Give a Little & Take a Leap

Give a little a self respect to the person in the mirror. 

That person has seen you through everything- the pain, the fear, the worry and the sadness. That person has felt the joy, hope and desire of every day of your life.That person is you.

This was going to be an obligatory post on Valentine’s Day. As a single person (and having been a single person every Valentine’s Day of my life) I’m not all hyped up about the “season of love.”

During college, one of my friends would confide in me that she was upset that she didn’t have a valentine. I, being the person I was, would say “Jesus is my Valentine.” Growing up as a Christian, I learned that God has to be the center of my life. That I had to love him- first and foremost. Since I am a person of extremes I took that to mean I had to hate myself. That hate has deep roots from years of believing I am nothing.

I’ve stepped away from mainstream Christianity because I realize I wasn’t OK with what was being taught. Even now, I struggle with what I want to say because I’m afraid of annoying/pissing off/ or being scolded for having opinions that aren’t “good Christian opinions.”

I believe in the God of love. I believe that love comes in many and varying forms. I believe that our souls are immortal and sometimes, our souls’ counterpart lives in a body that is the same gender as ours. I believe that God loves all. I believe that those who judge and hate stir up the devil more than those who decide to live outside of what is deemed “normal”.

I am not normal. I have several diseases that aren’t curable. I was angry and mad about that for a while but, now, I accept that it makes me who I am. I’m on a journey to discover more about self love. I hesitate to write the words I want to write because I am afraid of being judged. I’m afraid of the backlash and of how people will view me. I believe that love exists. Do I know what love is? I’m not sure yet. For years, I’ve lived in self hate. I turned my back on all pretenses of love because love is scary and painful. All of my experiences of love are laced with suffering. I can’t blame myself for letting my heart turn to stone.

Somehow, I turned 25 and I don’t know how. My childhood friends are married and having babies. Or at the very least, they are dating. My news feed is full of pictures of ultrasounds and of wedding photos. The need to hate myself started to  course through my veins again. I thought I’d banished the ghosts but I didn’t. For over the past year, I convinced myself that no one loves me. That there is no one out there for me. Which means that I burrowed deep into myself and gave up.

I’ve kept myself from flying by cutting my wings with dull blades. I take jobs that don’t suit me but are safe. Within a few months the need to fly, to soar fills me but I ignore it because I am a nobody. I am unlovable. I deserve to be poor and broke and stressed out. I deserve what has happened to me. I deserve to live dreaming of what will never be.

I think what has kept me from going over the edge is the very thing I hate about myself.

I am a dreamer.

Which means that I don’t go with the logical choices. My life has been an interesting adventure because of my choices. I wish my life had been easier. I wish I had been born into a family where my parents were married and my dad was the stereotypical dad who chased away the bad guys and told me that I was beautiful and that one day a young man would come into my life. I wish I had a dad that said he would sit that man down and warn him to not harm me. How I dream of a dad that I could run and cry to. I don’t have a dad. I never did- not in the deepest sense at least.

I didn’t grow up in a normal home. For years I convinced myself to ignore that fact but doing that did more harm than good. I’m overwhelmed. I want to curl up and never wake up. I don’t have a champion to run to when the going gets tough. How do I explain the grief I feel?

I can tell you that emotions are my kryptonite. Narcolepsy and Cataplexy are triggered by stressors. Emotions are stressors. As I write this I have to weave through a maze of words and walls. What can I say- how will it make sense? What won’t be censored? I live in a dictatorship where the dictator is me.

The dictator doesn’t want me to succeed because it fears success and happiness. I was born to fly though and I can’t keep cutting my wings. Who I am now isn’t who I will always be. I’m becoming more and I want to share that with someone. I’m at a point in my life where I want to share my life with someone else. I want to be able to have someone who gets just as excited as I do when things fall into place.

I want to have someone to hold hands with and to laugh with. I want to know they got my back and I’ve got theirs. I want to know that I am safe with them and that they won’t leave me. I guess I’ve lived a life of too many changes; a life where too many people left me. I’m jaded when it comes to love. Afterall, I’ve met plenty of boys who are interested in my body but none who are interested in me, as a person.

So, I did something extreme. I put in an application to be on this show.

If I get accepted (which I doubt… but at least I tried) I would do it, because I don’t trust my judgment when it comes to finding a mate. However, I do trust people who have made studying and researching love their life’s work.

Do you think I’ve gone too far?


The Writing World

I am but a beginner in the world of writing. A novice, a neophile. I’m incredibly dense when it comes to catching on with trends and ways to market etc.

Which is why I’ve just figured out how valuable and useful twitter is– not only because you have access to people all over the world; but because you can connect with them and learn about new writing opportunities and meet new people who are in the same boat as you.

I’m a bit overwhelmed. I tweeted this morning that I often try to eat a whole cake in one bite. Which is impossible. I’m not a snake (although I was born in the year of the snake) and as such I need to remember that a meal, dessert, treat or whatever sustenance I am eating is best eaten slowly and in small bites; not only is it better for my digestion but it also helps my brain better gage how much I’ve eaten.

Why am I talking about food when this is a blog about writing? Well, I am not very good at pacing myself. My first birthday I did a faceplant into my cake and I tried to eat it ALL. I have a lot of ideas for writing and I love to write. As you can see by my multiple different blogs I have a voraciousness when it comes writing. I want to consume it all. I want to do as much as possible and I want to create as much as I can.

One of many writers’ tips is “Write a lot and often; write about anything and about everything. Just write.”  

Ok, I’ve got that down- see! SEE I’m writing a lot, but I’m not writing quality. What has happened is that I write these inane things but I’m scared to death of creating quality work. I have a minor in writing and I feel as though I can’t write at all. In my writing classes I felt as though I worst writer ever. Except in my poetry class (which I wasn’t even all that interested in); my professor was amazing. He expected a lot but he was also laid back. I learned so much from him. Looking back I thought he was absent minded because he let his students “rule” the classroom- as in: he valued our input. He had a lesson plan and certain assignments but I did well in his class and I didn’t feel overwhelmed. I wish I had taken that class when I was a freshman and I wish I had taken more of his classes while I was in college

Oh, I digress. I went off on a tangent. What I mean by the above, is that he was the first professor that taught me to take smaller bites and to focus on revision. Also, I could write lots of poems and then choose from them; maybe I did well in his class because I didn’t care so much. My best writing is often done when I am not emotionally attached to it.

When I was working on my last assignment for Fiction I spent maybe 20 minutes on it and that was the only paper I received an A on (I also pretty much read the directions and answered them in short sentences).

As I reflect on what I’ve learned, I’ve realized I haven’t learned enough. I want to learn more- I need to learn more. I just don’t know where to turn. I’m afraid to join groups because everyone there writes better than I do (that is exactly why I should join). I have “raw” talent (I can make really complicated meals without thinking about it but have difficulty making scrambled eggs) but I lack direction.

I have direction but I don’t know where to start. 

Step one: Write (but I do write & then I get confused & flustered & I realize what I’m writing doesn’t make sense & the storyline will never move forward [is that because you don’t want it to move forward] I then give up)

Step two: Edit (Never get to this spot)

Step three: Edit (have never even been close to here)

I keep making myself sick my trying to eat a whole cake in one bite instead of pacing myself. My thoughts need to settle down.

My writing tip for myself is: Write maybe 500 words a day and then revise them. Don’t write the whole story all at once- you’ll make yourself sick. Keep the idea in your mind and ruminate on the flavor of it. Take your time. Fully bake the story or else you’ll get sick. 

Also I meant to say check out this blog.

What are your thoughts on this? Comment below 🙂 and reblog if you agree!

& so begins the weary descent-
Downward I go to fight the dragon.
It draws in energy and I stumble.
My thoughts all a jumble.

I pull my sword from my scabbard.
Watching as the beast slithers.
It comes towards me; fire on its breath.
I believe in certain of death.

What is this dragon?
It is desire.
To sleep all day
& I have no say.

The life of an unwilling dreamer.
To have but a moment’s peace.

On the cusp of waking up

I had a dream last night. One of those vivid dreams. It was quite believable but as I look back it was hodge podge. A conglomeration of things.
A party for one of my mom’s friend’s daughters. Yet my family wasn’t there. I was driving my old beat up truck to the party but then I switched perspectives and I was no longer the girl in the truck but someone else.
Multiple times throughout my dreams I was asked out by a group of young men. They all looked similar and when I asked who wanted to go out with me they stayed silent.
The thing to these dreams was how colorful it was and already I’m losing some of it. That is what I hate the most. Losing the in between bits. Pretend memories that are lost among the waking moments.
The most interesting thing is that I was in a house that was moving and when I looked in the sky there was a message like in the Hunger Games. It was blurry at first and then it said F. FOUN. 22 HACK. WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME.
At some point during this I switched in a car traveling on a highway. The message then flashed pictures of myself (like those on facebook) and I started freaking out. I was exposed to the world and how could he have thought I’d appreciate it or was he trying to expose me so that I would need his protection.
Then I asked one of my travelling companions why he would do that. A girl sat on my left and a boy with a hearing aid sat on my right.  He had dark longish curly hair and wore a flannel shirt.
He said “I don’t know. Ask them” I look out the car window and coming off of the mud roads is a huge shiny red Dodge Ram 3500 dually. It is modified though or maybe it’s pulling something. They come beside us and I shout who wants to go out with me. There are four or five guys.  No one says anything.
I continue “Whoever did that- that gave me a panic attack.  I don’t appreciate being called out like that.” Then in the depths of the vehicle (or maybe on a hologram screen?) An older man in a tan suit, red tie and he has silver hair says “Jaks was trying to get into the system and he decided to…” the rest of the explanation is gone. The truck zooms by and the scene changes we’re in a city now with multiple lanes, roads and exits. It is overwhelming. There are cars of all shapes, sizes and styles. There was a guy pulling two trailers with a truck bicycle thing. The second of the trailers was a goose neck trailer with the gooseneck removed. I was offended that they would pull horses in such an unsafe manner. That caravan goes down and exit to the right. It was insane in that city. People driving helter skelter and I remember looking around and wondering why everyone was crazy.
I wasn’t driving the vehicle I was in; I was being driven.
I wish I could remember more but the daylight is rolling towards me and the time of dreams has drifted into the clouds for the waking hours.
Oh, how strange my dreams are.

Announcing: A Facelift


Well, it’s 2015 and I realized that my blog was looking a little stale. So, I reorganized it and I like it. The main page is now static. I like static pages. Check under Whimsically Witty for my blog posts. I’ve changed the title of my blog because it has become more than just a spot for my fiction. I promise you though, I will post more fiction (once I can develop something worth reading).

As always, I love that you stop by and read what I write. I’m looking forward to the new year and creating more for you.

Also, I’d love to have some guest posts on here/ do a blog hop. Please, contact me if you have any ideas.

 I’d like to have several guest writers-

Some ideas:

A blog about the season’s change- maybe a short story or poetry.

A post regarding the changing nature of writing.

A book review

A blog review

A movie review

More thoughts to come.

Oh, and if anyone has recently published a book and would like to showcase it on my website let me know. I’m into promoting other people!

Riddle Me This:

I am honest. Maybe, to a fault. I don’t have time for scheming- for making up elaborate tales. Nor do I care to convince people that I am anything other than who I am.


I know that some would say that I should make sure I put my best foot forward. That I shouldn’t give people too much information too fast. I guess I understand why people say that. Goodness, I’ve gone on dates where the male sitting across from was too intense and almost girlish in his assumption that I would be his girlfriend and we’d live happily ever after. It’s taken me a long time- but I’ve finally figured it out. I’m not really interested in a long term relationship etc.

I just realized I posted that photo but didn’t refer to it. Well, I took that today. I still have my horses; however every day I wonder if they are going to be taken from me. My other worry is that I’m going to have to sell them because I can’t afford to take care of them (energywise & money wise). I put Julie up for lease and had a woman come try her out. Perfect, I thought, exactly the kind of person Julie needs. Someone to ride her and pay attention to her. Since I am who I am, however, the whole lease thing fell apart. I sensed it was going to fall apart before it ever went into place. I want what is best for my horses and Julie deserves someone who will ride her and dote on her. Fae deserves a person who will love on her and feed her lots and lots of hay. (Which isn’t me anymore)

I struggle to get to the barn in the morning ( go every day) I struggle to smile and keep on pushing forward when I just want to succumb to sleep. I struggle to love them when I don’t see this misery ending. Why do I keep doing this when the ending is inevitable? I can’t do this. I’m not strong enough. I can’t hold on any longer. I’m too exhausted from life; too tired to do more than clean their stalls, feed them and tell them I love them.

Oh, I wish I was doing more that; I didn’t have this raggedness to me. I just want to enjoy my horses but I think I won’t anymore. I lost that girlish joy of going to the barn and seeing my pretty girls. I’ve lost the happiness I had when I sat in their stalls while they munched hay. I lost my ability to dream of competing. It drifted from me and I can’t get it back. I am struggling too much and I can’t do it any more.

I keep on telling myself it will get better, but I just don’t see how. I just finished reading Shadow Kin  By: M.J. Scott and the story was unique but a love story none the less. A story about a girl struggling and how her life is turned upside down by a curious set of events (involving a handsome man). She declares she doesn’t want him but of course she does. I liked the story well enough. The book was riddled with grammatical and typographical errors. Usually, I don’t notice them, but I did. There were a lot. The author had a good story but the way it was written left me wanting.

I know now that I won’t ever produce a story worth reading. I still toy with the idea of writing; but I’m more focused on surviving. The idea that I had ever hoped to be a novelist with published books makes me laugh. Silly, how you see so clearly once you are so jaded. That’s what I am- Jaded.

In a story, if I were writing it and I were the main character, then I’d have me meet some ruggedly handsome man who is well off and looking for someone (a friend) to spend time with. A man who is careworn and tired of dealing with girls falling all over him. Yes, I want to be the girl who isn’t interested in the guy romantically but rather interested in him as a friend. A man who knows what he wants out of a career but isn’t sure what he wants personally. I’ve met plenty of guys who think they know what they want romantically- guys who aren’t career oriented nor are they driven to be successful. Those guys bore me because I have no desire to hang around people who don’t want to go places. I’m a hypocrite, if that’s the case as I live at home with my mom and I don’t make enough money to support myself.

I’ll be honest- I’m more interested in a guy who knows how to make a living and can provide for himself. Yes, how very unfeminist of me but I won’t deny it. Someone who is successful and wants to go place in life is extremely attractive. A guy who is successful and committed to helping others out is even more attractive. It’s not just the romantic aspect of things. If a guy was poor but had a plan to succeed- knew he was going to make it then he’d be interesting to me. I’m just tired of these man-boys who are full of themselves and certain they are awesome; when they can’t even explain what they hope to achieve or who they are outside of the high school days.

I like to be around people who are smart, successful and caring. I like to be around people who have a positive outlook on life. I’ll admit it- I find Tim Tebow attractive not because of his fame or fortune. In fact those are detractors. I find him desirable because he has goals, he loves helping others and he is optimistic. He is very humble (at least he seems to be) and he doesn’t take life for granted. Yes, he has fame, he is Christian and he is young and good looking. Despite those characteristics, I find him to be an interesting puzzle. Something worth learning more about. No, I’m not stalking him- not by a long shot. This is the musings of an interested third party. Someone who notices a breath of fresh air in the stale world of entertainment. That, right there, is what I think attracts the media to him most. He’s different, a puzzle and I wish him all the best in navigating those treacherous waters of entertainment.

My long tirade is almost to an end- I have to go take care of my horses, but I just wanted to, I guess fill you in on what I’m thinking since it’s been a while since my last post (like what, two days?). I wish I were someone else- that I’d learn from my mistakes and that I’d be able to make the decisions I need to make. I wish I could give up my horses without the fear of what I’d be missing. I guess it’s silly of me to wish to be anything more than a lower middle class girl who has dreams that are more that what she is capable of achieving.

Oh, and if tim tebow showed up and whisked me away, I’d totally be ok with that. Maybe, he’d come riding a pegasus and we’d ride off into a fantasy land. 

Why being a Writer is like playing the Lottery

The scene: I’m about to clock out for the day and I make a money related comment.

“You should play powerball. It’s up to $100 million.” He the drawer I was on today in his hand and is about to audit it.

“Yea, but you forget I have the worst luck in the world. I would never win.” I stuff my vest and hat into my locker and pull on my sweatshirt.

“See, your luck can’t get any worse and it’s $100 million.”

I smirk and look at him.

“Hey, just don’t forget the little people when you win… You’ll probably go ‘Here Bob, here’s my beat up old truck.’ Just don’t forget us, ok?”

“Yea, right you know I wouldn’t.” He disappears into the office to check my drawer. “Hey, I’m leaving.”

“Wait, aren’t you going to check to make sure your drawer is ok?” I put the two dimes I had found on the break room table into the drawer. “If anything I’d be a cent short, but I’m not worried. If I did my job correctly I won’t be short.” The phone rings and he counts the drawer. I stay until he tells me I’m 24 cents over.

I walk through the store and I’m thinking about that powerball prize. It’d be nice wouldn’t it. Sure it would be. I don’t even know what I would do with that much money. Probably give most of it away and invest some of it. I say my goodbyes and walk out to my goodlooking, but piece of junk truck. I’d fix the truck up and use it to plow the small piece of land I’d buy. I’d buy that ecodiesel Ram and use it for my daily driver. I’d build a small barn and have my horses in my backyard. I’d write every day and I’d do some traveling. I’d donate money to the poor and most importantly I’d pay off my debts. I’d set some aside and I’d budget everything out.  I’d be smart; I wouldn’t be greedy. I’ve learned so much these past few years. Honest, I wouldn’t make mistakes! Oh how sweet the lure of money is.

You see, I’ve done all of this categorizing before. I’ve thought a lot about what I would do when I have millions of dollars. Most of the time my train of thought starts with: when I become a famous and wealthy novelist this is what I’ll do… The thought process isn’t all that different between gambling and writing. Both the lottery and writing require persistence, luck, steadfast devotion and the dream. Yes, there are those who make it and make a little money. Like that person who wins twenty grand with a scratch game. There are those who win a few writing competitions and there are those who win a little bit of money off scratch tickets. (I hope you follow those sentences- to me they are vague; a peculiar kind of vague. I’ll have to re-read it again later)

Then there are those who win a dollar or two after spending several hundred dollars hoping and praying they’ll get lucky. Those are the writers that take the courses and do their due diligence but never make progress. After years of squirreling away their hopes and dreams they put down their pen or their lucky scratch penny or stop playing their numbers. Of course, it is the next day that the numbers are called or the writer sees a story very similar to theirs go viral.

Writing, of course, is more than luck- it is dedication and editing and the constant revision of words, ideas and themes. It is creating characters that are real, believable and relatable. It is having a storyline that makes sense as well as the ability to write words that flow and are free from filters, add-ons and confusion.  (Alas, I have much work to do when it comes to this.)

The lottery is a bit more basic than that. It doesn’t need a person who can create in depth stories but it does need a person who can figure out patterns, algorithms and has the dedication needed to make sure their numbers work. Sure, there are rules and regulations to prevent people from guessing which numbers are “lucky” but in writing there are agents, publishers and the general population that functions in much the same way.

Yes, once in a while there are unexpected wonders– people who seem to “win” out of the blue. Those are few and far between. Of course, I’d love to believe that I would win the powerball lottery- that my luck would change and my world would be turned upside down. Isn’t the lure of gambling? Isn’t that why there are addicts? I also believe there are people addicted to writing- addicted to the hope of succeeding when the odds are against them. Maybe I should start up Writers’ Anonymous. 

What do you think?