I started writing about Life with my dog Sarrah a few months after she was gone.
It just happened, I never set out to write anything nor get this involved with it, but here I am. As if life cracked me open and the words just started coming out. I began writing daily for an hour or two, sometimes all day and even a few marathon weekends with little time for food or sleep, I did this for about a year.
I set my pen down the day that I learned people in the present run out of time for those who live in the past.
I went from keeping my binder with me at all times to leaving it on the coffee table.
Instead of writing daily, I maybe read it a little every other week and tweaked anything that I stumbled on. This went on for almost a year.
One day I decided to pick it back up and work through it. I made some “Draft Copies” and gave them to a few friends and family, noting that it was far from finished. I wanted to give it, to give Sarrah, some kind of life and protect the story from being lost.
Having never read Memoir I began attending writing conferences, seminars and classes a year ago. Learning to take my story apart, reworking it for Show not Tell is easier said than done, seems especially for me.
I understand that in the paper-thin chance this story of a Special Dog and an Old Boy ever becomes more than evolving pages in a weathered binder on my coffee table (and a bit on a blog) it will be run through normalizing software to Scrub out my Bad Habits, over-polish punctuation and trim off the rough edges… somehow making it no longer feel like it’s mine.
Perhaps what I’m writing is simply a record to be read aloud to an older version of me, staring out a window, trying to remember a life.
My phone has traces of acquaintances, pets, friends and family who are no longer living.
No longer living here with us.
Their birthday’s pop-up as if to remind and say “Don’t forget me.”
Photos in the memory mix float around and surface at times, blending in with new experiences.
It is hard enough to say “Goodbye” in this life,
making [Delete] impossible.
So, My Collection Grows…
In the summer as the sun-sets, bats return to eat their share of mosquitoes and scare the squeamish. The speed and erratic flight of these creatures is part of what I have come to call “Caveman TV”. One evening while sitting in wooden Adirondack chairs next to Sarrah snoozing in the sand by a crackling fire, my childhood friend Andy said “Caveman TV”.
While staring into the fire I replied, “What?”
“Caveman TV is what we are watching” and he went on share this primal-based theory of what is the attraction of sitting around a fire and possibly “the real reason people go camping.”
“Then this is ‘The Remote,’” I concluded while using the fire-scarred chunk of rebar to stoke our TV.
I embraced the expression and have since shared this primal wisdom with all fellow fire enthusiasts.
Serves a Purpose
it reminds you that You Are Stronger…
than what hurt you
Holidays can become hollow through twists of fate.
Thefts of Loss, inevitable and unexpected change these special days on our calendar for some.
While the growing annual marketing madness annoys most people, it is stinging reminders to many of a loss stained day, a holiday that they would rather not endure.
Loneliness gives these once fond days an ache, changing them into days of dread with a hollow feeling.
Perhaps we should all make time on holiday’s to quietly think about those who are hurting.
Eventually most of us will have our own turn.
Comforting as a hug in tough times
Could be a hand-held whisper “It is real”
as the tide changes…
A friend with a valuable opinion suggested that I try to write something a little Happier.
I do have Happy moments, lots of them, but apparently they don’t move me to try and write anything (lately anyway). Perhaps I get too busy simply enjoying those moments.
I don’t know much about writing, it’s rules and terminology (I took just enough classes to get by) but there is something called “Voice”.
Perhaps someday a happier voice will find this aging mind. Like hitting my head on a low beam and spilling my coffee or tripping over an uneven sidewalk and throwing everything in my hands, like lots of changes it will probably hurt.
Time may tell.
It’s OK to feel Helpless and Lost
It’ll get Better