The Katalina Blog Challenge #9: A Little Bit of Random

After another busy week of “here is a working mother whose husband had a recent birthday” and all the chaos that naturally went with that, I finally got around to reading the latest challenge on the Katalina Blog Challenge and absolute loved the idea. Nadine Rose Larter has outdone herself this week. I sat staring at the bookshelf for a bit before deciding to pick a book. Star Trek books, JRR Tolkien, Harry Potters, Philosophy, Wilbur Smith, ancient cook books mixed randomly with computer course manuals (no one said I was organised) Between a book on Zen Buddhism and Huisgenoot Kook a frazzled piece of what may have been termed a book once (a really long time ago) a dog-eared coverless collection of pages draws my eye. Taking it out, I find a true lost treasure. A book I read so many times as a kid that I am surprised that I can’t recite it from beginning to end. Louis L’Amour’s book Where The Long Grass Blows.

There was a lonely place where the trail ran up to the sky, turning sharply away at the rimrock where a man could see all the valley below, a splendid green of forest and meadow fading into the purple of the farther mountains. The silence there echoes into the cavern of a man’s soul, bringing him closer to the peace that everyone has inside them, that so few ever find. At least, that’s what my Dad used to say. Standing at his grave, I have the perfect view of that ridge and even though twenty years has come and gone, I have not been able to walk that road again. I’ve not been able to find that peace again, and now that I’m a man, I need it more than ever. It feels almost sacrilegious to stand here at his grave contemplating walking up that ridge, looking at the valley below, knowing that I’d only be doing it for the remote chance of finding that peace that has eluded me for so long.

Twenty years. It’s a long time. I look at the tombstone, not even registering the words, just tracing their outline with my eyes. Curving up the S following the T into the circling O. Over and over again my eyes follow that O. I find that the regret I have lived with so long is gone. I’m completely numb to everything. The overgrown grave, the tumbling ruin of the graveyard wall, the sun dappling through the majestic cover a gigantic poplar. I’ve come in order to make some kind of peace with the past, to find that place inside me where peace lives.

I was hoping that I could find it here, perhaps take a walk up to that ridge and simply soak it up. The truth though is that it’s not that simple. You can’t simply open yourself up and say, I’m empty, fill me up. When you open your arms, it doesn’t mean someone will walk into them.

When the brightness of the sun fades into shimmering reds and golds I realize that I have been standing motionless at his grave, unable to move my feet, following that O, glancing at the ridge, back to the O… The proverbial tennis match. I force my feet into a turn-around, my movements sluggish and reluctant. I won’t find peace here, and yet I have a feeling the only peace I’ll ever know can only be found here. Can you find peace anywhere else when the peace you want was placed 6 feet under by your own actions?

 

Creating my Bucket List

This is a new category, and I want it to reflect every dream that I have ever had. All the things that I still want to do, real or imagined. After all, this blog is a place where I can dream, do and say whatever I want, so anything goes.  I want this category to reflect me. Every nuance and part that I usually brush aside in the mundane rush of life.

The things I want to do will include, but not be limited to:

Travel (Japan, well, maybe not so much anymore, they are a country in mourning and need to be given the time to heal themselves – to quote my long time hero: Live long and Prosper Japan – one day, my feet will meet your shores with love and respect)

Music concerts – Dropkick Murphys; here I come

Achievements – I am so going to be famous one day (watch out world, you’ll never be the same again)

Finishing my book, which at this time in my life provokes really strong reactions, despair, joy, pride, frustration, hopelessness, determination. You name it, my relationship with my writing has put me right in the middle of it.

Learning new skills – no, music won’t be part of it, been there, tried it, failed miserably. I must accept that I have no musical talent whatsoever; except when I am cleaning house and no one’s around, times like that I am a phenomenal performer you know. You guessed it, with a voice like an angel *clears throat* Yeah.

Instructions on my farewell party, the word funeral will just depress everyone.

In other words, my bucket list will be a reflection of myself, and will show my deep connection with my humanity. I say this because at the end of the day, the destination is the same, it’s just the road that varies.

Whilst my journey is hopefully far from over (I will need a lot of time to get even half of the intended items done) I hope that it will be an eventful and colourful one that will reflect the joy my friends and family bring me, and that their love and trust will be deserved at the end of the road.

So here goes… oh, and by the way, you should totally start your own bucket list page, I’m totally going to need the ideas

 

 

 

The Katalina Blog Challenge #8: Screw Yous and Other Taboos

As a person who swears only very rarely; my opinion on the subject may come as a surprise. I have no problem with swearing. In fact, my favourite band, Dropkick Murphys has some kind of love affair with the musical variety of more-acceptable-singing-it-than-saying-it swear words. Some of my favourite books have taught me all the inventive ways that the word “Fuck” can be used for; like Fan-fucking-tastic; ri-fucking-diculous and so on.

 

Dropkick Murphys

Now the real question: If I don’t swear, is it because I have a secret hatred of swearing or a secret fetish with it? No; on both counts. I rarely swear because when I say it, it just kind of sound tacky and unconvincing; as if I’m trying too hard. I don’t think I have the convince-factor a word like “Fuck” requires… unless I am really, really pissed off.

This doesn’t mean that I do not swear in my head. Today, for example, I met my inner sailor. Yeah, I wasn’t fond of her; she kind of scared me to tell you the truth. I prefer to use the Battlestar Galactica made-up-swear-words-are-cooler-than-real-ones Frak as a substitute for “Fuck” It feels more me.

Now all that being said; I feel that I am highly unqualified to give a true opinion on swearing. I feel no qualms whatsoever about words like “ass” or “pissed” or other slightly more (and occasionally less) socially acceptable words, but the local P-word (dutch for cat) is not something I like to hear, to say, or even to read. So I will definitely not put that to paper.

Here are a few swearwords and their distant family; and my opinion on them:

Cunt: Not a favourite to be honest, it could be something to do with the fact that I had no idea what the word was when I said it the first time. My mother was shocked at her seven-year-old’s vocabulary to such an extent that I got a slap for my efforts, was grounded for two weeks and received a complimentary sent-to-my-room episode.

Ass: No better way to express affection or loathing. Think: “He’s such an ass” or “Jeez, check out that guy’s yummy ass” or “Drag your sorry ass back here!” I kind of like it, so not a swear word, just a nice expressive word.

Pissed: I like this one. It really expresses my occasional outbursts. Sometimes I just get really pissed off, okay?

Bitch: I like this one. A friend and I regularly rag each other about it, so I only have funny memories about it and reserve this for good friends as a result.

Crap: This should not ever be considered as a bad word. Some people do regard it as such though. I have no idea why.

Fuck: The one word I can never quite pull off. This may be why I like it so much. It is, to me, the most unattainable swear word in the world, and the one that everyone except me seems to have a knack for. You can stretch it out “Fuuuuck” to give it some extra oomph. You can insert it in the middle of a word for that extra little something. You can use it pretty much in almost every word’s place. This must be the most versatile word in the world and it is finally getting the credit it deserves. So yeah, this is a favourite.

Thinking about all of this, I find that I actually do swear. I just cover it up with pretty words that convince me and everyone else around me that I don’t really swear. The fact that I don’t swear more should then automatically win me some kind of award.

 

The Katalina Blog Challenge #7: Let’s Talk About Sex

Sex huh? Yum *slaps self through face* Focus. Right… uhm, yeah, sex. In writing? Well, personally I feel it’s better in a book than on the screen. You get to go back to a word and go “wow” before you devour the rest of the scene with your mind. Love this challenge.  Not because I know how to write sex scenes, because I’ve never tried and honestly, I don’t know where I would start. I love a well written sex scene. It brings something out in a character that few other things do. That is, if it is well written. My personal opinion on it is that it has to be unique and deeply emotional.  If it’s not, I kind of skip over it to get to the rest of the story.

I believe that sex is something that is so much a part of our genetic make up, that I simply don’t get why people want to hide it. What? Like you don’t like it? Yeah, whatever. If you don’t, you’re doing it wrong. I do blush though. Don’t ask me why, discussing it, reading it, watching it. Blush blush blush. I think it has more to do with whether it’s obvious that I’m getting turned on to the outside viewer. After all, it’s not like I can have the problem seen to whenever I want.  What if I’m in a very public place? Yeah, I’ve read a steamy one at work and boy, was that an uncomfortable 10 minutes before I could calm the hell down. I kind of wished that I could go to my hubby’s office, close the door and… have my way with him.

I respect that some people may be offended by it, but I think that has more to do with their own shame than the content or the sizzle factor. I like porn and erotica. There is a difference in my opinion. Porn is more explicit, more to do with getting to the point where you just want satisfaction whereas erotica is the buildup. Driving your temperature up to boiling point until you really do need the porn…err, satisfaction.

It’s nice when a book has a brilliant story line that sweeps you away, has the building tension scenes where you just wish the guy would shove her against the wall and have her and then… the guy actually does it. Hmmm mmmm.  That’s why I love reading JR Ward’s Black Dagger Brotherhood series.  Boy, does that lady know how to put down sizzling flames on paper. Yikes. On top of which her characters are so realistic. I cried through most of book 3. The character was stolen as a baby and raised as a slave. The atrocities done to him somehow felt worse because it’s just not something that happens to a big strong guy, then, enters a lovely lady that has to save him by letting him save her and you get to be there every step of the sizzling way. Okay… better get done with this, I have to go reread a good book

Yeah, so I like a good sex scene in a book. However that is not the only requirement. I’ve read a book where every page had a sizzling sex scene and the book just kind of went downhill. No big storyline, no wow factor, only sizzling sex.  Which is fine, but my mind sometimes need more than a sizzling precursor to throwing my husband down on the bed every two pages of the book. Note the ‘sometimes’? Yeah…*blushing*

Bottom line, I think that a sex scene is something I still need to do.  My book has very little to do with sex though, so it may be a while before I get to it, but it’s definitely something that I still want to try.  I have no qualms about putting it down because after all; I have nothing to hide.  This is who I am. I’m a mother for goodness sake. How do they think that happened?

 

The Katalina Blog Challenge #6: My Writing Self

After a two week busy spell where everything seemed overly hard, I was completely unable to put any constructive words down. Even my notebook started feeling neglected. I made no progress on my blog, nothing on my book and still have three dreams to interpret for friends. On top of which I have once again overcommitted myself to various people and projects. So off course when Murphy heard I was so frazzled, he waved his wand of inspiration towards Nadine Rose Larter of Katalina Publishing and suddenly, I was faced with the hardest challenge of them all; celebrating my creative self. Wow. What a bummer.

Reading this challenge had me groaning. How do I celebrate something that I suddenly had no access to whatsoever? I kept putting it aside off course.  If I didn’t read the whole challenge, I’d feel okay about skipping out on it.  Off course, I started obsessing about the challenge trying to think of what I would say and got nowhere fast. I couldn’t even convince myself to read my favourite blogs because that would probably just make me feel worse. So when I eventually decided to just suck it up, read the challenge and think about it, I realized that Murphy isn’t such a bad guy (well, sometimes) He had a rather nifty plan getting me out of this slump.

Instead of telling you why my writing self is so great and celebrating it, I think, right now, I need to be thankful of finding that inner space reserved for putting pen to paper, or at least, fingers to keyboard (how times have changed)

I think more of myself as an expressionist, rather than a writer.  My choice of expression just happens to be words. When life gets so busy that I can’t express myself, I literally feel myself fizzing out. Have you ever dropped a fizzy tablet in a glass of water? It just fizzes away until the water is all orange and the tablet is gone. When I can’t write for lack of time or lack of inspiration, it feels as if I dissolve into the glass of everyone else’s opinion and I completely lose myself. Writing helps me share myself so that the world does not consume me. It is my lifeline in a mundane world filled with bills, responsibilities and humanity’s sensibilities.

My writing self is the mother who sings lullabies despite having the worst voice in the world, the wife who cooks a mean mac and cheese, the woman who confidently dresses up despite the fact that she forgot to shave and greets the world with her head held high. Thank you Nadine; for reminding me that she’s still inside of me, even if I don’t always see that.