Don't go through too much trouble trying to hide, forget about, or dismiss your speckled past. So what if you've had a few scrapes, scuffles, and scandalous goings on? Just think of all the great stories and lessons you'll be able to share with your grandchildren one day.
I was just sitting here thinking about the stories my grandma used to tell me of her hell-raising and ho-hopping days in her 20s, and I smiled; thinking now of how I should have done way more dirt in my "youthier" youth. But then, to whose children would I tell those stories anyhow? So, it's a good thing I'm a writer.
Be someone who finally does it, not someone who wishes s/he had done it. Time is a commodity. Use it.
If you want to write, to publish, to be read, there's no better time than now to see it through. If you've stopped writing, just start again. You'll never know if the words you could share will help others if you never share them. Make the time to write because you want to. You can do this.
Sometimes, happiness is as simple as lying in bed, eating Nilla Wafers, getting fat, getting crumbs all over the place, and not giving a damn.
While doing a little weekend spring cleaning, I found a box of stuff I'd had in storage since before my deployment, and came across a box of old cards and letters, from family and friends who'd written to me while I was in basic training, or college, or somewhere other than home.
My (recently deceased) Uncle Greene wrote, in a letter dated over 20 years ago, "Beanie, be happy no matter what, because, 'life is too short to have sorrows. You may be here today and gone tomorrow...' I got that from a song, but it's true." And then he drew a smiley face. Lord, I miss him.
In another letter, also dated 20+ years ago, my Uncle Bro. wrote, "Don't let anything get you down. And if it does, don't let it keep you there." I miss him, too. He's not deceased, just living back home in Georgia, while I'm up here in New York.
Simply put...eat the cookies, for goodness' sake. And savor the moments when being happy is as simple as that.
My uncles, the wise men, circa summer 1970. Larry (Bro.) Penn (holding me), our neighbor, "Toot" (standing in the middle), and my uncle Harvey (Greene) Penn (holding my cousin, Drucila)
There's that time thing, again. I meant to write a post in April. Several times, I meant to write, but time got away from me.
I wish I could remember what it was that I wanted to share, but since I can't, I'll share this: Life is a freakin' time suck.
I know that's not news, but it's where I find myself at this moment. Wishing I could go somewhere and just not be bothered by anyone or anything that isn't directly related to my writing, publishing, or creative processes.
I find myself peeved at people and situations that have distracted me from my intentions. The recurring theme in my head is, "Leave me the fuck alone." But you can't say that when you have a full-time job, or people who depend on you to do it. *Sigh* I've GOT to work on my time management skills.
I haven't always gotten the things in life that I said I wanted when I wanted them, but I've learned that sometimes, when we get things for which aren't prepared, we don't know how to accept, appreciate or enjoy them. Something tells me that now would be a good time for me to be diligent about my preparation. I don't want to be caught sitting here in fuzzy pink pajamas, chipped nail polish, hair plaits, and a face covered in Noxema when opportunity comes to sweep me off my feet for the big dance. And once we get there, I want to do more than just tap my feet.
What about you?
Welp. Just finished a lengthy Sunday afternoon conversation with my mom, who advised me that she's willing to wait about 3 more years for me to have a baby. That's right around the time the mortgage will be paid off, and she can sell the house and travel with me and the kid.
Never mind I don't have a husband. "So, get a sperm donor," she says. "I don't mind you having a baby when you're old. I want a grand baby." Thanks, mom. Yeah. Thanks for that.
Did we somehow forget that I'm forty-fucking-three years old, and I don't even have a boyfriend? What's that? No problem?
"...The Army is full of men...Just stop being so picky. You don't even have to marry him...You don't need child support...You can afford a baby."
And the best one, "Just gotta think about how happy that would make me before I die...Pretty, pretty grand babies..."
Yes, she played the death card.
So, on the chance that there are others, and I know there are others out there who go through this with the people who love us (moms, dads, well-meaning friends, etc.), I just want you to know you're not alone. I've had this topic thrown at me so many different ways, from so many different angles, I can just about tell you what to say back and how to say it. Guaranteed to shut them up about it for at least a month...unless you chat every Sunday.
Six days into the new year means I'm late with my gratuitous post of reflections and ponderings of the last year. Worse, I've tried to write this post 3 times over the last hour, and my connection keeps dropping. Worst, I'm too stubborn to rewrite it in a Word document so that I won't lose it again, just in case I run out of time before the NEXT inevitable dropped connection. This is some bullshit.
But, then, that's what I get for being late as hell and being stubborn. And have the nerve to be impatient. This is what happens to a writer with tons of ideas that she can't write down fast enough, and can't remember once those ideas have gotten tired of waiting to be put to good use and escaped her chaotic head space.
I've written some great stuff on here in the last three attempts, and lost it because of some fricken fracken computer glitchy nonsense, which, by the way, I pay way too much money to be going through. Now it's gone forever. Much like time itself. The gift that doesn't keep on giving.
It is a gift of opportunity and chances (like the chance I'm taking that this shit won't drop me again); of decisions and circumstances, often of my own making; of situations, often of my own choosing. It doesn't come wrapped in a nice shiny bow. And despite my best efforts, I cannot save it in a pretty little box or bottle for later.
As time passes, I'm passing right along with it. I get it. I got it years ago, but something about this time of year brings it back to the forefront of my mind. And I know I'm not the only one. I just posted my thoughts six days later. Time. Only less of it.
Time is borrowed, much like credit. Eventually it runs out.
I changed the name of this blog to "Write on Time" because all cliches about time are true. It slips into the future, waits for no man, heals all wounds...or so they tell me. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
That, and I think it's a pretty cool play on words.
Anyway, I plan to spend this year getting my publishing company, New Renaissance Ink, off the ground, and publishing at least two works this fall, one of which will be the Second Edition of The Other Side of 30; but gracious alive, it's a lot of work. I'm working with a few authors already, talking mostly, at this point; but I hope that one of their books will be among the two that I publish this year. I've also got two nonfiction pieces bouncing around in my head, and maybe even a YA novel, which is totally new territory for me. I believe I've got the ducks lined up (couldn't think of a time cliche for that one), and I'm trying to move deliberately, if a bit tentatively, just to increase my chances of producing the best possible work for my readers and for myself.
All that said, I'm still learning to build platforms, audiences, brand recognition and all of that stuff that only writers care about. From this point forward, I hope to deliver words on this screen that readers care about. I'm building it, readers. Please come.
One of my brain children is to create an experimental blog segment and discussion forum, through comments and/or messages, as a Subject Matter Expert on the Art of Being Single. After all, The Other Side of 30 is basically about the life of a single girl, Sebrina Cooper, that goes awry, to put it mildly.
Let's see. That makes the acronym SMEABS. Hmmmh. That needs work.
But if I don't know shit else, I know how to be single. And write. And having done both for so long, I've gotten better than pretty good at them.
Maybe I'm supposed to remind as many others as possible, that being single is a conscious choice, not a chronic condition. And that's it's not the end of the world. On the other side of 30, 40, or beyond. Well, I don't know anything much about beyond yet, but you get the point. Maybe this is how I build my platform and readership, but also help some people along the way. Sebrina Cooper should have had the benefit of a SMEABS.
I've pretty much mastered being single, and all without the benefit of heavy medication or restraining orders. I've kept my hair and most of my sanity. That takes finesse. Skill. Okay, less skill and more life experience. And a lot of perspective. A dash of good genes, sure. Of course, a good portion of grace and gummi bears.
I mean, there has to be a really good reason for my being over 40, never been married, no kids, well-educated, pretty, and having dropped into and avoided more than my fair share of emotional pitfalls. But on the other side of all that, I have built a pretty comfortable life, maintained a steady career, and I'm living the drama-free life to which we all (at least say that we) aspire.
Just maybe being a SMEABS (Trying to get the name to grow on me) is part of my purpose, sharing lessons and experiences.
Anyway, if you or someone you know may benefit from some perspective and life experience, please tune in here often. We'll see how this thing pans out.
Whatever I do with the time I have left in this year and the rest of my life, I want to contribute something to making someone else's situations or circumstances better, their decisions are little more informed, and maybe their chances a little less risky. *Sigh*
Opportunity, here I come knocking.
There is more to come. I will be more active on this blog. That's not a resolution. It's a lifestyle change. ;)
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