russia to get the little boy. When she meets him for the first time, she realizes that he is hurting and that he is just as lost as she is. They eventually learn to trust each other, and are just beginning to heal when Azamat’s father comes from Russia to reclaim his little boy. He claims that he had never signed the papers surrendering his parental rights (and therefore Lucy could get into BIG trouble for taking little Mat out of his home country).
That’s all I can say without giving away the end…
I highly recommend this! Trust me, you won’t want to put it down!
Gratituesday is something that Kate Walsh, aka Dr. Addison Forbes Montgomery on ABC’s “Private Practice” does on her facebook fan page. Every Tuesday, she finds something to be grateful for, and all (or most) of her fans follow suit. I think it is a great idea. It reminds me of the Olivia Newton-John song “Grace and Gratitude.”
“All I have and all I feel / is all because of you / all I reap is all I sow / and love is our living proof / Thank you for life / Thank you for everything / I stand here in grace and gratitude / and I thank you / Seasons come and seasons go, / No matter what we choose / A thousand names / A thousand roads / All lead to one simple truth…”
One simple truth. And what is that? That we are loved so much more than we can ever imagine. By who? By the One who created us, of course. I’m not just talking about our parents, for we began before that. We come from a place so beautiful and so filled with love that it is a shame that this world can tarnish us and make us forget. And we do forget. Most of it, at least.
This Gratituesday, I can see my dream play out in my mind. I see myself typing and typing and typing, for so long and so fast, never slowing, like I am now, and then sending it out into the world. Only then will I sit back and wait and trust. And trust some more. I know what I have to write, or at least, I know most of it. The rest will come in time.
This dream I have was placed in me for a reason. It is my purpose in life. I believe it with all that I am; every single square inch of me tingles with it. Every day I get a little closer. At times I will become frustrated by the slowness of it, but when that happens, I just have to remind myself that things unfold in God’s time, not mine.
God is everywhere at once, whispering in our souls that we are everything to Him. He can attest to our worth, even if no one else does. We each mean something to this world. We each attribute to its beauty. We each have gifts no one else has, at least not to the degree we have them.
I am gratified by this encouragement. I am grateful for a million things at once, my life and everything in it. It would take forever to list them all. God’s love, my family, my friends, my dog, the freedom to dream, my health, the health of my loved ones, music (I am always, always grateful for music and that I can hear enough to enjoy it), books, the internet, my room, entertainment, America’s military, food, shelter and clothing, blankets,joy, laughter, quietness, rainbows, trees, writing, my mind (which frees me), faith, conversations, so on and so forth.
Right now, I am gratified by the peace of the moment.
We all do it – compare ourselves with others and feel like we come up short. After all, anyone and everyone has it better than us, right?
I am thinking of that saying, “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.” It’s true. That is all the measuring up we have to do. This world is tough enough on its own. Kindness takes some of the sting away.
When I was in school, I used to think that if I just had friends, I could be just like everyone else. That if people would just stop and talk to me for awhile, they’d see that I was nothing like I seemed. I knew how it was. I was reminded of how it was every single time I looked into a mirror. Still am. I thought, “I can’t blame them. I wouldn’t want to be friends with that girl either.”
And yet. I was stuck with her. I had no choice whatsoever. To me, it’s like I am a split personality. There’s the outside me, and there’s the inside me. I only see the inside me. And the world only sees the outside me. But I know I am lucky. My family and friends see all of me.
I think it is time the outside of me measures up to the inside of me.
I have been chosen by God. ~ Ephesians 1:3-8
I am complete in Christ. ~ Colossians 2:9-10
God works for my good in all circumstances. ~ Romans 8:28
I can’t be separated from God’s love. ~ Romans 8:31-32
I may approach God with freedom and confidence. ~ Ephesians 3:12
I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me ~ Philippians 4:13 (My personal favorite!)
Measuring up, to me, means living up to my true potential. Which means writing EVERY SINGLE DAY, even if it’s only a little bit.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 2 Corinthians 12:9a (NIV)
Most of the time when I think I can’t do something, it’s because I do not have any energy. Everything seems too hard. I just want to crawl into bed and hide under the covers. I don’t feel like doing anything, so I don’t. But I am not on this earth to do nothing. What would be the point of that?
My views on God and religion have changed quite a bit since I was in high school. I have seen more, I understand more, and I love more.
I also understand less.
For example, I don’t understand how people can be so intolerant of others. To me, there isn’t any God in intolerance. Sometimes it is disguised as ignorance, but it is still intolerance. My whole life, I have struggled to understand the purpose of everything. I have asked God why a lot. I still do. But it is becoming clearer to me, what I am meant to do.
I know writing will be a huge part of getting everything started for me. It already has started something… it started you reading, didn’t it? And maybe understanding more. Of what, I don’t know. But I do hope it’s something.
My life, I am used to it by now. I know there will always be things I cannot do, always be things I WISH I could do. But you know what? It’s been years since I have last mourned this. I guess I am more comfortable with my body (in high school, I always regarded it as a prison I had no hope of escaping), and I am more aware of what I can or can’t do. Oh, there are times when I wish I can just drop everything and escape, just pick a place on a map and go there. I’d wish I can communicate verbally better every single day.
If wishes were horses, even beggars would ride…
But I know I am right where I am meant to be. And maybe, if I could communicate clearly, I wouldn’t have taken to writing so well.
What we see as curses aren’t necessarily so. Sometimes we have to dig a little deeper to get the blessing.
I love stumbleupon.com. You may say I am obsessed with it. I will say it with you. You/I are/am obsessed with it. Today, I found a writing contest on it… write a whole freakin’ novel in 3 days (over Labor Day Weekend). My first reaction to that was and still is, yeah right.
Reasons why it would be insane to undertake this goal:
1. I am distracted easily
2. When under pressure I tend to stress myself out
3. I can’t write a novel in 3 days – that is insane! I would have no time to do anything else. (Yes, that includes everything from sleeping to taking care of my dog)
4. Labor Day Weekend is, well, a family-oriented holiday, and people will be home (I’m guessing)
5. it is just insane to think I can write a 100,000 word novel in 3 days.
That would be 72 hrs, 4320 minutes. If I am really going at it, I type 50 words per minute. 4320 divided by 50 is 86.4. I’d need more than 72 hours.
Not to mention: the entry fee. A whooping $55. Yeah right I am going to pay that for a contest I will not win (I am not being pessimistic here, just REALISTIC).
But I am inspired. I have a book somewhere that will motivate me to write a book in 90 days. Or so the title claims. If I can find it, I am gonna do it.
So today I will… find that book.
One book I clearly remember NOT reading in college is “Middlemarch” by George Eliot. It was assigned reading, but when I opened it, I was disappointed and disgusted. Expository writing at its most horrible. Stuff and nonsense, if you ask me. I didn’t read it because I physically couldn’t. My eyes refused to cooperate with my brain. Since it was for a class (British literature or Women’s lit, I am not sure. I had the same professor for both), I know I should have read it. But since there were like 5 other novels to read in that class, among them “Pride and Prejudice,” I did my long paper on something else. I was naughty. I zoned out during class discussions of Middlemarch, and kept my opinions to myself. At the same time, I had 3 other English classes that were similar to this one (5-6 novels to read, 3-4 papers, EACH), and I spent most of the time stressed to the max.
It would have been nice, of course, if I had the time and wherewithal to read “Middlemarch.” I know I missed out. I know there are people out there who love the book (or at the very least, like it). But at the time, I had a choice to make: torture myself and read it (agonizingly, slowly) or focus on my other homework assignments. I chose the latter because it was easier to move on from “Middlemarch.” I don’t regret it. I probably will never pick up another copy in my life. And that’s okay.
Note to writers everywhere: the beginning of a novel is not the place for loads of expository. You’ve got to hook your reader, not bore them to death (or hopefully, just to sleep).
Other things can be stuffed in my nonsense category:
My opinion only: SPORTS. I do understand why they are so popular among the human race. I do. But they do nothing for me. When I was younger, I used to be dragged to one game or another of my siblings, and by the time I got to high school, I was beyond sick of it. I never paid too much attention to what was going on – I always had my nose in a book, great escape from reality – but there was a time or two when I would generate enough interest to ask a question or two about what was going on. I was laughed at. So I shut up. I did get to know about basketball though. My dad’s the local high school girls’ bb coach, and my sister played for him, so really, I had no choice. I suppose sports are more fun for people who can actually play them. I do remember playing t-ball as a child in the summer in our backyard. Only sport with a ball that actually make sense to me. To this day, if you throw something at me, I close my eyes.
This is a big one: Religion. Yup. You heard me. There should only be one: LOVE. If there was, this world would be much more delightful than it actually is. Straight, gay, lesbian, bi, transgender, Christian, Muslim, Jew, etc – we are all human beings, and we should treat one another with respect. Wouldn’t it be great if we did? There would be now wars, no jealousy, no hatred, no murder, no needless (human made) suffering, just LOVE. The most important thing ever. The world is a difficult enough place to live in – why do we have to go and make it harder? I could go on and on and on about this, but instead, I choose to stop while I am ahead.