The Breaking Heart

No one knows what hell is like until they've been through it themselves. I think heartbreak is just a way the living can preview the flames.

Divorce is such an ugly word because in reality all it is, is another name for heartbreak. Please bare with me as I write to comfort my soul and ease my pain. Try not to judge the words on the page as all they are, are pieces of my broken heart.

I've always wondered if it was possible to die of a breaking heart. As I get older and give more and more of it away the answer becomes clear - that yes, indeed it is possible to die of a broken heart.

With every name, every put down, every scream of anger another crack appears. Soon the pieces all and melt into the the tears that I cry.

I cry a thousand tears daily and find myself drowning in my own sea of emotion. With every tear that falls a small amount of relief comes over me, the level of water rising over my head; as if I could numb the pain of my new reality by drowning in my own tears.

My heart is breaking, it is grieving this lose. You see in a way my own heart is dying. It is dying the same way my marriage is dying. For the past 6 years my heart as been consumed by this love and now it is leaving and there is a void. My own black hole and I can not cope.

These are not just words, they are pieces of my broken heart.

750 words. It's 1 o'clock somwhere.

I'm currently reading a book titled A Memoir Project by Marion Roach Smith.  It talks about how to start writing for intent and to not do writing exercises as most books would tell you. I love her advice and there were so many things that I wanted to remember that I needed to get my pen out and highlight a bunch of stuff. Some of the advice that stuck out to me the most would have to be: a time. I usually think to myself - you can not just sit down and write at a certain time every single day. At the same time however, this is a job I want to have, so I do need to get into the habit of writing as a job. Yes it is something I enjoy but why not get paid for it as well? Anyway she says you DO need to sit down at  a DESK preferably at the same time every day and start writing. 2 things about this... 1. I do not write the same time every single day and 2. I do not have a desk of my own to write at. I do most of my writing where ever I am (i.e. behind a bar, in bed, on the bus, on the balcony etc.)

So what does this have to do with 750 words? Well I found out about this website called 750words.com. It encourages you to write 750 words a day. Now sure you can sign up and then not write every single day like you vow to yourself to do (sounds like I'm talking for experience huh?) So they have this 'challenge' which I signed up to do in November. I have to write 750 words a day for 30 days or my name goes up on a wall of shame. Oh the shame. If I do write every day for 30 days I get a reward, one that I have chosen for myself  which is a desk from the Brown Elephant (which is a second hand store here in Chicago).

I am so excited for my desk! I mean yeah I still have 30 days ahead of me that I need to write (gulp) but for a desk, I'll do it! Plus that is a great start to my books! Why  am I so excited for a desk? Well currently our desk is in our living room where everyone gathers. It is a little distracting with animals, humans, and TV to come up with creativity on spot. Plus Stephen needs the desk/computer 90% of time for 'school work'. and his books are all over it ( I know I sound ridiculous right now) but I do want my own space.

So what happens at 1 o'clock? One is the time that I have chosen to sit and write every day. I plan on writing for an hour. It can be for my book, for my blog, or it can even be a letter/email to a friend or family member. I just want to write for an hour with no interruptions. I think it will be interesting. I will keep you updated on how my writing is going over at 750words.com and if I find it good enough I will be happy to share it with you.

One last note, Marion made a statement about first drafts in her book that made me think. She calls first drafts 'Vomit Drafts' mainly because they are messy and everything in you comes out. Ew, what a way to think of it. But it totally makes sense and unfortunately for time purposes my Grandma's book probably should have been titled 'Short Vomit Stories for Grandma' as most of the stories that were in her book were still first or second drafts. Oh well, she loved it, it was good experience so I'll chalk it up to a beginners mistake.

Anyway, I still have 39 minutes left in my first session of writing at 1 o'clock so I think I will go work on a book:)

Writer's Block 1.25

I titled this 'Writer's Block 1.25' b/c 1.) I know I already have a post titled that 2.) I have a strong feeling that this will not be the last 'writer's block' post I will ever post.

So yeah, I gave my Grandma the book and she loved it -misspelled words and all:) I am so glad I did for so many different reasons. The only downfall is that ever since I gave her, her book I really haven't wrote that much. Especially on here. Obv. (which is abbreviated for obviously for all of you over 40 or not with it) I can say that I have been writing, like literally writing. I find that when I take a pen and place it to a piece of paper my mind opens up. The only thing that opens up on my computer when I try to write? New tabs leading to facebook, pinterest , and other bloggers (aka people that actually have something interesting to say and are fun to follow)

I don't know what it is about literally writing but it works for me although I have realized that this means it will take me oh, 45 years longer than I intended to write a book but hey there isn't an age limit on becoming an author right? I just realized I'm only 3 paragraphs into this post and all I see is black, white and red. I might need to start giving myself weekly spelling test b/c damn I am bad.  Ok back to the topic. I also want to say that I am writing more on my other blog which you can find here, seriously click this! Mainly because I wanted to keep this blog for writing only. I guess subconsciously though I had already given up on this blog and decided it was time to start a new one. Again I can't finish anythin...see!

But seriously, I do want to continue with this blog and I WILL (i will i will i will!!!) I just can't make myself write when the ideas aren't coming to me. Well what I should say is the ideas don't come to me when I'm at the computer. I have written in my notebooks but now it's just the task of getting it from the paper to the computer. And honestly I have soooooooooo much TV to watch on Netflix that I don't know where I will find the time to copy my work onto this blog ( I need to get a life, I know)

I am working on so many books. I know I should work on one. Focus on one but my brain does NOT work that way. I have so many different ideas, or life experiences that just can't be wrapped up in one book. Plus ADD is a bitch to control without meds (which turn me into a zombie hence why I do not take them) so I honestly can work on a piece for about 20-40 mins before I become distracted with something else.

Plus the 2 books that I'm focusing on well..I don't know what people will think about them. My fav is about my first job and I hesitate writing about it on here b/c well I don't want anyone from that place to read it....yet. The other book...well I know people will say I shouldn't write it but I'm going to. It feels so good to get it on paper and out of my body and mind. I need to write this to release it. Intrigued? Guess you'll just have to buy the book HA!

So that's where I'm at. I wanted to let all (5) of you know that I'm still here, and writing...just not on here. But I will (i will i will i will!). It's a goal of mine for this month. I do not want this blog to feel like the forgotten step child.

Real Simple Essay 2011

**Ok people, I've edited this some and made a few changes. I'm cutting this close as the deadline is Sept 15th so I need as many pair of eyes to see if there are any grammar or spelling errors before I sent this is. I'm sending this in to enter the magazine 'Real Simple's writing contest. They do this every year but with a different question to answer in your essay. The question this year was 'When did you first know the true meaning of love?'  Please let me know - do you think I did a good job at answering?? Thank you for your support and if I win the top prize of $3,000 in cash and trip to NYC, I'll be happy to send you a postcard:) 

Honoring A Parent's Love

The parent-child relationship is a unique bond and so individually special that no words can truly sum them all into one description. Many Americans are faced with the day when they are no longer the child in that relationship but the parent; not only to their own children but to their parents as well. My mom is  in that category.  She is not only a parent to me, her 26 year old daughter, but also a parent to her 85 year old father, while my 87 year old Grandma is her co-parent.

My grandparents have been married for 65 years, have 6 children, 10 grandchildren and 8 great-grandchildren. They are devote Christians, hard workers, and all around 'good people'. If you were to see them walking down the road you probably would not be able to help but smile. He stands at 6'4, has a permanent farmer's tan from days in the field  and she (rounding up) comes in at 4'11, wobbles more than walks due to an old hip surgery.  The most compelling part of them happens to be on the inside however; I would say as two individuals  and as a couple they are the definition of every romantic, friendship, and faith-based card Hallmark has ever written.

They moved from small town Florida some years ago to Northern Indiana to be closer to family, just in case they needed help in the years to come. My mom is number four out of the six kids, and one of the three that live in the same town as my grandparents. She is the one that Grandma came to when she started noticing a difference in Grandpa.  The signs were small and changes barely noticeable; Grandpa was forgetting things.  He didn't remember if he had brushed his teeth, or how to tie his shoes, he could not remember what he had for breakfast or if he even had breakfast.

 My grandma started taking  care of him, for better or worse and in sickness and in health; she not only spoke those words on the day of their wedding but lives them out as well.  She would remind him to brush his teeth and show him how if he could not remember. She would even dress him in the mornings, but it was becoming too overwhelming.  Grandma couldn't button the tops of his old Levi's with her arthritic hands. She wasn't able to help him slide his feet into the cowboy boots that became his signature. She was taking care of a man twice her size, it was exhausting. The jeans had to be replaced with sweatpants; they were easier to put on and take off.  And the boots? Well they sit in a dark closet under a thin coating of dust like an old photograph album would.   My mom could tell it was becoming overwhelming for her mother and decided it was time someone stepped in to help and she was just the child to do it.

The tasks started off small; running my grandma to the grocery store,  the library, or to their little country Mennonite church in the corn field. She would take her out to lunch and give her a break from the stress of life; if not but for a few hours. This was fine to do until one day they came home to find Grandpa  with a bruise and no memory as to how he got it. She called siblings to see if he could go to their house while Grandma was out and also so they would be able to spend time with their dad before it became a wishful thought.  Mom got answers like 'I'll have to check my calendar' or 'I don't have time' and  bluntly 'I'm too busy!'  The answer she got, for the most part, was that she was on her own.

The day I think it set in, that Grandpa was digressing,  for most of the family was when Mom had to go over to their house to bandage his leg. He had skin  missing and was causing himself to bleed because 'The band-aid wouldn't come off' - there was no band-aid.  Mom called her siblings that lived in other states, miles away from the reality to let them know what was happening to their father.  Denial seemed to be the road taken for those not there instead of the road home to help out where help was needed most.

Grandpa has good and bad days, we all do. The bad days are when he has a hard time remembering what year it is, how many children he has or how long he has been married to his bride. The sad part is that he knows he is fading, he will get frustrated with himself and feel like he is a burden more than a member of the family.  The good days, well they are the ones  we cherish. He will look at my grandma and wink , causing her to blush. We'll ask him if that was something he used to do when they were dating. He'll reply 'I am just so lucky to be married to such a pretty lady.' These are the moments that prove even though his memory may be fading, his love for her is not.

Unfortunately  the months are passing and as they do the good days are not happening as often as they used to be. We are starting to see the toll it's taking on an 87 year old frail body to take care of another human being. Grandma is falling or finding herself on the ground and not knowing how she got there ; she is tired and my  mom is worrying more. She and my uncle have visited homes in the area,  searching for that one place they would be confident to know their parents are getting the same love and care they  provide. These visits end in tears of frustration  and added stress. My mother's 'days off' are never  truly off;  if she has free time she is more than likely with my grandparents.  Of course she wishes there were times where she could do what she pleased and not have to worry but as she has told me on many occasions  'When the day comes where I will not have to take care of them will be the day  I wish I could.'

You see Mom isn't just doing this because she has to but because she wants to.  It is her privilege to provide them with the same loving care that they gave to her as she was growing up . I feel that even though her siblings are not helping out as much as they should; she is gaining something they are missing out on- unconditional love. The love that was there to kiss away the 'boo-boos' and give hugs to remind them they are loved.  The love that kept them safe and out of a nursing home for as long as possible. The kind of love that wiped away Grandma's tears as she watched her one and only slip away.  The most powerful kind of love that showed honor, respect, and dedication to the ones that brought her into the world. She will not have to wish for more days or regret the phone calls never made. She will not have a 'would have, could have, should have', moment because she did.

This story, my mom and grandparents  parent-child relationship, is dedicated to those who are out there being the best parents they know how to be, to their parents. This story is to honor those who honor their parents and the lessons  of love they provided them growing up. This is my way to say thank you to those who love unconditionally.

Thank you for taking care of generations past and for teaching generations of the future what love truly  means. 

Why Me?

The past few days I have been working on my latest book (titled Endorphin High My Ass, it's a working title so please feel free to give suggestions) and I have noticed that the same thought keeps creeping into my head; why me? Why would anyone want to buy, let along read what I have to say? I have to be honest, at first I would let the question sink in and the realize I had either no motivation left or such lack of faith in myself that I would come to a block, a writer's block if you will.

I spend so much time throughout my days thinking about characters, different topics or real life events that I could turn into chapters and how I would word them. I get so excited to sit down at the computer or with my notebook and pen that by the time my 'creative juices' are flowing that damn Negative Nancy comes along and ruins the whole thing.

I've decided to shut the bitch up, once and for all.  Why me, you ask Negative Nancy? Well I'll tell you why; I'm special damn it! I may not have the craziest life or coolest experiences but I do have life experiences and I have been gifted with a talent that let's me turn those said experiences into hilarity for others to read! I also am a creative person and can come up with topics that would make to be excellent stories. I think the most important reason why is the fact I am not going to give up on this dream. There is a difference from me and others that dream of becoming a published author; I believe in myself and will continue to do so no matter what people tell me. I do not care if I have to send in my book ideas 100 times or pass on a night of drunken fun with my 'real' friends to spend the evening with my 'imagitive' friends that are in my stories.  I will not give up on my book.

I look at the rows and rows of books in my personal library and I try to imagine each author sitting at their computer/typewriter for the first time, taking a deep breathing and thinking 'Well, here goes nothing!' They had to start somewhere as well, the same place that I do; a blank screen, an idea for a story, a way with words and the belief that it is good enough to become something great. Every book started with one word, that turned into a sentence, which lead to a paragraph and formed pages that in the end came together to create a finished book. When I think about my story idea in that light, nothing seems impossible.  I know there will be writer's blocks in my future, rejection letters filling my mailbox, and the possibility of never being published. I have made my mind up that I was up for those challenges. I enjoy writing so much that no matter the obstacle I will voyage on.

Why me you ask? Well you'll just have to read my writing to find out.

A book about writing a book

**This is my latest and greatest project let's see if I can actually get past chapter 2:) Although I have to admit I worked on my other book this weekend; you know the one about my first job right out of college and how that was such a living hell experience and totally not what I expected - yeah that one. So obviously I'm setting myself up for failure for one of my books b/c honestly who writes two books at the same time. I'll tell you who, a girl with A.D.D and a bad habit of starting too many things she couldn't possibly finish! So here's the introduction to my book about writing a book; trust me it isn't/won't be as boring as it sounds on the contrary it will be wildly entertain as everything else in my life is; seeing as nothing has gone the way I have planned yet. Enjoy...

I want to write a book plain and simple. I have come up with numerous ideas and have even started a few chapters for most of said ideas. The problem is that usually somewhere after chapter 2 I either get bored with the topic or run out of ideas for the future 268 pages that I had planned on in the beginning of the project. And be honest with me, am I the only one that finds humor in writing a book about writing a book? I'm not talking about a 'How to Become a Writer' type book. I'm talking about the book being all about my adventure to becoming a published author.

This may be a good time to tell you that I have not only wrote a book previously but have also published it. It was titled 'Short Stories for Grandma' and was a present for her 87th birthday, contained 10 stories (all mainly first drafts mind you), 64 pages and filled with misspellings upon misspellings. I do say, I am proud of this little book but at the same time I strive for more. I did not go through a publishing agency, I went through lulu.com (which is a great site by the way!) and published the book myself. I want more. I want to feel the anxiety of mailing my book proposal to numerous agencies in hopes of getting a response.I want a rejection letter damn it! I long to bicker back and forth with my editor about extending deadlines because my creativity decided it was time to go on vacation the week before my first draft was due. I want to see the year in writer's eyes; three stages: First Draft, Revisions, and Final Draft (if I'm lucky after I will be able to add another 'season' to the list after being published: Book Tour!)

I honestly do not need my book on the shelves of Barnes and Noble but I would like to see it on Target's!  I feel the fun, witty, and relatiable (seriously how to do you spell this word!?) authors are sold here. I would love to be on some one's 'Favorite Authors' list on Facebook. I daydream not about a life of less stress and more beach time but of reading segments of my book in bookstores. I want to have 15 minutes of Q&A before heading to a fold out table that is in the 'Self-Help'  isle and sign my name with a sharpie until my hand hurts.

Obviously, when I dream, I dream big. I feel as though becoming an author is just as hard as becoming a movie star or pop star. Anyone can be a writer, actress or singer- anyone. You have to 'make it' to become an author, movie star or pop star! Now I'm not saying everyone wants to be an author but I bet you would be surprised at how many 'Bucket Lists' include writing a book.

So what makes me so special? Why would anyone what to read what I have to say? Trust me I ask myself this every single day and sometimes even hourly. I'm relatiable that's why. I think that in  in today's day and age people want to be connected to others, they want to know that the crazy life they're living isn't crazy at all; but normal.  We all have aspirations and dreams and the type of books I want to write will be the ones that give hope. They will say 'Here is a girl that made her dreams come true, if she can do it so can you!'

I do this myself actually, I read debut novels. I learn about the lawyer-turned- authors as I read their bios and start a rough draft in my mind as to what my first bio will say. I read books by women who I want to be BFF's with. Of course I do not go that far to extend my friendship to someone that has 60,000+  'Likes' on Facebook because that would be just plain creepy and not to mention desperate. No, the way I plan to gain their friendship is to become an author that they would read, laugh out loud with and can relate to.

So with that said, here I go! I'm off to start the beginning of my book about writing a book. And if you're in isle J-37 at your local Target well then that only means one thing; I made it!  And you can to..because as I write this I am just a twenty-something girl in Chicago, sitting on her balcony writing in her journal; but as you read this I am now a published author.

Mary Jane

It's time I confronted you. I know your relationship with him started long before mine did but you have to understand, he's my husband. He told me it was over between the two of you when we got married. All throughout our courtship you never once reared your ugly head. Of course looking back it is so obvious, you were on the run; you couldn't go near him due to his line of work. If they found you , they'd take you away and lock you up. I know you well enough now to know you would have gotten out, found a way to be with him again.

You didn't let it stop you that he found someone new, someone else that did a good job at taking his mind off of his problems. Could you just not stand the fact that maybe, just maybe he didn't need you in his life anymore? Oh, I know, I know it isn't your fault - he came running back to you right? Well you made sure it was easy didn't you? Making sure you were around when he would visit his friends, available at all hours of the night just in case he needed to talk.

I knew, I knew when he started seeing you again, correction using you again, that's all it is to him you know - it's not love, you are a quick fix and in reality he knows you're no good, you are someone who will suck his life dry throughout the years. I didn't have a problem with it at first, I knew you would forever be friends. He was straight forward about that. I guess I just did not realize how 'good' of friends you were.

At first I could just smell you on him but after awhile he got good at hiding how often he would visit you. I could tell you were hanging out more and more. More than necessary if you asked me. I told him you were not welcome in my home, of course you both knew how weak I was and soon your new hang out was our basement. I soon regretted allowing you in - the smell of your perfume makes me gag even now. Even after you were gone there would be traces of you throughout the room.

I knew he was going to you to relax, take the edge off. It bothered me that he was relying on you and not getting the help he needed to deal with his issues. Who are you to make his problems 'go away', you didn't go to school for this, what is your training on helping people with PTSD? Couldn't he see you were not helping solve/resolve his problems? All you do is numb the pain for awhile. Soon he started to rely on you to feel 'normal' everyday. We went from seeing you at a friends house from time to time to you always being in our home. You started moving things in even!

I would come home -there you were with him playing video games, helping him with homework, you would even take naps together! I can tell you what you were NOT doing, not helping him with his responsibilities - helping clean, pick up after himself, take care of himself even. To me you had become a bad influence.

Thankfully we decided to move. A fresh start, miles away from you! Little did I know as we were packing our bags you were too. Correction, as I was packing up our house; you , he and his brother though it would be a great time for a road trip to Colorado! He left me to do the work while he spend the week with you.

You both crossed the line.

Chicago started off ok. I knew you had found our new place but then again it probably wasn't hard to find when he was welcoming you in from day one.

We started fighting about you, how much time he was spending with you, how you were taking him away from reality more and more, and don't even get me started on the money issue! How can he defend giving you so much money?! You don't even pay us back! How is it fair that I go away to work for 8 hours all while you are in my home with him telling him to give you more and more!? My question is this, you guys don't even DO anything, how can you cost so much?

Lately I feel at a loss. I've lost my drive to even fight over you because all he does is defend you. It's not worth it to me anymore, you have become more important than our marriage. He's suppose to be on my side, my partner. Yes, I have issues that have caused problems in our marriage that may have even caused him to run to you even more. Do you know what that shows me? He would rather run to you for a fix than work on our problems. He does not see how much you truly bother me. You are ruining our marriage, he has become addicted to you. And to that I say - You win Mary Jane, you have gotten what you wanted, he is all yours.


**People laugh and joke about the 'Above the Influence' commercials and to be honest they are kind of cheesy. I have never smoked pot - she is not the kind of friend I want. I seriously had no issue with her and I, myself, thought the commercials were funny too; until I found out they are true. I do feel if people only smoke once in awhile then no they are not like the commercials, but if they are with Mary Jane every single (pardon me) fucking day then yes they are just like the commercials.



She is an enemy to me. She's his mistress. He lies for her, takes time away from us to be with her, spends our money on her, etc. She is a bitch is what she is and I can't even face her like a real person because she isn't real! At least that is what people will tell you. Well I'm here to tell you how real she is; being a pothead is not glamours. She steals from you, lies to you, makes you think everything will be ok as long as you stick with her. She makes things worse but sadly the ones viewing from the outside are usually the only ones that can see this; the truth.

Open your eyes.

I hate you Mary Jane. I hate you.