I don’t write to be famous, I don’t write to be known, I write because I am and I want to be read. How sad to fill a room with paintings no one sees or play music no one hears. Writing is talking without sound, singing without score and dancing without movement and yet, it is all of them. It is a solitary art conjured from thought and expressed by the need to communicate.

HEAD SLAPS, SPEED BUMPS and LIGHTBULBS, one woman's WTF, oops and ah-ha moments of life.

They were published once, and as every writer knows, once is not enough.

Saturday, October 28, 2017

The sign of my times

Recently I was driving around with my 3 month old grandson. He was snoozing in his car seat. We do that sometimes on my one day with him. He needs a nap, I need quiet time and a chocolate shake from the drive-up window at McDs.

The car needed gas so I stopped at a station one town over. I got out, inserted my card in the slot, started to pump and looked around. It was a nice afternoon, flowers were still blooming at the farm stand across the street where a few cars pulled in, a couple of cars pulled out. There was a young guy pumping gas next to me. Nothing out of the ordinary at all. And then I saw something which, within a few seconds, shook me to my core, (in a good way).

But first, let me back up a bit.
After celebrating my recent birthday, and for some time leading up to it, I’ve been having a hard time dealing with aging. I don’t like the idea of getting old, and what that means: uncertainty, fear of suffering and dependence. A few years back after experiencing my parents’ switchover from driving cars to waterproof sheets, and eventual death, I saw my future. I didn’t like what I saw.

The primary ‘not-like’ of what lies ahead: will I live long enough for my grandchildren to remember me? I’m on the old-side of grand-parenting and they are all so young. (Oldest is three) I want them to know how much they mean to me. I want them to remember how much fun I am/was. By the time they start storing memories of me I will be really old and maybe not as limber as I am now. And the stupid part…right now I’m healthy and life is pretty damn good. But I dwell easily on the dark side of the unknown. Not good.

Anyway, I’m standing next to my car, my grandson is napping and while I’m pumping I look up at a sign, high on a pole next to the road, just below the big Exxon sign. Nothing fancy about it, typical marketing statement by a big company. Black background with simple white lettering.


It was as if a cool breeze rose from the field of flowers across the street to lighten my heavy heart.

It was an epiphany.

I read the sign out loud.

The guy at the pump next to me gave me one of those looks.

Right then, at that moment, on the spot, the difficulties and angst of the past, I realized are simply that, past. Finding jobs, finding love, a home, having children, raising them, helping them on their way, done. Though relationships with kids are certainly ongoing, like I said, they are done.

What’s right-now and the future looks pretty good. Don’t worry so much, don’t fret, don’t dwell…


Thursday, September 28, 2017

Full speed ahead to an abrupt stop

Hear that sound?

It’s screeching wheels on pavement struggling to stop before a collision. That’s me coming dangerously close to a full on crash. My story, my BIG story has me teetering on the edge of lawyer vs. lawyer, time vs. deadline, memory vs. does anybody really care?

Do I use real names?
Do I speculate without proof?
Do I expand and interview and back up sources?
Do I delve?
And then what?

Do I throw out a short 2500 words as bait?
And if I do, where do I cast my line?
NYT, Huff Post, The Atlantic, The New Yorker, it certainly is (human interest) and nationally interesting but…I'm not a staff writer.
Hartford Courant, The Day, The New Haven Register?
Do I stay local?
Do I stay home?
Do I keep it here only?

How deep do I want to go, do I want to relive it?
My head is spinning.
What to do, what to do.

With what’s going on in the world and in this nation am I so na├»ve as to believe what happened to us is relevant?
It's (just) a story. It's (just) about an out of the blue,  magical rescue involving a company too big to fail... until it did. It's about the dream we all have when we put a dollar down to buy a lottery ticket.
Did our dollar exceed the reward or were we lucky. Luck had everything and nothing to do with it.

What route should I take and where do I park?

Have you ever stopped your journey before you had a destination?

Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Next project, a BIG one

I am working on a project which is movie-worthy.
It’s big.
The scope is daunting.
Combine, It could happen to you and Erin Brockovich, a feel good, and going up against the big guy kind of story, and you get the idea.

 (Interesting that both movies were NOT inspired by books).

It happened to us and as we faded into the background (for fifteen years) the (worldwide known) big guy came in and rattled cages. I don’t mean to be cryptic but I must because it’s a true story. The toes upon which I trod are attached to pretty big feet.

Every struggling family dreams about stuff like this.
Yes, it was like winning the lottery but what we had to give up was priceless.

I’m a little scared to take this on but I am determined. Like they say, "everybody has a story", well I do and it's a doozy.

Stay tuned.

Were you ever scared away from a story because it was too big?