If you summon your courage to challenge something, you'll never regret it. How sad it would be to spend your life wishing, "If only I had a little more courage." Whatever the outcome, the important thing is to take a step forward on the path that you believe is right. There's no need to worry about what others may think. It's your life, after all. Be true to yourself! ~~ Nichiren Daishonin
When I embarked upon my writing journey almost a year ago, I never imagined the road I would end up on once my book was published. Hell, I didn't even think about publishing it until after it was done and then I didn't think anyone would read it much less get people talking about it.
So much has happened since I blindly and naively sat down at my computer to write "Sinner's Ride". I've met some really wonderful, diverse and interesting people -- artists in their own right. I've had the opportunity to work with sincere, intelligent and talented individuals. I have been fortunate enough to enhance my inner circle of friends. I am deeply appreciative of all their comments, support and consideration. It has been a helluva ride!
With that said, I also have to admit that I've had to face some challenges; some of them inner challenges. And, I think I am a better person for it. I've learned to let go of some of the baggage from my past. I've learned to look at things differently, more positively and I've learned patience.
I have been off from work all week due to law mandated construction work in my kitchen. I thought I would spend this time working on my WIP while the construction workers banged away. Since there were some other personal things I had to get done, I scheduled those appointments. But, that's not my problem.
When I began to think about my next project, I challenged myself to write a more complex tale and I put the onus on myself to write a better, fuller, more intense story than "Sinner's Ride." I had a good idea of what I wanted to write about and I thought I knew how the story would go, but I soon learned that was not going to be the case. This story was going to demand the right to take on a life of its own. I was merely a vehicle through which this story would develop and flow. So, I wrote my first and second chapters and then the third. When I went back to review/edit what I already had down, I didn't like it so I chucked it and started all over again. I had even sent the older version to my publisher. But. this new piece I liked much better. I then discovered that it would be a struggle to write specific plot lines for certain characters and I couldn't understand why. So I called a friend.
You see, I'm anal. Some would say "just write and go back to the areas where you have trouble later." I couldn't conceivably do that because the characters wouldn't let me. So I called my friend night after night after night. We talked about different scenarios and we tossed around ideas and we even came up with an idea for another story all together. But at the end of the day, it wasn't his problem. I had to figure out where my challenge was and why it was so difficult for me to write for these particular characters.
The quote above very nicely wraps up this issue for me. I thought about giving up on this story and going back to my UF WIP, because that truly is when I started writing. But I'm not a quitter. If I give up on this story, then I won't evolve from what is holding me back. This story is proving to be a challenge for me because of noise in my own head and due to all of that ruckus, the words are slow in coming. I've had to stop and listen and try to make some sense of that noise and then let it die out.
My friend is very spiritual. He sees messages from the universe in all challenges. Maybe he's right. Frankly, I think he may very well be. I, for one, believe that we are always exactly where we are supposed to be. I don't ever want to say "If only I had a little more courage." However, this I know for certain: I might fail; this book may not be read by anyone except maybe my friends and family members whose throat I shove it down. But I won't quit.
I am secure in knowing I won't be saying "If only I had more courage". I believe that this story for one, and my writing overall, is the right path for me. I'm sure I'm not going to regret it, whatever the outcome.
~~ML
The Romance Reviews
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Sunday, September 11, 2011
9/11/01 - 9/11/11
I write this against the backdrop of bells tolling for those we lost on 9/11/01. I don't think there is a soul alive who doesn't remember exactly what they were doing on that day. It is a day that will act as a marker in the lives of many.
When the North Tower was struck, my daughter was five and a half months pregnant. At the time, she worked at Penn Plaza, which sits over Penn Station. She sat in her office on the 34th floor, surrounded by windows. I was standing on the elevated platform of the 4 train at Fordham Road when my cellphone rang. It was my daughter calling and she was hysterical saying that a "drunken pilot flew into the WTC". I only half believed her, I mean really? Is that even possible? It seemed too farfetched to me. There had to be some other explanation for what she was describing.
My train pulled into the station, so I hung up promising to call her back when I got into my office. By the time I arrived 45 minutes later, the South Tower had been struck. As soon as I reached my desk, I called my daughter and was talking with her when it was announced that her building was to be evacuated. She was in a panic because she was on the 34th floor and she believed that NYC landmarks were being targeted. She was afraid she wouldn't make it out.
I had just started working at the law firm I was working at just 3 months earlier, but I decided to leave the office thinking that if my daughter was right, I wanted to be with her. With that thought in mind, I headed out of my office on 57th Street and Madison Avenue to find her. At the time, my cellphone provider was Verizon, hers was Sprint. I hopped into a cab knowing that I would probably not be able to ride over to her location, but I also knew the driver would take me as far as he was allowed to go. I figured I would walk the rest of the way. In the cab, I tried calling my daughter, but could not get through. I called my grandson's father who at the time was working in Westchester County and told him what was going on. The cab driver got me as far West as he could and upon exiting his cab, I walked against the crowd to find my daughter. I continued trying to reach her on her cellphone, but couldn't. The closer I got to her office, the thicker the crowds became. I fought against those walking in my direction to find her. Two blocks away from her office, I was stopped by the police and was told I couldn't go any further.
To my right was an Irish Pub. People were spilling out of it. I spotted Kiernan, my daughter's co-worker. He was in a daze watching the unfolding events on the television screen just inside the threshold of the bar. I broke through the crowd and upon reaching him, touched his elbow, not knowing what to expect. He gave me a hug and I could feel him trembling. I pulled away and looked at him silently. He halfway turned and pointed at a bar stool. I looked over and there was my daughter staring at the screen. I think she was crying; I can't remember. I scooped her up and we embraced. I know I cried on her shoulder. We pulled apart to look at the screen just as the two towers disappeared in a horrendouse mushroom cloud. I grabbed her by the hand, pulled Kiernan along and headed to Friday's (a restaurant) in order to gather ourselves. My daughter needed to eat, and while she did, I called Dayne's father, my ex-husband in Puerto Rico, my parents and then passed my phone to Kiernan so he could call his elderly mom in Ireland. Afterward, we headed out and once we were away from the crowds, Kiernan headed toward Queens and my daughter and I began our trek.
We ended up walking to the Bronx border, jumping into a cab the rest of the way home as soon as we stepped foot in the Bronx. The whole time we walked away from Manhattan, I never lost my cellphone service. People in the street walked around in a daze. When we stopped to rest, I would offer my phone to strangers so they could call family members. It wasn't until the next day that it hit me -- people were making international calls on my cellphone. I was sure to get a huge cellphone bill, but knowing that I was able to help people, even in this small way, made it all worthwhile to me. I was never charged for those calls. Thank you Verizon.
Two months later, Dayne was born 8 weeks early. I knew all along my daughter was having a boy, but my first thought when he was born was of the Vietnamese War and the draft. I thought we would go into a long war and the draft would be re-instated. How weird is that? The love of my life will be 10 years old in November.
My most haunting image of this day is the one of people jumping to their deaths from their office windows. Just the previous April, I had been on my first trip to Las Vegas. My then employer treated my team and I to a trip there as a reward for a job well done; allowing all members of the team to bring a guest. I didn't bring anyone because it would be a working vacation for me. I was the department head's secretary and he is a workaholic. We were putting together a trip to Singapore. I knew I would be working all hours during my stay due to the time difference. I knew I would be spending the bulk of my time arranging meetings with his colleagues overseas and other people he planned to meet with.
Phyllis, my co-worker, brought her daughter, Laura Gilly. Laura was an international flight attendant for the now defunct Tower Air Lines. She travelled all over Europe, Saudi Arabia and Asia. She absolutely loved her job. Phyllis worried about her constantly. She wanted Laura to give up flying and take a job on the ground because she thought she would be safer. While in Vegas, Laura and I would hang out, and though she loved to party, I stayed sober in case I had to go back to my suite to work.
A month before the September 11 attacks Laura took a job with Cantor Fitzgerald. She died a grisly death in the attacks. For years afterward, on every anniversary, I would watch the roll call until I heard her name. In the earlier anniversaries, I would cry for hours afterward, but this year, I turned it off after I heard her name.
I feel for all that we lost that day, especially those left behind. You can't help but relive that day on the day of the anniversary. The anguish I still see in the faces of those people is like a knife through my heart. Remembering all those lost souls is a good way to honor them, but an even better way is to go on living, helping and loving one another. It is our obligation to truthfully pass on the story of how we came together as human beings looking after one another in the face of adversity. What a beautiful legacy for the children that will come after us!
To all first responders: firemen, police, EMS and court officers who ran into both towers as people ran out, you gave your lives so others can live -- a heartfelt thank you!
To all those who worked at Ground Zero for so many months recovering body parts and momentos of lives wasted and clearing away debris: we know a lot of you are now paying with your health due to your sacrifice. Thank you does not seem nearly adequate enough to express the gratitude we all feel.
To our military, the men and women who fought and also sacrificed their lives for our freedom and safety, finally bringing down Osama Bin Laden: This country owes you a huge debt of gratitude. Thank you!
NEVER FORGET
~~ML
When the North Tower was struck, my daughter was five and a half months pregnant. At the time, she worked at Penn Plaza, which sits over Penn Station. She sat in her office on the 34th floor, surrounded by windows. I was standing on the elevated platform of the 4 train at Fordham Road when my cellphone rang. It was my daughter calling and she was hysterical saying that a "drunken pilot flew into the WTC". I only half believed her, I mean really? Is that even possible? It seemed too farfetched to me. There had to be some other explanation for what she was describing.
My train pulled into the station, so I hung up promising to call her back when I got into my office. By the time I arrived 45 minutes later, the South Tower had been struck. As soon as I reached my desk, I called my daughter and was talking with her when it was announced that her building was to be evacuated. She was in a panic because she was on the 34th floor and she believed that NYC landmarks were being targeted. She was afraid she wouldn't make it out.
I had just started working at the law firm I was working at just 3 months earlier, but I decided to leave the office thinking that if my daughter was right, I wanted to be with her. With that thought in mind, I headed out of my office on 57th Street and Madison Avenue to find her. At the time, my cellphone provider was Verizon, hers was Sprint. I hopped into a cab knowing that I would probably not be able to ride over to her location, but I also knew the driver would take me as far as he was allowed to go. I figured I would walk the rest of the way. In the cab, I tried calling my daughter, but could not get through. I called my grandson's father who at the time was working in Westchester County and told him what was going on. The cab driver got me as far West as he could and upon exiting his cab, I walked against the crowd to find my daughter. I continued trying to reach her on her cellphone, but couldn't. The closer I got to her office, the thicker the crowds became. I fought against those walking in my direction to find her. Two blocks away from her office, I was stopped by the police and was told I couldn't go any further.
To my right was an Irish Pub. People were spilling out of it. I spotted Kiernan, my daughter's co-worker. He was in a daze watching the unfolding events on the television screen just inside the threshold of the bar. I broke through the crowd and upon reaching him, touched his elbow, not knowing what to expect. He gave me a hug and I could feel him trembling. I pulled away and looked at him silently. He halfway turned and pointed at a bar stool. I looked over and there was my daughter staring at the screen. I think she was crying; I can't remember. I scooped her up and we embraced. I know I cried on her shoulder. We pulled apart to look at the screen just as the two towers disappeared in a horrendouse mushroom cloud. I grabbed her by the hand, pulled Kiernan along and headed to Friday's (a restaurant) in order to gather ourselves. My daughter needed to eat, and while she did, I called Dayne's father, my ex-husband in Puerto Rico, my parents and then passed my phone to Kiernan so he could call his elderly mom in Ireland. Afterward, we headed out and once we were away from the crowds, Kiernan headed toward Queens and my daughter and I began our trek.
We ended up walking to the Bronx border, jumping into a cab the rest of the way home as soon as we stepped foot in the Bronx. The whole time we walked away from Manhattan, I never lost my cellphone service. People in the street walked around in a daze. When we stopped to rest, I would offer my phone to strangers so they could call family members. It wasn't until the next day that it hit me -- people were making international calls on my cellphone. I was sure to get a huge cellphone bill, but knowing that I was able to help people, even in this small way, made it all worthwhile to me. I was never charged for those calls. Thank you Verizon.
Two months later, Dayne was born 8 weeks early. I knew all along my daughter was having a boy, but my first thought when he was born was of the Vietnamese War and the draft. I thought we would go into a long war and the draft would be re-instated. How weird is that? The love of my life will be 10 years old in November.
My most haunting image of this day is the one of people jumping to their deaths from their office windows. Just the previous April, I had been on my first trip to Las Vegas. My then employer treated my team and I to a trip there as a reward for a job well done; allowing all members of the team to bring a guest. I didn't bring anyone because it would be a working vacation for me. I was the department head's secretary and he is a workaholic. We were putting together a trip to Singapore. I knew I would be working all hours during my stay due to the time difference. I knew I would be spending the bulk of my time arranging meetings with his colleagues overseas and other people he planned to meet with.
Phyllis, my co-worker, brought her daughter, Laura Gilly. Laura was an international flight attendant for the now defunct Tower Air Lines. She travelled all over Europe, Saudi Arabia and Asia. She absolutely loved her job. Phyllis worried about her constantly. She wanted Laura to give up flying and take a job on the ground because she thought she would be safer. While in Vegas, Laura and I would hang out, and though she loved to party, I stayed sober in case I had to go back to my suite to work.
A month before the September 11 attacks Laura took a job with Cantor Fitzgerald. She died a grisly death in the attacks. For years afterward, on every anniversary, I would watch the roll call until I heard her name. In the earlier anniversaries, I would cry for hours afterward, but this year, I turned it off after I heard her name.
I feel for all that we lost that day, especially those left behind. You can't help but relive that day on the day of the anniversary. The anguish I still see in the faces of those people is like a knife through my heart. Remembering all those lost souls is a good way to honor them, but an even better way is to go on living, helping and loving one another. It is our obligation to truthfully pass on the story of how we came together as human beings looking after one another in the face of adversity. What a beautiful legacy for the children that will come after us!
To all first responders: firemen, police, EMS and court officers who ran into both towers as people ran out, you gave your lives so others can live -- a heartfelt thank you!
To all those who worked at Ground Zero for so many months recovering body parts and momentos of lives wasted and clearing away debris: we know a lot of you are now paying with your health due to your sacrifice. Thank you does not seem nearly adequate enough to express the gratitude we all feel.
To our military, the men and women who fought and also sacrificed their lives for our freedom and safety, finally bringing down Osama Bin Laden: This country owes you a huge debt of gratitude. Thank you!
NEVER FORGET
~~ML
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
I Confess....
I can't color within the lines. I don't know how!! I have ADD. Right now, I can't focus and I think I've figured out why that is. I. Don't. Like. Feeling. Boxed. In. Man, I've tried. I really have, but I've come to the conclusion that I just can not do it. It's too inhibiting and it makes me crazy.
There! I've released it! You must be wondering what the hell I'm talking about. I'm talking about many things ... of course!!
First off, I am supposed to be working. I am physically in my office. Up to about a moment ago, my fingers were flying over the numeric keyboard calculating what was owed by my clients while I simultaneously compiled a list of names of people I need to call in order to collect outstanding invoices in anticipation of my firm's fiscal year end. However, my mind keeps wandering. I'm antsy and if I didn't know any better, I would accuse one of my characters of demonically possesing me!
I've learned something new about myself though I just CAN NOT focus on mundane things; particularly when I am in the middle of creating a story. I had this very same experience when I was writing Sinner's Ride. I was up at 4 a.m. this morning writing down notes for an hour and a half, then went back to bed and fell asleep. I woke up again at 7 a.m. -- late!!! So, now I had to skip breakfast and rush to work only to be almost a half hour late because of a train delay. At lunchtime, I ran around in the hot, sticky, muggy streets of NYC to gather up the last few items I promised my daughter I would get for my grandson for his first day of school tomorrow. And now, with just an hour and 15 minutes left to my work day, I've just received the latest batch of invoices to send out to clients. Ask me if I care enough to get them out? I'll do it first thing tomorrow.... Procrastination has set in.
This situation is so bad, that now, my working title for this story, "Standing on the Precipice" no longer fits and the cover I envisioned will not do! Yes, I did plot it, but even with all the work I put into plotting this story, it has evolved so much so that the original plot barely resembles anything like the direction this story is taking. I plan to continue to refer to this story as "Standing on the Precipice" but I am 99.9% certain that this story will be titled differently when it is published.
This is what I am doing with this story: I write a chapter, then I sleep on it. The next day, I will go back to it and edit it, then write the next chapter and walk away from that. A day later, I will revisit it and re-read the whole thing and then edit whatever needs editing. When I went back to my current WIP after the second chapter, I ended up writing and inserting a new first chapter and got all worked up again.
Then, when I wrote the third chapter, I chucked it after sleeping on it and started it anew. Though I am much happier with what I have so far, this is how the story morphed into something else completely! I'm not going to fight it any more. I've never been good at conventionality. I have always been a non-conformist, so, I'm just going to go with the flow and let the story write itself!
The problem with writing in this manner is that when I take a break, I will often come up with ideas for new stories borne of conversations with people or documentaries (I love documentaries!) that I may watch. Sometimes, even something silly and mundane might happen and it will inspire a new story. As a matter of fact, I've got this idea for a story. It came to me when I wondered about something while watching a documentary on TLC about dinosaurs......
The interesting thing about this new me is that it makes me think crazy thoughts. About a week ago, I was talking with a friend and I told him that I was afraid of drying up. He made a face and said: "Woman! You're not going to dry up! Your mind is always going!" I looked at him and seeing as he was convinced of what he was saying, I was convinced as well! Nah! I won't dry up! That's just not going to happen! LOL!!
Hmmmm.....about that idea; the one about the dinosaurs? What if.........
~~ML
There! I've released it! You must be wondering what the hell I'm talking about. I'm talking about many things ... of course!!
First off, I am supposed to be working. I am physically in my office. Up to about a moment ago, my fingers were flying over the numeric keyboard calculating what was owed by my clients while I simultaneously compiled a list of names of people I need to call in order to collect outstanding invoices in anticipation of my firm's fiscal year end. However, my mind keeps wandering. I'm antsy and if I didn't know any better, I would accuse one of my characters of demonically possesing me!
I've learned something new about myself though I just CAN NOT focus on mundane things; particularly when I am in the middle of creating a story. I had this very same experience when I was writing Sinner's Ride. I was up at 4 a.m. this morning writing down notes for an hour and a half, then went back to bed and fell asleep. I woke up again at 7 a.m. -- late!!! So, now I had to skip breakfast and rush to work only to be almost a half hour late because of a train delay. At lunchtime, I ran around in the hot, sticky, muggy streets of NYC to gather up the last few items I promised my daughter I would get for my grandson for his first day of school tomorrow. And now, with just an hour and 15 minutes left to my work day, I've just received the latest batch of invoices to send out to clients. Ask me if I care enough to get them out? I'll do it first thing tomorrow.... Procrastination has set in.
This situation is so bad, that now, my working title for this story, "Standing on the Precipice" no longer fits and the cover I envisioned will not do! Yes, I did plot it, but even with all the work I put into plotting this story, it has evolved so much so that the original plot barely resembles anything like the direction this story is taking. I plan to continue to refer to this story as "Standing on the Precipice" but I am 99.9% certain that this story will be titled differently when it is published.
This is what I am doing with this story: I write a chapter, then I sleep on it. The next day, I will go back to it and edit it, then write the next chapter and walk away from that. A day later, I will revisit it and re-read the whole thing and then edit whatever needs editing. When I went back to my current WIP after the second chapter, I ended up writing and inserting a new first chapter and got all worked up again.
Then, when I wrote the third chapter, I chucked it after sleeping on it and started it anew. Though I am much happier with what I have so far, this is how the story morphed into something else completely! I'm not going to fight it any more. I've never been good at conventionality. I have always been a non-conformist, so, I'm just going to go with the flow and let the story write itself!
The problem with writing in this manner is that when I take a break, I will often come up with ideas for new stories borne of conversations with people or documentaries (I love documentaries!) that I may watch. Sometimes, even something silly and mundane might happen and it will inspire a new story. As a matter of fact, I've got this idea for a story. It came to me when I wondered about something while watching a documentary on TLC about dinosaurs......
The interesting thing about this new me is that it makes me think crazy thoughts. About a week ago, I was talking with a friend and I told him that I was afraid of drying up. He made a face and said: "Woman! You're not going to dry up! Your mind is always going!" I looked at him and seeing as he was convinced of what he was saying, I was convinced as well! Nah! I won't dry up! That's just not going to happen! LOL!!
Hmmmm.....about that idea; the one about the dinosaurs? What if.........
~~ML
Friday, September 2, 2011
End of Summer
Hello people,
Sinner here. This weekend is Labor Day Weekend in the States. This is the holiday that marks the beginning of the end of summer with barbeques and the final days in which the beaches are open to the public. Schools will re-open soon and people will be back on their regular routines. I thought this would be a good time for me to pop in and say hello while Minnie was away and chat a bit with you all f'or a bit.
I want to start by saying I hope you all had a nice summer. I worked really hard this summer on getting better. Oops! Have you all read my story? No? Why not? It's available right here!
Anyway, I have been working hard at getting better and I have made a lot of progress. As a matter of fact, there are things that I've realized about my reality and as part of my healing process, I think I want to share those things with you all. You know, a cleansing of the soul and all that? So, Minnie and I have been discussing the possibility of sharing that part of my story with you. Stay tuned for further information. Just thinking about all that's happened has my mind all jumbled again, so I'm going to have to take a step back again, and figure things out.
Oh, and just so you know, Minnie's got a lot on her plate right now. Things are going to heat up at work and she has put pressure on herself to get cracking on her next story...which by the way, she has not included me in! Frankly, I'm appalled, but I get it and I forgive her. So, remember, when she gets crazy, she tends to disappear for a bit to do what she has to do. Be kind to her when she returns from those "Minnie" vacations. She truly is very grateful for all her followers. In fact, she's honored and that's why she goes off on her own for stretches of time. She's wants to offer you the best work she possibly can and she's working hard at creating stories for you that you will enjoy.
So, with that said, I'm going to go back now. But before I go, I want you all to know that I also appreciate all of your support. Thank you, for if it weren't for you, I/we wouldn't be here!! Thanks for visiting and come back soon!
If you're here in the States, then have a great weekend and be safe. If you're elsewhere, I hope you enjoy the weekend as well!
Good night all!!
~~Sinner
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Earthquakes and Hurricanes
The last few days have been very hectic -- hell the whole week was. During my lunch hour on Tuesday, while shopping at Sephora in Times Square, to quote Carole King, I felt the earth move under my feet. Unfortunately, it wasn't a man. (Am snapping fingers) :) I actually thought it was the subway that runs underground right where I was standing rumbling through the undeground tunnels. It wasn't. It was the tremors of the aftershock of an earthquake in Virginia.
Unfazed and totally unaware, I walked back to my office and as I approached the turnstyle to the elevator, a young attorney who was one of my assignments at our old location urged me not to go upstairs. He's always kidding around and I didn't believe him. He just kept saying it wasn't safe. I looked over at the security desk in the lobby and no one looked panicked or even in the least bit stressed. I chuckled and got on the elevator, ignoring him. When I reached my floor, I got off, waved my card before the card reader and swung open the heavy glass doors walking through them and heading in the direction of my desk. I walked passed the large, glass enclosed conference rooms and as I turned the corner, I could hear urgent chattering. It's an office filled with women, and I paid it little mind, till I reached an attorney who sits near me and asked her what was going on. She told me all about it. Stunned I walked to my desk and im'ed with my daughter. She was confused as well, so she called me, saying she did feel it and wanted to make sure I was ok. Reassured I was, she hung up to check on Dayne who was at the pool with his day camp. Obviously, he was ok.
A few days later, a hurricane watch for Hurricane Irene was announced. It was barreling down on the East Coast and heading right our way. I spent the rest of the week preparing: stocking up my refrigerator, making sure I had everything I needed for both Bosco and I. By Friday, I was exhausted. I showered then sat down to watch a little TV, but crashed on the couch. I awoke to Bosco's loud purring and the weight of him trying to get comfortable on my chest at 1 a.m. So I got up, shut everything down and went to bed.
Almost immediately I fell into a deep sleep having two successive weird dreams. First, I dreamt I was on Park Avenue, turning to go up the hill to Mount Sinai Hospital. Why was I heading to the hospital? I don't know; I wasn't hurt. I was just strolling. That whole area holds many, many mixed memories for me. I used to hang out just up the block from there with my ex-husband and friends. We regularly held block parties on that block and I always cooked. I used to get requests for certain dishes. My daughter was born at Mount Sinai. But there are also lots of bad things I experienced in that general area. So, I'm walking up the block, and who do I see but Christopher Meloni, the guy who plays Elliot Stabler in the SVU series of the Law and Order franchise! Yep. Not only that, though that is who I see, in my mind, I recognized him as my girlfriend, Johanna's dad! It gets better. I'm even addressing him by the name of an attorney in my office! PLUS, he and his wife, who in my dream is really Johanna's mother, are walking these two, humongous, tan dogs. And, to top it all off -- I was having perception problems. I felt like I would faint at any moment and worried about the pain I would feel once I hit the ground if I fainted.
3 a.m. I awoke with a pounding headache. I got out of bed, got some water, and crawled back in, falling asleep again quickly. (Did I sleepwalk??) This time I dreamt I was sitting in a fancy hotel bar that looked very much like the rooftop bar at 230 Fifth Avenue ... one of my favorite places to go to during summer evenings because it's so beautiful there. In this dream, it was extremely dark and I felt lost. I thought my daughter was there, I mean, I could sense her but I couldn't find her. I looked around the room, noticing that everything seemed -- I don't know -- wavy. My perception, again, was off. My eyelids began to feel heavy and I couldn't keep my eyes open. I had also begun to have a feeling of urgency to get to my daughter. I spotted her exiting the bar and rose to go in the direction she was heading. The closer I got, the further away she got. Did she even notice I was trying to get to her?
Finally, I'm out on the street, in the middle of the neighborhood where I was born, and though I recognized where I was, I couldn't get a grip on my bearings and my perception was now becoming multidimensional. My head was pounding, but I had to get to my daughter, and I had to keep my eyes open which was becoming harder and harder to do. I jumped in a car .. just some car with some people in it I didn't recognize. But I absolutely had to get to my daughter and that was the only way. My heart was pounding. I knew I was dreaming but I couldn't wake up. I don't know how, but when I finally did wake up, my head was pounding even more than it had been earlier.
It was 5 a.m. and too early to call my daughter. I hoped she, Dayne and her boyfriend, James were ok. I made a pot of coffee and drank some aspirin. About an hour and a half later my headache began to subside. I sat down to read tweets, email messages, blog posts and made a list of things I still needed to get in preparation for the storm. At 10:30 my daughter called. Phew!! She was checking on me. I told her my dreams. She started laughing, saying: "Ma! You dreamed what I was experiencing last night."
Apparently she had been at a Hookah Bar and it was very dark. Hookah Bars are popping up all over the place here in NY now. I haven't been to one, but it's on my to do list. She said she was feeling a little disoriented because of it, and didn't have a drink. I don't know if she used a hookah. Some of you may be wondering if I was in an altered state. Let me assure you, I did not drink last night. I find the whole experience somewhat surreal.
Now, I'm preparing for Hurricane Irene. I've got all the essentials and I'm wondering if it's really going to get that bad. Watching the news is unnerving. I've shut off the television set and I am hunkering down with my laptop and my imagination to write.
Back soon!
~~ML
Unfazed and totally unaware, I walked back to my office and as I approached the turnstyle to the elevator, a young attorney who was one of my assignments at our old location urged me not to go upstairs. He's always kidding around and I didn't believe him. He just kept saying it wasn't safe. I looked over at the security desk in the lobby and no one looked panicked or even in the least bit stressed. I chuckled and got on the elevator, ignoring him. When I reached my floor, I got off, waved my card before the card reader and swung open the heavy glass doors walking through them and heading in the direction of my desk. I walked passed the large, glass enclosed conference rooms and as I turned the corner, I could hear urgent chattering. It's an office filled with women, and I paid it little mind, till I reached an attorney who sits near me and asked her what was going on. She told me all about it. Stunned I walked to my desk and im'ed with my daughter. She was confused as well, so she called me, saying she did feel it and wanted to make sure I was ok. Reassured I was, she hung up to check on Dayne who was at the pool with his day camp. Obviously, he was ok.
A few days later, a hurricane watch for Hurricane Irene was announced. It was barreling down on the East Coast and heading right our way. I spent the rest of the week preparing: stocking up my refrigerator, making sure I had everything I needed for both Bosco and I. By Friday, I was exhausted. I showered then sat down to watch a little TV, but crashed on the couch. I awoke to Bosco's loud purring and the weight of him trying to get comfortable on my chest at 1 a.m. So I got up, shut everything down and went to bed.
Almost immediately I fell into a deep sleep having two successive weird dreams. First, I dreamt I was on Park Avenue, turning to go up the hill to Mount Sinai Hospital. Why was I heading to the hospital? I don't know; I wasn't hurt. I was just strolling. That whole area holds many, many mixed memories for me. I used to hang out just up the block from there with my ex-husband and friends. We regularly held block parties on that block and I always cooked. I used to get requests for certain dishes. My daughter was born at Mount Sinai. But there are also lots of bad things I experienced in that general area. So, I'm walking up the block, and who do I see but Christopher Meloni, the guy who plays Elliot Stabler in the SVU series of the Law and Order franchise! Yep. Not only that, though that is who I see, in my mind, I recognized him as my girlfriend, Johanna's dad! It gets better. I'm even addressing him by the name of an attorney in my office! PLUS, he and his wife, who in my dream is really Johanna's mother, are walking these two, humongous, tan dogs. And, to top it all off -- I was having perception problems. I felt like I would faint at any moment and worried about the pain I would feel once I hit the ground if I fainted.
3 a.m. I awoke with a pounding headache. I got out of bed, got some water, and crawled back in, falling asleep again quickly. (Did I sleepwalk??) This time I dreamt I was sitting in a fancy hotel bar that looked very much like the rooftop bar at 230 Fifth Avenue ... one of my favorite places to go to during summer evenings because it's so beautiful there. In this dream, it was extremely dark and I felt lost. I thought my daughter was there, I mean, I could sense her but I couldn't find her. I looked around the room, noticing that everything seemed -- I don't know -- wavy. My perception, again, was off. My eyelids began to feel heavy and I couldn't keep my eyes open. I had also begun to have a feeling of urgency to get to my daughter. I spotted her exiting the bar and rose to go in the direction she was heading. The closer I got, the further away she got. Did she even notice I was trying to get to her?
Finally, I'm out on the street, in the middle of the neighborhood where I was born, and though I recognized where I was, I couldn't get a grip on my bearings and my perception was now becoming multidimensional. My head was pounding, but I had to get to my daughter, and I had to keep my eyes open which was becoming harder and harder to do. I jumped in a car .. just some car with some people in it I didn't recognize. But I absolutely had to get to my daughter and that was the only way. My heart was pounding. I knew I was dreaming but I couldn't wake up. I don't know how, but when I finally did wake up, my head was pounding even more than it had been earlier.
It was 5 a.m. and too early to call my daughter. I hoped she, Dayne and her boyfriend, James were ok. I made a pot of coffee and drank some aspirin. About an hour and a half later my headache began to subside. I sat down to read tweets, email messages, blog posts and made a list of things I still needed to get in preparation for the storm. At 10:30 my daughter called. Phew!! She was checking on me. I told her my dreams. She started laughing, saying: "Ma! You dreamed what I was experiencing last night."
Apparently she had been at a Hookah Bar and it was very dark. Hookah Bars are popping up all over the place here in NY now. I haven't been to one, but it's on my to do list. She said she was feeling a little disoriented because of it, and didn't have a drink. I don't know if she used a hookah. Some of you may be wondering if I was in an altered state. Let me assure you, I did not drink last night. I find the whole experience somewhat surreal.
Now, I'm preparing for Hurricane Irene. I've got all the essentials and I'm wondering if it's really going to get that bad. Watching the news is unnerving. I've shut off the television set and I am hunkering down with my laptop and my imagination to write.
Back soon!
~~ML
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
My Next Project
I've begun working on my next project, a story I'm calling "Standing on the Precipice." (SotP) I'm not done plotting it, but already it has had several incarnations!
Originally, this story was going to focus on a woman -- a child of immigrants with fractured ideas regarding what her path in life ought to be. I thought I would write it much in the same way that I wrote "Sinner's Ride" (SR) -- stream of consciousness -- you know, just let it flow and let the characters tell the story. But that's not going to happen this time around. I've decided to do something different with this project. Although I had done some research for some of the scenes in SR, it wasn't as intense as the research I have been doing and will continue to do for SotP. (Here is a link to one entry on my blog over at my publisher's website, The Indie Author's Press for your perusal: http://www.salgado-reyes.com/forums/entry.php?127-Serial-Killers-Are-they-made-or-born While you're at it, please consider becoming a member. It really is a cool site!)
Another consideration I had to bear in mind was that I wrote SR during one short month last year as part of NaNoWriMo. I've decided not to participate this year as I anticipate demands at work that will not be conducive to writing the kind of story I want to write. Yes, I understand that I don't have to finish the story in 30 days - I just have to get in 50,000 words in that timeframe -- but I am anal that way. Seriously. Once I get my mind fixed on something, I have to finish it and I don't want to put myself under that kind of pressure because I don't perform well under those conditions. I want to really spend the time it takes to organize, create and become intimate with the characters of this story. As with SR, I want to grab a hold of my audience and not release them until the final scene is over.
So, with all of that in mind, I have began using The Marshall Plan (thank you Jorge :}), and for that reason, I believe this story will be much more organized. The idea is to feature three main characters as well as a villain -- all of their lives interwoven with one another and all as psychologically different from one another as possible. The story will incorporate surprising twists and turns including my now favorite thing to do -- which is to include at least one "shocker" event.
I expect this story will continue to change as it evolves, so I don't want to go into any further detail about it, lest I engender expectations that may either fall short or disappoint, but the intricacies of this story present a huge challenge for me and to those of you who know me, you know how I love a challenge!
If you like what you've read, leave a comment. Let me know what your thoughts are! I would LOVE to hear them!
~~ML
Originally, this story was going to focus on a woman -- a child of immigrants with fractured ideas regarding what her path in life ought to be. I thought I would write it much in the same way that I wrote "Sinner's Ride" (SR) -- stream of consciousness -- you know, just let it flow and let the characters tell the story. But that's not going to happen this time around. I've decided to do something different with this project. Although I had done some research for some of the scenes in SR, it wasn't as intense as the research I have been doing and will continue to do for SotP. (Here is a link to one entry on my blog over at my publisher's website, The Indie Author's Press for your perusal: http://www.salgado-reyes.com/forums/entry.php?127-Serial-Killers-Are-they-made-or-born While you're at it, please consider becoming a member. It really is a cool site!)
Another consideration I had to bear in mind was that I wrote SR during one short month last year as part of NaNoWriMo. I've decided not to participate this year as I anticipate demands at work that will not be conducive to writing the kind of story I want to write. Yes, I understand that I don't have to finish the story in 30 days - I just have to get in 50,000 words in that timeframe -- but I am anal that way. Seriously. Once I get my mind fixed on something, I have to finish it and I don't want to put myself under that kind of pressure because I don't perform well under those conditions. I want to really spend the time it takes to organize, create and become intimate with the characters of this story. As with SR, I want to grab a hold of my audience and not release them until the final scene is over.
So, with all of that in mind, I have began using The Marshall Plan (thank you Jorge :}), and for that reason, I believe this story will be much more organized. The idea is to feature three main characters as well as a villain -- all of their lives interwoven with one another and all as psychologically different from one another as possible. The story will incorporate surprising twists and turns including my now favorite thing to do -- which is to include at least one "shocker" event.
I expect this story will continue to change as it evolves, so I don't want to go into any further detail about it, lest I engender expectations that may either fall short or disappoint, but the intricacies of this story present a huge challenge for me and to those of you who know me, you know how I love a challenge!
If you like what you've read, leave a comment. Let me know what your thoughts are! I would LOVE to hear them!
~~ML
Sunday, August 7, 2011
"You probably from Spanish Harlem if...."
All I want to do is sleep. I've had only a few snatches of sleep since Thursday night. I spent a restless night stressing over my daughter, worrying about her pending surgery scheduled for Friday morning. Needless to say, everything went well. She's in a lot of pain but she's still herself enough to crack jokes.
I've been holed up at her place since Friday except for two hours yesterday when I went home to feed Bosco then left to return to make a Spanish stew for her -- SANCOCHO!! Sancocho is a traditional Puerto Rican stew made with green bananas, plantains and other vegetables, chunks of corn on the cob and either beef or pork chunks. It is sometimes served with avocado and white rice. I only made the stew; didn't make the rice and forgot to pick up an avocado. Still in all, it was DELICIOSO!!
Between naps, I picked up my blackberry to catch up intermittently on the latest on Twitter and Facebook. It was during one of those catch up sessions that I came across a page on Facebook called "You probably from Spanish Harlem if...." (http://www.facebook.com/groups/139130046173177/). I read some of the postings, looked at the pictures posted by some of the over 3,100 members taken over the years. I was thrown back to my childhood. People, (the famous Popcorn), places (La Marqueta) and things (Skellies, jelly shoes, click-clacks) that make up large portions of the story of my life.
With my daughter wincing in pain across from me, I read some of the postings to her and she began to relate some of her memories of being born (Mt. Sinai) and raised in Spanish Harlem herself. I requested membership and within a couple of hours I was accepted into this group that held the colorful threads of the fabric of my life.
Reading all those posts made me think about people long gone but not forgotten, events that were markers in my life and what the future holds for a neighborhood that I have a love/hate relationship with. The area where I grew up is now so gentrified it is unrecogniziable to me. Now, there are high rise buildings; expensive co-ops and all their trappings standing side by side with government run housing projects. I grew up in those housing projects and the tenement buildings before them. I wonder if hardworking people who came out of those very same housing projects would be readily accepted as tenants into any of those new high rise buildings? I doubt it. They/we are/were pre-judged as stupid drunkards who fought and had no aspirations. New inhabitants of my old neighborhood now pat themselves on their backs and talk about how cool it is that they live in Spanish Harlem. I would venture to say that they can now enjoy the history of that rich neighborhood because of what we and the people who came before me went through.
Indeed, as I mentioned, I left that neighborhood when my daughter was 13 years old. It was the early 90's and the crack cocaine phenomena had risen in my home town like a monster out of the cracks in the concrete that make up the sidewalk. The very same cracks that I jumped over playfully as a little girl chanting: "Step on the crack; you break your mother's back." Who wants to break their mother's back? Not I! But I digress...
When I left my old neighborhood, my daughter had just turned 13. I was a single mother working at the Waldorf=Astoria's Executive Office (I was the first person of color to work in the famed hotel's Executive Office) and I was living paycheck to paycheck. I didn't want her to get involved with the bullshit on the streets. Rather than go on vacations, which we didn't do, I would take her with me to work at the hotel, and introduce her to worldly clients; people who had money; people who had travelled the world, in the hopes that she could see that there was so much out there to experience. I believe this is why she is who she is today. Why she can crack jokes; why, even while in bad pain she can see that it's really not that serious. With the proceeds of part of a settlement with my ex-husband and my small savings, I bought a co-op in the West Bronx. I wanted to live someplace where there was a mix of people, but I didn't want to leave behind that gritty-ness you feel when you live in a place like Spanish (East) Harlem.
I am Puerto Rican -- yes, but more than that, I am a proud NuYorican from East Harlem -- SPANISH Harlem -- with all the juicy-ness that brings. If you want to know what it was like, how we made something out of nothing to accomplish our dreams, visit this page and see where my nostalagia is coming from. http://www.facebook.com/groups/139130046173177/
I will never stop dreaming dreams and accomplishing them.
~~ML
I've been holed up at her place since Friday except for two hours yesterday when I went home to feed Bosco then left to return to make a Spanish stew for her -- SANCOCHO!! Sancocho is a traditional Puerto Rican stew made with green bananas, plantains and other vegetables, chunks of corn on the cob and either beef or pork chunks. It is sometimes served with avocado and white rice. I only made the stew; didn't make the rice and forgot to pick up an avocado. Still in all, it was DELICIOSO!!
Between naps, I picked up my blackberry to catch up intermittently on the latest on Twitter and Facebook. It was during one of those catch up sessions that I came across a page on Facebook called "You probably from Spanish Harlem if...." (http://www.facebook.com/groups/139130046173177/). I read some of the postings, looked at the pictures posted by some of the over 3,100 members taken over the years. I was thrown back to my childhood. People, (the famous Popcorn), places (La Marqueta) and things (Skellies, jelly shoes, click-clacks) that make up large portions of the story of my life.
With my daughter wincing in pain across from me, I read some of the postings to her and she began to relate some of her memories of being born (Mt. Sinai) and raised in Spanish Harlem herself. I requested membership and within a couple of hours I was accepted into this group that held the colorful threads of the fabric of my life.
Reading all those posts made me think about people long gone but not forgotten, events that were markers in my life and what the future holds for a neighborhood that I have a love/hate relationship with. The area where I grew up is now so gentrified it is unrecogniziable to me. Now, there are high rise buildings; expensive co-ops and all their trappings standing side by side with government run housing projects. I grew up in those housing projects and the tenement buildings before them. I wonder if hardworking people who came out of those very same housing projects would be readily accepted as tenants into any of those new high rise buildings? I doubt it. They/we are/were pre-judged as stupid drunkards who fought and had no aspirations. New inhabitants of my old neighborhood now pat themselves on their backs and talk about how cool it is that they live in Spanish Harlem. I would venture to say that they can now enjoy the history of that rich neighborhood because of what we and the people who came before me went through.
Indeed, as I mentioned, I left that neighborhood when my daughter was 13 years old. It was the early 90's and the crack cocaine phenomena had risen in my home town like a monster out of the cracks in the concrete that make up the sidewalk. The very same cracks that I jumped over playfully as a little girl chanting: "Step on the crack; you break your mother's back." Who wants to break their mother's back? Not I! But I digress...
When I left my old neighborhood, my daughter had just turned 13. I was a single mother working at the Waldorf=Astoria's Executive Office (I was the first person of color to work in the famed hotel's Executive Office) and I was living paycheck to paycheck. I didn't want her to get involved with the bullshit on the streets. Rather than go on vacations, which we didn't do, I would take her with me to work at the hotel, and introduce her to worldly clients; people who had money; people who had travelled the world, in the hopes that she could see that there was so much out there to experience. I believe this is why she is who she is today. Why she can crack jokes; why, even while in bad pain she can see that it's really not that serious. With the proceeds of part of a settlement with my ex-husband and my small savings, I bought a co-op in the West Bronx. I wanted to live someplace where there was a mix of people, but I didn't want to leave behind that gritty-ness you feel when you live in a place like Spanish (East) Harlem.
I am Puerto Rican -- yes, but more than that, I am a proud NuYorican from East Harlem -- SPANISH Harlem -- with all the juicy-ness that brings. If you want to know what it was like, how we made something out of nothing to accomplish our dreams, visit this page and see where my nostalagia is coming from. http://www.facebook.com/groups/139130046173177/
I will never stop dreaming dreams and accomplishing them.
~~ML
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