I will follow you ...

I love this song by Ricky Nelson.

Remember they re-did it on that movie "Sister Act". Something about the songs in the sixties - they had such rhythm.

I hope that you will follow me ... I am moving. I have a new bloghome - http://www.roxannefelix.com/ and I hope you will visit me. I intend to keep visiting all of you, but I have had to make the leap from anonymous blogger to platform of an author.

Apparently, this is what one does when they want to be a successful author. How would I know? I'm just playing it all by ear in hopes that it allows me to write full-time.

I'm hoping my life will settle down after all of these launches and events and I can write again some more and visit you more regularly. In the meantime, come visit my new bloghome to learn about my novella in the anthology: Women of the Apocalypse!

Mentors Re-Discovered

When you’re a young adult, I don’t think you really know who your mentors are. If you asked me at the age of nineteen, “who influences you the most?” I would have blithely replied “my friends”.

In my 3rd year of university, I started working part-time at the University as a Peer Health Educator. It was an innovative program at the time. University students taught other university students about important health issues: alcohol abuse, stress management, eating disorders and of course, being the mid-nineties – HIV and STDs (now known as STIs).

My supervisor, Judy, was – just that – my supervisor. She encouraged me to learn more, pushed my boundaries and trusted my judgement – but hell, don’t all supervisors do that?

Heh. No.

Today, I attended Judy’s retirement party. Over the years, I’ve come to realize what a mentor she was. But hearing other students (present and past) talk about her influence on their life, I realized just how MUCH Judy affected who I am today. And I considered myself lucky to be able to *tell* her that, too (most people wait until funerals).

I learned about holistic work from her – working in community services, you can’t just do your “job description” – Judy was the first one to model that.

At the time, Judy – who cared about people OUTSIDE of the workplace – might have been perceived as unprofessional or not knowing where to set her boundaries. Now, I consider her behaviour ground-breaking. Facilitating real communities and caring workplaces.

Judy was one of the first women I met who taught me – “not only is it ok to take care of yourself, it’s a priority”. What a concept. One that I still try to remember to this day.

She opened my eyes to diversity – cultural, familial, sexual orientation, religious -- in a way that I was priveleged to have so early in my career. She drilled into me, when teaching – to never assume anyone in your classroom is like you. Instead, assume that they are different. And always assume there is someone in that room who will know more than YOU know about that topic because they’ve lived it.

And, it was because of Peer Health, that instead of being a doctor, I pursued public health.

Mentors. Funny how it takes so long to recognize them. Lucky for me – I got to say thank you to my mentor today.

Happy Retirement Judy!

Beautiful Veggies

Aren't they beautiful? That's the only words for these fresh veggies.

Yesterday, after months of writing and editing, writing and editing ... I allowed myself some social time. A meal with some friends and then a visit with one of my dearest friends who was visiting from out of town. It felt wonderful. It was as if I was a desert, parched and cracked. I had written all the creativity out of me.

And then after some socialization - human, social contact! - all of the story ideas flooded back. It was great. One of my favorite stories has to do with this picture.

I dropped by the agency I used to work at to have lunch with some former co-workers and there were dozens of bags of veggies being loaded from a truck into the elevator.

What's this? I asked.

A pilot project, they answered. Refugee families get a bag of veggies (the picture is only one THIRD of the bag) delivered to the agency for only ten dollars. Wowwee. They were beautiful.

The Good Food Project offers a convenient way for families to buy local food. And, it's healthy!

It was a six-week project for the summer. If you're not low income, the price is more (obviously)but what a great idea. Just seeing the fresh veggies made me want to eat healthy forever (or close to it).

I'm off to eat them now ...

Summer Days, Driftin' Away

It was June 24, 2009.

Summertime was starting to roll in and I was excited.

I got on a plane and travelled Eastwards - I had a road trip planned for the breathtaking Maritime coast of Canada. I had successfully lost all of the weight I needed to for my own reality-show healthy living competition with my nine relatives, and I intended to enjoy all the lobster I could over the next 18 days. When was the last time I had a real holiday, I asked myself?

June 26, 2009 - I checked my blackberry.

My two friends, Eileen and Billie, emailed me. We collaborated on "Seven Deadly Sins" together, our anthology of flash fiction, and we had just pitched another project to our publisher, Brian. An anthology of four novellas around the theme of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. We asked another writer, Ryan, to join us in this venture and the plan was for each of us to write a novella.

"We are in." Eileen wrote.

Our publisher, Brian, not only wanted to publish the project, he wanted to publish it and launch it at the next World Fantasy Conference. Incredible exposure to publishers, editors, agents. October 31.

WHAT?

It meant the stories had be in perfect order by September 1 to be sent to the printers.

It meant I had to write the complete draft of the novella by August 1.

It meant that since I had written all of ZERO words, I had to start writing the moment I got that email.

But ... I was on holidays!

And I didn't have a laptop with me!

And I had never written a novella before. Ever.

... and hence this is why I have not posted an update in a very long time ...

Stay tuned to hear what happened ...

You're a what???

I was in Grade Eleven, hoping to become a medical doctor one day, when a news story broke about a man in Montreal who entered an engineering faculty, his former school, and went on a shooting rampage, deliberately killing fourteen women.

The story shook me. I had been inspired by stories of women who broke the boundaries of stereotyping and unfair restrictions to fully participate in society – whether it was voting, writing novels, sharp shooting, or being a doctor. Pioneers to their fullest. But, as a teenager, I thought the days of women having to overcome barriers were over. Until that news story.

It raised an awareness for me early in my life. I took courses on media and the portrayal of women. I studied gender roles in sociology. And, I joined a group at the University that commemorated the loss of those 14 lives every year on December 6. Strangely enough, it was my mother who was concerned about my involvement in this group. Despite the fact she was a pioneer herself – leaving her home town at the age of 22 to go work in a foreign country – she was worried about what this “extra-curricular” activity might portray on my resume.

I forgot about this time in my life until I recently watched the TED speech of Isabelle Allende. There was nothing new in the speech – she only repeated what Stephen Lewis has been saying for years … if you want to improve the well-being in lower-income countries, then raise the knowledge and education of the women in those countries. What surprised me were the comments left by individuals in response to her speech.

It reminded me of my university years, when I would tell people I was a feminist.

It was mostly women who objected to the label.

“No, you’re not,” they would say.

Once I picked my jaw off the floor, I replied, “Feminism has a certain set of ideals and I ascribe to those ideals.”

“You’re not like that.” Like what? I thought. They continued, “You’re not a feminist.”

The response infuriated me. Here I was, professing a fundamental belief -- that a woman has a right to define who she is and what she wants to become, unfettered by restrictions that might be put on her by her gender -- and my friends were telling me that I was not what I believed.

Where was the fear coming from, I wondered. More importantly, why were they not also calling themselves a feminist?

Over the years, instead of getting angry, I would reply (where it was applicable). “You’re also a feminist, you just don’t know it.” That didn’t exactly win them over to feminism. What ensued instead was an emotionally charged discussion, with a strange conclusion that *my* feminism, wasn’t in sync with the feminism *out there*. I didn’t understand that either, for wasn’t I part of society? Is there any kind of unified agreement on what a certain belief is, when the belief is held by a number of diverse individuals who bring meaning to that ideal, depending on who they are?

And then, one night, someone taught me a new way to discuss the issue. A group of my close friends were having a conversation over dinner, talking about how on first dates, it’s difficult to come out and describe yourself fully as you are.

I said, “how could I explain to someone that I’m a left-wing, Catholic, Filipina, Zen, feminist with strong family values? He would think I have an identiy crisis,” I lamented.

One of my male friends raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You’re a feminist?”

I bristled, but was used to the response to the word by now. “Yes,” I said. “Knowing who I am, how could you NOT know that?”

He tilted his head towards me. “Well, maybe I should ask how you define a feminist?”

I explained what I believed and he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “You are a feminist. And by those terms, I guess I am too.”

I appreciated his openness to the debate. To the definition. To the dialogue. And it taught me, that the next time someone says “you’re a what?”, I need to ask more questions, not answer them. What do you think feminism is? Why don’t you think I am a feminist? What do you associate feminism with?

It’s the right questions that bring us closer to resolution. And an approach that works for any kind of discussion, I think.

At least, for any kind of discussion that really matters.

Inspired by Goethe

as of late, inspired by this poem by Goethe ... thought I would share

The Holy Longing
by Goethe

Tell a wise person, or else keep silent,
Because the massman will mock it right away.
I praise what is truly alive,
What longs to be burned to death.

In the calm water of love nights,
Where you were begotten, where you have begotten,
A strange feeling comes over you
When you see the silent candle burning.

Now you are no longer caught
In the obsession with darkness,
And a desire for higher lovemaking
Sweeps you forward.

Distance does not make you falter
Now, arriving in magic, flying
And finally insane for the light,
You are the butterfly, and you are gone.

And so long as you haven't experienced this:
To die, and so to grow,
You are only a troubled guest
On the dark earth.

Gratitude

I was going to post pictures of the fire, but decided against it. Instead, I am posting these pictures. Flowers fill me with gratitude and joy - so they get the spotlight. This one was given to me by my friend, Wendy, who moved to Laos. It didn't bloom for the first six months and then there were a couple of small blooms. I took the picture about six weeks ago.









The pictures above are my most recent additions. Hydrangeas are my most favorite flower ... and you can see how the african violets are now dripping with blossoms.

It had been a great Saturday: a heart-pumping kickboxing session, incredible progress on both my novella and next novel, topped off with a laughter-filled night out for drinks with one of my closest friends (and cousin). I went to bed feeling satisfied, looking forward to a full day of writing on Sunday.

But, something disturbed my sleep and I woke up in the middle of the night. Someone was yelling. Strange, my neighborhood is usually quiet. In my old apartment, I’d be subjected to the occasional drunken rant outside the window, but not here in my condominium. The yells continued. As I struggled to make out the words, I heard sirens. Lots of them.

And there was another sound in the background. A familiar rhythm of noises, but not something I would regularly hear. What was it now? In my foggy brain, the sound finally matched to the appropriate image – the crackling sounds of a fire burning.

Suddenly, I could make the words out, “Get out, everybody, get out of the building.” I jumped up, put on my glasses and opened my blinds.

I live on the main floor of my condominium apartment. My place is usually sheltered from noise, because it backs onto the yard of another condominium building. A condominium building that was now on fire. The bright orange flames hurt my eyes in the darkness, and I blinked rapidly. Was I really seeing what I was seeing? The sirens grew louder.

From my viewpoint, one apartment on the top floor was on fire, the flames completely engulfing its balcony. A trail of orange crept along the ceiling of the adjacent suite, also starting to be enveloped by its brightness.

It would be cold outside, I thought. Put on some pants and a sweater.

“Get out, get out, everyone out of the building!”

Had the flames jumped onto our building? Had the fire started in our building and jumped to their building? It hit me that this was real. Not a frozen pipe that had burst or a prank from some kids, like on other nights when we’ve been awoken from our beds. It was real … for where else came that eerie orange light that allowed me to discern shape from shadow? Real, as my heart began to pound. Very real.

What do I not want to burn down? I asked myself. What would I be devastated if I lost?

Think quickly, I thought. I don’t want to get caught in a burning building.

My writing. It was the only thing that came to mind. I couldn’t find my backup USB stick that had all of my writing. So, I pulled all the cords out of my laptop and dropped it into a bag. Wallet. Phone. That’s it. I decided to take the extra five seconds to lock my door. Or maybe it was longer, for my hands were shaking.

By the time I got outside, the flames had seemed to spread across the top floor of the building next door. The firetrucks had arrived, they hadn’t even started to spray water. We huddled in the parking lot, watching how quickly the fire spread. We held our breath as we anxiously followed the path of smoke and ash. Please, we thought. Please let it not spread to our building.

And the people. Were the people out of the other building? We weren’t sure. They were all seniors. We hoped they were safe. But, we also hoped that our residence would stay safe too. The smoke was black and it seemed to billow with intent and anger. Once in a while, parts of the building would collapse and you’d hear the wood groan and an ensuing gasp from everyone who had gathered. Look at all my neighbors, I thought. I didn’t know we had this many people in the neighborhood.

Two hours we watched it, before they let us back in … our feet were cold and we smelled like smoke. But, it was safe. And, apparently everyone was safe in the other building too.

When I shuffled back into my condo at around 5:30am, my place was smoky and the lights on my smoke alarms blinked red and green. And in the early morning light, while I ate my cereal watched the firefighters climb in and out of my backyard into the charred yard of my neighbors, I was grateful. Grateful for whomever invented the fire hydrant, grateful for taxes that pay these firefighters, grateful for the endless water supply that we accessed so quickly to put out the fire, grateful for all of it.

I was tired, to be sure. But not too tired to be filled – overflowing – with gratitude. For all of it.

Fear

"Unless you're living on the edge, you're taking up too much space."

My friend's husband said that. Maybe he heard it somewhere else, I'm not sure. But I think there's wisdom in it, no matter who said it.

Somehow, our society has conjured up a strange idea of what makes for a "good life".

We wish each other joy, laughter, and peace.

Rarely, do we get a card from a loved one that says, "Happy Birthday, may this year bring you a good dose of nausea and that empty pit feeling in your stomach."

Fear.

Nothing's wrong with fear, though it has a bad reputation. It's often touted in pop psychology (right out of my own mouth even!) as the all-encompassing evil doer. Never do things from a place of fear, we're told. Fear - it's why people don't take risks. It's what makes people stay in bad jobs and bad marriages. It's like communism in the 1950s and terrorism in the 21st century. It's the cause of everything that's bad.

But I don't believe that. Instead, perhaps we should say search for our fears and hold them close. Use them as our own personal divining rod to help us uncover those things we really want, the steps we really should take, the questions we really should be asking.

And then once we've found them, we step into those fears fully. Letting that unpredictable sense of chaos rush over you. When we were younger, it was easier to access that. When we played tag or hide and go seek, we were scared. Our heart beat in our throats and it was hard to breathe. The risks were real. And when you walk through the fear, it's liberating. Whether it's going on a roller-coaster ride or quitting a stable, full-time job (both ex-fears of mine, by the way).

And, after we've conquered our fears, does it mean we are fearless? Just because I've had a tooth removed, does it mean that I now view root canals with anticipation? Because I've had the courage to send one piece to a magazine and have it published, does it mean I know I will always be published?

Of course not.

But fear reminds us of that we can't predict and control life. And, that's a good thing. For that's what life is about. There's things to be discovered that we can never imagine. And, I think I would take fear over inevitability any day.

So, every year I try to do one thing that scares me. Sometimes, a little bit, sometimes a lot.

This year has been a scary year. I started my own business. I hired an accountant to do my taxes. I had a book launch. I bet two hundred dollars that I would lose weight. Risky year, even without the financial crisis. So, I think I'm going to take it easy over the summer.

Whitewater rafting. That's what I have planned for the summer. Just a tiny fear to carry me into the fall.

Recipe for Success

Ingredients:
- 4 inspiring and collaborative co-writers
- 1 talented illustrator
- 1 supportive and insightful publisher

Sift these and mix slowly with:
- 8 quirky stories
- an eye-catching cover
- a network of interested speculative fiction fans

Let mixture stand in a pleasant, sunny room above the library, near the neighborhood farmer's market.

Throw in an assortment of deliciously home-baked goods, coffee and refreshments; beautiful flower arrangements (generously donated by friends); a selection of excellent illustrations and art; and a display of Canada's leading speculative fiction magazine, On Spec.

A dash of good media coverage including a videographer whose camera and microphone allow the rising of profiles.

Invite friends, family, colleagues and people off the street.

Don't forget a generous dose of gratitude for friends, family and spouses who helped with set-up and clean-up.

Warm mixture for three hours on a Saturday afternoon, and you will have a successful book launch!

***

In a nutshell, it was a fantastic book launch.
Thanks to those who were able to come out. And for those who couldn't, I hope you'll buy the book online and perhaps, even write a review on the website!

Check out the video coverage (a ten part series) by D. Jeffrey Buchanan, an exceptional documentarian and host of a radio show on CJSR here in Edmonton. He does great work and you should check out some of his other pieces too.

It was loads of fun to have people from different corners of my universe (i.e. work, family, university friends) gather -- for writing is the one thing that crosses all of my different "worlds".

I guess you could say writing is my wormhole. It's what brings my worlds together.

And for all the 180 minutes of networking and visiting, I thought I did very well for an introvert (not liking to be the centre of attention) and a Pisces (always worried about how everyone else is doing).

I have to admit, I was tired after it all. But it was a satisfying tiring. Satisfying and surreal. I don't think the impact of this whole thing has really hit me until I posted this piece.

Isn't that funny - my book launch isn't a reality for me until I write about it.

What is Seven Deadly Sins about?

Here is some local TV coverage we got to publicize our book and our launch tomorrow!

It was produced by a lovely friend and colleague, Marina Michaelides, from City TV here in Edmonton.

Seven Deadly Sins

It's not just a digital image. I've been published!

If you're a regular reader of my blog, then you were there at the beginning. It started out as an innocent challenge between writers / readers of speculative fiction and it grew into a bonafide publication. Billie, Eileen, and Tina are long-time fellow writers and members of my writing critique group. The challenge was issued to us by one of our colleagues and publisher, Brian Hades, of EDGE Science Fiction and Absolute XPress.

The result? A flash fiction anthology.

It has been a real collaborative project and my friend, Herman, did the cover work.

(I've provided links to all of their webpages, but they've been on my blog-roll for a long time now!)

Our book launch is this upcoming weekend. I'll be sure to post pictures.

And, I'd love it if you would purchase your own electronic or hard copy.

If you think you'd like to participate in a challenge like this yourself, enter the next flash fiction challenge on the topic of creatures of the night. The deadline isn't until August 1, 2009. AND it's a great way to exercise creativity!

Ringside

The two things I hadn't expected to see that night were chandeliers and worried mothers. But I suppose those things can be at boxing matches too.

A friend and I decided to go and check out the Junior Canadian Boxing Championships being held in my city. The venue? A ballroom in one of the hotels. (Hence, the chandelier).

Our seats were pretty close to the ring. And the rules are different for amateur boxing. Points are recieved for clean shots -- points of contact -- not for power.

But if power was a criteria for winning, there certainly was lots to be had. I was impresssed by these young women boxers. The bell would ring and BOOM - out of the corner they strode, no hesitation. Just determination to get that first punch. One two, one two. My awe was not just at how they reached with such strength, but at how they evaded the blows with such speed.

The Man in White (referee? I don't know the proper term) had a sign language of his own. Everyone else knew what directions he was giving even though I didn't. And he needed the sign language. The shouts around us were deafening.

"Keep it tight!"
"Breathe"
"The jab, the jab!"
"Straight punches"
"In and out!"
"Hands up!"

The audience was as equally fascinating as the boxing match itself. As I looked around the room, I tried to identify the different roles that women played here. Former boxer? Coach? Girlfriend? (though these were the easiest to identify from the bored expressions on their faces).

And then I spotted a woman in the front row, her hand nested in the crook of her husband's arm, a distressed expression in her eyes. Later on, my suspicions proved corrrect. One of the finalists showed up at her side, her head gear and mouthpiece gone, boxing gloves removed, but still in her boxing attire. The girl had done well in the match, but she had lost. It was close. She had her head on her mom's shoulder, while her mom stroked her hair and whispered in her ear. I guess boxers need an encouraging word every once in a while too.

We watched some good matches. Some were close. Others, not so much so. In one instance, the coaches threw in the towel (literally, I saw it fly into the middle of the ring). In another, the man with the flashlight looked into the eyes of the competitor and, clearly against the young man's wishes, declared the match over. And others were just what I hoped to see -- a good bout of boxing.

Metaphor

Form
Tense
Movement
Through space
Until what seems
random, actually serves
a purpose, a point -- with force and power
and with action, always, ever, there is a
reaction; with your heart
with your head, without
thought. Until you're
left with only
stillness
balance
again

they are the same to me

martial arts and poetry

Sweeter than Love

- sin #6 -- take a guess ! -

“I was thinking that maybe we could have a talk.”

Those words planted fear in the hearts of most men, but not Tony. Tony loved to talk, loved to mull things over and analyze them. That’s why he graduated with a psyche major and what made him a damn good crisis counsellor.

“What do you want to talk about?” Tony responded. He looked up from the crossword puzzle he was working on. Lisa was great that way. She would come over and they could just hang out.

“Us,” she said.

Tony paused. He wondered what could be up. He had been a more-than-ideal boyfriend.

“You’re so wonderful,” Lisa went on, her brown eyes earnest, trusting. “We have great conversations, you listen to what I have to say and you’re always so thoughtful, bringing me flowers or helping me with my work.” She took in a deep breath. “You’ve even told me you love me.”

Tony waited for the but.

“But you rarely kiss me,” she said. “I mean, really kiss me.”

Lisa’s expression was expectant of a response.

He cleared his throat before he spoke. “I guess I just am still holding back because of Priscilla.”

Priscilla. His ex-fiancee. He had spent seven years waiting for her. Always a delay in their marriage. She was everything Lisa was not – demanding, acerbic, angry. Then, she returned one week from a business trip announcing that she was building a house with some guy in Vancouver.

“I d-don’t understand,” Lisa stammered.

Either did Tony. The first time he kissed Lisa, he thought of Priscilla. He let go of Lisa immediately. If Lisa knew, it would kill her. And yet, the thought of Priscilla knowing that he kissed Lisa aroused him.

How could he explain that? “It’s difficult to be with you that way when I’m still recovering from the hurt from Priscilla,” he said. He knew himself well. He loved Lisa. He didn’t want to hurt her. But he also hated Priscilla.

After the first time he had kissed Lisa, he had met that tall, willowy wisp of a girl in the bar. She was exactly the kind of girl that Priscilla detested. So, he brought her home and made certain each kiss, each touch was special. Thrilling. It was such sweet revenge.

Lisa grasped Tony’s hand in hers. “Well, what can we do to get over this? We need to work through this or we can’t move on Tony.” Her voice was patient, though her words were pleading.

He knew what he needed to do. He needed to stop sleeping with those other women. Priscilla would have hated that too. His delight was even richer when he started seeing multiple women at the same time. Some for a few weeks. Some for a few hours.

“What can I do to help, Tony?” Lisa’s eyes bored into his.

He had thought about taking Lisa to bed. But, it wasn’t the same. He cared about Lisa. He cared what happened to her. With the others, he could bury his humiliation under sweet surrender – focus on each breath, on each sweet stroke of pleasure – his pleasure, knowing his bliss would bring Priscilla pain.

By now, he had sent enough pictures and videos for Priscilla to know what was going on. He wouldn’t give Priscilla the satisfaction of moving on with his life. He didn’t want to.

Tony pulled his hand from Lisa’s grasp.

“There’s nothing you can do, Lisa. Nothing you can do at all.”

Power in Numbers

I have a huge family. My mother has nine brothers and sisters and my dad has eight. So, you can imagine how many first cousins I have. And we're close. All of us.

Growing up, this could sometimes be difficult. I'd see my family at least once - if not five - times a month for some family occasion. As a teenager, I wondered when I would ever get a weekend to myself! But, as the years have gone on, I'm grateful for the support my family members provide ... and what better place to use support than for resolutions!

Of course, my family members don't provide support the regular way. We are a creative bunch. So, we decided to model our own reality TV show. A supportive (not cut throat) - reality TV show.

The goal: being healthy (aka weight loss).
The incentive: money and maybe family pride?

I know more than most people about healthy living. I've worked in chronic disease prevention for years. When I first started working in the field, I probably lost 30 pounds just from learning to adopt simple healthy behaviors. But, then a previous stressful job had me skipping lunches and eating dinner at 9pm at night. I quit the job, but still haven't gotten back to my former healthy self.

I try to remind myself of future heart disease, high blood pressure etc. etc. ... but it wasn't enough motivation for me.

And then I realized, money would be.

So, here's the deal:
9 of my family members (cousins and siblings) throw money into a pot, either 100 or 200 dollars.
We each also give 10 dollars to a "bonus prize".

We weigh ourselves on March 1.
And we each have our individual weight loss goals between 10-20 pounds.

IF you meet your goal in six months, you get your money back!
If you don't, your other family members get the money.

Plus, the person who loses the most body percentage of their weight gets the bonus prize.

When I first thought of the contest, it was the money that I thought would be the motivation.

When you know a second helping might cost you 200 dollars - the cost of a weekend trip ... a writing workshop ... a pair of strappy summer sandals and a pedicure (hey, we all have our vices, ok?) I knew I would think twice about that second helping.

But, I find what I'm looking forward to is knowing that I have eight other family members trying to achieve the same goal.

In my field of health promotion, we are always learning about the incredible power of "social support" ... but wow-ee. I can feel its power now.

Tomorrow is Day One of my Six Month Challenge. It will be fun :)

(however, I am still going to have my piece of apple pie tonight. Maybe two!)

Put it out there ...

In my year and a half of blogging, I've only posted my horoscope once.
Now make that twice.

Rob Brezsny's free will astrology sometimes hits it so right on the mark, I feel compelled to put it out there to remind myself about the power of thought.

And - since one of my resolutions is to listen to my instinct this year -- without analysis, without doubt -- I'm going to follow this strange urge of mine to declare the message within this message - waiting for me, and maybe waiting for you?

Who knows. I just know the words need to be repeated.


**

I've been asked by the leaders of the Piscean Support Group to pat you on the back -- and add a tender, friendly kick in the butt while I'm at it -- in celebration of your recent promise to leave your safety zone. They're a bit worried that you'll be so enamored of the new reserve of courage you've discovered lurking in your depths that you won't muster the incentive to actually use that courage to its hilt. Please prove them wrong. Show us all what it's like for a sensitive soul with a lyrical heart to seek raw adventure in virgin territory.

**

Sensitive soul with a lyrical heart. Hmm -- I like that one.

It'll Kill You

- short fiction on sin # 5 -

The court reporter usually found it hard to stay awake in sentencing hearings, but the next witness looked like he had something interesting to say.

The witness was a thin Chinese man who would have looked twenty-two if not for the grey hair at his temples and the slight folds at the edges of his mouth. To the untrained eye, you might have thought there was a resemblance between him and the young man being sentenced. The young man was dressed in drab grey overalls and stared straight ahead, his mouth slightly hanging open. But the court reporter had spent two years in mainland China and while the two men might have been from the same region, she knew they were not related.

“State your name, sir.” The defense lawyer started right in, sweeping her blond hair behind her ears in a business-like manner.

“Pin Chang.”

“And your profession?”

“I am a – ” he paused, “ – what you would call a doctor.”

“A medical doctor?” the lawyer asked.

“A medical doctor, yes.” Chang nodded. “In Chinese medicine.”

“Have you met Mr. Tsen before?” She pointed at the young man.

“Yes,” Chang agreed. “His parents brought him for a consultation. He was pale, suffering from dizziness, pain in his abdomen. Red eyes. All typical symptoms.”

“Typical of what?”

“Stagnation of chi. He needed to restore the flow of his energy. He needed to tonify. Especially –"

The lawyer from the prosecutor’s office stood up. “Your Honor, I object. What relevance does this have to Mr. Tsen’s sentencing?”

The court reporting was wondering how long it would take for him to interrupt.

The defense lawyer turned on her heel to look at the prosecuting lawyer, though she addressed the judge. “Your Honor, this witness’s testimony will show that Mr.Tsen’s life is threatened by an illness and should be accounted for in his sentencing for this homicide.”

The murmuring in the crowd grew quickly into loud discussion. The judge had to bang her gavel at least three times before she succeeded in bringing order to the courtroom.

“Continue, please, Mr. Chang,” the judge pronounced.

Chang took a deep breath before he leaned forward into the microphone. “I was concerned by the amount of stagnation I saw. Any kind of treatment, if started, needed to be followed through with properly. Or if it isn’t completed, it might cause even more harm.”

“Again!” the prosecutor interrupted. “What relevance is this?”

Chang looked up at the judge. “You see, the dysfunction of every organ is associated with a mental or emotional state of well-being. The spleen is associated with anxiety, the kidney with depression. In our medicine, the mind and body are whole. They are one.”

Chang paused before looking back at the people gathered in the courtroom. “This young man grew up in rural China. His father was a journalist. It is likely he suffered many human rights abuses.”

“And did your examination find that he suffered from this kind of trauma? Did you find some evidence of post-traumatic disorder?” the defense lawyer asked.

“Not exactly.”

There was a silence in the courtroom. Even the Court Reporter stopped so she could look at Chang’s face to see what the next words would be.

The Court Reporter grew irritated. The prosecutor was going to speak again. “Chinese medicine is not a real science, your Honor. How can we take Mr. Chang’s testimony as valid?”

Chang spoke. “Chinese medicine has been around for thousands of years, sir. Just because the Western world has not used it as evidence in your legal systems does not diminish its validity.”

The prosecutor turned red and sat down.

“Your Honor,” Chang said, “the evidence was actually Western. And Eastern. My assessment showed problems with his liver.

Everyone leaned in to hear Chang’s words, even the prosecutor.

“Which is associated with what?” pressed the defense lawyer.

“Anger. Wrath. He was holding it in. Not letting it through his system. His body was not processing it either. Which accounts for the remarkable results of his physical tests, but results not unheard of. At least in my country.”

“And these results were?” she asked.

“His liver cells are degrading,” Chang replied. “Toxicity levels are high.”

“So, what you’re saying is that he’s dying,” the lawyer stated.

“Oh yes,” Chang replied, looking with sad eyes at the young man. “It is a shame. If we had gotten him treatment earlier, we may have been able to save him. Save that poor other young man too.” Chang looked up at the judge. “But now it is too late. He is literally being eaten by his anger.”

No more and no less

- short fiction on sin #4 -

“I’ll give you twenty minutes,” he said.

Gabriel the Archangel looked nothing like Madelyn expected. His faded jeans were a bit on the tight side and his leather jacket was outdated – the old baggy style from the 80s. His outfit, though, didn’t decrease how intimidated she felt. He stood at over 7 feet tall and seemed to have a propensity for chains.

“Twenty minutes,” he said. “You know how long that is, don’t you? You’re a writer. It’s about as long as it takes to write 800 words.”

With a lot of practice, she thought wryly.

“What am I supposed to do again?” Madelyn asked.

The whole death thing had been a blur. One minute she was in traffic, shouting at the driver ahead of her, then everything went fuzzy and all of a sudden she was looking at herself through the windshield. She watched herself clutch her left arm, the car swerve and she found herself stuck in a grey fuzzy cloud.

Until Gabriel walked out from the shadows and the air cleared for a bit.

“You’re getting a great opportunity here, Maddy. Don’t blow it. Most people would kill to spend twenty minutes at their own funeral. You’re getting that for free. The Big Lady seems to think you deserve a second chance. Listen in … figure out what sin you really need forgiveness for … and she might be feeling good enough today to let you into the land of milk and honey. Ice cream. Chocolate. Neck massages. Body wraps and all those good things.”

Gabriel raised one hairy eyebrow at her. He looked annoyed. “Go!” he said.

Madelyn found herself in a well-lit room with green thick carpets illuminated by yellow light from dusty chandeliers. At least they followed her wishes. They buried her back in Edmonton, where she had grown up.

Ahh, she liked this feeling. Being able to breeze in and out of conversations without having to partake in the small talk. At the entrance sat her two great-nephews. For some reason, there were blown-up copies of the covers of her latest books right propped up on an easel beside the guest book. Probably the work of her agent. Trying to get some sales upon the occasion of her death. Joan was good at what she did. Madelyn wasn’t going to begrudge her for it.

She looked for Joan. There she was, in the far corner, talking to her accountant, Sam.

“Ah, well, at least she didn’t suffer. I think it’s always worse when they suffer,” Joan was saying.

Hmmm! Joan actually cared about her.

Sam chuckled. “It definitely could have been worse for Madelyn. She would have gone crazy if she had to lie in the hospital for days before she met her end.” Madelyn smiled. Sam knew her well. “She’d be hating how much the hospital would charge her for each little thing. It would drive her nuts, knowing that she was spending 25 dollars a day just to get a phone in her room,” Sam said.

Madelyn’s smile straightened. What was he saying? That her suffering would be coming from the money she spent?

Joan didn’t laugh. “Ah, come on Sam. You know what her childhood was like. Not to mention the first forty-five years of her life before she published her first book. She just stayed true to who she was, that’s all.”

Thank you, Joan, Madelyn thought. That’s it exactly. Just because she hit bigtime with her series of books – not to mention the film and action figures – was she supposed to become some big spender freewheeler. No way. She promised herself she wouldn’t die a bag lady, and she didn’t.

Madelyn wisped away. Sam was her accountant, not someone personal. She looked for nieces and nephews. She wanted to hear what they had to say. There they were, over by the buffet. Buffet?? Who the hell authorized a buffet?

The twins and their younger brother, Mark were chatting now. Laughing. It was good to see them laughing. She was starting to feel scared, she still hadn’t figured out her sin.

“Ah, Auntie Mads … she was a riot,” Janice was saying, a big grin on her face. “You know, Frank figured it out. We noticed the kids’ Christmas gifts – always money of course – would increase every year, but by strange amounts. Seven dollars here, two dollars there – one time, the cheque increased by eleven dollars and two cents. Then, Frank realized she was increasing it by the inflation rate!”

“What?” Mark responded. “Even after the movies got released?”

“Oh yeah.” It was Jocelyn speaking now. “I’ve watched her. When she gives tips, she calculates it exactly. No more and no less than what would be expected. And, if she’s not happy with the service – she has no qualms about saying nada.”

Madelyn narrowed her eyes. This couldn’t be a sin, could it? She was just good with her money.

“Well,” Mark sighed. “It’s not like she wasn’t stingy. I mean, she sponsored that foster child and everything.”

Jocelyn paused. “I know … but remember when Uncle Tim needed some money because of the economic crisis in 2008?”

“Oh yeah,” Janice jumped in, finishing her twin’s thought. “He had worked for the car company, got laid off, and he got a severance package. It was enough to cover the mortgage payments but not enough to pay for Patrick’s university. Naturally he asked Auntie Mads for a loan. Just enough so Patrick could finish school, right?” “

Exactly. And she said no. Told Uncle Tim that he should have thought of that when he decided to drop out of school twenty years ago.”

Mark whistled. “She’s a tough cookie, that one.”

That’s right, I’m tough, Madelyn thought. I worked hard for my money, and why should I share it with those who just want it?

All of a sudden, she found herself in a haze of grey. “Hey!” she shouted. “What the heck … I had at least two minutes left,” she complained. It wasn't true, but who was counting?

“Tchh, tcch… “ Gabriel emerged from the smoke, a disappointed look on his face.

“You can’t be serious, can you? You’re going to send me to hell for saving money? It’s what we all do,” Madelyn found her ears growing hot. “Not to mention, you cut me short … I need more time. ”

Gabriel shook his head, the four chains around his neck clanking a little as he did so. “I don’t think so. We’re just giving you the same conditions that you gave others to operate under. We thought it only fair,” he nodded, as if contemplating his reasoning once more.

Madelyn’s thoughts began to race. “But – that’s not a mortal sin. Saving money is not a mortal sin.”

Gabriel looked downcast. “I told her you’d say that. I don’t like to be right. She doesn’t like it when I’m right. She feels like she’s out of touch with you all.” He lifted one of the chains from around his neck and bent down to fasten it around Madelyn’s legs.

“Hey – you could at least tell me why, what – why?” Madelyn’s voice almost broke.

“You’re a smart woman, Madelyn. It’s such a shame. You’re forgetting that there’s worse things than just keeping money to yourself.” Madelyn watched as he lifted a second chain from around his neck and twisted it around her wrists.

Of course, she thought. I kept everything for myself – not just money, but kind thoughts, forgiveness, a little bit of slack. But I couldn’t be generous with everything could I? You give someone a little bit of room, and they'll take advantage of you. There was no room for kind thoughts, or the benefit of the doubt, was there? I wouldn’t have survived on earth otherwise. These damn angels – they know nothing about the real world. It wasn’t my fault.

“There you go again, Mads.” Gabriel continued, shaking his head as he led her towards a lady in black who seemed to emerge out of the shadows ahead. “Saving everything, even the excuses, for yourself.”

What the seasons bring

- thanks for those who commented on this formerly posted piece of work ... i've had to take it down for now ... more to come !! -

If it could be so sweet ...

He told his wife it wasn’t a big deal, so she was surprised when he presented her with a four hundred dollar gift certificate to Alfred’s, the designer dress store uptown.

Surprised, but not accommodating.

He could see her reflection in the mirror as he straightened his tie. She looked stunning in the purple satin dress she picked out.

It wasn’t a big deal. But, he insisted she wear her mink wrap anyway. There was a chill in the air.

How many of his classmates would remember him? It would be twenty years since they graduated from high school and he had had a small group of friends. Loyal friends.

He leaned forward and turned his head, looking at his profile. He looked good. That trainer of his had worked him hard for his third ironman competition and he could see the results. Even under the broad lines of his Armani suit.

He kept quiet for most of the drive there, nodding to his wife’s usual inane comments. She was a good wife, a beautiful wife, a supportive wife. What a man wanted in every woman. But conversations weren’t her strong point.

By the time they reached the hotel door, he had tuned her out completely. He was busy looking for Joe – yes, by the bar – and Matt, over by the phones. He waved and walked over, holding his wife’s hand.

He had gotten used to the look in men’s eyes when they glanced over at his wife, but that didn’t mean he still didn’t get satisfaction from it. He was a success, he knew it. But he deserved it. He worked hard to rise to the top of his specialty, orthopaedic surgery. He hated the work. But he loved the results.

He exchanged greetings with his friends and asked in an indifferent tone, “So, who’s here?”

Matt and Joe described a couple of people he vaguely remembered. He took it one step further.

“What about that guy – remember – ah, he was on the football team. He had that really tall blond friend and they were always doing something idiotic in our physics class.”

Kevin. Oh yeah, they remembered Kevin. His friends were surprised he forgot Kevin’s name. How could he forget, they asked in surprise. Remember, you got in a fight with him in front of the whole school? He was such a jerk. Everyone agreed upon that. Biggest asshole in school.

“Was it Kevin? Huh, I had forgotten about that. Amazing how that seems like a whole different world.”

But, in fact, the world was very much the same. And he couldn’t wait to see Kevin’s face when he showed up. With his wife. His car. His looks. And when he told him how much he was making, Kevin would be sorry he ever forgot his name. For in Kevin’s eyes, he knew he was a nobody.

Over drinks and dinner, he was surprised at how many people he remembered. And how happy they seemed to be with their very normal, ordinary lives. He sensed their admiration, but it still was not enough. Not until –

“Peter? Peter – hey, man, remember me?”

He turned to see Kevin shuffling over towards him. He would never have recognized him. His frame was thin and he had wisps of grey hair along the crown of his head. When Kevin reached him, Peter recognized him a little despite the gaunt cheeks, only because his blue eyes were bright as ever.

“It’s so great you could come out, Peter.” Kevin grabbed his hand in his, shaking it up and down with great enthusiasm. “You look fantastic.”

Peter nodded and smiled. It was Kevin. Here was his chance. He told him about his job and introduced his wife. He was about to go on about his last holiday, when he noticed that Kevin was genuinely interested. Asking questions with a rare sincerity.

Peter swallowed. There could be no mercy, Kevin was an idiot. And Kevin needed to know how great his life was.

“Sorry, excuse me, I’d like you to meet my wife,” Kevin interrupted before Peter could say another word. Let me call her over,” he beckoned an ordinary looking woman to come over. She placed her hand firmly in Kevin’s.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. She looked at Kevin with devotion. Devotion that usually was created only after a lifetime. “I’ve heard so many stories. Kevin told me you were the smartest guy in high school. He knew you’d go far. It’s great to meet you all, especially since it’s been a personal goal of ours to make it to the high school reunion.”

“A personal goal?” Peter asked. What kind of wackos where these people anyway?

“Well,” she glanced at Kevin again, love in her eyes. “Though we are hoping that the chemo treatments will take this time, we’ve just decided every second is a gift. And every event – like tonight – is like winning a small prize.”

Peter felt nauseous. Kevin and his wife were called away by another classmate wanting to talk to them.

Matt and Joe came over. “Man, that Kevin – what a nice guy. Who would have thought, eh?”

Peter could do nothing but nod. It wasn’t Kevin’s fault that everything he accomplished seemed miniscule now. He hoped the swig of vodka would remove the bitter taste left in his mouth.
**
End.
(Can you guess the sin?)

Dilemnas with Sin

I'm having a hard time with this latest writing challenge of mine.

First of all, there is no way I can write 500 words in 20 minutes.

500 good words, that is.

But, my writing colleagues expressed similar experiences, so we changed the rules so that each piece has 400-500 words instead of having a time limit. And because it's a writing exercise (not a competition), we figured that we wouldn't be concerned with the final product but focus on the process of what evolves in the short writing time (usually under an hour).

Secondly, flash fiction is difficult. Conflict is what pulls a reader in. How does one create and resolve conflict in 500 words? I entered a piece in a flash fiction contest once. I spent hours on the piece, carefully crafting the placement of each word. It's like poetry that way - each word carries more currency.

Thirdly, I am having a dilemna writing about sin. It's so broad. Generic. It's the ultimate of tests -- to take a worldly evil and narrow it to a point where you can partake in it for only 500 words? I find myself having to visualize it more like a biopsy. Take a sliver of the evil, place it on the microscope and focus on it so it until it becomes a world of its own, a story that wraps around your consciousness.

Of course, some of the modern sins (i.e. social injustice, pollution) are things I feel so strongly about that it's hard for me not to rant. Or bring the evil-doers to justice. What better way to ruin a good piece of writing? To be excessively moralistic. Or to keep using adverbs like "excessively".

I didn't think the piece below was quite ready for publication ... barely over 200 words and not concise. And, I wasn't sure if apathy qualified as a sin, but my friend explained that "apathy" can be translated also as "sloth".

To be honest, I *accidentally* posted the piece below -- it was supposed to go on my personal blog with my writing circle. Oops! Good exercise in humility though. Might as well put the rough stuff out in the blogging world as well.

Wish me luck for the next one!

Whatever (aka the sin of Apathy)

- sorry - had to take this posting down for now - but more will come in another form :) -

Numbers, Numbers

ONE - One year. that's how long I've officially been blogging. I started last year around this time, wondering what the journey of blogging would bring. And while I got what I expected -- opportunities to create, a venue for my writing -- I got one thing I didn't expect -- an incredible community of fellow bloggers!

THREE - Thrice a week. That's the minimum times I'd like to write every week for this next year. I will block out the times in my calendar. With the start of my new business, it didn't quite happen. I've forgotten to make writing my compass. That's how I should judge the quality of my life. But, I do eventually come back to it, even when I do drift away. I won't judge myself for that and just get back on to track.

FIVE - Five km. That's how far I ran in the "resolution run" on January 1.

TWENTY-THREE - Minus twenty-three degrees centigrade. That's how cold it was when I ran. It was my first run ever. A big accomplishment for someone who doesn't consider herself athletic.

TWENTY - Twenty minutes. A friend of mine, who is a publisher, challenged me and my writer friends to produce some pieces of flash fiction by January 15. I will start tomorrow. So that we don't get too carried away, he gave us a guideline of spending no more than twenty minutes on each piece, including editing.

SEVEN - He wanted seven pieces, each focusing on a deadly sin: greed, gluttony, envy, sloth, pride, lust, and wrath.

INFINITE - Billie, one of my writing circle members, has an infinite number of ideas to make things more interesting. She discovered the Vatican's new list of seven sins (invented in March 2008), in contrast to the Traditional Deadlies: genetic modification; carrying out experiments on humans; polluting the environment; social injustice; poverty; being obscenely wealthy; and (of course ! ha ha) taking drugs.

If any of you fellow bloggers would like to take part in the seven deadly challenge, let me know. I'll post it along with my twenty-minute creations.

Happy New Year!