The Writing Challenge 1,000 Words in 1 Hour

I've got a wonderful friend named Lizzie, who is a very accomplished writer/author.  Every so often she challenges her writing buddies to write 1,000 in one hour.  Oh how I had that gift!  To write 1,000 words that flow together and actually make sense.  Can I do it? 

I know that I can do anything I set my mind and heart to doing. But there will always be a seed of doubt in my mind.  When someone I loved responded negatively when I told them I knew what I wanted to do in life - write a children's book series for pre-school and kindergarten aged children - my dream was all but completely squashed and self doubt came rolling through me like a crazy train running out of control at 200 miles per hour.  That day I closed my laptop and didn't open it for over two months to write. Ever since that time three and a half years ago, I can't seem to get it all together and as Larry the Cable Guy says "Get 'er done!". 

These days I tend to doubt my own writing abilities.  So many days I sit down, open my shiny, relatively-new laptop and then I just stare at the screen wondering what exactly I should write about.  I can start a blog page and by the end of the first paragraph I have run out of steam.

I have so many great authors that I look up to. I would love to replicate their style. Heck, I'd even love to be able to sit down and finish up the children's book I started about two years ago.  But then that over-powering fear grabs me by my throat.  The tingling sensation moves from my throat upwards to my neck and shoulders and slowly overtakes my brain.  Writer's Block as they call it is the bane of my existence!

Try as I might, I cannot find a way past it and I save the blank page and I close up shop.  Days, weeks, months and even years pass and I don't reopen the partially finished work.  I glance past it when I am on my computer as if it were just a bad dream or a bad time in my life that I wish never had happened. 

Do I have works that I am very proud of? Of course I do!  But those unfinished works, that's what I use to judge myself.  It is what haunts me.  I know in my heart I can write a good story. I've done it before. But I worry way to much about what my audience will think, how they will react and what kind of comments will be left. 

Courage. Yes, that is what I need.  It lacks in my life, in so many aspects. And one thing I am lacking the most courage is to put myself out there for the world to see.  I fear letting my readers down.  I am afraid of being a disappointment to those who support me.  I am afraid of sharing my writings with those literary folks I look up to as my muse.

I have a very long, deep, dark novel sitting in my heart.  I've played the entire novel over and over in my mind. I know who my characters are, where the story takes place and the time frame in which it occurs.  So many details all bottled up inside of me, but I am too afraid to share.  I can't even bring myself to do an outline of the story for fear of not "getting it right".

Where can I find that courage? How do my idols do it?  How do they take that first step off of the ledge and land safely on their feet? Is there a store of courage that they secretly buy all of their super powers?  If so, how does one find admittance to this private shopping facility? I'll gladly pay dues to their special club. But then again, would I be good enough to become a card-carrying member? Or would I be just another drain on their talents?

I recently reviewed all of the drafts I have sitting in my To Be Finished folder.  Man what  a lot of junk I was working on.  Trying to fill shoes bigger than mine will ever be.  Those authors I look up to have the drive, desire and courage that I pine for every time I write. So many times I doubt myself, I lose the desire to finish the piece I've worked on painstakingly for several days. Never to be finished or published on my personal blog.

See? Even writing this meme I doubt myself. Will I finish what I started? Will I make sense? Will someone want to sit and read what stories I have trapped in my head? If they are willing to take the time and read what I've written, will they be genuinely interested?  Will I put forth my best work? Will I be proud of the work I finally finish?

Someday I know I'm going to find a little bit of courage and start that outline. Maybe I'll find a way to block out the entire Universe and just let the words pour out of my mind, heart and soul.  Maybe I'll fill up several thumb drives, each chapter puling you further into my story.  Maybe each chapter will mean even more to someone else like me than I could ever imagine.  Maybe I'll share characters that you love, hate, become jealous of or that become an inspiration to the reader.  Maybe I'll write the next great American love story. 

Once I get it all finished, maybe, just maybe, I'll share it with the person who gave me this challenge to write 1,000 words in one hour and ask her to review my first finished piece of literary art. I'll happily sit there quietly and smile, enjoying the sight of Lizzie's rolling eyes as she reads my novel which will lovingly be dedicated to her and her stubbornness on pushing me to write as much and as often as I can.

Love you Lizzie Walker! Thanks so much for the challenge tonight.  It's time to forget the world and what they say and think about what I've written. It's time to just let the words flow from the brain to the screen!!

November 3, 2012 - Bringing Back the Memories, Renewing Long Lost Friendships

I FOUND OUT WHO MY FRIENDS ARE

 

 

Thirty years ago in June of 1982, I took my last long walk through the hallowed halls of the junior high school building at St. Ambrose Elementary school in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.  A lot has happened in my life since those days so long ago.  I graduated from high school, completed a few college classes, loved a few great men who all broke my heart,  moved to Motown, got married, birthed and buried a daughter and brought two more amazing and loving sons into the world. 

 

In all that time, and in all of life's experiences, I forgot about my days "way back when".  I moved on.  Some people I stayed in touch with and others became a distant memory. Trips home were only once a year and time was  constantly squeezed tight running from place to place to visit all the people whom I wanted to see.  Along the way, friends were missed and some feelings were hurt. And every time I headed back to my house in Michigan, thousands of tears were shed.  A lot has changed about that during this last year.... all for the better.

 

With the advent of Facebook, one by one our class came back together. It started with our 25th high school reunion in November, 2011, when people from our parish started talking about getting together for our own class reunion.  People reuniting online and in person, our old circle that was in the past scattered, began to re-form itself.  Friendships that were thought to be lost were found again. We shared the good memories and even the bad ones.  We talked about the teachers we loved and the teachers we thought should rot in hell.  And we even we lucky enough to move one instructor from "teacher" status to that of a good friend.  Life as we know it, in my humble little opinion, got MUCH better.

 

Keeping in touch through electronic media has been wonderful therapy for me.  It lets me into the lives of people who I once couldn't go a day or week without seeing.  I learned about their lives and their children. Learned who lost family members and who gained new members through marriage, birth or adoption. I learned of their triumphs and their tragedies. I laughed with them and shed tears with them, even from 600 miles away.  Little by little, the emails, posts and comments turned into hours long "chat sessions" or, even better, long phone conversations.  The final result lost friendships were being re-imprinted on my heart. 

 

I learned that as much as things change throughout life, way too many things stay the same.  Or at least the people do.   As I reconnected with each member of our class online, I realized just how charmed a life I lived. Something that living so far from home, hating the state I live in, I had forgotten.

 

Last night, a lot of the people who saw me as the shy, introverted "good girl" saw a whole new side of me.  A side of myself that, in the past, I was never comfortable sharing. And I realized why - I never realized how integral a part of my life they were at the time. I am now comfortable in my skin with this crowd.  I know I'm safe in their company.  I can be me, not a shell of myself. They're home to me.  They represent a huge part of my life that when thought of only makes me smile.

 

When I left The Kitchen Bar in Abington last night a simple little country tune came on the radio. And the uncontrollable sobbing began... "Find Out Who Your Friends Are" by Tracy Lawrence.  And then, back at my hotel, I started reading the Facebook posts and the sobbing got worse.  Tears of happiness for having these fine people in my life and tears of sorrow knowing that I won't see many of them in person for at least the next year.  The tears flowed off and on all day long.  Then the pictures started getting posted online and they started all over again.  Every photo has a special place in my memory. The smiles remind me of what a great group of loving people came out of that school, no matter what we faced each and every day. We have a deep, genuine, unbreakable bond that no one else can possibly understand. I thank God every single day for each and every one of them.

 

Some of these people may not know it, but they've talked me off the proverbial ledge quite a few times and they have each earned a special spot in my heart.  Some helped me out when I was lost, without hesitation, without thinking of themselves or what they'd get out of the deal.  Some offered advice and some just an ear to listen. Without some of them, I may not even be here to write this post tonight.  They are truly what made me the person I am today, and for that I will be eternally grateful!

 

Love you all so much and glad to have you back in my life.  I promise this time, I won't let go - at least not without a fight!  In the words of Rodney Atkins, "THESE ARE MY PEOPLE! This is where I come from.  We're giving this life everthing we got and then some. It ain't always pretty, but it's real! It's the way we were made. Wouldn't have it any other way. These are MY people!"

Time to Pick Up the Pen Again

With the death of my previous laptop, so tolled the premature death knell of this blog.  But not so fast my friends.  Phyllis is back!  All thanks to a few short online conversations with a dear high school friend.  Thanks Lizzie for the kick in the pants I so rightly deserved and so desperately needed!

Over the next week or two I will be posting some old stories that I wrote out long hand.  And I'll be including a few that I have published at other blogs that I am no longer maintaining. 

My goals for this site?  To coordinate all of my writings into one spot, finish half written stories and share my life, my family, my goals and my dreams with you. Thanks for coming along for the ride.  I couldn't ask for better company!

Out of Dreams Comes Inspiration

Last night was a rough sleeping night for me to say the least.  Many a night I wake for some unknown reasons. To my dismay, I am often unable to return to sleep.  Last night was one of those nights, mostly.
 

Awakened in the middle of the night by who knows what, I looked at the clock.  2:40 A.M.  I rolled over and closed my eyes trying my best to bring back the sleep that so often escapes me.  This time when I reached out to grab hold of restful sleep, I got lucky and caught it!  I drifted off to Slumberland and passed over the bridge to Dreamland. And what a dream it was!

Walking through the halls of a hospital, a young nurse stops me and tells me that my services are needed. "Who? Me? I'm no medical professional. Are you crazy?" I say to no one but myself. But for some unknown reason I follow the nurse directly into a hospital room. The room was dimly lit, casting shadows everywhere you turned. 

As I came further into the room, I noticed a beautiful, young woman of color, in her early twenties very much pregnant, all alone with no family or friends and in pre-mature labor.A woman whose name I will never know. One look into her eyes and I knew the fear she was facing.  Her baby was coming all too early. The doctors have told her that the chances of her baby's survival were quite grim. In that moment, looking into her tear-filled eyes, I knew I could not leave the room. I've been where she is now and knew that she needed someone who had been there, who has walked this long and painful mile in life. I pulled up a stool, slowly sat down and took her hand in mine and told her she was no longer alone. I sat with her  while she told me all of her dreams for her unborn child.  She didn't plan the pregnancy and she didn't know the sex of her soon to be child. Through the entire labor which wasn't fierce but slow and oddly gentle, we held hands and spoke of her hopes for her child.

At last her blessing arrived, but had no breath. The doctors made an attempt to revive the lifeless body before us, but to no avail. In that moment, they informed this youg lady that her child, a boy, had expired.  Burning hot tears filled both of our eyes.  She asked to see him so that she could kiss her child and tell her how much he was wanted and loved I rose, walked across the room.  I took his tiny body from the nurse and wrapped him in a warm blanket and placed a tiny little woolen hat on his bald little head. I brought him to his mother's waiting arms and gently kissed his head. I asked her "What would you like to name your son?" Her response came quietly and shyly. "I hadn't picked a name yet. I don't know what to name him. What would it matter? He didn't live." Oh how my heart ached for her I said to her, "But he did live. He lived for several months within you. He was part of you. He deserves a name.  Who in life made you smile? Who gave you great joy? Choose that name. A name that will make you smile each time you hear it said or when you speak it." After a long pause, she answered.  "I want to name him Harry. My life has been tumultuous and happiness was always found for me in reading all of the Harry Potter books. It's silly, but it means something to me" "Harry, it is", I told the doctors.

I sat with this young mother for a while longer, helping her to bathe her child and taking photos for her to remember and cherish her precious son. All things that weren't done for me. I didn't want this mother having any regrets that she didn't get to spend the time to be with her baby and to properly begin the grieving process After several hours when the mother was ready, she allowed the nurses to take her child from her.  We sat for a long time, just holding on to each others' hands and crying together.  Two mothers who knew loss in similar ways.  Holding each other up, giving each other the strength they so deperately needed from each other. As a feeling of peace cam over both of us the young lady and the room began to fade away into the darkness and slowy disappeared.  Gone, but not to be forgotten.

Awakened by the ending of this dream, I looked at the clock on my night table.  3:06 A.M.  Wow! What a dream, an amazing adventure.  Upon waking I had to lay there for quite a while trying to discern if this was a dream or a reality for it seemed all to real.  I could still feel this girl's hand in mine and hear her voice saying "Thank you." All day long this has replayed in my mind and I have been trying to figure out just what my mind was telling me to do. 

Since then, I have looked into the certifications needed to be a neo-natal death counselor.  I'm not saying it's a career path that I will be taking but it has certianly given me food for thought. Maybe this is God's calling for me.... Guess it's time to pary for guidance. 

Amazing how God works His way into our lives...

I'll Always Be Her Little Phyllis

This week, the Big E, the monkey boys and I took a nice four day vacation to Chicago.  The five plus hour drive was well worth the scenery. The plan was to enjoy every nano-second. From the visit to Lego Discovery Center to the trip into town for a day at Navy Pier.  It was supposed to be a heavenly (and well-deserved) vacation for this family.

And so it began that way.  Until breakfast at our hotel on day two of the trip. The day our boys have been dreaming of for two years now - a day in Lego Discovery Center.  That's when the texts, phone calls and emails starting bombarding my cell phone and Facebook page.  I knew it could only be bad news when ALL of my maternal cousins were telling me to call them. Picked a cousin from the list and dialed her cell.  I knew what she was going to tell me but I didn't want to hear it.

 

"Aunt Phyllis passed away very early this morning."  ~~Dead silence ~~ "Somehow I knew it, " I told her.

 

At that very minute, my heart shattered into a billion pieces.  My aunt, my God Mother and most importantly my friend had been taken from us all too soon.  No more suffering with her leg problems, no more crying, no more aching for relief from the disease plaguing her body. But even with all that in mind, I didn't want it to be true. 

 

And then the worst of all thoughts hit me. My Mom? Oh my God! Did anyone call my Mom? Please God, don't let me be the one to have to tell her that her baby sister has died.  I'd rather die myself than to break the news to her.  It will break her heart.  Unfortunately for me, my cousin didn't know if anyone contacted my Mom yet.

 

After hanging up the phone with Cecilia, I slowly, hesitantly,  dialed my Mom's number. Busy signal. So I tried her cell.  It was answered on the second ring. After the pleasantries we always exchange, it was time to ask.  "Did you get any calls from Florida?", I asked while trying to brace myself for the possibility of breaking the news. "Yes, I did and I guess you did too."  And with that I exploded in tears. I couldn't breathe, my body shaking with the pain of a heart ache that nothing on this Earth could heal. Mom explained what happened and it just wouldn't set in. "Why? Why didn't God heal her? Why did He have to take her pain away this way?  Why? Why? Why?"

 

My Mom and I talked for a long time and then she said to me "I'm so glad you weren't mad at each other anymore. You keeping in touch with her made her happy."  Yes, Aunt Phyllis and I had our fair share of arguments. We are both Aries babies and have stubborn streaks a mile long. But we always said we're sorry and we always put the bad times where they belonged, in the past never to be brought up again.  And we always told each other like it was.  We sugar coated nothing. But I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Our fights brought us closer and made us understand each other more. For that I am grateful.

 

And then during my conversation with my Mom, something told my brain what the date was... August 21st. One week until Uncle Zig's birthday.  God saw fit to bring Aunt Phyllis home one week before her true love's birthday.  Uncle Zig was smiling that day knowing his bride was coming to Heaven to be with him after three years apart. How befitting!

 

Suddenly it all sank in. I'll never get to hear her laugh again, or get a text from her with a picture of her latest creation whether it was crocheted or sewn. I'll never hear her say "I just dont get this Face Page stuff. You're gonna have to tell me again." No more conversations about all of i

 

I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.  Over and over again that day in talking with several of my cousins, we sobbed. And then we laughed hard remembering all of the great and crazy times we had with her.

 

Because we live in Michigan and she in Florida, she never met my sons.  But everywhere I look around my house I see her.  The boys know who she is and how important she is to me and what a pivotal role she played in my life and in a round about way in theirs too. 

 

She's here all around us. In the afghan that she helped cross stitch with my Grandmother, in the quilts she made for my children, in jewelry she gave me. I will never lose sight of her.

 

She will be engraved forever in my memories and in my heart.  I'll never forget the 18 Summers spent at 174 Pleasant St., Ronkonkoma, New York. Or the trips to the Smithtown Mall walking thru the parking lot, holding hands (even at age 18) singing on the top of our lungs:

 

              Aunt Phyllis:  "I'm the Big Phyllis!"

              Me: "And I am the little Phyllis!"

 

Lord how we made my Mom crazy with that!! Every single time we went to the Mall, THAT was our tune! Didn't care who heard us or thought we were completely insane.

 

She used to tell me that I was her practice baby. What an honor that was to have. And I wouldn't trade that for the World!

 

On my sixth birthday, pregnant and at full term with her oldest child, she made me the most amazing bunny-shaped birthday cake.  It was the birthday I remember the clearest. The next day she gave birth to my cousin, Eva Marie, one of the best gifts I ever received. (Six years later, she gave me another of my best gifts, her son Richard.)

 

When Uncle Zig, the kids and she moved to Philadelphia, I was head over heals ecstatic! They were finally in MY town.  I didn't have to wait for holidays or Summer to see her and spend time with her or my cousins! We spent many a night around her kitchen table eating her World Famous Lasagna and Baked Ziti. (She was part Italian after all!) 

 

When she moved to Florida, I cried. I didn't want her to leave, but knew she had to. It was for the best. My first post high school Summer of working, I hopped a plane for a two week visit.  By then I hadn't seen her or Uncle Zig (who was a SUPER COOL DUDE!) for more than a year.  I think I gave her the biggest hug ever the day I arrived! And I had the privlege to go a few more times and stay in her home. 

 

The most precious and memorable trip to Florida took place in May 2002, the Spring after the birth and death of my first child.  Of all the family members I wanted to share Samatha's memory book with, she was the most important person!  We spent quite a long time going through each photo. She hugged the book as tightly as she would have hugged my baby girl. And she let me cry and get out all the heart ache I had been holding in.  She instinctively knew that I needed her at that moment and she gave me her all. I will be eternally grateful for that love.

 

That was just who Phyllis Theresa Petty Schnell Ekloff was... a Giver.  Giver of unconditional love, kindness, smiles, shoulders to lean on, a sympathetic ear to listen when you needed it.  A great giver of tremendously loving hugs, sweet kisses, gigantic belly laughs and tons of smiles.  A talented seamstress, quilter, chrocheter, knitter.  You name it, she could do it.  And she shared her talents with each and every person she ever met.  So many people in the world have a little piece of the Big Phyllis, but I'm so glad I got a bigger piece than most!

 

Until we meet again Auntie, I'll love you for always, I'll like you forever. As long as I'm living MY Big Phyllis you'll be! xoxoxo