Problems and their solutions

It's that time once again, and as it seems to be my current trend, I'm running late. This week the wonderful Jeff Adkins has presented us with, personally, a bit of a challenge. I'm noticing a pattern here...*eyes Jeffiekins*

Topic Tuesday is taking a look at the adage "When a problem arises, so does the solution." 

We face problems every day. We also manage to find a way through, around, over, or under them. Most of us share similar difficulties--from bills to illness and all things in between. Some people seem to have an ease with dealing with whatever may arise in their lives. The phrase "Fall in shit and come out smelling like a rose" is what I remember from childhood being associated with people who seemed to be able to bounce back and recover from anything life tossed at them. 

I've never felt like one of those people. I've also never been a person to have blind faith in anything. Not myself, not anything in my life, and definitely not in an unseen deity. It doesn't help that I suffer from depression. I say this because depression will make anything seem much worse than what it actually is. 

I've racked my brain this morning to come up with examples of problems I've faced in my life and overcome, but I'm coming up empty. Don't give me that look. I know we all face problems and we find some type of solution for them, but I can't think of anything that stands out for me to point at and say "This was my problem (whenever) and this was how I handled it." 

I suppose as I sit here typing this I can say depression has been a problem I've faced. How have I handled it? It differs every time, but I'm still here. So even though I've seen rock bottom, I know I have the strength to stay and fight. Sometimes, it doesn't seem worth it, but that's usually when I'm at rock bottom. 

I've faced having a mother who is narcissistic. I read Joelle's post this morning and I salute her strength. My relationship with my mother is nonexistent. I have had no contact with her for four years now. I tried. It was killing me. Life with a narcissist will get you one thing--as crazy as they are. 

So, I know there are problems. I know there are solutions. I guess, for the most part, I exist. One day flows into the next and whatever has to be handled, or dealt with, or overcome is done in whatever fashion is available at that moment. 

Maybe in my next life things will be different. Maybe I'll be different. Who's to say?

Until next time,
Peace Up

Be sure to check out the Usual Suspects and their take on Problems and Solutions here.

Writing specifics or Why is Alan a slave driver?

This week on Topic Tuesday our directive (per assistant slave driver, Kage Alan) was to share our ideal writing situation. That CD we have to have playing, or the room we work best in, or our lucky slippers, or whatever. I know everybody has a certain something, or several certain somethings, to help them get into the groove of writing, but try being put on the spot to identify them. Most of the time my writing comes when it comes. 

I don't have a special room. I wish I did, but I've got 3 boys still residing at my house, and they like having their own bedrooms...go figure. Maybe one day I'll get at least one of them out of the house and then I can have a writing cave, but the way my life goes someone else will need/want/have to have the room for something they can't live without and I'll be SOL again.

I don't have a specific CD to play when I write. At times, a certain song will help set the stage for a scene or an emotion I'm needing to convey, but I don't pop NIN into to the CD player/disc drive and crank out the next novel to top the NY Times best sellers list. I wish my writing would flow that way. I might have more written then I do at present. 

I've written in my car. I've written in my bed. I've written at the dining room table. (No office, remember?) I've written at work (as I am now). I've written on notebooks, loose leaf, printer paper, napkins, receipts, my hands, my arms, and if others were close to me, their hands and arms. I'm not picky, but I am forgetful. 

I've never been able to sit down and have the words flow. It doesn't happen for me that way. I envy those who can. I guess my best answer to Kage's query is I write best when the words and the story are in sync with me, and I with them...whatever that means.   

As always, check out the list of Usual Suspects and their niches here.

(As to why Alan is a slave driver? Personally, he gets off on it. LOL You know I love you more'n my luggage, Kage.)

Why do you want to write?

This week's...challenge...on Topic Tuesday is a 500 word blog about why we want to write. I say challenge because there are days I question every thought I've ever had about being able to write. I've had one story published in an anthology, but even after a year, it still feels surreal. I don't see myself as an author, or a writer, or whatever noun you wish to attach to it.

I've been writing since junior high. English was always my favorite class, and I enjoyed writing stories, spinning tales, and penning poetry. My 11th grade English teacher told me she was sure one day I would be a famous author and she wanted a signed copy of my first novel. (I don't think she meant a short story about M/M romance. She was a former nun at a private interparochial high school.)

I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression approximately twelve years ago, and at times, when my mind feels more like a pressure cooker about to explode, I write poetry. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it doesn't.

I've always enjoyed writing. It's more a need or a compulsion at times. Even if no one reads it, I have to write. The "Rice Krispies" (to quote JR Ward) become to loud to ignore. I write to keep myself sane. I write because my A.D.D. interferes with my life and the only way to keep track of the ideas I have is to put pen to paper, as it were.

My sister is a major influence in my writing, or more appropriately, my writing ideas. I've written a children's book based on my niece's Weimaraner, Lana. The idea came from a conversation between my sister and I about an experience with Lana and my nephew. I need an illustrator for it. 

The latest idea she has suggested is using a tachyon theory to explain the ancient mysteries of our world. She does this to me all the time. Tosses possibilities out to get my "Rice Krispies" hopping. I'm working on it. 

Now, why do I want to write? Because one day, when I grow up, I want to be Nora Roberts. "Why?" you may ask. Well, Ms. Roberts' use of imagery is wonderful. There is nothing quite as descriptive, in my opinion, as the opening page of her novel, Midnight Bayou. Her writing has you standing in a swamp, slapping mosquitoes, breathing humid air, and watching things crawl, slither, and slide around the water, grass, and trees.

This is why I want to write. I want one day for someone to read something I have written and say "I want to be her when I grow up. I want to be able to do this." Will it ever happen? I don't know. As I've said, I don't see myself as an author even though I have two published works. Maybe one day I'll have more published and it will feel less surreal. Who knows?

In the mean time, stop by and catch up with the Usual Suspects here.