Refocus and Weekend of Until Next Time

Short and sweet. I've gotten a little off track in my thinking about this blog. It doesn't have to be just about writing. It's about all aspects of life, specifically what I experience, express, and learn. And those things are shared through the unique medium of story, whether fictional or not, creative writing or just the facts, ma'am. I've forgotten this and got overly stressed about reaching a weekly "quota" of posts or figured I had to hit the mark with something that's "writerly."

What I've forgotten is I'm not the author of my own story. Sure I take actions, and I am a character, but I would need too many drafts to get it right if all the plotting and cast and setting and pacing and...everything...were up to me. I just have to determine my goal, and I can change it as I need to. So, new goal: don't stress, enjoy the adventure that is life, take it as it comes, try not to lose sight of the big picture, try not to take over the big picture.

In light of that, this weekend is kind of going to stink. My brother and sister in law are packing it all up and moving. I think we've gotten pretty close in the last couple years or so. We're bound by blood relation, but also by camaraderie and friendship. Now, for one year, that bond will have to be held by Facebook, email, and gmail video chat. It just won't be the same as the sanctuary Jessie always offered me to rest in her comfortable abode when I want to cry and Lucy vies for my attention. ::sigh::  In a way, it will be one less group to help, but I think their presence helped me as much as I helped them with little things like the few times I babysat or was chauffeur. And that sanctuary that I used more than once, that to me was desperately needed and priceless.

My dear Norman and Jessie and Lucy, I'm going to miss you, no two ways about it.

...Until next time...

{phfr} - Writer's Edition

I wanted to put a writer's twist on {phfr} since I'm not really a homemaker (maybe someday), but I was a little short on creative material (as a writer, I haven't done much that's docu-photo worthy) so I offer you this and hope my off-kilter {funny} allows you a smile or perhaps even a chuckle. Have fun!

{pretty}

As one who understands reality through fiction/story, this is perfect. This decoration was a gift and happily hangs under a writing award of sorts and over my desk, which I hope to return to using for writing...after I clear it off...again. Ah well.

{happy}

Happy that I wrote a short story specifically for this blog and it's now available for reading, complete with its own tab (which has a link back to the original posting, should anyone wish to add comments) to make it easy to always find.

{funny}

This picture was shamefully staged (no one was around and I was still embarrassed) and has nothing to do with writing except that I am a writer and this is a roundabout intro, quite possibly only sensible in my oddly-connecting thought patterns, to my recent whimsical idea: I wouldn't mind if Adam Young asked me to dance. I know, I know. You're probably thinking I'm a silly school girl with a silly celebrity crush...and you might be close to right, but not quite. One, I am no longer in school, and two, I'm not yet to crush point (but if I get there it would be my first celebrity crush and he's a Christian and a real person [not to be elevated to god-status], so a little crush wouldn't be a bad thing). Right now I just think if Owl City came to Oklahoma and Adam Young decided to ask me to dance...well, I wouldn't mind.

{real}

Laptop collection! I have two currently, and hopefully a third soon on its way—the third will be the first one owned new. On the left is my old Apple, The Three-Legged Horse, a school auction bargain and a good computer even still, but not suited to my needs now. On the right is my old Dell, Smalls (have you seen "The Sandlot"?), a garage sale deal and a grand one at that but now no longer fast enough for my needs (also, I've dropped it a time or two, but this only added battle scars to the casing and hasn't harmed the machine itself). Both computers were affectionately, though earnestly, named. I wonder what the new one will be called? And if you're wondering, yes this picture was staged...but only a little.

New Step in the Adventure

Should I tell you I'm excited or should I show you? The writer in me says, "Show."

I'm gearing up to embark on another step in the adventures of life and storydom. (I know that's not a real word.) I've wanted to teach and encourage other, particularly younger, writers since before I graduated. Now I'm given the opportunity to do just that.

I was asked to tutor a girl I know and have previously talked with about her story. We'll be using a program called One Year Adventure Novel next school year. All the materials have been provided, I just have to check them out, see what my soon to be pupil has come up with for her story, and set up the meeting times. For the second time, I get to teach during a school year (and for the first time, I will not also be taking classes...maybe). And I get to teach and build someone up in my area of study: story!

I've written novels before, so I know what the process is like, and hopefully I can now use that for my budding writer's benefit. I will be doing exactly what I hoped to do with my degree. In addition to writing and editing my work, I get to tutor, teach, and encourage.

I couldn't have planned it better myself. I wouldn't have known where to start. Owl City was right; dreams don't turn to dust.

Short Story - Garrett's Girls

Garrett’s Girls

by

Dorathea Maynard

A sixty-year-old hand clapped Garrett’s shoulder.
Garrett didn’t turn from the freshly filled grave to look at his younger brother. He looked up into the trees, trying to hear the birds chirping on the hot Saturday afternoon. A storm was building on the horizon. The weathermen had predicted it would arrive after one in the morning.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jimmy, said.
I should have been with her, Garrett thought. I should be with her now.
“You couldn’t have known Crystal would have a heart attack.”
Sweat dripped down a wrinkle on Garrett’s face and he shrugged Jimmy’s hand off.
Jimmy shuffled, backing up a step. “Okay.”
Garrett turned and looked at his baby brother’s brown hair, now almost all gray. “When did we get old, Jimmy?”
Jimmy smiled sadly, his eyes crinkling. “We didn’t do it on purpose. I think it snuck up on us.”
Looking into his brother’s eyes, Garrett saw an old, old man. “Do I look as bad as you?”
Jimmy’s smile grew. “You’ve got eight years on me. You look ten times worse.”
For one moment Garrett smiled, then he turned back to the dirt mound on his wife’s grave. “I can’t go on without her, Jim. Next year we would have celebrated fifty years. She wasn’t even old yet and as pretty as the day we wed.”
Silence filled the open sky and Garrett blinked back tears.
“Come on. I’ll take you home. Candace has dinner waiting, and I’m sure your grandkids want to see you.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, you can’t stay out here in this heat.”
Maybe I can. He didn’t move.
Jimmy sighed. “Garrett, staying won’t bring Crystal back.”
Maybe not. But if he stood in the scorching sun long enough, he might join her.
“Let’s go, Garrett. I can bring you back tomorrow.”
Garrett rubbed his wrinkled face with hands that weren’t as strong as they used to be. He stared at the fresh dirt. “No, Jimmy. I won’t need to come back tomorrow.”
Jimmy directed Garrett back to the sedan. “How long are your kids in town?”
“Candace and the kids are staying for another week. Doug has to head back after the weekend to get back to work.”
Jimmy nodded and unlocked the car doors. He slid into the driver seat and started the engine.
Silently promising Crystal that he wouldn’t be long, Garrett grabbed the handle and eased onto the leather seat.
At the house, the table was set for six, but there were chairs for seven. Crystal’s seat waited for its owner who would never return.
Garrett almost left at the sight, but Candace wiped her hands on her dark apron and wrapped him in a hug. “Hi, Daddy.”
He returned the hug and petted her silken blond braid, but couldn’t make his tongue respond. Candace guided him by his shoulders to his chair at the table, irritating his pride, but he said nothing.
Candace’s dark-haired girls, four and five year old Samantha and Danielle, filed silently into their chairs, sitting high enough at the table only because of the phone books on their seats.
Doug busied his hands with filling everyone’s plates with the steak and mixed vegetables. Once all the plates were passed around, he busied his napkin with wiping the food out of his sandy beard.
Candace kept her eyes lowered. Once or twice Jimmy tried to strike up a conversation about the kids’ spouses or work or lives. He received quiet, short answers that didn’t lead anywhere. When he turned to Danielle and Samantha, even they weren’t talkative.
Garrett pushed his food around on his plate.
Crystal should have been there. Her soft smile would have brightened anything. She always knew exactly what to say to start family conversations. She had a secure gentleness that put everyone at ease.
One of the lights above the table burned out, dimming the room.
Danielle sniffed.
Candace turned to her. “Honey? Are you okay?”
Danielle looked up at her mom, tears brimming in her bright blue eyes. Her chin quivered and she looked at Garrett, her wide eyes asking him to bring Grannma back.
A knife twisted in Garrett’s heart. Grannpap couldn’t fix this problem. He couldn’t stop his own hurt.
Samantha wiped her nose, not looking up.
Candace beckoned to her girls and held them in her arms.
Garrett scooted his chair back, scraping the feet on the linoleum.
Five pairs of eyes turned to look at him.
His chest was empty, like someone had ripped his heart out. He stood and escaped their painfully compassionate gazes to his room as quickly as his old hips would allow and locked the door.
That night, Garrett stayed in bed until well after Doug turned off the TV and the soft sounds of crying upstairs quieted. Jimmy had come to the door earlier, but when Garrett didn’t answer, he left for home. Everyone was asleep.
The wind blew against the house and rustled in the trees outside.
Garrett checked the clock.  It read 1:37.
He slid out from under the covers of his double bed and reached to his bedside table, nearly knocking over the old picture frame with his and Crystal's wedding portrait. He picked up the picture and pulled out a .22 pistol from the drawer.
That’s all it would take. One quick shot to the brain at point blank range. Then he would go see Crystal. He wouldn’t have to live another day without her. The pain that threatened to smother him would stop.
Thunder crashed and the rain began. It pattered against the bedroom windows and ran the panes’ length in streaks.
He cradled the gun. The clock flicked another minute. He turned to the tidy, empty half of the bed. Someone had made it earlier and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to fold the covers back.
Another roll of thunder filled the room.
He could time the lightning and his family might not even hear the gunshot.
Why had the worst happened? There had been no warning. He hadn’t even been nearby to call for help. Of all the worthless things, he had driven down to the pharmacy to pick up one of her prescriptions. When he got home he found her already dead, collapsed on the living room floor, duster nearby, her silver hair wrapped in a floral handkerchief.
A tear splashed his arm. He hadn’t even noticed he couldn’t see. He cleared his throat and set the photograph down to wipe his eyes. The pistol remained in his other hand. He stared at its shape in the dark room.
The minute on the clock shifted again.
Thunder rumbled long and low, reaching the windows and rattling them.
Garrett sighed. He was a coward. He couldn’t face living without Crystal, but he wasn’t sure he could pull the trigger, either.
He stared at the picture again, soaking in every tempting curve, every silky curl, every soft feature. Her silly grin from that day hadn’t dimmed over the years. She had always been there for him through everything.  Their financial hardships, colicky children, the miscarriage, storms, broken bones, lost jobs, everything. She had been the support he needed, and he had done his best to comfort her.
“I miss you,” he sobbed.
Lightning flashed, followed by a loud thunderclap.
He set his jaw and raised the pistol to his head. “I can’t live without you, Crystal.”
The rain danced on the windows.
Tears streamed down Garrett’s face.
“I’m coming.”
A bright explosion shook the house, nearly deafening Garrett. He froze.
The bedroom door crashed in and a dark bundle with long hair dashed to his side bouncing the mattress. Tiny warm hands wrapped around his waist.
Garrett looked down at the top of Danielle’s dark head and released his breath.
His granddaughter was quivering.
He set the gun in the still open side drawer and wrapped his arms around her. “What’s this? What are you doing up?”
“I’m scared, Grannpap.”
“Why? It’s just a little thunder.”
“It’s so loud.”
Another clap of thunder shook the house and she clung tighter.
Seconds later, Samantha came crashing into the room and landed in Garrett’s lap.
He held his girls close, shushing them, trying to speak softly, but they wouldn’t leave.
“Don’t go, Granp,” Samantha said.
Garrett twitched in surprise. “What do you mean, Samantha?”
Danielle piped up, “You won’t leave us, will you?”
The hollow in his chest weighed him down.
“Mommy says you’re very sad,” Danielle’s muffled voice came from his side. “And you might not want to stay here anymore.”
Garrett cocked his eyebrow. Candace was a little too smart for his good.
Samantha snuggled closer. “When will the thunder stop?”
Garrett sighed. The warmth of his two granddaughters soothed his aching heart.
“Please, can we stay with you tonight, Grannpap?” Danielle asked.
He looked at her.
Her blue eyes shone even in the dim room.
He glanced at the pistol and sighed.
Samantha pinched his stomach with her worried fingers. “Please let us stay, Granp.”
“Please, Grannpap?”
The rain let up and a wave of rolling thunder washed through the house.
Garrett sighed again. Not tonight, Crystal. I guess I’m still needed here.
Danielle wasn’t shaking anymore but she held on just as tight. Samantha was already asleep against his stomach.
“All right. You can stay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Danielle let go and crawled under the covers.
Garrett shifted the sleeping Samantha who stirred enough to nuzzle his arm and curl up where he set her on the bed. Both girls spent the night resting a hand or head on their Grannpap.
And Grannpap closed the drawer on his side table and set the wedding picture back up in front of the clock without checking the time.

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted

and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

-Psalm 34:18