Advertisements

Category Archives: Writing

Unfinished Business Chapter 3. #NaNoWriMo

Unfinished Business Chapter 3. #NaNoWriMo

 

-It makes me nervous to put this out into the world. So here is chapter 3. Be kind or brutally honest. It’ll be fine. . . maybe.

 

When I did wake up again, I was surrounded by nurses and doctors. It was an emergency room somewhere

Other than being at the hospital, I don’t know where I am at all.

The redheaded nurse to my right noticed that I was awake. She  said, “Hello beautiful. What’s your name?”

I honestly did not know my name. Who was I? Why couldn’t I remember?

Should I be freaking out right now? It seems appropriate considering.  It’s more than that. I have no idea of who I am at all. I don’t even know my favorite color. Do I have children? A husband? A girlfriend?

The nurse senses that I don’t have a clue. She tries to be reassuring. Her nametag says Audrey. It fits her.

Her red hair is pulled together in a neat and tidy bun. Plus, she is well-manicured. She could be in a cocktail dress drinking martinis just as easily as she’s in nurses scrubs.  I need a name that fits me just as well.

Audrey says that we’ll have time to figure out everything after they get me stitched up. Oh yes, the gash in the back of my head would explain a lot. At least, I don’t have to look at it. I probably was not a nurse in my forgotten life. Did I mention the smaller gash on my forehead? It’s not the look that I was going for when I put on that formerly white sundress. That much I do know.

Maybe I can get some clues about who I am if I look at my face. My new nurse friend agrees to find a mirror as soon as they finish fixing my wounds. I’m a bit nervous about how bad I must look.

The nurses clean up my wounds and bandage as much as they can. The doctor will visit soon they say. It’s not quite a promise. Maybe it’s a promise they can’t keep.

I’m taken to a room on the neuro unit. The doctor does visit eventually. Where else am I going to go? I also don’t have any concept of time. So I don’t complain. Audrey comes back after lunch with a mirror. The shock of seeing myself in that state is overwhelming. Luckily, the doctor makes an appearance. I need a distraction from my face.

Doctor Min is one of the few doctors here with a pleasant bedside manner. She wants to know if I have a name that they can call me. I have to think for a minute. Names have a way of sticking even when you dislike them. So I chose Carrie. It’s a name that I can live with. Maybe I had friends named Carrie at one time. They were probably likeable people.

I suspect that under Doctor Min’s cheerful demeanor is a really strong-willed person. Everyone wants to please her, even me. I don’t think it’s out of fear but respect.  None of the nurses roll their eyes when she leaves the room, which must be a subconscious sign of respect. You know that saying about being small and mighty? It describes Dr. Min down the last detail. She is petite but something about her commands your attention.

My visit to the neurology department lasts about a week. Doctor Min orders tests, tests and more tests. No one can say that she is not thorough. They all conclude what we already know. Blunt force trauma. The tests can’t tell us who did it or their reason. Doctor Min tells me that she wishes she could find out more but she has exhausted all medical avenues.

Audrey stops by on her day off so she can give me a manicure. I think she feels bad about bringing the mirror in too soon. I don’t blame her. I did demand to see my reflection. It was my own fault.  She thinks that if my nails look good then I’ll feel good. It’s a start. I wonder when I can get my hair done. Or brushed. I’m not sure when the last time I had my hair brushed. I ask Audrey if she can arrange for me to get an appointment for a good hair washing. She says, “As soon as the stitches heal. It should be by the end of the week.”

I think the doctors and nurses want to send me away sooner. It’s nothing personal. I’m not sure it isn’t the fact that my hair is a disaster. Not to mention that the head wound and memory loss are not winning me any pleasant houseguest points.

They just don’t know where to send me. No one knows what to do with me after the wounds begin to heal. There is still no sign of my memory. No family members have come to claim me as their mother, wife, daughter or friend. Doctor Min asks the nurses if they have ideas about where to house me for a month or so. Most wish that they could bring me home but they have families and no extra rooms. One jokes that it would be easier if I were a kitten. Who can argue with adding a kitten to the family? However, my favorite nurse, Audrey, volunteers to let me stay with her, even though I’m not an adorable kitten.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

a beautiful distraction

distraction

 

 

So far the book that I’ve been writing is at approximately 12, 250 words. I would get further if I wasn’t stopping to count the words and subtract numbers to figure out how far away I am from 50,000. Hold on, I have to figure it out again. 37,500 more words.

Then I keep thinking that I need to stop worrying about numbers. It’s bordering on a weird obsession. I don’t like numbers or subtraction anyway. They aren’t worrying about me.

Every week, I get an email from Writer’s Digest about how I can give them money for some really super awesome webinar that will help get my writing career to the next level. It’s always tempting, except that the financial figures aren’t on my side either.

Yesterday, I did receive another email from Writer’s Digest about agents that are looking for writers.

I looked at the description of what type of writers they were looking for. It’s never been me. Agents are always looking for something that I don’t have or am not interested in having.

Yesterday, it was me. I fit the description of what a literary agent wants. MEEE!!!

The agent could love my book. Of course, she could hate it too. I’ve only panicked once or twice thinking about rejection.

When I was telling the boyfriend about the possibility of having an agent, he paused “The Following” so he could listen to me. It was kind of a special moment. We never stop “The Following” because we are obsessed. Plus once we stop, one of us can never find the right spot and then we are lost for like five minutes.

Today, I took a chance and let someone else read the first five chapters. I’ve written this story in a vacuum so this will be the first feedback that I’ve had.

I hope that she will be gentle.

distraction by holley-perry featuring autumn home decor

Sock Sunday: #NaNoWriMo

image

I’ve been reading about witches so I can write about them without sounding like a jerk. Also, taking pictures of socks. It’s a thing.


Loved or Loved & Hated: #NaBloPoMo

Would you rather be equally loved and reviled by many readers or would you rather have a small, supportive group of readers?

At the moment, I have a small group of regular readers. They are extremely supportive of this blog, which I appreciate. In a way, it has given me the confidence to keep writing and taking photographs.

Sometimes, I wonder . . . is my writing really terrible and no one is telling me? Are my photographs below par? I’m not really as funny as I thought, am I?

Even though, it would be lovely to be loved all of the time, it’s nice to hear the truth. Not nice exactly. Refreshing is slightly more accurate.

I would like to know if I could be doing something better. So that’s where those brutally honest critics come in handy. They can be jerks but they can also push people to do better work.

If it wasn’t for critics, I wouldn’t push any boundaries. I would never get any better. Who wants to stay average anyway?

Critics are more than happy to tell somebody that the writing is not going to win any new fans. Why should it win people over if it isn’t good enough?

I don’t always do what the critics say. I just consider their advice. Then I do what I want to improve what I’m doing.


My Story: #fmsphotoaday

story

I started a story today. Hopefully, it will turn into a book.


Stresses of Writing: NaBloPoMo

What unique stresses do you think women writers experience?

I can only tell you what stresses I have. I also happen to be a woman. Men probably have similar problems, right?

  • Perfection. I don’t want to publish a book if it’s not perfect. This is also the reason that it has taken so long to publish one book.
  • Day job. I would love to quit my day job. It’s just not possible right now. Maybe if I published that book then I could quit my day job.
  • Sleep. I sleep, which takes time away from writing. Stre
  • Too many irons on the fire. Not literally. I don’t even know where the real iron is at the moment. I do have several projects that I’m working on right now. It’s kind of important to prioritize. If it’s not something that fits into what I want to accomplish, then it can wait until another time.
  • Mommyhood. Mommyhood takes precedence over everything else. So if the kids are calling for juice and ice cream, I better find some before there is a riot. Sometimes I’m lucky and I can combine projects and mommyhood.
  • YouTube. I’m so distracted by YouTube. Darn you YouTube for being so entertaining. Plus, I’ve had that Kelly Clarkson stuck in my head.This one . . .

I am totally driving my boyfriend crazy by singing and carrying on around the house. So now I’m distracting.


Blogger’s Dilemma: Inspiration is Calling but I don’t Want to Answer.

Like many of you writers and bloggers, I have a method to the madness. For many posts, I feel called to write. It’s sort of going with the flow. Inspiration or whatever.

What do you do when the inspiration is calling you to write about a topic that you don’t want to write about. It’s too personal, which is saying a lot because I’ve written about terribly personal stuff on this blog

On the other hand, it could be a great article. It could help a lot of people.

Still, it would be putting a lot of myself on the line. There could be repurcussions: a lot of hate mail, a lot of unfriending in real life and in the blogging world.

Maybe none of those things would happen.

What do you do when inspiration wants to go in a direction that you don’t want to go? Yet, you feel torn between writing the article and throwing it away. Do you answer the call?


%d bloggers like this: