Fiction story part 2

I jolted myself out of my reverie. I was sitting at the local coffee shop in downtown Seattle waiting for my father to show up. He called me last week and told me that he was in town…by himself this time and he wanted to see me. I haven’t seen him in over five years, so I sat at a little table in the corner jiggling my right leg out of pure nerves. My nerves didn’t just have to do with my father, but I despised being in public places because of the voices. Everyone that walked by, every stranger that I encountered had a story to tell. Sometimes happy, sometimes sad but always honest. Then I heard his voice. Well, not his voice but his inner voice, full of sadness and relief. My father.

I turned and saw him just standing there in the doorway of that little coffee shop, looking at me. He seemed to swallow his nerves and stepped forward. I stood up, took steadying breaths, and wiped my palms on the seat of my pants. When he stopped directly in front of me he cracked a small smile.

“Hey, honey.”  He wrapped his arms around my shoulders.

“Hi, dad.” I squeezed him around his waist. With five years gone I had almost forgotten how comforting my dad could be. We sat down, at first in awkward silence and then I asked, “Where is Melissa?”

He shifted in his seat, full of nervous energy, but then he answered, “She’s fine.” She’s not fine. She’s actually extremely sick, but I know you don’t really care about her and I don’t blame you.

I heard every word of my dad’s troubling thoughts and took a sip of my latte.

“Dad, be honest with me. I can tell something is bothering you.” He smiled sadly.

“How do you do that? You always seem to read between the lines.”

“I know you.” Nobody knew about my secret ability, not even my family. “So, what’s going on with you?”

He looked up from the table and I saw the tears start to flow. I was caught completely off guard.  My dad never cried. Not once. I shifted my chair closer to him and placed my hand over his.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” He took his right sleeve and rubbed his face to get rid of the tears, then he cleared his throat.

“It’s Melissa,” he said gruffly to hide his obvious pain. She has breast cancer.

“She’s sick, isn’t she?” I finished saying what he didn’t seem able to say. He took a deep breath and nodded his head.

“Yeah. She has breast cancer.”

“Dad, I’m so sorry. I know I never gave Melissa a chance, but…”

“And I completely understand. I don’t even know why I came here to tell you this.”

“Dad, let me finish. Everything that happened between you and mom was devastating but I hate seeing you hurt.” We put our heads together and just sat there for a moment in total, comforting silence.

“Daddy, I know why you came here. You need family right now.”

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Nicholas Sparks: Not cheesy?

I was just sitting here reflecting on my favorite authors. Three authors came to mind. Right now I’m a really big fan of Stephen King and the other two names that came to mind were Khaled Hosseini, author of The Kite Runner and two other beloved novels, and I also immediately thought of Nicholas Sparks who is a well-known romance writer whose 11 out of his 17 books have been made into movies and when I come to think about it none of his books-turned-movies have had bad adaptations. All of the movies that are based off of his books have been pretty good in my opinion. I think my favorite Sparks adaptations are A Walk to Remember, The Best of Me, and Safe Haven. But anyway, I digress. We’re here to answer the question which is “Is Nicholas Sparks the typical cheesy romance writer?” In my opinion I think not. I really think he brings depth to his characters and also to his plots, but I think I can see why some people might say he’s cheesy because most of the time the girl does end up with guy…but not without a lot of obstacles. Sparks is definitely not like the cheesy Harlequin novels that I frequently see for cheap on my Kindle that look like trash with a half naked guy on the front of the cover lol (I can’t stand those books. They just look like garbage). Anyway, Nicholas Sparks is one of my favorite authors and I just bought his novel The Longest Ride at my local Books-A-Million, and I am excited to get into that story as I finish what I already have in my to-read list. So long and subscribe to my blog if you like what you see!

Fiction Story Part 1

So I had started working on a story, but I honestly haven’t given much thought to it in awhile. I don’t even know if this is going to be a short story or turn into something longer. I think I’m trying to work out some things with the plot and I don’t know which way to go yet. Basically the story is about this young woman who can read minds and she thinks that she’s the only one of her kind until one day she meets a Desai, a guy who shares her same abilities. They’re obviously connected in some way and they can’t stop until they find out why they’re so much alike. Periodically, I’ll post bits and pieces of my story and I welcome feedback. Here’s the first part:

I’ve always been a strange child, not knowing who I was or where I came from or why certain things happened to me. Growing up I was always different. The change happened on my 7th birthday. That first voice changed everything for me. It scared me, freaked me out more than anything I had ever experienced in all my seven years of life but funnily enough it was my father’s voice, but it wasn’t him saying the words…at least I didn’t think so. At that very moment when I thought I was losing my mind I concentrated on my father’s mouth, his words, and even his facial expressions. However, the words I heard in my head were not in sync with the rest of the world. They were different, earth shattering.

I want a divorce.

I saw my dad. He was smiling, laughing. He had his arm around my mom singing “Happy Birthday” to me as I was waiting to blow out my candles. It—it just didn’t make any sense. Maybe I was imagining things, but as I looked closer at my dad there was something else there buried behind his eyes that I never noticed. I wouldn’t realize until later what that emotion was. Regret.

Regret for what I didn’t know. Maybe he felt regret for even considering a divorce, maybe it was regret for building a life with another woman that me and my mom later found out about. At the moment that I recognized the regret I studied my mom. The way she moved, her face, and what I saw was the exact opposite. I saw genuine happiness there. Only the happiness that I could now understand as a 30-year-old. At that moment, at that party, I heard my mom’s voice.

I’m so happy to be here with my family.

The realization hit me. My mom didn’t know. She had no idea that her world was about to turn upside down, but I was only seven years old at the time. How could I stop the heartache that was evidently coming?

 

Posthumous recognition

I would like to pose a question. Why is it that most of the time amazing, creative people such as Edgar Allan Poe, F. Scott Fitzgerald, H.P. Lovecraft, and several others don’t get to see the fruits of their labor. It always makes me incredibly sad when I research these people and find out that they didn’t get recognized for their work until AFTER they died. Why?! And most of them also died penniless and it’s just so incredible to think that these people struggled until their death pursuing their passion and making nothing of it when I as person know the kind of mark that they’ve made in pop culture. As I’ve mentioned in recent posts I’ve not too long finished reading Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald, which follows the highs and lows of Zelda’s relationship with famed author F. Scott Fitzgerald. A lot of the book was centered around Scott’s manic obsession with being the best writer in the world and solidifying his mark in American literature and then he never got to see what kind of impact he made. The Great Gatsby is his most notable work and it has been made into two movies and his novel is read by high school and college students every year. These true creative minds will never see how they made a way for future writers and that they truly became literary icons.

Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald

I sit here thinking about what I’ve just read. Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Anne Fowler explores the tumultuous life of Zelda Fitzgerald and her often times toxic relationship with world renowned literary genius, F. Scott Fitzgerald. As much as this novel is about Zelda, Fowler also gives us a poignant look at the kind of person Scott probably was, which I have to say is not very appealing. I know this is a fiction novel, but it is based on two historical figures and historical events so some of it has to have a measure of truth to it. This couple embodied what life was like in the Roaring 20s. Scott himself coined the term Jazz Age, and Zelda was one of the first flappers.*  As you read on though you begin to see their relationship disintegrate and more often than not I felt my heart go out to Zelda. In a lot of ways Scott was manipulative, jealous of her success, controlling, and condescending. He was also a huge alcoholic, which didn’t help the situation. All Zelda wanted to do was be her own person, but by society’s standards it was nearly impossible. She was quite a writer herself and contributed many diary entries to a lot of Scott’s work and had things published on her own but she was always told that her work would sell better under Scott’s name, under her husband’s name. She was struggling to find her own identity, but I have to say that there were also times that I sympathized with Scott. He was an up and coming writer who was looking to make a mark in American Literature and it was a hard, bumpy road. To me, as I was reading this book it seemed like Scott and Zelda were both toxic to each other. I found them to both be obsessive and passionate people who liked to push their limits. Scott was obsessive when it came to his writing. He lived for it. There was something in the book where he says without his writing he doesn’t exist and I believe that’s a very strong statement. Zelda, on the other hand, also had an obsessive nature especially when it came to ballet. She worked herself into exhaustion, dancing hours a day to meet perfection. Dancing partly destroyed her, and I think it all became too much on top of everything else. I believe that Fowler did an astounding job at capturing the essence of these historical literary figures. Even though some of the book is falsified it took a great amount of effort and research to make this story come to life. Scott and Zelda were both larger than life and wanted nothing more than to be remembered.

“There are so many ways to be a writer, but I felt I understood writers in general, inasmuch as I think writers can be understood. We all have something to say and we require the written word–as opposed to musical instruments, or pain, ore canvas, or clay, or marble, or what have you–to say it. Not all writers want to be profound (though an awful lot of them do); some want to entertain, some want to inform, some are trying to provoke the most basic, universal feelings using a minimum of words.”~Zelda Fitzgerald, Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald*

Endnotes

*flapper: (in the 1920s) a fashionable young woman intent on enjoying herself and flouting conventional standards of behavior

*This excerpt from the novel really spoke to my soul because I feel as a writer this hit the nail on the head. Oftentimes writers are looking to make a mark, a difference with their writing. Writing is the only thing that soothes us. That’s why I could empathize with Scott on that level as a writer myself. I see my writing as a way to heal others.

1-800-273-8255 by Logic ft. Alessia Cara and Khalid

Talk about a powerful message. For anyone who has ever suffered from anxiety or depression and has contemplated suicide please go and listen to this song. This is what I mean when I talk about artists using their gift as a platform to bring light to an important issue. Logic, who I honestly had never heard of until he performed this song at the 2017 MTV Video Music Awards, has shone a light on mental health issues that the mainstream media would rather sweep under the carpet. Logic cleverly named this song after the Suicide Prevention hotline number and I’m sure this song has helped save so many lives so far. I can relate to this song on so many levels with me being someone who has suffered from depression and anxiety. I know I’m not alone. I have two absolute favorite lines in the whole song that resonate with me. The first one is by Logic when he says, “I never had a place to call my own I never had a home / Ain’t nobody callin’ my phone / Where you been? Where you at? What’s on your mind? / They say every life precious but nobody care about mine.” I’ve been there when you just get to the point of your depression and think that nobody cares about you because they haven’t picked up the phone to check on you, so you have to ask yourself why does it matter if you’re around or not. Also, when it comes to depression it can be so easy to isolate yourself and you may believe that no one cares about you but how would you know if no one cares if you’re isolating yourself. That’s one of the worse things you could possibly do. I still do it at times though because it can be so tempting to keep to yourself and wallow in self-pity. The other line I love is sung by Alessia Cara. It goes like this, “It’s the very first breath / When your head’s been drowning underwater.” She describes the feeling you get after getting the help that you need. I’ve never had to call the suicide hotline but I can imagine that it’s an incredible feeling, like a weight lifted off of your shoulders when you reach out for help and you get it. It’s like the first step to getting better. A song like this needs to be heard because a lot of people suffer from depression that you may not even know including celebrities and everyday normal people. People suffer from it more than you may think. The following article explains why this song is incredibly important and what it has meant to people.

http://www.refinery29.com/2017/08/170115/vmas-kesha-speech-logic-performance-suicide-hotline

My poetry

I was inspired tonight because I’m going through some personal issues so I decided to write out my feelings.

Mind and Body

I see myself doing these things
Lost without a thought
Sabotaging my own body
And sanity too
What did Paul once say?
The body is at war with itself
Flesh against spirit
It’s a hard battle to win
Unless you sacrifice yourself
*If you want to check out more of my poetry you can peruse it here: https://allpoetry.com/Consuela_Perry