50-5 – Writing Through the Years

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With my memoir writing workshop beginning again for the spring, I am being inspired to write more than ever. During the last four weeks I’ve been taking a contemplative retreat that has not only let me delve deeper into myself, but subconsciously has allowed me to see how much my writing is a part of all of me. This season’s memoir workshop has the theme of Emotions, and our first two prompts have been Joy and Hope.

In thinking back to my history as a writer, I am reminded of my first fan fictions. I hadn’t known until recent years that what I had written in high school had a genre and that it was called fan fiction. They were all self-insert, Mary Sues, but you do have to start somewhere.

Star Trek and Green Arrow were probably the shortest lived as far as fan fiction writing; more like an ongoing daydream that storied in my head. My fan writings really began with a back and forth letter writing between two characters in The White Shadow. I wrote in a composition notebook and I remember tearing out the pages and folding them in half, filing them somewhere where they remain hidden or lost forever. I was the only one who ever read them, and I can only hope that I will continue to be the only one to read them.

That was probably pre-high school. High school brought on Duran Duran fic and cosplay. Click, whirr is the sound that a camera makes, at least according to Nick Rhodes. I was the wayward photographer, and we often wrote alternate chapters, passing them back and forth through college. I wrote a terrible murder mystery involving the band on tour. Well, I guess it wasn’t that terrible. But it definitely wasn’t that good.

I took creative writing and journalism in high school. They provided a good mix, and they are probably the reason that I eventually took this memoir class in 2012. All writing is good practice. Prompts and free writes are gifts to any genre.

In the years that followed, different experiences led to different writings. Dungeons & Dragons led to Top Secret and other role playing games. I wrote about my TS character, Monique Jonquille, a French spy getting into dangerous situations and making her way in the world of intrigue and espionage. That was the kind of research that I had to do in person; no internet, but that was the kind of stuff that gets your browser history investigated. I spent hours in the library. No, I am not a serial killer; I’m a writer.

As a child I kept a diary – very pink with very large letters and i’s dotted with hearts. I never really kept a real journal like people do today, except when I travel or go on retreat. On my first trip to the UK I kept a daily journal, recording what we’d done for the day, what we planned to do. I drew the constellations, and the little phrases that my friend and I came up with as a secret language.

My friend and I used that journal, and our time traveling by the train to write our next D&D adventure. That would be my first running a game, and I still remember most of our plans. I also still have the glass bottle that we used for one of the rituals. Green glass with a copper metal screw cap. I can’t remember the name of the alcohol, but I do remember that it tasted like cough syrup. Yuck.

The SCA led to medieval research as well as editing and publishing a newsletter. Fiction came then also, much better than my teenage stuff, but not much more than more self-inserts. Wales, camping, travel, archery, costuming, medieval history, languages, so many things to learn. It’s like being a contestant on Jeopardy – you know a little about a lot of things, and most of it sticks with you. I was a Jane of all trades.

As I teacher I wrote curriculums and published an educational newsletter. I did both without a computer. Boy, how times have changed.

After my son was born, I began to write for a parenting newspaper. I muddled through but in reality it gave me the impetus to see what I was really good at: essays. Anecdotes, thoughts written out, how-to’s, travel advice and travel yarns. I might even have a couple of books in me if I can muster up the confidence to let myself be myself and just let the writing take over.

I returned to fan fiction, although at the time in 2008, I thought it was all new to me. it really was like learning a new language – fan fiction was a new language with its shorthand and tags. Harry Potter was my first and still my true fan fiction love. I’ve moved on and adapted to Doctor Who, Supernatural, The Walking Dead, as well as meta – the analysis, discussion, and opinion of the source material. My meta has focused on Supernatural and The Walking Dead, although I have thrown in an Orphan Black or two.

Fan fiction is almost mainstream today. It’s a community. It’s a support group. It’s feedback. It’s family.

It’s not at all what I could have envisioned in the 1980s of my middle and high school years or even of my college years. When your calling envelops you, you can get buried under or you can start folding the pleats and making sense of the ensuing enveloping.

When I began looking into a major for college, I wanted to be a writer. I wasn’t sure how to study that, but it was what I wanted. My mother felt that I should do something else; writing would always be there for me. I studied political science and pre-law, and I made a great group of friends from that course of study. And I still continued to write: science-fiction, fantasy, poetry, lists of all manner and topic.

In some ways, this writing thing feels too late. In others, I feel that it is never too late, but it is hard to hold onto that feeling. It takes a lot of energy to hold onto that.

I took a social science class that had to do with history, genealogy, and the family. We had to write a paper about our family. The year I started college my great-grandmother had died that spring; my Bubbi as everyone called her. I chose to write about the four generations of women in my family: my great-grandmother, my grandmother, my mother, and me. I interviewed my grandmother and my mother, and they helped me with my Bubbi’s answers. I went through my mother’s answers more than once, and every time I re-read it I’m always surprised that she wanted to be a writer. Why wold she tell me to do something else if that was her dream? I don’t think it was anything bad, it was just not a way to make a living. It could be a hobby, but not a real job.

Well, I’m trying to teach my kids to follow their dreams. Yes, even the one who wants to be a youtuber. There’s something to be said for doing what you love.

As I near my fiftieth birthday, I wonder what my next writing switch will be, what I will evolve into next. It’s fascinating from this end of it.

Joy

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It’s a little bit funny that joy is the first prompt of this season’s memoir writing free-write. I am in  the middle of reading both James Martin’s book, Between Heaven & Mirth and Pope Francis’ most recent exhortation, The Joy of Love. I swear if he uses the word conjugal one more time, I will throw my Kindle from a window.

Joy is one of those words that I look at as somewhat old-fashioned. I can be happy, fun, excited, well, good, but joy sounds like it means harp-playing angels and arrow-twanging cupids.

There are also certain words that I hear in certain voices and joy is one of them. Whenever I hear the word joy in my head, it is in Mira Furlan’s voice. She is a Czech actress who played the Minbari ambassador in the Babylon 5 television series. There’s nothing particularly special about the way she says it, but it’s been the way I hear that word since her narration of the opening. Without knowing it, she layers it with context, emotion, and meaning. My priest always welcomes new people with “great joy” and the first time he said it I flashed to the sound of Mira’s voice from twenty-five or so years ago.

Despite my current readings, I am neither joyful nor mirthful. I’m subdued, and joy is not subdued. I think joy happens in retrospect; as a memory of something too wonderful for mere words.

Joy is substance, joy is flavor, joy is the smell of rain, and the tweet of the 5am birdies. It’s the glow of the moon on my face or my hand when I reach towards the window in the night. Joy is your sleeping child or running unexpectedly into a friend during errands. Joy is my lilac tree in the yard and the smell of hyacinth.

Where do you find your joy?

Prompt – Joy

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This was supposed to be posted on Friday, but with Prince’s unexpected death and the beginning of Passover, I delayed it until this morning. Future prompts will appear on Fridays.

Now that my writing class has started up again, I’m going to share our prompts with you and hopefully encourage you to do your own free writes. Remember that free writes are ten to fifteen minutes of stream of consciousness writing related to the prompt. I sometimes call it spewing. We all have our words for things.

The class is six weeks, but with homework this prompt exercise should go on for about twelve weeks.

Share your writings by linking them in the comments.

Our theme for these next few weeks is Emotions.

Today’s prompt begins with Joy.

Have fun!

Who Does Negan Kill in TWD’s Season 6 Finale?

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I was really looking forward to the season finale of The Walking Dead. Ninety minutes, directed by Greg Nicotero, introduction of Negan, someone from our crew was going to die, and there’d probably be a cliffhanger. Would the cliffhanger be all their fates or just the one, I didn’t know. In my estimation, I’d say it delivered. I would have liked to have known who it was that did die, but from everything the cast and crew had talked about, we already knew that we would not know until they came back in the fall for season 7.

I’ve already written a reflection on the finale and what happened in that episode. I would like to reiterate that I enjoyed that episode a lot. It did not go the way I had expected, but it also kept me on the edge of my seat, and feeling the same things Rick and Co. were feeling as day turned into night, and Maggie’s condition worsened, and by the end, the stress was overpowering. I was as much of a mess as Rick was.

After reading one or two (or more) theories about who got the bat, I thought I’d share my two cents. Or actually my eleven cents, one for each character in the lineup.

One thing that surprised me was that I did expect that Carol and Morgan were going to be in the lineup. I would have chosen Carol to be the one to die because of her behavior over the last few episodes. Of course, with her and Morgan heading towards The Kingdom (we presume), they’re safe for the moment.

One final spoiler warning. Spoilers include all seasons of The Walking Dead as well as the comics and things that I’ve heard about the comics and about Negan that may or may not be true. I don’t read the comics, so they may be spoiled for you and I may have misunderstood some things. Comic readers, please correct me on actual spoilers, not speculation. I’m going to go from right to left of how they were lined up for Negan and give you my rundown for each of them.

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Happy Pesach

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Passover begins at sundown this evening. Some years there are conflicts. We travel to my mother-in-law’s more often than not for Easter or right before Easter when the kids are on recess, and so we’ll only observe Passover for part of the eight days. Even after my baptism, we continue to celebrate.

This year Easter was early and we aren’t able to travel to Grandma’s for recess because my oldest son is in school and working two and a half jobs so timing didn’t work out for visiting.

However, we will be home for the entirety of Passover.

To be truthful, I hadn’t really decided to celebrate/observe until I was in the grocery store shopping. I was supposed to get a roasting chicken and potato pancake mix for tonight’s dinner, but I could feel the D-A (depression/anxiety) clueing me in that it was going to be difficult to me for this holiday.

While I want to do Passover (even if we don’t usually do a seder), I could not feel the cooking.

I looked through my wallet and found the raincheck for chicken tenders. I heard the lightbulb click in my head; over my head.

Fake it.

No roast chicken, no standing over a stove frying latkes (we eat more latkes during Passover than during Chanukah), and that’s it. Fake it.

Chicken tenders, frozen potato pancakes, can of cranberry sauce, matzoh. Lunch – gefilte fish.

I can do this.

My point is simply that there are ways to get around those pokes that depression uses to try and bring you to lethargy and apathy. It isn’t a fail safe. There will be depressive moments. There will be times when you have to ask for family for more patience and support, but when it’s important, try. That’s all you can ask yourself.

I wanted to celebrate Passover. It’s important to me to continue these traditions, for my kids to understand their Exodus from Egypt. Even before the Eucharist, I’ve always talked about Passover in the present.

Why do we celebrate Passover, I’ve been asked. We were slave, and we’re leaving Egypt. We’re escaping. We’re crossing the Red Sea. We carry the matzoh with us. It’s happening in the past, the future, and now. it is within and without time.

History and heritage are important.

So is dinner.

Food is the lifeblood of culture and family.

Sometimes depression gets the best of me, but it can never win because I keep fighting, I keep moving forward, I keep keeping on.

I fake it unhtil I don’t have to anymore, and then I fake it again, but I keep going.

Happy Pesach.