I wish I knew how to say no. Period. No lengthy explanations, no flowery apologies, just no. I am working on this.
Saying no and not feeling guilty for it. Saying no and not apologizing.
See what I did there? I’m rationalizing why I should say no.
No. No. No.
I have been writing again, this time just for me. I found an old journal I kept during a mission trip to the Dominican Republic when I was in college. That trip was extremely difficult for me and the theme running rampant page after page was how useless I felt. I barely spoke two words of Spanish and I never pinpointed exactly how I was supposed to be helping. Even years later, reading the pain behind the scrawled words made me squirm in my seat. And I was so angry back then as well. For various reasons. Writing was more than therapeutic, it was necessary. And I’ve forgotten that in my quest to be this blogger who rarely blogs.
So I am writing again, just for me. I have been writing things that may never be posted on the internet and it transports me back to the days before social media when it was just me and my notebook. I miss those simple times.
Lately I’ve had this overwhelming desire to write short stories. They aren’t really my thing, I like drawn out plots and character development. Short stories are super hard. You have limited time to introduce the character to your reader and somehow with very little information, create a story that is interesting and makes sense. Some people are great at this, I am not. Its also a lot of fun, even if everything is pretty much crap at this time.
I finally dusted off my manuscript and read through a few pages. I hated every bit of it and I panicked at the thought of starting from scratch. Ugh.
Then I reached out to one of my favorite e-friends who I met at the Blogging While Brown conference and she reassured me, this was normal. You hate it, work on it some more until maybe, just maybe you like it enough to submit it for public
I’ve been going to my parent’s home a lot more. I thought when I moved back the NY area, it would bring us closer.
Nevertheless I make myself available for family functions because despite their flaws (and mine) I love them. There was a time when they were all I had, it was us against the world.
I remember having a fight with one of my childhood friends in front of our first floor window.
My father was sitting on the couch next to the window watching us play.
He yelled out, “Sa gin la?” (What’s going on?)
“She’s bothering me!” I pointed at my friend, like a petulant child.
“Then come inside.”
I joined him and glared at my friend alongside my father. For a brief moment, it was us against the world.