Relationships and how they work.

I am not really good at people,  and the interworkings of being a good friend or significant other.  Mostly because I speak my mind and am damaged from abuse in my past. So speaking my mind means that what I say doesn’t often make sense to others. Add to this those days when I am in pain,  or have insomnia,  or even just am deeply into my own world and forget to socialize on occasion.

How I have managed to be so richly blessed in my friends and loved ones,  I am not sure. Still,  I treasure those who are close to me. And I am not the sort to hold a grudge, mostly.  So it sometimes surprises me how angry  people can get.  And how vindictive they can become.

Relationships take work. All of them. Even family and friends,  if you want a good solid relationship,  you need to be willing to compromise. On both sides. This is much of why I am bad at people.  I have a hatd time with compromise.  I can’t afford to compromise because I have been forged by others lack of compromise.  I do not ask much. I take care of my daughter,  and of my best friend.  I try to be there for my closest friends and family.

Now that being said,  I am surprised tonight.  A little over a year ago I had a friend pull away,  for a reason that made no sense.  So I accepted that I had lost a friend,  and as I always do,  I picked up and moved on. Tonight she messaged me with an apology, and an explanation.  It eased my mind to finally understand. It also got me considering what goes into friendship.  How often have I unwittingly hurt the ones around me because I was unable to explain?  I found myself sad that I really couldn’t answer.  So many people I have perhaps hurt. I apologize for those I have not intended to hurt. Sometimes the explanation is another form of compromise. Which is one of my flaws, for sure.

 

 

Social Media isn’t social anymore 

I  get on social media to enjoy the random bits of people that they choose to share. Then there are moments that ruin the whole experience for me. And I find myself wondering why I keep going back. The idea behind social media is wonderful… but the concept falls through thanks to human nature.  Instead of compassion and attention,  social media promotes discord and self absorption.

                       If I like too much of what is posted by someone then I am stalking their page. If I post a disagreement then I am disagreeing with every thing they post. And if I ask to be asked before being added to another group then I am ignored. I am back to wondering if it isn’t more trouble to be social than it is worth. I guess that is just me being grouchy….but I feel that there should be a middle ground. 

Practical versus sensual

                  Over the years,  I have become very practical about how I write. Due to low money, I started writing more digitally.  I convinced myself that I enjoyed it just as much, if not more because of the fact that editing was easier in digital. I forced myself to forget the lovely sensual pleasures of a pencil in hand. Or the smell of lead as one writes. The joy of seeing your own handwriting on paper. Still digital allows easier editing,  and I  do loose things written on paper far easier.  However I think it is something as the digital age progresses that we are loosing.  As we stretch for practicalities,  we too often pass on just the sensual aspects of what we do.
                       I enjoyed my tenth & eleventh  grade years in high school,  mostly for the teachers who encouraged unique minds to be themselves. One class in particular, creative writing. The class was an English /language arts option.  The teacher was laid back and easy going.  The first two days of the week were reading. Her rules those days were only that you read, she didn’t care if it were comic book or novel.  We had four books assigned (one per quarter ) but otherwise we had freedom of choice.  We did have to do a report on what we read,  basically review it for the teacher. Then the last three days were writing.  Those days she wheeled in a huge A/V cart. There was various types of paper (construction,  college ruled, kindergarten lined, tissue,  etc) and various writing implements (pens, pencils,  crayons,  colored pencils,  etc) on the cart for us to use.  Rules for the writing days were simple.  Each quarter we had to finish one project.  That meant a rough draft, a edited and proofread draft (by a classmate ), a draft proofread by the teacher, and a final draft.  That opened up the whole class for creative learning.  I truly believe the ability to use so many different mediums helped. Which mediums catch your fancy?  Do you create best when you use just one type? 

Recognised during my lifetime

               I took one of those internet quizzes… you know the sort. It was supposed to analyze my writing and tell me which famous author my writing most resembles.  I was tickled to see it claim my writing most resembles Edgar Allan Poe. It also tickled my Joe. When I feel like giving up on publishing,  because of what seems to be so little interest,  he has always pointed something out to me.  Two of my most favorite writers were virtually unknown in their own lifetimes.  Edgar Allan Poe and Emily Dickinson. I admit that the thought has kept me from giving up.
                       Now I believe I have mentioned before the fact that I have issues communicating sometimes.  I mentioned Joe’s amusement to my sister,  and I think it came out wrong.  She came to my defense quickly,  telling me how much of an honor that was. She claimed I was recognised.  I see this from her view.  Yes,  some know and enjoy my writing.  However,  it often feels like I am failing. I am terrible at marketing my work.  And very few of those close to me even see what I do worth speaking of.  So I am not recognised in a way I see it. To me,  being recognised means that I at least have any one who knows my work enough to do a review.  So far the only sales have been to family (my sister aforementioned). I am not about to stop writing.  I have no choice,  writing has always been a major part of who I am. Still writing does not mean I have to publish. So that which keeps it going is the idea that even if it is unappreciated now, it may still touch those it needs to later. 

Summer break

I may disappear for about a month.  Still will be back,  but summer vacation calls and I am uncertain about internet while I am gone.

Originally written to respond to status on Facebook.

Since you see the darkness
that surrounds,
Your eyes are wide.
But in your disdain
You judge…
Not that I think you wrong,
Yet still it seems that
Judgment taints you.

Paints you,
With a brush of hatred formed.
See their actions
And look away,
For sadly you may
Never understand
That which drives them
To hate.

Hide disdain and sneering glares,
For tis themselves
Their hate brings down.
You are better
For not being involved,
For not allowing yourself
To them to devolve.

Personal faith in self

                       Each creative person goes through it. The crippling self doubt.  One often expects encouragement from those in the life of said person. And it really doesn’t always happen. I’m not alone there. For me it’s just a baffling thing. I am seven time published.  Four volumes of poetry,  two children’s books and a novella. Still there are days when I wonder if my writing is any good. And since my family doesn’t seem to be proud of me and what I have done… it seems to wear on my confidence in what I do.
                              Then my bestie, my sister I chose, who is also a writer asked for my help. It doesn’t seem like much to a outsider I am sure… but for me this was huge. It felt like validation of my writing.  My writing is such a big part of who I am… this felt like I was being accepted.  So it got me thinking.  Why does my family,  my blood,  not accept what I do? Really the only thing I can think of is that to them,  since I have always been a writer, it is simply nothing new. So perhaps I am going to have to accept the idea that those who are not showing pride in me aren’t doing it in cruelty. Perhaps it is in ignorance.
                So perhaps I should not expect the world to have faith in me, and be thankful when it does.  Instead I should have faith in me.

Sometimes I write poetry not meant for the Wip

            Occasionally on my personal Facebook page I will post a good night that is a small poem….something not truly long enough in my opinion for inclusion in a poetry volume. 
                 This is last night’s.
Well today was hell.
The night as well.
Time for me
To let life be.
Rest my head
In my bed.

Time to wish for all the best
And pass it to all of you,
Nothing else but sweet dreams
And gentle rest,
Till the morrow comes.

Late night ponderings.

                  So. I am awake.  It happens. And oddly enough when it does I manage to do some of my best writings.  It’s like this is when my mind is clearest.  When I fight with the demon known as insomnia.  I already added two poems to my poetry W.i.p. and now I am going to ramble here. My thoughts are this….
                    Is social media truly being social?  We have been asking this question as a society for a while now.  These sites allow us to lie. To become people we wish we were. There is a serious issue there.  Still it also allows us to communicate with people who are so very far away.  It makes the world seem so much less.  It allows family and friends who are far away to connect it ways that would be impossible otherwise… but that’s not always a good thing.  I personally use it to promote my books and sell my crafts.  I use it to keep in touch with those who I have known and love. For me…the recluse writer…yes it is social activity.  However I am strange… what?  Did you really not know that?  Lol. What about you? What do you think?  Is social media truly being social?  I wonder for the non introverted people out there,  if social media is something else?  Perhaps it is tedious.  If so do you only do them for your family?  What is your reasons for being on them?  Which do you use? There are so many choices.

Posted earlier on my personal Facebook

It really is the little things that hurt…and heal. Seeing affection and pride felt by those whom you wish were proud of you. Or who paid enough attention to see who you really were. So I end up feeling the little green eyed monster creep in. And then I self recriminate because I see myself as better than that.  I don’t do my writing or my crafts or my art for the recognition.  I really don’t.  I do all of it for me.  However,  the primal urge for recognition exists in everyone. Then along with the self doubt,  a few someone’s stood up for me. It heals the little cracks in my soul.