Why...

WHY
By Monica Sharpe

Why do I look for way-out ways,
And people I really don’t understand?
Why do I want to wear rags and go barefoot?
Why do I long for a soft bed of sand?
Why is my heart bleeding with fright
And at the same time free as the sea?
Why do I wish to be everyone else,
And still only want to be me?

Todays Confession...

I have come to another realization on this journey to find myself and my creativity, is that things are getting tougher. It’s getting down to the nitty gritty why I think I am the way I am. I am learning to understand my needs. I have lived much of my life in the dark, in ignorance of what others think, feel, and because of those experiences, I have restrained myself.

I had insights at fifteen years old that I would seize again at another time and lose because I didn’t have the intellectual framework in which they would fit and be retained. I feared offending those who loved me, or those I wished to please. Shame can also get in the way of creativity. We all have the notions of what we should be, and sometimes we are ashamed of what moves us or how much we are moved. At other times, we feel we ought to have been moved and we try to pretend.

These are some of the things I have learned on my journey:

§ I believe the desire to be better can choke off the desire to just BE.
§ Judging my early writing efforts is a form of abuse.
§ When I feel blocked in my life, it's because I feel safer that way.
§ My creativity and writing is a healing process for mind and soul.
§ As I gain strength through my writing, I also start attacking myself with more self-doubt.
§ I can deal with these strange attacks when I see them as only a form of self-discovery.
§ Most of all, I cannot afford to think about who is getting ahead of me.
§ Don't compare your style of writing with anyone else's. That's what makes every writer unique.
§ Finally, I make big mistakes, the one's that carry regrets. It is a great thing to find a like mind and soul. It's a gift that needs to be cherished, a common bond that helps one heal the other…and I let it go.

Another confession…I am needy. I need to talk about things, all sorts of things, trivial and important, and this drives my other half crazy. I need to argue back, but I remain quiet. I need him to share his feelings too. I need to tell him why I need to be alone. I need him to tell me I still look the same in his eyes before my hair turned gray. My mind screams to the point I feel like my head will explode, but remain silent. I need to tell him to touch my face, look into my eyes, and see me for what and who I am and always was. I need to tell him, “don't go, stay” when I need to talk. I wish I could tell him why I want to run away and not look back. I need, like most of us, to be needed.

I read once, "As artists (writers included), we are travelers." Our minds wander (as you can read from the things I write). Our fingers turn raw from writing of far off things. We even struggle with dreams and reality. We want to make a difference. We need (there’s that word again) to learn to stop comparing ourselves to others and quit saying, “what's the use,” when we self doubt our aspirations.

Peace Everyone...

Vulnerabilities...

I read mostly fiction as a steady diet. I read into the wee hours of the morning, or while I should be writing. While I indulge in this reading spree to research factual characteristics for my fictional characters, an important realization was taking place, even fictional characters are vulnerable, and for me, it’s the essence behind writing my novel.

I mused about this concept while I read, walked, pulled weeds, and cleaned house. I kept thinking about the idea of vulnerability how it applied to my life, my relationships, and my sorrows. I cannot speak for your vulnerabilities, but I’ve been ripped off, lied to, slandered, gossiped about, slapped, falsely accused and had my truths not believed. I’ve had my heart broken, my pride stomped on, witnessed unforgivable acts, and heard words that hurt so much I wish they didn’t keep replaying in my mind—but they did and still do. In all these moments, some tear soaked, some life defining, but all of them character building moments…I have felt vulnerable.

I believe when a person feels scared, and alone, and overwhelmed, and pissed off, when the sting of unfairness sinks its teeth in, bites deep and makes you miserable, it makes for a great story. We don’t—well let me clarify that—I don’t, read fiction to follow the perfect lives of perfect people who float through blissful days filled with sunshine and baby bunnies. Instead, I/we want to wallow in a character’s misery and struggles, to plunge into his or her emotional depths, to experience the doubts, worries, and pains of someone else to lessen my own vulnerabilities.

Doing everyday tasks and when I write, memories of my childhood vulnerabilities would strike with another vivid snapshot. One of the first was down in our basement, which was set up as our family room. It’s where we all watched television, of the black and white variety. It was a dark, stormy Saturday afternoon; my brother had a friend over and we watched The House on Haunted Hill. Out went the lights—naturally, the only way to watch that type of movie—I thought it was big stuff to be watching a scary movie with my older brother. But the boys decided to tease me and as a joke, for the duration of the movie they grabbed me from behind, screeching and imitating the witch. I sat there terrified, unable to move, with my heart beating out of my chest. For years, I envisioned, whenever I walked into a dark room, a bony claw would clamp down on my arm. Because of many more incidents like this, it’s no wonder Halloween was never a favorite holiday.

In our childhood, we also first meet real life bad guys. These cruel lessons come in the form of a classroom bully, a sadistic cousin (yes, I had one of the worst), a teacher who has it in for you, (I had a couple of those too), or just a creepy stranger. At an early age, we learn distrust and unease, and because life holds dangers, we discover that it takes resilience and courage to navigate through our days; sometimes doing things, we’re not very proud of. These are the type of incidents that make up the heart of tantalizing fiction. And, these are the type of memories I touch on when I write. We all can relate to vulnerable characters in precarious situations, because we’re well acquainted with our own fears and feelings of vulnerability.

Peace everyone...

Everything...but nothing at all...

The old man absorbed with alcohol huddles under the overpass trying to keep warm in the frigid night. I know he was absorbed with the drink because as we approached him you could smell the stagnant odor of wine mixed with the exhaust fumes from the cars overhead. His body occupies a space with its own boundaries, separate from others and alone with what’s stirring inside of him.

You could see his breath as we walked towards him. Shallow inhalation with long pauses between each exhalation not wanting any more cold air to invade his body, the outside temperatures were bad enough.
We found out that his name was Jim and he was hoping to make it to Naples, Florida before the first of the year. We asked if he had family there and he said, “No, I heard there is a community near the beach.” Jim had a strong New Jersey accent and mentioned this was just a layover until he got on his feet again.

Jim was withdrawn from the rest of the homeless “community” and appeared to be undergoing a painful inner process, a decaying and destruction of an old way of being. He didn’t volunteer anything about himself and we didn’t ask. We told him of the various shelters nearby and he was resistant in accepting any help, from anyone. We asked if he was hungry and offered him some food and a few personal grooming commodities, then poured him a cup of hot chocolate and gave him a blanket. That was the last time we saw him, in December 2010.

Today was the first day it was cool enough in months to open the windows here in South Carolina. It was good to smell the fresh air. Soon the nights will be colder and staying warm will be harder for those on the streets. Thoughts of Jim filled my mind. I wondered how he was doing when I saw several of the homeless waiting, for maybe their only hot meal in a couple days at one of the many missions in our area.

I may have crossed paths many times and looked into the eyes of some, whom I’m sure walked a better path of life a few years ago. The Homeless population across the country is nearly epidemic and is not only in states with warmer climates. While many think these are just "bums" who drink and use drugs, it is a hard life or misfortune that has led them to this. They have lost everything and have once led normal lives, living in normal homes and many even have children. A bout of bad luck has forced many to live on the street with no one to help. With the times becoming harder for many people due to the housing mortgage crisis and the bad economy there may soon be many more people one paycheck away from being forced to be without a home.

I don’t know what the answer is or how it can be turned around. We cannot turn our backs and pretend we don’t see them…the men, the women, and the children of the streets, many who were our neighbors. But I do know, generosity and kindness is always appreciated...

Peace...