XMAS for the Rest of Us

Christmas Day. In the warm shadow of the Christmas tree or simply surrounded by the warmth of your loved ones you open gifts, drink coffee (or hot cocoa) and revel in the love and closeness of those in your life. Even if you are alone and a few mailed gifts trickle in and you wait, ever eager for Christmas Day to open them. It’s a magical day, whether you spend it visiting family, going to the movies (or surfing for my family, back in the day), volunteering, or sitting in front of the TV it’s a day that touches you. Phone calls are made to family and friends, texts and Facebook posts are shared through space and we feel happy and loved, even if our lives are miserable.

I love Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. It’s beautiful. The anticipation, excitement and love flow and pour out of us uncontrollably. It’s the build up and the months leading to those days, that makes me turn away from the holidays. I love gift-giving. I love hugs and Santa hats and spending time with family as much as the next person BUT I also extremely hate people. Not every people mind you but it seems the months before Christmas causes people to dig down deep and dredge up their putrid evilness. Black Friday, traffic, car accidents, yelling, screaming, trampling, long lines, mean, harsh, cheating, stealing people. Everyone transforms into their evil twin all to claim the ultimate Christmas gift. They put themselves in debt, the stress out, worry, fret and fight all for a day of peace and serenity and joy. Something is wrong with that.

I am just happy to spend time with the people I care about and heck if someone gets me a book or a pair of socks, it’s amazing how grateful I am. We take our nearest and dearest for granted, all year long. Holidays are a time of reflection and catching up, of actually talking to our family and friends with our mouths. Not about who can buy you the “perfect” gift. It drives me crazy that people don’t see what’s right in front of them except for that one day, if we’re lucky. I’m also not a fan of Christmas Carols. THEY NEVER CHANGE! The Carols are played on a loop in every grocery and retail store, restaurants, gas stations, even your friend’s homes. I can’t handle it.

There is a bigger weight than just watching the madness that is “The Holidays.” For those of us who have lost someone, are losing someone, or have health problems this season is a struggle to get through. My mother made Christmas the best time of the year. We had amazing traditions and she went so overboard. After she passed away, it was really hard to summon that same enthusiasm. My father is, in my eyes a superhero, but even a great man must have a weakness. Take a testosterone filled macho man and force him to try and raise 4 young girls and things fall to the wayside. He did what he could but he didn’t know what he was doing. It’s hard for any parent to have to fill four shoes: their own and their spouses. It does take a village to raise a family. Yes, my mother WAS Christmas Spirit and I want to honor her but powering through Christmas is the hardest part of honoring her. It takes all of my strength.

My body fights me, a lot. Between not being able to eat much thanks to my awesomely weak stomach and having issues with my lady parts. It’s hard to forget yourself and let yourself revel in the holidays. When you’re a guest at someone’s house and you have to say no to the food because you didn’t take Imodium or pepto, you feel horrible. When you’re trying to get into the Christmas spirit and you forgot tampons and your body bleeds through your underwear, it’s embarrassing. My husband and I went home for Christmas and I love spending time with his family. It’s a component of the holidays that has been missing. My family is great but getting to Hawaii is hard and expensive. I’ve spent so many years living so far away from them I don’t even know what to expect for the holidays or if I would even be welcomed. My husband’s family has embraced me with open arms. My physical ailments have always kept me at arm’s length pretty much from everyone. I cry when I tell my doctor and when I have an unexpected episode I wail and rage against my body. I never know what it’s planning or what form its attack will take. It’s a frustrating existence.

I know there are many people with worse ailments and struggles than me, who have a more crippling existence where the holidays are harder than imagined. I am sorry for anyone who struggles through the holiday whether it is emotional, financial, physical or mental pain. These are just my woes; these are my reasons for the holidays being hard. I feel everyone should be respected and should be able to express themselves. This is my expression of why I am a humbug. I am working on regaining my holiday spirit. Everyone needs to know that the holidays aren’t about money or gifts; it’s about family and acceptance.

Life Mission - Part 1

In the woods, Maggie ran. Night was falling and the only advice she was given was run and hide, hope they don’t find you. Evolution had found a home in the Bone Snappers. A large, wolf-like beast covered in thick skin instead of hair, with a turtle’s jaw that snapped through bone, even trees if it wanted you bad enough. With an amazing sense of smell and superb ears and night vision humans didn’t stand a chance. The Bone Snappers were taking over, slowly, invading, but only at night. Their food source was scarce, birds didn’t sing and if you heard something shifting in the bushes odds are it will be the last thing you hear. 

Maggie had crashed landed back on Earth. She and her crew stopped receiving messages from Earth and assumed the worst. They spent 5 years in space, exploring everything within a reasonable distance. Searching for anything besides Earth being the only hospitable planet. Unmanned vessels brought back only shoddy footage and inconclusive samples. They needed something that knew what to look for, what to collect, how to interpret things. Hence the Life Mission was born. 

When they circled Earth, it didn’t look like anything was amiss, it was still green and blue, no nuclear weapons, no war they began their descent with no connection to Earth. Two of the 5-man crew died on impact. Maggie, Jeff and Vanessa were the survivors for now. 

Maggie ran, fear welling up in her like the sweat that poured from her. When they landed they crashed in the Appalachian Mountains during the day. No clue where other than that. A few people had seen the crash and rushed to see if maybe it could get airborne again. There must be some place on Earth without Bone Snappers and this was the first thing in the sky they had seen in months. When Maggie and what was left of her crew awoke, the sun was starting to set. A man told her the Earth had an affliction. The Bone Snappers are new predators that emerged liked some dormant dinosaur a few months ago and have almost wiped out life on earth.  He told her there were few defenses against them. Some houses have survived by utilizing a type of ray the government handed out before being cutoff and overrun. It was essentially a shrink ray.

“The sun is setting,” the stranger said. “You need to run and hide, but they’ll find you. Do what you can to survive.”

“How have you survived?” Maggie ventured.

“No time, sun’s gone, run.”

What sounded like laughter amplified boomed and reverberated off the trees. The stranger had disappeared. Maggie, Jeff and Vanessa took to heart the advice. They covered themselves in dirt and ran, in the dark, the laughter chasing them.

She could smell herself, which meant the Bone Snappers could smell her. There was a clearing in the woods, just ahead. Vanessa tripped and screamed.

“Shhh,” Maggie quickly rushed to her and covered her mouth. Vanessa tripped over a rope. They followed the rope. Together they pulled and revealed a grass covered thick metal door, which opened to a staircase underground. Entering and quickly shutting the door, behind them they felt trapped, following the only path there was. They came to a door and knocked. They waited and knocked again. They felt around the door, there was a button, they pushed it. Amazingly the door opened.

“Bone Snappers don’t ring doorbells,” said the child who opened the door.

“Who are you?” Said the adult standing behind him.

“I’m Maggie and this is Jeff and Vanessa,” Maggie paused to see if that would be enough. “We were astronauts for the Life Mission several years ago. We crash landed. We lost 2 crew members. “ Maggie  brushed the dirt away from her uniform patches.

“Life Mission? How long have you been in space?”

“About 5 years.”

“You’ve got a lot to catch up on, I’m Mark and this is Charles.” Mark smiled and grabbed Maggie in a hug. “Come in, come in, let’s get you some food, maybe a shower and get you caught up on the Bone Snappers. It’s so nice to meet other survivors sometimes. We’re so used to it just being the 6 of us.”

“What is this place,” Vanessa asked.

“We built this when the Bone Snappers were first discovered. Sometimes it helps to be a nut job that lives in the woods. There’s the door entrance and we kind of scale down this hill towards to lake so we can have access to water.“ Mark discussed everything so light and easily like we were expected for a dinner party.

They followed him down a narrow hallway and then it opened up to a well-done, elegant kitchen. With his back to the astronauts, Mark said,

“These are some astronauts that crash landed and are only finding out about the Bone Snappers now.” He turned to face them,

“This is our family. My wife, Sandy.” She waved. “Our former neighbors Jim, Beth and Tiffany.” They all waved.

“Hello, I’m Maggie and this is Vanessa and Jeff. We were with the Live Mission that launched 5 years ago. Could someone please tell us what is happening."

“It’s a long story,” Sandy said. “Best you sit down and eat while we tell you, I’m sure you’re hungry.”

“Would it be possible,” piped up Jeff, “to use any kind of shower?”

“My goodness, of course!” Said Sandy. “You all must need one. How about we do that first?”

“Thank you, very much for your kindness and for letting us into your home,” Maggie said.

They settled in, took some showers let the truth of the world permeate. When they all converged back in the kitchen, the got the whole story:

“The things just showed up about 6 months ago. They’re unstoppable, insatiable and they only hunt at night," Sandy said.

“Why at night?” Maggie asked.

“No one knows, no one who encounters them can stay alive long enough to figure it out and even if they did, they’ve taken over the world. They can swim long distances. We have no way of communicating with the outside world. Or being communicated by the outside world…”

“Unless they trip over your rope while running,” Vanessa said.

It lightened the mood, soft giggles.

“We’re just surviving. We can only go so far during the day for wood and food. None of us have even seen them up close we’ve just heard the laughing, the noises they make when they’re on the hunt and we can’t even hear that down here,” Sandy finished drank some water and stared at her son. “We were lucky. We even got one of the shrink rays and set it up at our most vulnerable point, where our compound meets the water. Well at the doorwaythat leads down to where our compound meets the water.”

“A shrink ray seems like an odd way to combat these things,” Jeff said.

“Yes, everyone thought that too but nothing kills them: guns, knives, anti-artillery, fire or electrocution. At least when they’re small they’re weaker. We can’t crush them or burn them, but we can collect them, let them starve out. They die in captivity after 3 days. I hate it, a slow, cowards’ death,” Mark answered.

“Can I see your vulnerable point?” Maggie asked.

“Sure.”

They walked down a series of zig zagged stairs. Floors and floors. The floor gave away to dirt and there were some pillars one had to wiggle through to get to the water. Maggie made her way through the pillars and stared out over the lake. It was beautiful. The moon reflected off the still waters. It was strange to see the moon from earth again.

Ripples formed on the surface of the lake. Maggie turned toward Mark, who had remained behind the pillars.

“We don’t come down here at night; you really should get back behind the pillars.” 

It was too late. A Bone Snapper rose from the serene lake scene. Mark bolted up the stairs. Maggie ran to the pillars. It pursued. It laughed. She squeezed her way through the pillars and the Bone Snapper slammed itself into them. Put its entire weight and force into bringing down the pillars.

“You’re so scared.”

The Bone Snappers could talk.

“I want your marrow.”

“What are you?” Maggie gasped as she backed away towards the stairs.

“Your bones crunch so deliciously. Your blood is the best marinade.”

Maggie ran up the stairs but could hear the Bone Snapper laughing and breaking through the pillars. She struggled to climb fast enough when she was almost at the top she screamed,

“It’s behind me!”

She flew into the kitchen and before she could turn around Sandy activated the shrink ray and soon the Bone Snapper was the size of mouse.

“They can still snap at you, draw blood, you have to pick them up a certain way,” said Sandy as she grabbed it by its neck and walked it over to a dry aquarium tank. The tank held some weak and dying mini bone Snappers.

“We bury them once they die around our compound, they don’t like the smell it usually keeps them away. They must be starving,” Mark said.

Maggie caught her breath,

“They talk.” She got out between breaths. “It taunted me.”

“They don’t talk, that’s impossible,” said Beth. It’s the first time one of the neighbors have said a word to the astronauts.

“It talked.” Everyone started at the tank of Bone Snappers. They didn’t make a sound.

There was a deep bellowing laughing that ricocheted from the stairwell. It moved slowly but was coming closer. Beth gasped,

“We took her mate.”

Year in Review...I’m 28…

I’m going to be summing up/reviewing my life one year at a time over the next few years they’ll be filled with a multitude of struggles, triumphs, love, disappointment and more.

On the dawn of my 28^th birthday I took an inventory, of everything. In March of my 27^th year I got a job that has brought me so much joy and friends I can’t believe how lucky I am. My job for the first 3-4 months of the year was a horrible job where I made decent money but I worked an opposite schedule from my husband I was paying for parking, gas, wear-and-tear on my car, ferry fees and was barely spending anytime at home. I worked in real estate for a guy who often yelled at me about wanting to work from home and who I had to haggle with for my paycheck. I have an amazing job now with a great company and fantastic people. I even get to bring my dog to work. I hope to always be employed with this company, but the job is not in the career field I wanted nor does it pay what I’d hope with my 2 degrees. I’ve shelved my journalism dreams because I’ve failed at it one too many times. Now I write blogs and hate myself for it because it’s just an outlet, an online journal for the world to see and often times the world is not kind. Not that I mind but I know it will go nowhere.

I’m 30-40 pounds overweight. I’ve struggled with my weight since I was 12. I have never been thin enough. I lost 35 pounds in 2008 and have pretty much gained it all back. I work out a lot. It’s very depressing. I’ve got a substantial credit card debt paired with a car I purchased and am still paying off. Between the debt, bills, food, vet bills, saving for the unexpected and other little chips and stabs at my paycheck, I’m not left with much to do the things I want to do before Tim and I lay some serious roots.  

My marriage was the biggest joy this past year. I am madly in love with my husband and look forward to our future together. However, our wedding caused a lot of rifts and strained a lot of relationships. My father and I didn’t talk for awhile after the wedding. We fought a lot with the planning my maid of honor – my baby sister Nani – further aggravated the situation. I was called a bridezilla a lot through the planning process. All I wanted was a simple backyard, Hawaii wedding and while the wedding was amazingly, stunningly beautiful, it was entirely too stressful. Wires got crossed, feelings got hurt. I cried twice because my dad yelled at me and my family wouldn’t do what I wanted to do on my wedding day. People traveled from as far as France to Hawaii and it was a fantastic event but you couldn’t pay me to go through that again.  Thankfully, Tim and I are stuck like glue to each other so I don’t foresee there ever being a need.

The wedding, however, did bring me back to one of my longest running passions – hula. I danced a hula for my husband and it reignited my 13 previous years of professional dancing. I love hula dancing and have recently started joining a class again.

Overall this year in review was amazing, I got a great job that stopped my panic attacks and I married the man of my dreams. I’m hoping over the course of year 28 to alleviate some of the above pressures, but it’s like a new year’s resolution, made to be broken.

Last Resort (Will Be Continued)

Rough Draft - Be Brutal I need to know if it's worth finishing.

We didn’t know the name of the town. It had long been trampled and shredded by the filthy mass of survivors.  We all called it Last Resort. It was the last town not infected. The military made sure to keep it that way. Once you were in, you felt safe, you felt like things could go back to the way they were. Almost. Helicopters circled all hours. We were all forced to stay in the hotel. No one was allowed to visit or live in the outlying homes from the downtown area. It was a coastal town somewhere in Florida. Parents would walk their children along the beach looking for sea glass and shells. When body parts started washing up on shore, the military forbid going to the beach. Still if you sat on the roof of what was once Taylors Tourist Trap you could watch the sunrise with the snipers and it was beautiful. They put us to work.  I was a cashier at the grocery store. We didn’t use money though, not really. It was more bartering, sometimes just donations. It gave you something to do, kept your hands busy, kept your mind occupied. I was grateful for it. The military stocked our stores and the people of the town would trade for what they wanted or needed. Sometimes people wouldn’t trade and that was okay. We even had a tiny 2-plex that showed old movies. That was where my sister worked. You could leave anytime, just don’t expect to be welcomed back, not without a more rigorous inspection than before. We were canaries in a mine shaft. It was only a matter of time.

In the beginning everyday brought a cattle car of new refugees.  Some we heard the gunshots go off as they were “put down” with infected. The ones who flooded in had horror story upon horror story. Some went crazy. We watched them wail and shake and eventually drown themselves in the water before the beaches were off limits. I think the military saw it as a way of thinning out the herd, no one tried to help these people. More food for us, right? Newcomers slowed to a trickle as the months passed the last few who made it needed medical attention.

It was my little sister, me and my friend Kelly who survived and made it to Last Resort. Our journey wasn’t easy, but no one’s was. We started in Seattle. My little sister was visiting from Hawai’i; my husband was visiting family in Boston. Kelly and I realized quick what was happening, from the first flustered announcement on TV. We hastily packed and went down the street to the supermarket, stocked up on non perishable items, some fruit, veggies and lots of water. The infection hadn’t quite gotten to us yet. We filled up my tank and several additional 5-gallon jugs of gas and headed southeast. From what we could tell on the radio the infection started in Reno, Nevada. The people closest to Reno regained the most function after exposure. They were the most dangerous. As the virus spread the people who were infected furthest from the initial site were slower, easier to deal with. The West coast was off limits for us, too close to the clever infected.

Nene, my little sister was freaking out. She went through stages, denial, anger, total breakdown. We did our best to calm her, but she had a hard time. There was no stopping for or checking on loved ones. We drove through Yellowstone, taking the widest route around Reno.   When we made it down to Texas, we noticed the infected were few and far between the heat dried them out. But one good rain could bring them back.

That was where we met Bubba. He was a biker type we rescued from some ashy infected. They were easy to overcome but Bubba was weak, dehydrated, tired. We shared our supplies. We restocked as much as possible whenever we came across a gas station that wasn’t shutdown or locked up we had a strict protocol. Most times we’d need to turn on the pumps, which meant checking for the infected inside the small food-mart. Nene got blood on her hands and as that soon became the norm, she adjusted surprisingly well. She almost became a commando leader. She was really good at mapping out how to go through a gas station for supplies. A tactical, guerilla guru. On rare occasions, we’d venture into supermarkets. They were big and harder to navigate and flush out the infected.

We were usually pretty well stocked, lots of gas, water and food.  Safety and cautiousness kept us alive and well fed. We had a very good system. One was always in the car and the two went to flush out the area.  We were extremely careful and moved slowly. Never rush. The infected became more sluggish, slow and docile as long roads stretched away from Reno. We nursed Bubba back from dehydration. He was grateful, which was a tad surprising for us, he seemed like such a badass. Too cool for help. But the outbreak changed everyone. People abandoned their faith or renewed it too viciously, abandoned their families, went from hermits to socialites, from human beings to rats.  Bubba was a big help he knew the roads through the barren wasteland of Texas. We avoided major cities.

“Where are we headed?” Bubba asked one day shortly after his rescue.

“Last Resort,” Kelly stated.

“Is that like an actual resort?” He guffawed. I drove mostly, rarely talked. We were all pretty silent after leaving Seattle. We only talked tactics. We didn’t want to dwell on things.

“It’s an outpost the government set up for survivors. It’s on the east coast of northern Florida they said we should follow road signs for Jacksonville then head south.”  My voice sounded mechanical, like I rehearsed the speech over and over in my head, just in case. “It’s the only transmission they’re broadcasting on the radios. Directions.”

I flipped on the radio and a recorded voice rambled off the directions to Last Resort and pleaded with any survivors to head there. There was also information on ways to kill and deal with the infected.

“I see,” said Bubba. “So how do you three know each other and why did you decide to save me?”

We all fell silent. The hardest part of our pilgrimage was seeing the people. We would pass desperate hitchhikers. We’d see gangs of scavenger hooligans attack people on the side of the road. Get them to pull over for a child hitchhiker and then kill them for their car. We didn’t take any chances. We closed our eyes to the tears of people. It was harder than killing the infected.

“We worked together and she’s the driver’s sister,” Kelly said.

“Well, I go by Bubba. Y’all got names?”

“We rescued you,” Kelly continued, “because we watched you for a while. You were ahead of us on the road and we saw when you stopped that you were weakened and alone. Riding a bike like that has got to be exhausting in this heat. When the infected came for you we took a vote, we all said yes to letting you join us.”

There was a pause. Kelly’s speech sounded rehearsed too.

“Well, I appreciate it.”

“I’m Kelly, this is Nene and the driver is Lani.”

“Nice to meet you all, I still cannot thank you enough for what you did for me.”

“I have a feeling you’ll earn your keep if need be,” I said.

We chuckled slightly, for no apparent reason. It just felt good to laugh.

Bubba was thin. You’d think with that name he’d be a lumbering large guy. But he was thin probably 30, rugged, dark skin and hair but green eyes. The dark skin was probably from the desert sun. He had a biker jacket and patches. He slept for the first 12 hours of driving.

Kelly smiled at him. She was single as was Nene. I held out hope for my husband who texted me he was heading South before the phones blinked out of existence. Kelly was petite, a red head in her mid-twenties. I’d call her beautiful. Fair skinned, blue eyes. Striking. Nene, my sister, had just turned 21. She was dirty blonde from Hawaii’s sun, tanned, thin with long limbs, like a ballerina. I was thick but the weight was coming off me. Curvaceous, despite how much I lose. Curly black hair and tanned skin, late 20s. We all began losing track of time. We rushed to Last Resort but we stopped frequently. It was a lot of mental stress to take on we tried to stop at places with beds, sleeping in a car made the fear too palpable.

Bubba was a good watch. He took care of us girls and let us sleep. He said he was fine with sleeping in the car. He did take advantage of the showers. Sometimes a shower can really bring humanity back to your skin.

After bubba joined us, the mood lightened, the jaws unclenched. I was no long white knuckled clinging to the steering wheel. Driving came natural to me it was a way to focus, to drown out the events of the weeks. It required focus.  I preferred that to the situation at hand. Kelly even began flirting, it was cute but made me miss my husband.

The virus was something no one had seen before. But isn’t that what they always say in the movies? Kelly and I were zombie movie fanatics, which is why when the TV started frantically describing a new outbreak spread by the blood and saliva of the infected, we fled. Immediately.  Nene cried when we told her what was happening.

“It’s zombies, basically,” I said to Nene.

“That shit doesn’t exist,” She replied angrily.

“What else would you call a virus that is spread through the blood and saliva of infected and regenerates the recently deceased?” Kelly wasn’t getting involved in this conversation.  I had to break it to Nene she was my blood.

“I don’t know but it can’t be zombies, that’s stupid, that’s not real.”

“Okay, but you believe in Rabies right?”

“Well yeah, but that’s dogs right?” Nene’s lips trembled.

“Well, it can spread to humans. It, too, is spread through bites and saliva and blood. It can take months for the virus to reach the brain but once it does it causes madness and death. Once you are showing symptoms of rabies, you’re a gonner. It’s a madness virus and there are several variations depending on the carrier and origin.”

“Okay, what does that have to do with this?”

“So you believe in rabies but not zombies? I just explained their similarities. If there’s a madness virus why can’t there be a zombie one? A virus passed through bites, blood and saliva, one that causes its host to forget themselves, forget their strength, forget their past?”

“Because Zombies aren’t real, they’re not,” she broke down to tears, “real.”

“I’m sorry Nene, I love you but the reality right now is that there is a virus that is out of control, which is killing people and changing them into something else. It’s rabies on steroids. It’s mad scientist rabies.”

She smiled a little at that.  We listened to the radio as things developed and progressed. Initially for the trip we had my dog Butch. He was a small 40-pound mutt but I loved him. I rescued him as a puppy and raised him for 8 years. He was the closest thing to a child I could perceive. I treated him as such. Before the outbreak he was at my side all the time, I could barely stand to take trips without him. The radio told us the virus could spread to animals. It appeared to be slightly picky about its hosts though. If its host was too weak or obese the virus would just kill the host and itself instead of turning them into an infected. The virus understood survival of the fittest. Good thing America was overweight right?

At our third stop for food and gas. We were surrounded by stray dogs, they were infected. Their hair was matted, their teeth stained red, but it was the eyes that would haunt you. The eyes were white, not bloodshot, not glassy they were white but they could see. It was the same with infected people white eyes but they knew your every move. The ones closest to Reno, anyways. We tried to fight them off.  Made a run for the car, we killed 5 or 6 of them.  My dog, Butch, didn’t make it. They ripped his throat out but he didn’t stay dead for long.

The first time I cried after the virus outbreak was when I had to smash my dogs head in with a baseball bat. As I brought the bat down, all I could picture was the times he curled up with me when I was sick, our jogs through nature, watching TV on the couch cuddling. Kelly had to drive after that for awhile. I shook and wailed and slept. I wished and hoped for my husband who had a Lani-Butch separation plan in place for when Butch passed. But nothing could prepare me for being the one to make him pass. I know it was just a dog, but it was my dog and that had made all the difference.

When the four of us finally made it to Last Resort there was a communal exhale.  The check points were extreme but once we got in and saw other actual living people, we cried for joy. The euphoria only last a few months. That small town had a weird effect on us. Kelly and Bubba started dating, well in a way it’s hard to “date” when you’re in a military town sharing a hotel with 600 people. A lot of us shared rooms. I slept in the conference room surrounded by people. The sound of people breathing, snoring even passing gas comforted me that they weren’t dead and neither was I.

The infected were closing in and Reno made it to Florida. The zombies had hit the fan.

To Be Continued ...

The crisp fall air punctuated the moment, an exclamation point with every sharp breath.

“What happened?” he squealed.

Her breathing was even, slow drags in and out off an invisible cigarette. Her heart rate didn’t elevate. But she had started out so fervent.

“Something was chasing me.” Flora said.

“Well what is it?” Jeremy asked. His voice was two pitches too high.

As Flora examined the broken bones and oozes that was once a creature she came to no definite conclusion.

“Something.”

“Well is it dead?” Jeremy had been driving the car, looking for flora when he struck the thing. Flora bolted when it showed its ugly mug to them the first time during an evening make out session in the woods. While in the backseat of a warm car, something shook the vehicle. Not aggressively, just slightly. Enough for Flora to notice, enough for her to wipe the condensation off the window and look outside. It was something, something unfathomable.

“Pretty sure it’s not getting back up, how fast were you going?” Flora exhaled and was delighted in the steam of her breath accenting the navy blue sky, illuminated by blaring headlights. It was like her breath was trapped by the headlights, unable to progress. She notices the thing produced no such vapor.

“Hey shouldn’t this carcass be giving off steam if it’s oozing like this?”

There were too many questions aimed at Jeremy and he couldn’t dodge them all. His mind raced and words came out in hurried breaths. Trying to get as much information out at a time.

“I was worried about you. I was driving pretty fast, wasn’t really paying attention.” He paused, pregnant. “It should be steaming. The flesh looks weird.”

Flora’s mind watched the carcass pump the last of its vital juices. She watched the hard, cold ground resist the poison before accepting and absorbing.

“I…” She thought how not to make Jeremy’s voice rise to yet an even higher decibel level. “I think it was dead before you hit it.” It sounded ludicrous leaving her lips.   

Jeremy’s mind went into overdrive and started rejecting her thoughts, she had no concern, maybe she was a part of it.

“What like someone just threw a dead thing in front of my car?” He put his hands involuntarily on his hips. “Oh no, wait, maybe it’s a remote control dead thing and someone is getting a rise out of us.”

He swiveled his hips, shrugged and made an annoying pppffffttt sound. Disbelief is a weird thing.

“Mocking me is not going to make this situation any less confusing.” Her voice was mellow, clinical. “Should we take it with us? Maybe take it to someone who can figure out what it is? It WAS following me.”

“I’m not putting that nasty thing in my car. Just leave it. We can bring someone back to it. It’s fairly large; I don’t think anything is going to take off with it.” It might have been a dog or a wolf, neither could place its face. Flora looked it dead in its milky whites but couldn’t place anything else.

“Okay, well then I guess we should probably get out of these woods. Would you mind taking me home?”

With senses returning and his high voice diminishing, Jeremy became focused, once again on Flora.

“Well, we just went through a traumatic experience, are you sure you don’t want to, maybe, talk about it or get a coffee.”

Flora glared at him,

“You truly have a penis, don’t you?” Her voice finally raised and curled and kicked with venom.

He laughed and tried to put his arms around her as they returned to the car.

Their voices were carried up and away, above the trees, the cold air compounding on it, crushing it, forgetting it.

“Don’t touch me,” Flora spat.

The car spitted and turned, started and moaned. The dead thing passed under its axles, untouched.  Headlights streamed, emphasized by the chill of air.  Dirt and rock crushed under slow moving tires. Dust was tossed and lost in the slight autumn breeze.

Night fell harder, becoming a consuming darkness. The car was long gone. The dead trees stirred as movement was found within them.

Eyes spied the dead thing, demolished by man and their machines.

“Lucky, what happened?” A deep voice uttered into the black. The voice reached down and scooped up the annihilated, indecipherable creature and cradling it to its chest, the voice sauntered back into the welcoming woods, back into the black.

Dealing with Rejection - From an aspiring writer’s perspective

***** I wrote this a long time ago as a mantra to remind myself and have a system in place for when I started submitting pieces. What this article does not mention is that print media is dying, all "writing" jobs require years of experience or pay you jack and you will eventually live a life in debt, alcoholism and working jobs that don't really afford you a career. *****

Not everyone is going to love your writing style; in fact there will be some people that will hate it. These are the cold hard facts of dipping your hand into writing. You may work hard and long on a piece only to have to thrown back at you with numerous red marks. You may get flustered that a piece didn’t come out the way you wanted it to, but then get compliments on a job well-done.

There is never an easy or clear way to know if what you did was exceptional. The key in writing is to learn from your mistakes. There are very simple measures to be taken before you can deem yourself worthy of a writer’s title.

1. READ. You have to read to understand writing. Read everything, from magazine articles to novels to memoirs. Read articles on how to write, read articles on how to read. Read articles from magazines, newspapers especially journals you are even considering writing for.

There have been so many cases where a writer submits one of their favorite pieces to a magazine or journal only to have it thrown back at them, because it doesn’t fit the magazines persona. Unless you have your own magazine or journal you have to work your writing into the style and flavor of the proposed literary medium.

2. STUDY. This does not mean to analyze your own writing, but instead to work with someone else more experienced than you to help you understand why that paragraph doesn’t work or why that sentence doesn’t make sense. Never let your eyes be the only eyes to read your piece before it is submitted.

Don’t just work with someone and make the corrections they suggest. Ask questions; understand why you need to change something why that opening lead doesn’t work, why your piece comes across as stiff and boring. Learn so you won’t do it again in the future.

3. PROOFREAD. By the time you’re ready to submit a piece you should almost be able to recite it. You’ve got to read it over and over again until you’re so disgusted with the piece you’d almost rather set it on fire than submit it.

With proofreading it still helps to have numerous eyes reviewing your piece. Pass it around let professionals and friends read it. If it’s going to be published there will be a lot of different people from different backgrounds perusing it. So make sure everyone can understand the flow.

After you go through your own personal hell to submit a piece, don’t get offended if it gets returned to you and is deemed unfit for publication. Most big publications get so many submissions it’s very rare for anyone to get in depth comments about why their piece does not match the magazine or journal.

However, some people are out for blood and they will rip your piece to shreds. Once again don’t take it too personal, pull the constructive criticism from the nastiness.

In short, writing is a lot about growth, change and adaptation. Try not to take everything personal and develop your craft. It’s a hard, dirty, frustrating job, but somebody’s got to love to do it.

United We Stand Divided We Fall

America is a country divided, grown too big for it's britches. What once was a horrific event that bonded us as a nation is, 10 years later, a dividing rod. People dismissing the event as a conspiracy, dismissing the event all together, denying the lives lost any compensation.

It sickens me that we were all once so close and now we all can't even agree on the Pledge of Allegiance. That was the best part of my day as a kid. I would still be groggy, rubbing sleep from my eyes when we'd get to stand up, get the blood flowing and with our hands over our hearts, heads held high, eyes zeroed in on the American flag we would announce:

I pledge allegiance

To the flag

Of the United States of America

And to the Republic

For which it stands

One nation

Under God

Indivisible

With Liberty and justice for all.

I don't believe in God, sorry I was raised Catholic and rebelled. But I honestly don't take offense to the Pledge of Allegiance. You know why? Because it's history. I love history. I loved being a kid and being a part of something and I’m sad my kids won't have that connection. It would appear no American has that connection anymore. We are divided by the extremists and the crackpots, the devout and the anarchists, the elitists and the military. Our nation is a mess, tearing itself apart. We are divisible.

There is no unifying factor anymore. There is no one event, symbol or thought that will make people who recognize themselves as American stand up and take notice. A lot of people living in this country won't even recognize themselves as American. I doubt they'd stand up for the Anthem at a sports event and I'm doubtful children today even know the words or have any unifying connection to their country.

It's some weird Christianity effect. When the Christians were cornered by the Romans they would either deny their faith and live or stand up for their faith and die. I know a lot of people who travel to other countries and say they are Canadian instead of American to avoid the rolling eyes of other people.

How sad is that?

How sad is it to say you support our troops but want them home? That's an oxymoron. If you supported our troops you would support their endeavors. They are doing a job. A job they have to believe is good or else lose all hope. By demolishing what they are doing you are pulling the carpet out from under them. I support our troops, our police and our firefighters. I have been connected to various loved ones involved in all those veins of service.

I still don't understand why those who bang their drums and scream from the rooftops all that is wrong with this country won't move to another country. Armenia forces you into the military for 2 years if you're a male between 18-27 years old. Austria also makes it mandatory for males between 18-35 to serve in the military for a minimum of 6 months. Conscientious Objectors are not excused and must join the civilian service for 9 months minimum. Belarus requires men between the ages of 18-27 to serve for 18 months if they don't have higher education and 12 months if they do. Bermuda maintains it's local forces with a lottery of men between 18-32 who serve for 4 years. In beautiful Brazil you're required to serve 2 years of military service once you're a male who reaches the age of 18, granted there are a lot of exceptions to this rule. Columbia requires if you're a man between 18-24 that you serve 18 months, but you can also volunteer. In The Republic of Cyprus men aged 18-50 that are Greek Cypriot, Armenians, Latins and Maronites serve their country for 2 years and are forever considered reservists after their service. Conscientious Objectors can serve 33 months of unarmed army service or 38 months of community work. Denmark requires all able men usually between the ages 18-27 to serve for 4 months or longer though there are restrictions to this as well and men deemed fit can be called to service up until their 50^th birthday. Egypt requires men between 18-30 to serve in their military for anywhere from 14 to 36 months. If you go to college you can postpone your service until after but if you wait until you are 30 it's to late and you have to pay a fine. The only exempt are the only males in a family, males supporting their parents or males with dual citizenship. Greece has mandatory military service for 9 months for men, Conscientious Objectors serve for 42 months in civilian service. Iran requires men once they reach 16 to serve a minimum of 16 months depending on their location in the country. Israel requires both men and women to serve. All Israel citizens at the age of 18 must serve - men for 3 years, women for 2 years. South Korea is also mandatory military at the age of 18 for males for 21 months Conscientious Objectors are imprisoned. Mexico now requires all males reaching the age of 18 to sign up for the military for one year, though the position in the military is done by lottery. Norway requires men between 18.5 and 44 to serve 19 months. Russia has a mandatory 12 months of service between 18-27 on a drafted basis but there are loopholes to getting out. In Singapore men 18-21 are required to serve for 24 months. Switzerland makes men do a series of military training and exercises in the military totaling 260 days for privates. Conscientious Objectors serve 390 days of volunteer work. In Turkey males between the ages of 20-41 serve 15 months for privates, 12 months for reserve officers and 6 months for short term privates. Conscientious Objection is illegal in Turkey. The Ukraine allow males to either serve in reserve officer training for 2 years or regular military service for one year.

So before you go bashing our country and our military know that our military service is voluntary and you should be happy you live in a country that allows the freedoms you so love to take for granted.

When the towers came down everyone in America should have taken notice. To see people jumping to their deaths to escape a worse fate. To see people covered in the ash of what was a part of the iconic skyline of New York City. To see the families destroyed, the lives lost, the city in tears should have pulled some heart string in every American. The fact that 10 years later, people want to discuss the lies, conspiracies and conditions surrounding the attacks is heartbreaking. We are a nation that does not stand as one, that cannot grieve together a loss. United We Stand. Divided We Fall.

Places I've lived (Ugh, Poetry)

Hawaii In Summer

The sun breaks in the mornings

It spills lemonade over broccoli

an egg cracked on the Ko’olaus

and fried over Koko Head

it’s gold, bright

I’d be a millionaire, billionaire

if only I could capture the gold in Hawaii’s sun.

It demands the stand-alone colors

to be vibrant, beautiful.

The mountains are emeralds

the plumerias rubies

the sky sapphires

the ocean blue topaz, aquamarine

Birds chirp too loudly

sing with full-breasted songs.

The world is naked

revealed in this blinding white light.

Oceans grow warm in the heat

The sun thaws the heart,

forces love to the surface.

When setting,

the sun submerges itself quickly, turning

orange, tangerine, mango, disappearing

fast behind the horizon leaving only

scattered colors of tanzanite, red, orange, pink

in its wake.

Then you sit as waters turn dark and wait

for a flash of green to bring you home.

Nights are spread out, long, lazy

purple. The sky is plum with diamonds

and it moves, it sways like the trees.

Look up, blink, it’s different.

Hawaii is precious stones.

The words live in the breeze there.

It’s sticky, muggy, lovely words.

This is for you,

my first home, my heart.

North Carolina In Winter

Coastal North Carolina at sunset,

is like an upside down bowl, a colorful dome resting

over the hard surface

of roads and highways, cold earth.

The lip of the bowl is dusty

pink, a cliché rose color.

the bottom of the bowl is deep

blue, like the Pacific ocean.

Between the pink and the blue there are layers

Up from the pink are thin

almost indecipherable colors:

purple, orange, red, gold.

The blue covers most of the bowl,

ocean blue, turquoise, baby blue, cerulean.

Hues of Blues.

The sun has a tendency to shine red

setting the top half of the pine trees on fire.

There is a random star, perhaps a sliver of moon.

After the sun sets

and the sky is newly dark.

The crisp air makes things too vivid

surreal

The sky goes beyond dark.

It’s a sucking black.

Fading flickers of wannabe stars sputter and die

street lights illuminate everything but

at the same time nothing, soft colors.

Noise is amplified,

Car doors slam and echo

A sigh is heard by the universe.

The chill is deafening, numbing

Freezes up your heart, keeps it still for a moment.

In early morning before the sun rises

before it looks like there will ever be a sun again.

After the sucking black

has relaxed into a state of comfort.

The stars come out.

Too many, blinking on and off.

Then there is the thumbnail of moon

The hiding shy moon, just over the pine trees.

This is my poetry for North Carolina,

sky bowls and moon nails.

This is what I write for you,

my new home, my South by the sea.

Washington in Fall

Crisp like a brilliant red apple,

Doesn’t describe

Your sharp breath and witty repertoire.

Mornings are vibrant,

The air, a magnifying glass

Turning sunrises into pyrotechnic displays

Of creamsicles, blueberries, raspberries and the decadent blackberries.

The morning churns and spits out

ferries on their daily commute,

fog, a thick blanket

covering the roads

swaddling the cars in motherly love.

The day amasses the shades of gray clouds

Startling reds, oranges, yellows fill the trees’ hungry branches

With shoots of evergreens in-between.

The sky falls to weeping purples,

stars like thumbtacks,

Trying to break through.

City lights skylines reflect over still salt waters.

The stars have fallen

Creating architecture of neon,

Leaning towers of strong mountains

Hilly roads of old spirits.

This is for you my found paradise.

My snow covered mountains and salt water haven

Creamsicles and motherly love,

I have made my home within you.

The Definition of Blog

 

According to the Oxford Dictionary a “blog” is a personal website or web page on which an individual records opinions, links to other sites, etc. on a regular basis.

Some key words to pull from that – personal and opinions – a blog is something that took me years to be convinced was a good thing. I thought blogs were fads and they would slowly fade out. But they haven't and though I hate the name of them, I decided to start one (or two) to better exercise my demons.

I actually liked my wedding and created a blog to discuss my Hawaiian roots, my love for my furry caramel shadow and wedding frustrations, ideas and enjoyments. Working for a wedding company I come across a lot of really cool ideas for wedding and just having a wedding helped me to utilize some nifty things. I also use this blog to vent about the frustrations and issues I had with planning to help any bride-to-be out with their upcoming nuptials. If you don't like me being open and honest about my experiences or you think I'm not being grateful or respectful here's the beauty of blogs, you don't have to read it. This blog is about me and while it is open to comments and I do appreciate hearing peoples thoughts (I love a good debate when it's backed by facts), if you find my personal opinions, thoughts and emotions to be rude, overbearing or “too much,” you can click that little red “x” in the upper right corner and read no further.

My second blog is dedicated to my writing. It's where I'll be throwing up my thoughts on my writing career, my ideas, even some short stores or perhaps dreaded poems. While I do like receiving comments and I will not turn down anyone’s suggestions on writing skills, tactics or a good site for telecommute jobs, please do not tell me what I should be doing with my life. Please do not advise me on how to better my life and that I can reach my goals if I only believe and, you know, actually try.

The truth: I love my life. My life is freaking rad! I just married a amazingly, perfectly weird and wonderful man, I have a pooch who is my life, I have a job that takes care of me and has provided endearing, wonderful friends and I have a life outside of work full of family, friends, concerts, movies, comic books and love. Love. Love. Love. Love. Love.

It's my blog and I'll vent if I want to. Let me throw my pity party, bridezilla explosion or wailing wisdom around and get it out of my system.

Thank You.

What’s in a Degree?

I find going to school to be a great privilege and opportunity. I have two degrees an Associates and a Bachelor’s. I’m a little obsessed with school. I would love my masters. More importantly I’d love to go back to school for 5 years and get my J.D. and get my masters in intellectual property law. I have lofty goals (still intact).

My major is in English, my minor creative writing. It took me years to settle. I initially was shooting for psychology then it turned to marine biology and finally rested on the haunches of English. I would have preferred journalism, but it wasn’t offered at the closest university where I was living at the time. I drove an hour and a half one way for 2 years to finish my bachelors. That defines my dedication to school.

One of the few pictures of me actually doing what I love.

My degree has not allowed me any jobs – my reporter jobs were brief, my magazine jobs were short-lived. I am not an editor or a reporter or even a copywriter; I am a writer only because I choose to be one. I’ve sat back and heard one of my cousins mock me. Heard her tell my aunt that she thinks an English degree is a useless degree. That if her kids chose English as a major she wouldn’t pay for their college.

It’s a dark time for those who think the pen is mightier than the sword. With no jobs out there and even less jobs in journalism, making headway towards a career has been slow and painful. Whenever I think I’ve gained a footing on my career I slip and fall back down into the canyon of wannabe writers. Unless you have experience, there seems to be no starting footholds in advertising, reporting, writing, newspapers, etc. Sure, you can intern but at 27 and a newlywed, I need to be able to pay my bills. I have an insane work ethic, being without a job makes me uncomfortable. 

When I expressed to my husband that I was upset that I’m 27 without a career, He told me to get one.   Like let’s go grocery shopping, bananas or apples? He told me to get a career and not let them fire me. I started crying.

From FailBlog.org - http://work.failblog.org/

It seems like the only option for English majors if you can’t make it in the advertising, publishing or journalism field is to get your masters and teach. Here is the problem, I’m not a teacher. I don’t want to be one. That is the one career path I put dynamite near the opening cave mouth and destroyed.

So what’s left? Keep working low-paying jobs trying to etch out a career? Quit? Go back to school? Whatever may come all I need is for it to pay the bills and not destroy me with soul crushing boredom, bad scheduling and harsh coworkers.

Fail is a Four-Letter Word

“It is our failure to become our perceived ideal that ultimately defines us and makes us unique … No specific job or career goal defines me and it should not define you… Whether you fear it or not disappointment will come. The beauty is that with true disappointment you can gain clarity and with clarity comes true conviction and true originality.” - Conan O'Brien

As a child I wanted to be a writer. I was encouraged in this endeavor. Winning some essay contests, some publications in college, interning at a daily newspaper in college, working freelance for said newspaper, landing a part-time paid job at a bigger local daily newspaper, and eventually (after a divorce, move and re-evaluation of life) landing a full-time reporter job at a weekly newspaper.

When I was fired after only 3 months from my “dream” job of making a living in journalism, I felt robbed. I felt like perhaps my lifelong goals weren’t sufficient. I felt defective. Never mind that journalism was going the way of the buffalo and the printed word was becoming the typed word which will eventually become the telekinesis word, just wait, I have faith.  I was devastated and doubted myself, my abilities and swore off writing saying “I wasn’t good enough.” I worked jobs that were in no way related to my dreams, but they paid the bills which is more than writing ever did for me.

This is going to be my writing outlet. I’m sure there are writers who will snub my accomplishments perhaps I chose love over career. I didn’t fight to write. I didn’t put writing at the forefront in my life and that’s fine. Writers always seem to have an elitist air about them. I’ve watched my short stories get battered down by “veteran,” published writers and I’ve watched editors correct my pieces down to a nub full of errors. Maybe I don’t deserve to be a writer. Writing is glorious and I love it and I can’t see my life without it. I will continue to write and put my musings, thoughts, short stories, ideas, advice and survival on this blog. Hope you can see past my shortcomings.

With failure grows the ability to endure, I’m planting my seeds and trying to weather life’s storms.