Notes from the Red Bird House

It's been nearly fifteen years. For some reason, October sticks in my mind. Even though I knew the instant I saw her that my life had changed, that I would never be the same again, I didn't take note of the date. I wish I had. You see, that was the day I experienced what I thought I would never experience. I thought it was the thing of fairy tales and romance novels and complete bullshit. Then I saw her and I knew. Love at first sight happens. It actually happens because it happened to me. I've written around our story many times - some say too many times - so I feel like it's common knowledge. It took months to work up the courage to speak to her, but merely an instant to fall in love with her. I can still see that moment as clearly as if it had just happened last night. There are those who will read this and insist that I am still in love with her. I can assure you, I'm not and I haven't been for quite some time now. That was a tough one for me - the fal...

I think more and more about going home. I don't mean to my house. As in, "I'm going home now". I guess to distinguish, I should use a capital H when speaking of Home versus a little h when speaking of home. The latter being the house where I currently reside. The former... Well, the former is a bit more difficult to define. You see, I've been searching for Home (the one with a capital H... See how I did that?) for the majority of my adult life. I know I've said it before - probably more than once in this blog alone - I grew up in the same house from the age of 3 until my parents divorced when I was 24. I went away to college and one year of grad school, but that house on Wanesta Drive in Poway, California was Home. This is by no means a diatribe against my parents' divorce. I'm good with it; have been for quite some time. They are both happy. My sister is happy. I am happy. I'm merely saying that when my parents divorced and sold my childhood h...

I spent the last week on a farm-cation, a fancy way of saying I helped a friend on her alpaca farm. She billed it as a 'writing with the alpacas vacation' and I bit. What could be better? A week on a scenic farm in Western Washington where the weather promised to be a lot cooler than in central Texas? The decision was easy. I didn't even care that I might have to do some 'farm work' around the writing and researching I planned to focus on. What I didn't count on was Valentina. She was about two and a half weeks old when I met her and three weeks, two days old when I had to say good bye. I knew her a sum total of seven days. That's it. And she completely changed the way I view my life and my survival. Valentina was born with a nasal abnormality that affected ability to breathe and eat. As alpacas breathe almost exclusively through their noses and only use their mouths when agitated or excited, Valentina's prognosis from the beginning wasn't very...

It's been a rough month. One day I was playing tennis, breaking in a new doubles partnership, and working at a job I liked. My pay check stretched far enough to allow me frequent meals out and coffee at my favorite coffee house. My anxiety was in check; my stress level seemed to have settled into an new-found low. I was happy most days, even on the days when I yipped my way through multiple double faults and on the days when the amount of work at work seemed insurmountable. I was riding a wave, a really good wave. And then I hit a forehand wrong and felt a sharp pinch and burning sensation in my elbow. A week later I was out of tennis and back working a stressful day job. Trips to various doctors and physical therapists quickly drained my bank account. My social life (what little the introvert in me craved) ended when tennis ended. Meals out and coffee became a memory. And with all that, my stress level rose to what surely feels like an all-time high. ~ Imagine for a moment a...

I've decided that I have an answer for the oft asked question (paraphrased here) - Why am I going to Sweden? Ready? It's not earth-shattering. Not really, I guess. Maybe to some it will be. Those whose lives are so filled with purpose that they've become swollen, lethargic, and unimaginative won't get it any more than those who don't actually, well, live at all. In the few short months since my grand announcement (read my blog "Sweden or Bust 2017" for details), I've grown tired trying to explain something I can barely explain to myself to people who live their lives as if it was a paint-by-number. Blue here. Brown here. Yellow there. Stay in the lines. Don't improvise. Look, all of our paintings look the same, just like they're supposed to. News flash... They're not supposed to look the same. The past week has brought a few welcome realizations. 1. A friend posted something to her Facebook today. It was a Word Porn meme that I'...

There is a place I go. I am almost sure of it. Every night when I sleep. I dream. But beyond the dream, beyond the immediate subconscious, there is something...more...different. A feeling, a comfort, a familiarity, a knowing. A place. A life? Lately, as I ponder bedtime, sleep, and dreams, I am often confused. I don't want to sleep, but I don't want not to sleep. Am I worried that I won't find my way there? I think maybe. Which is real? Here or there? Asleep or awake? Do minutes pass as hours...and vice versa? Or is it just a dream? An illusion? A subconscious trick? I can vividly recall my dreams, but not what lies beyond them. I am frustrated. I should know, I should remember.  I should . As I lay my head down and pull the blankets tightly around me, I feel it. Peace. Peace is coming. In the morning, it will be gone, this I know for certain. And in that moment, when I silence my alarm, throw the covers off, and face a new day, I curse that I am once again...here.....

I started a new story the other day. And honestly, the worries I'm having are probably why I'm planning to write historical fiction in the future. My current story is set in the (relatively) present day in Austin, Texas. As with my other stories, there's tennis and at least one lesbian protagonist. Write what you know, right? It'll give your writing a ring of authenticity, right? Well, I know tennis, lesbians, and Austin. Can't get any more authentic than that. Let me just get it out there. After all it's the purpose of this blog. I have a few concerns. Oh, I'm good with the story and my ability to tell it. Those are usually my biggest worries when I start a new story. Am I worthy? Can I get it down on paper in a coherent fashion? Check and check. I also have the plot and main characters nailed down. Check. Check. So, what's my problem? Reality. Yes, reality. Let me backtrack. About ten years ago when I was blogging a lot and had a pretty goo...