Yesterday, I was 30

I’m going to be cliche and write 30 things I have learned in the last 30 years, in light of turning 30 yesterday.

  1. Your love language is extremely important to understand.
  2. Nothing in life ever goes the way you planned.
  3. The most important role in your life is simply to be You.
  4. When your world shatters, don’t make dumb decisions.
  5. The people who are supposed to love you the most, have the strongest ability to tear you apart.
  6. Trust is fleeting.
  7. Fulfillment doesn’t exist in mortal things.
  8. If you know with the core of your being you shouldn’t do something, don’t do it.
  9. Pleasing people gets you nowhere.
  10. You’re going to miss the most important things in life if you rush through and don’t stop to listen and consider the “why shouldn’t I do this?”
  11. You cannot rely on someone else to be what you need. They will fail you when you need them most.
  12. If friends are distant, just let them go. No matter how much it hurts.
  13. If you matter to someone, they will keep you in their life.
  14. Children are the most delightful joy you will ever possess in this Life.
  15. If someone is relying on you, always make sure to accomplish what they need in a reliable amount of time.
  16. It’s better to lie to everyone that you’re okay, than tell them when it’s not.
  17. Life is continually disappointing, and there’s no turning back from a mistake.
  18. Everyone has an opinion. Seek the Truth, that is what matters most.
  19. God will never leave you, or forsake you.
  20. Jesus Christ is literally the only entity you can count on.
  21. If you know it is a bad idea DON’T DO IT.
  22. Staying stuck on the things that make you unhappy, makes you unhappier.
  23. There is so much peace in silence.
  24. Making friends past 25 is hard.
  25. Isolating yourself, while it does protect you, only makes you lonely.
  26. Sometimes, you go through things in life, and literally have NOBODY you can actually talk to about it.
  27. The loneliest place you can be, is in a crowded room where no one knows you.
  28. The second loneliest place you can be, is in a crowded room where everyone knows you, but you cannot connect with those people, no matter how hard you’ve tried.
  29. Having friends with things in common is worth Gold.
  30. Don’t be afraid to take chances.

Dismal list, the inside of me isn’t exactly the happy, bubbly Sprite I try to be.
Because of my own loneliness, I try so desperately to light the world around me, so others know someone loves them, someone thinks they’re important, and someone doesn’t want them to know the same emptiness I feel.
You can always rely on me to be there for you. No matter the time of day.

Shine brighter than the stars. Even when it kills you inside.

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Creative Energy

I have so much creative energy swirling in my head, and not the slightest idea how to let it out.  I pick up my sketch book, and it doesn’t help.
I open up a WIP document, and that’s not where it wants to flow either.

I open up my blog, and spend the next twenty minutes organizing blog posts so my flash fiction, Faet & Fantasy reads in order.  The first two episodes weren’t in the line up so I had to go fishing for them.  Now, they are ALL only categorized under ONE category.

After that, I had to take my son to martial arts, but my mind is a bursting flood of energy refusing to calm.

Perhaps it has to do with recent ignition, though I don’t know where the inspiration came from, however it has not stopped.  Meanwhile, I have little to show for it, though I direly wish to ride the wave where it will carry me!

Especially if it means I finish my first write so I can start editing it….  Though, this is a way off to finish, if I keep the energy up, perhaps the book can be done by the end of this year?

Many people are waiting on me to finish something, I don’t particularly know why I haven’t.  Maybe this Christmas I’ll sneak a peak into Eldegras for everyone with my Yule story finished.  Publish to Wattpad, get a few more short stories out there as teasers, and viola, the series comes along?

It sounds like a good idea in theory.  The execution is where I have trouble….

Today I miss having a piano.  I miss writing songs and poems.  Why have I stopped?  What possessed me to close up and hide within myself?

It surely hasn’t been a good thing, and only left me feeling directionless and without purpose…..

Here’s to purpose and raising more blog posts and stories again.  Once a writer, always a writer.  And I have most definitely always been a writer.

One In A Billion

Look at us.

We’re all trying to stand out and be noticed.

You, with your talents.  Me with mine.

Each of us on a journey to be heard.  Listened to.  To burn brightly after igniting a spark of interest.

We’re all striking the same matches:
I HAVE WORDS I NEED TO SHARE!

Waiting to be validated by a consuming public, who cannot quench their thirst against the raging flames of entertainment.

So we pound away at the keys, telling the stories our vivid imaginations create for us, and we write the articles our fierce opinions derive, and we share the inspiration our souls have encountered.

And then we wait to be noticed by the general public.

Days.  Weeks.  Months.  Years.

Others who have gone before us and somehow managed to be a hit, surely we can too?

Slowly, our motivation turns to ash.  The embers of longing to share, die.

We wonder why we put so much heart and soul into our work, for it to fall by the wayside.

So few acknowledge our existence, even after the hours we put into our work.  We wonder how people go viral, and what on earth they’re doing different than us.
Do they have different friends?
Do they have different connections?
Do they have different methods for gaining access to the millions of people we wish were our audience, too?

…..The answer is, we’re not all pursuing the same audience.

While each of us wish to be accepted for who we are, and what we bring to the literary world, we’re still different.

We have different pursuits.

We have different goals.

We have different messages we want to send.

We tell different stories.
Somewhere along the way, writers begin to join in a uniformity, the answer must be in writing the same way?
“You must write this way/you must write that way.”
“I don’t like to do this, you probably shouldn’t either.”
“Nobody writes like that anymore.”
“I wouldn’t read it, but I guess someone else might….”

Validating ourselves against others, instead of remaining true to ourselves.

The odds feel stacked against us when our words only reach a few people sprinkled throughout the world.

Don’t stop trying, despite the odds.

Yes.  You are one in a billion.

You don’t need a million followers, you simply need to be true to yourself.

Tell your story.  And then believe your story is worth being read, and pursue the audience you long for.

More Than A Weed

A little yellow flower bloomed in a sea of grass, awoken brightly to the sun.
Her beauty was unique, hundreds of tiny petals covered her face, each one like a drop of collected sunshine.
She spent her days reflectively staring into the sun, marveling at the beauty of the sky.  When night came she curled into herself to sleep in a green cocoon.
When she was thirsty, the sky rained down on her, reviving her vibrant greens.
One morning, she was noticed.  The flower happily drank in the acknowledgement until words like, “weed” and “plucking up the roots” were spoken over it.
The little flower shivered, frightened by the thought.  She curled into herself, unsure of what these words meant.
One by one the yard was “purged” of her sunny golden friends.
Was there something wrong with them that they were worthless, compared to more refined friends?
Her color began to weaken, as her saddness caused her to droop.  The powders she endured slowly ate away her will to live.
This flower did not escape her fate, she too was whisked away before her full cycle of life had come to pass.  For instead of a Flower, in gleaming glory, all anyone ever saw was a Weed.

Writing Prompt Response

Writing prompt: In 500 words, There’s an island where all lost things end up.  Today, you wake up, cold and wet, on the beach of that island.

I always knew something was wrong with me. From the moment I started to cry as a baby, to the moment I laid down to sleep last night.
The voices of my parents never quite matched the rumblings of murmurs I had heard in my nine months of watery incubation. Between being born, and going to the hospital nursery, I had somehow ended up with the wrong family.
I’d been lost my entire childhood. I was lost during the trying adolescent years when I started to realize I looked nothing like my brothers.
Some people say it was “adoption”, irregardless, I call it lost.
Especially when I opened my eyes an hour ago to find myself in a place cluttered in lonely socks and other miscellanious items.
All your life, you wonder where mismatched socks, bobby pins, hair ties, buttons, shoes, slippers, and family pets end up. Well, wonder no more – they still exist, stranded on a surreal island in the middle of nowhere.
After blinking several times, relentlessly pinching my arm, and roughly smacking myself across the face once or twice, I decided to spend my time a bit more productively and find out where the heck I was, and if I was the only one here.
“Have you seen Joe?” I heard a voice ask.
“Shelley? Shelley where did you go?” Another cried from somewhere behind me.
It was certainly an odd sight, the endless piles of things scattered about everywhere.
A dog ran past my legs, bumping into me as he went. He was shaggy and gray, with a floppy ear hanging down, and the other perked, listening. Barking this way and that as he threw his head side to side, looking for something.
I knew a great deal about what that was like. The anxious pounding of the heart, as you plow through a crowd of people trying to find something—
The voices caught my attention again as someone else called out for Frank.
Curiosity piqued, I hurried in the direction of the voice.
For being an island of lost things, you will immediately understand the irony which ensued, as I /never/ found the sources which belonged to the voices I heard.
I pursued them until I felt my sanity begin to drain from me. The oddest part of all was the magical sort of “poof” sound that happened right after their cries cheered up.
Cheered up. That was the best way to put it. Almost as though they had been found again, and no longer needed to be here.
Some people try to “find” love, others try to “find” God. In a way, everyone feels just as lost as I do. At least, in one way or another. Unfortunately, I had never known the cheer I’ve just described to you. Nobody has ever made me as happy as the voices that have come and gone in the last two hours.
I wonder how people end up here anyway. In fact, as I stand on this strange island now, I still want to know how on earth *I* got here….. I wasn’t /really/ lost, I was just trying to get from 52nd street to Broadway, and stopped to ask for directions.

Lost Without You

I wait for you to hear me.  To listen to my heart.  To reach out to me and love me.  But you wont, and I fall apart.
I wait for you to come.  Silently. Endlessly.  Instead you manage your own life.  You don’t notice me as I fall apart.

The screaming of my silence is lost upon your ears.  You fill the gaps with meaningless conversation, missing all my tears.  Shrouded in this emptiness, wishing you were here.  I hold myself as I rock to sleep, why can’t you be here?

What is love if only one is taking care of it?  Why is it so easy for you to miss what’s going on?
Have you even noticed that we’ve drifted apart?  Why is it so easy for you to only miss me when you’re gone?
I sit beside you listening to you ramble into the night.  You haven’t once stopped to see if I care.  Is it that great to hear yourself talk?  As I drown in your words, waiting for you to come up for air.

The screaming of my silence is lost upon your ears.  You fill the gaps with meaningless conversation, missing all my tears.  Shrouded in this emptiness, wishing you were here.  I hold myself as I rock to sleep, why are you even here?

Alone, alone I cry out for you.  But you can’t hear me anymore.  It makes me wonder if you ever did before, how can we take much more?  This ship is running into the shore again.

How does it sound to hear yourself talk?  Did it ever occur to you that I might need to, too.
How does it feel to be by yourself on this walk?
Did it ever occur to you?  Did it ever occur to you?

The screaming of my silence is lost upon your ears.  You fill the gaps with meaningless conversation, missing all my tears.  Shrouded in this emptiness, wishing you were here.  I hold myself as I rock to sleep…
The screaming of my silence is lost upon your ears.  You fill the gaps with meaningless conversation, missing all my tears.  Shrouded in this emptiness, wishing you were here.  I hold myself as I rock to sleep, why can’t you be here?
Why can’t you be here?