EDITING 101: 60 – Deleted Material…

(It always pays to be reminded of a few basic good ideas…especially at this stage…pk)

Source: EDITING 101: 60 – Deleted Material…

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It Doesn’t Rain, but what it Pours

Thanks to Morton’s Salt (trademark) 🙂

So it looks like I’ve not posted anything here on The Old Fossil since July. I could have sworn that I had, but I suppose I’m thinking about Facebook and my other WordPress site, Balance the Circle. It’s not surprising that my mind is confused, though, because it’s been a rough year all the way around. In fact, it doesn’t rain, but what it pours….especially these last two months.

Terrible storms.

On September 5th, I lost one of my older sons who lived in Connecticut. He was healthy as a horse until he hit his 20’s …then, every illness that has plagued his dad’s side of the family hit him. All of it. Diabetes. Blood pressure issues. Cardio-pulmonary disease. Kidney disease, ending in renal failure…he’d been on the transplant list for years. I think the only thing he escaped was cancer.

He was seconds away from 50 years old.

The following week, my daughters (from one of my late-husbands) lost a paternal cousin who was like another brother to them, having been raised alongside of him for many years. He was, I believe, in his late 30’s.

I spent the month of September in Connecticut, cherishing what was left of my family, and being there for my 2 daughters from that marriage. My flight home was scheduled for October 14th. But the rain wasn’t over.

My eldest son in Florida has been married for a little over a decade. His wife’s mother is one of the most amazing, good hearted, funny women who has ever called me “Friend”! She spent time with my youngest son’s son, teaching him all the swimming, floating and “jumping into the deep end!” skills the rest of us were at a loss to get through to him. She also helped me immeasurably with giving me awesome ideas on how to adapt my son’s pool to an efficient therapy regime.

On October 5, my son phoned me in Connecticut to tell me that this sweet woman had passed away in her sleep. She was only 59.

I’m almost afraid to wake up each morning, for fear that I have lost yet one more cherished friend, family member or confidante. So I have a word with my Maker before I sleep, and then again before the sun’s rays come peering through the blinds at my window in the mornings. It’s not that I mind the rain – “just not so much an’ all the time,” as my first, late husband used to say.

I much prefer the saying, “It doesn’t rain, but what it pours” to relate only to Morton’s Salt.

TRUE Writer’s Block: What to Do Now, After Your Muse Has Really Left (Six Months and Counting)

Folded Dreams, a follow-up novel to my venture into the world of self-publishing, managed to get to about 45% edit-worthy completion. I wasn’t completely satisfied with my work at that point, but I was proud to have at least made it that far! And then, as often happens of course, I hit an annoying bout of writer’s block – so I pouted for a few days, then decided I’d really show my Muse how childish an old fossil can get, and “cut off my nose just to spite my own face”…

Thanks to someecards.com!

Translation:  I  did what I believe a serious writer should never do for more than a few days at a time – I took a stupid vacation from writing. A couple of weeks should do it, I thought to myself. Just two weeks.

That was about the end of November or first of December, 2016.

As fate would have it (or “Never Disrespect Your Muse”), on the 8th of December I had a pretty serious stroke. Not a “major stroke”, mind (the kind that leaves one totally blind and unable to control one’s bodily functions), but bad enough to have to start from scratch to re-develop the ability to walk and use the muscles on the whole right side of my body to cough and spit toothpaste into a sink, and the dexterity I needed to dress and to even simply keyboard.

Writer’s block just became very real and much more complicated than ever, indeed.

It was necessary for me to leave my home and move in with one of my children; but I was determined to be ready when my muse again visited me, so I had my computer and flash drive book files brought over here to my son’s house.

A couple of weeks ago, I woke up with the urge to write. I thought about perhaps starting that book on stroke recovery which my therapists at Brooks Hospital had suggested. But, no – I wanted to get crackin’ on my novel again. After all, it’s nearly a year over-due for publish.

I plugged my flash drive into my lap top and began reading the existing chapters to the novel, “Folded Dreams”, you know, to refresh my memory as to where I was heading with the story. I really enjoyed re-reading what I’d written so far, mostly because I didn’t “recognize” it…

In fact, I had forgotten nearly the entire thing. Gone. Just. Like. That.

Pfffft.

Since that day, I’ve pondered the story, pounded my brain and perused all of my files on story-line notes and research to find anything I recognize. Nothing. Zip. Zilch. the only ‘discovery’ I’ve made is the continued enjoyment of reading a story which, each time I open it, seems like the first time reading someone else’s work. You see, I only vaguely remember having read it at all, no matter how many times I may have done so…that’s how Swiss-cheesey my brain is.

I don’t know how long this phase of recovery will last. I would like to believe it is only temporary, even if ‘temporary’ lasts for a long time yet. All I know is that THIS is true writer’s block, the likes of which can discourage me to the point of throwing in the towel…for good and ever.

But I won’t, even if I have to change the plot to include the protagonist having a stroke and losing herself completely.

Take THAT, Writer’s Block!!

Of Leaves and Autumns

This particular piece by Zahra Ammar rather speaks to one of the premises of Folded Dreams, I think…)

Ramblings of a Wanderer

By ZA

A beauty in dying

Drying up,dehydrating and withering

We leave and lie in our flaming graves

We rustle, moans in the breeze

The summer passed too soon

Now we lay on the ground which we watched from above

We had giggled and swayed in the giddy sunlight

We had looked down at the ground pitifully

Not realising, we would be together soon

Now slowly losing identity

Breaking off bit by bit

Chipped and combined in brown

A part once, a part no more.

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