Pen's Blog, page 5

Excerpt Sword of Tilk Book One: Worlds Apart

Birds flew overhead from one tree to the next, their songs echoing among the leaves. Yet each time a bird flew overhead, Fen started, brought his bow up to aim, then lowered it again when he realized it was only a bird.

“What are you doing?” Barbara asked him, a slight tone of agitation in her voice. She didn’t know which agitated her more, Fen’s furtive movements or the waterskins she carried again.

“Oh, just being watchful,” he said absently.

“Yeah, well, you’re being awfully jumpy about it,” she said. “Making me nervous, too.”

“Oh, sorry, Your Majesty,” Fen said with a tone of sarcasm. “I’ll try and be more calm about protecting your arse.”

“Look, buddy!” Barbara stopped until Fen’s attention was focused on her. “I’m tired. I’m hungry and I need a bath. Forgive me if I’m just a little irritable!”

“Oh, only a little!” Fen shot back. “Nothing with you is ever a little!”

“The two of you shut up and listen!” Elder said.

Fen and Barbara looked at him. The forest had become deathly silent. Not a single leaf rustled in the trees.

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Barbara said barely above a whisper.

“Trust that instinct,” Fen whispered back as he took a few steps back away from Barbara. He was looking into the treetops as he did so.

“What’s going o -”

“Duck!” Fen yelled. At the same time, he lifted his bow, pulled back the arrow already notched there and shot it into the air above Barbara’s head.

Instinctively, Barbara had ducked at Fen’s command. Then looked behind her.

And wished to God she hadn’t.

Losing Weight Without Losing One's Identity

Now that I have had my heart attack it is imperative that I take off unwanted pounds.

Luckily, I have managed to take off about sixty pounds in three years and keep it off. And I have managed to lose another ten pounds since my heart attack.

You would think that would be cause for celebration, not consternation. But it does create something of a dilemma.

The first forty pounds or so was lost within the first year of a new job. Being out of work made everything behind in payment so I spent that first year catching up on the bills. I didn't eat a lot because you've got to feed that wolf at the door before you feed yourself, otherwise he will huff and puff, blow your door down and then eat you. So those first pounds were actually unintentional.

The last twenty pounds or so were more controlled. I was managing my Type II Diabetes quite well. I took my meds and walked every day. I cut out all junk food and was carefully monitoring my carbohydrate intake with the help of my doctor.

Believe it or not, just those small changes took off another unwanted thirty pounds in about three months.

None of my clothing fit. Which was a good thing. Unless, of course, you can't afford to go out and buy new clothes.

I'm not complaining. It really is very nice to be thinner.

The consternation comes from feeling like a stranger in my own body.

When you've been overweight all your life it is something you get accustomed to. When you find yourself slimming down, it feels very foreign.

I've lost weight before: 25-30 pounds or so. I'd find myself putting on jeans that were too big and I'd think, "my clothes don't fit." Next thing I'd know, every one of those pounds would be back on again.

Self-sabotage or idiocy?

I don't think so.

We all have a deep psychological need to feel comfortable in our own skin. When we don't, our subconscious sends us that message. We then subconsciously do whatever we must to regain that comfort.

Ergo, when I've lost weight in the past and wasn't comfortable with it, I subconsciously regained the weight to regain the comfort.

There really should be a psychological study on this. People who see-saw between losing and gaining back weight may be doing so because losing the weight just doesn't "feel right" or because being smaller feels strange. I'm sure I'm not the only one.

So what's different about it this time, besides the heart attack?

This time, I am aware of my psychological need to be comfortable in my own skin and what that really means.

It means I don't care what my clothes look like. If people don't like how my clothes are on me, they are more than welcome to buy me some new clothes.

It means focusing on how good it feels to be so much lighter, how much better I feel and how beneficial it is for my diabetes.

It means shutting off that subconscious voice that tells me how foreign it feels to not be so overweight.

It only feels foreign because it is different from what I am accustomed to. That doesn't mean I am foreign to me.

It is the concept of weight loss and the end result which is foreign.

There is a big difference between feeling foreign and actually being foreign to oneself. You don't have to lose your identity when you lose the weight. You are who you are no matter what your size.

Keeping that in mind when you do experience weight loss, make friends with the idea that you will look different and feel different. You are not the stranger in your own body: the excess weight is the unwanted guest. You're just getting it out of the house.

A Work of Art by Nature

I had to go. I had to make sure it was still there.

And it was.

I used to walk in Briscoe Park years ago when I still lived in Snellville.

I am a creature of habit and I usually parked my car in a particular parking space. But one particular day, my parking spot was taken and I parked someplace else. In doing so, it brought to my attention a tree. One I had probably walked by before but never bothered to notice.

It was a pretty tree. In winter it was easy to see where new leaves and blooms would grow in the spring. But that wasn’t what made the tree unique. It was the shape in which the tree had grown that caught my attention.

It had begun rightly enough. The trunk of the tree was firmly planted in the ground but nature had taken over and the trunk curved to the right. In the midst of growing, the trunk further “dipped” into something of a curly-q; like the right side of the cursive letter ‘y’. It returned upward and continued growing.

I studied that tree for some length of time before getting out of my car. I was amazed. Nature had done this. Nature made this tree unique and different from its surrounding neighbors, but had allowed the tree to grow all the same. Nature determined how that tree would grow. The tree merely followed the design set upon it by nature.

As I admired the tree for its stamina and fortitude to grow and survive and admired Nature for allowing it to do so, I realized it was similar with people.

Nature predetermines much about each person she gives us: skin, eye and hair color, bone structure, height, disposition, sexuality. Nature has already determined so many aspects of this person. People then grow this child, shape this child.Oftentimes, people try to change this child in direct conflict with Nature’s design.

For example, when a child displays left-handedness, people often attempt to force the child to use his or her right hand. Why? Because we live in a ‘right-handed’ world. Rather than change the status quo, people attempt to change the child — in direct conflict with nature’s design for that child.

I wonder, if this were not so, how that child would grow? Would that child turn out as unique and enthralling as the tree at which I was gazing? Would the person they become be able to co-exist with their surrounding “trees”? Would their surrounding “trees” be able to accept them?

The tree — this little crooked tree — held an invaluable lesson for humanity. It successfully co-existed with surrounding trees. In no way was its own beauty, or the beauty of its neighboring trees, diminished by its being different. The uniqueness of this particular tree, its individuality, set it apart by design and its design enhanced the beauty of the surrounding trees. No one of them was any more — nor any less — beautiful or necessary than the other. Hence, nature became the artist.

As it is with people. Each person is unique in his or her own way. Nature has determined it. The uniqueness and individuality of one person should not be diminished by that of another person. The beauty of an individual is not diminished by the difference of the individual. And the beauty of the individual is capable of enhancing the beauty of surrounding individuals.

Yet people and society feel that that which nature has constructed has an obligation to conform. Why must we try to change what nature has constructed? Nature, in its infinite wisdom and influenced by the hand of God, knows what it is doing. What makes society think it knows better than Nature?

By putting labels on people, standing in judgment of people and ostracizing people on the basis of their differences, and forcing individuals to conform, society oppresses the beauty which Nature implanted. By asking individuals to conform to society’s status quo, Nature’s design is suppressed. As a result of this, the tree may grow straight and tall, but it comes nowhere near reaching its full potential.

We should appreciate what Nature gives us — from the trees she provides for aesthetic reasons to the people she provides as invaluable resources. We should open our eyes to the uniqueness and individuality of each person, regardless of their differences. Our differences are what make each and every one of us a work of art by nature.

"Once Upon A Time" Serves as Writing Inspiration

Every writer has something which inspires her or him to write: something which provides fresh ideas or stretches the imagination; something which prompts a writer to strive for something which she or he feels is extraordinary.

It could be anything. A story on the six o'clock news. A conversation overheard in a restaurant. A word one sees in passing.

Everything is susceptible to the creative mind and serves as fodder for creative endeavors, whether it be writing, art or other mediums.

I was inspired to write the "Sword of Tilk Trilogy" by a television show.

I don't watch much television. There isn't much on that appeals to me these days. Most of the time I prefer to write rather than watch television. So when a series comes along that captures my imagination, I get pretty excited about it.

So it was with "Once Upon A Time."

Even before the first episode debuted, the previews had me intrigued. What could anyone possibly do with those classic fairy tales? It piqued my interest and I could hardly wait to see it.

I was not disappointed and eagerly awaited the next installment.

The more I watched, the more these ideas began to form in my head. Characters and scenarios I had never envisioned took up residence in my imagination. As all writers know, the only way to deal with those visions is to put them down onto paper and bring them to life.

When I began writing the story, I had no idea it would blossom into three full-length novels over 100,000 words each.

Granted, they are nothing at all like the show. There are no fairy tale characters, except for the ones I created.

But it was the creativity and imagination that goes into the show that sparked my own. It was the strength of the characters (especially the women) and the idea of different worlds co-existing alongside one another that sent my muse into overdrive. It fired my motivation to focus on the story to see what the characters would get into next, both on the series and in my books.

Once I had finished, I could hardly believe what I had done. But there it was.

I won't hand over all the credit to the series "Once Upon A Time." There were other elements involved. The word "Tilk" I saw in block white letters on the side of a train car. The Grifflestump came from a pattern I saw in the stippled painting on my ceiling. A number of elements came together to help me form the images and words which became those novels.

But it isn't often I see something on television that spurs me into writing mode. At least, not like this. Certainly not enough to write over 400,000 words.

It is kind of funny, though. Each time I am inspired to write something, whether it be a story, poem, an essay or a novel, I am left with the memory of what inspired me to write it in the first place.

I got a lot of memories.

My imagination has moved on to other things, other writing. But I'm still a big fan of the show.

We writers take our inspiration from wherever it comes.

The Frieda Philosophy

When I first laid eyes on her, my initial thought was “that is the most hideous sight I have ever seen.” The I took a really good look at her. And what I saw really surprised me.

It was at a friend’s garage sale that I spotted her - a white porcelain elephant a little over a foot tall. Someone — either thinking they were artistic, clever or on a drug-induced trip — had painted big green and yellow flowers all over her along with black, green and blue curly-q designs. The points of both her tusks were broken and she was missing a small chip or two.

It’s only natural that an initial reaction would be one of incredulity.

But looking closely at this elephant, I noticed she has one foot poised in mid-air, her trunk is held high, there is a twinkle of delight in her eye.

And she’s smiling. BIG smile.

I realized she doesn’t care what I — or anyone else for that matter — thinks of her. SHE thinks she’s beautiful. And that’s all that matters to her.

“How much for the elephant?” I asked my friend.

“Take her,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I probably won’t be able to sell the hideous thing anyway.”

I named her Frieda and Frieda has been through a lot with me over the years. We’ve moved across country and back between Georgia and California. We’ve moved to North Carolina and back to Georgia.

She’s been broken and repaired with tape and glue. And still she holds that trunk aloft and keeps on smiling. She’s a trooper and an inspiration, jubilant throughout anything and everything.

Frieda has a very valuable lesson to offer: the only opinion of you which should matter to you is your own.

I try to live the Frieda Philosophy daily. I hold my head high and try not to care what other people think of me. Some days this is more difficult than others, especially when you’ve been groomed your entire life to value more the view that others have of you than you have of yourself. But I work at that every day because Frieda stands resolutely atop a 1940’s radio which used to belong to my father. She winks at me each morning before I walk out the door and I can almost hear the triumphant trumpet call from her trunk.

Frieda supports me unconditionally. She inspires me every day just by being there. She is testimony to strength, determination and self-love.

Maybe the person who painted her knew exactly what she or he was doing.

Journalling the journey

A friend of mine recently asked me for advice. She has dreams and ambitions, but feels she has reached a place of stagnation. She feels she spins her wheels, but she is stuck in a rut she cannot break free from. Being in this position has her discouraged and depressed and she’s not certain what to do. She asked me if I had any suggestions.

“Journaling,” was the first word I uttered.

Journaling isn’t the only answer. It isn’t the ultimate answer. But it is a powerful tool any woman can carry throughout her journey. It is a safe space through which to vent anger and disappointment; express joy, triumph and sadness; plan, implement and celebrate accomplishments.

I, like most women, have faced numerous difficult situations in my life. Each time, keeping a journal has helped see me through those times. It has helped me to gain insight into myself and the things that I need and the things that I want — and to understand the difference between the two.

On the first page of my journal is a title: Letters to a Benevolent God. This is exactly how I use my journal. I write a letter to a kind, loving, forgiving God. I espouse everything from my wonder at being alive and aware to my aggravation with my job; my dreams and goals and the steps I must take to achieve them; even my disappointments in the people in my life. Then I leave it up to the authority of this Higher Power to show me what I must do and to help me in dealing with life’s challenges.

I suppose it’s a lot like praying except I put it down on paper.

You don’t have to give your journal a title. That is my own unique idiosyncrasy. Feel free to implement your own unique idiosyncrasy in the process.

As you journal, don’t hold anything back. Don’t be afraid to be angry, to vent your frustration, indignation or aggravation. Don’t be ashamed to cry. Don’t feel guilty about bragging. This journal is yours. This journal is YOU.

After you have journalled for awhile, go back and read what you have written. You may be surprised to find you have taken a great many steps since your initial entry. You may be disappointed to find you have taken a few steps back. However you feel and whatever you find, it is up to you to interpret it and then discover what it is you need to do with this knowledge.

There is always a discovery about oneself to be made. Sometimes, that discover can be life-altering, or eye-opening. Some discoveries can help you see your way clear of something. Some can put you into utter turmoil, but, most often, it is turmoil that must be faced and processed before one can move forward.

In a discussion of journaling with another friend of mine, she expressed concern over someone reading her journal once she is gone. It is a legitimate concern. After all, most of us do not wish to hurt people with our words, whether we are there to defend ourselves or not. I presented her with a solution to this dilemma. Entrust the location of your journal to at least one person whom you trust implicitly. Instruct this person to acquire and destroy your journal in the event anything should happen to you.

In all truth and honesty, though, I wouldn’t suggest having your journals destroyed. Who knows the value your journals may have for future generations? I’m not speaking in terms of financial value, but rather the intrinsic value of what a woman’s life was like at the turn of this century. Your individual insight may prove very poignant to future generations. Your unique journey may be inspirational to someone else.

Think of the correspondence between Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. The world may never have known how industrious or passionate these two women were about women’s rights to vote had that correspondence been destroyed.

Archeology is forever finding written communications which enlighten the rest of the world about what has come before us.

This is not to say your journal will make history. This is just to say that one never knows what actions you make today may make an impact a hundred years from now.

Now, please excuse me, I have a Letter to write.

Just a Woman

She’s just as beautiful in a ponytail and blue jeans as she is dressed to do the town.

She can stand on the brink of self-discovery, and she can pull herself back from the edge of self-destruction.

She is a survivor.

She is a child. She delights in rainbows and butterflies; horses and puppies; bubbles, balloons and snowflakes; the flight of a tern as it takes wing over the water of a still morning lake.

She can spend hours dreaming of the things she would like to do and be, but not one minute wishing away for a life that might have been.

She is strong. She is soft. Within her strength lies her tenderness and her softness harbors her determination.

She is a demon when something touches that spark within that ignites the flame of her sense of anger and injustice.

She is wild. She is untamed. She is infectious.

She can even be addictive.

It doesn’t matter how worldly or how knowledgeable she seems, in her innermost heart there lies the purity of innocence and her faith and belief in the basic good of other people. And that heart beats fiercely and passionately, driven by desire.

She is willful. She is stubborn. She is tender. She is shy.

Her dreams fly upon gossamer wings, knowing full well that dreams can be broken, but knowing just as well the beauty of the birth of new dreams.

She grieves for the state of the world, yet finds wonder in the world that surrounds her.

To look upon her face, to have those eyes turn, gazing in wonder and astonishment at the world around her, to look at you with that gaze; doesn’t that touch something within you in a place so deep that there is no name for it, no map that can charter it?

For all the praise that could be lavished upon her, she won’t be placed upon a pedestal. To be lovingly admired just isn’t her style. To be appreciated, yes. Spoiled, even. But she wants to know that she is real. Not a fragile, porcelain doll. More like Raggedy Ann; a doll made for holding and cuddling, made to withstand the rugged handling that love so richly bestows along with the tenderness that accompanies the handling.

And doesn’t it illicit a desire within you to touch her? To claim her? To reach her in a way and in a place where she’s never been reached before? That nameless place hidden somewhere within the very soul of her that she may not even be aware of its existence.

She expects respect and expects to earn it. Likewise, it is not something she gives freely.

Walk with her. Talk with her. Hold her hand. Touch her cheek. She is incredibly human.

Her love for life is astonishing in its simplicity.

Her love for you is even more astonishing in its complexity.

She is compelling. She is complicated.

But she prefers the term “multi-faceted.”

She is majestic. She is humble.

She makes no pretense to perfection. To expect perfection in an imperfect world is folly, but she strives to be the best she can be and expects no less from those she meets.

Those who underestimate her find themselves awestruck by her unexpectedness. Those who take her for granted are left behind in the dust of her victories.

Somewhere, somewhere between her childlike wonder, her innocence and her adult reasoning, there is a woman waiting to be discovered.

And there’s something there that is worth taking a lifetime to discover. To love a small part of her or only one aspect of her, is to deny the euphoria of knowing the woman as a whole in all of her unique diversities, in all of her triumphs and foibles, wisdoms, depths and knowledge.

All of these diverse qualities do not belong to just one woman. They are a part of all women. They are the strands of a cobweb; they are what make each woman unique and individual and beautiful and yet these strands are strong enough to bind us together as sisters.

So, when you ask her who she is, and she responds, “I’m just a woman,” what she is really saying is, “I am so much more.”

Moving the Rock

When you find yourself between a rock and a hard place, move the rock.

As with everything, this is easier said than done.

The first thing you need to do is take an objective look at the situation you’re in. What decisions and events led you to this place? What exactly is the rock that binds you in your current circumstances? Have you been here before? Is this a pattern that repeats itself in your life? Most importantly, what will it take to move that rock?

Sometimes the answers to those questions may not be what you want to hear. It forces a woman to take inventory of her life and herself. But it takes a woman to honestly assess her life choices and then honestly recognize and admit to herself that those life choices may not always have been for the best.

In other words, oops!, I made a mistake.

But mistakes are how we learn. Provided we pay attention and are willing to admit to those mistakes. Admitting to mistakes is one of the most difficult things we as humans must face. As women, we tend to allow it to add to our insecurities and feelings of inferiority.

So the second thing you need to do is chuck all that. Accept that you make mistakes and admit your mistakes with your head held high. You’re not the first, you absolutely won’t be the last.

Recognize the mistake. Acknowledge the mistake. Admit the mistake. Then let it go.

When you find yourself beating yourself up with that mistake, make a conscious effort to stop. It’s almost as though it’s hard-wired into a woman’s system to relive our mistakes over and over again like a bad tape. But, with effort, we can change the tape.

Focus on what you are capable of. Focus on the good decisions you have made and the resulting good from them.

Once you’ve taken an objective look at your particular rock and hard place and chucked the bad tape in your head, do some really intensive self-analyzation. This works best as a written exercise. Whether you do this with a pen and legal pad, on a computer or other electronic device makes no difference, so long as you conduct the exercise manually.

Make a list of all circumstances and decisions which placed you between that proverbial rock and hard place.

Are you working a job you hate just to pay the bills? Do you find yourself in similar situations in different jobs - in the midst of office politics or at the mercy of your employer? Do you find yourself struggling between paychecks? Did you quit a job to start a business that hadn’t gained a foothold yet? Are you dating the same person over and over again even though he/she has different names and looks? Is your living situation unpleasant? Do any of these things repeat themselves?

Whatever your rock and hard place is . . . you put yourself there. Try and blame it on outside forces if you must, but the hardcore, bottom-line truth is you are responsible for your own decisions. Especially if those decisions repeatedly place you between that rock and hard place.

Once you accept this truth, you can begin moving the rock.

This does not happen overnight. It may take weeks, months or even years. But, once you’ve moved that rock, you may never find yourself behind it again.

Again, as a written exercise, make a list of everything you can do to move your rock. And I mean EVERYTHING — regardless of how small or insignificant it may seem — every action you can take to remove yourself from your circumstances. It is your ambition, your priority, your passion, your very LIFE to remove that rock.

Rather than dwell in a hole of despair over your situation, focus your energy on improving it. Making your own life better is a definitive act of self-love.

If it’s an intolerable job situation, discover what it is you truly wish to do. Do you enjoy helping people? Do you like working with numbers or words? Do you enjoy medicine? Science? The arts?

Think you’re not interested in anything? Think again. Every person enjoys something passionately, and many of those things are something you can make a living at (something a little more constructive than playing video games or watching television). What are you passionate about? What is your dream? Do you want to go into business for yourself? If you enjoy working for others, what type of people, company or corporation are you interested in working for?

Investigate the answers to these and other questions about yourself. You may make surprising discoveries. Look into going back to school (it’s NEVER too late to learn!). Call those companies you’re interested in and find out what type of employees they need. If you get a negative answer, try something else, but don’t give up. Sometimes looking at something from a different angle presents opportunities and answers you weren’t aware of.

The same process applies to a living situation and a relationship. What is it about these situations you don’t like? Can the situation itself be changed? Or do you need to make a change? If you keep dating losers, what is it about those losers that attracts you? Always remember you cannot change another person.

Look at your circumstances from every possible angle. There are always choices and decisions to be made to move that rock out of the way. Don’t make those choices and decisions haphazardly. Make your decisions with a conscious effort. Consider the long-term consequences of these decisions. Are they similar to decisions you have made in the past? Will this decision result in your being between another rock and hard place?

Be patient. After all, it’s probably a pretty big rock that has you hammered into that hard place, so it’s going to take some real effort and time to move it. But consider this: if it takes you five years (or even longer) to move that rock, if you don’t make any efforts at all to move it, you’ll always be between that rock and hard place. By taking steps to move it, you are creating a positive force in your life.

Once you have moved that rock, you may never find yourself in that position again. As long as you are conscious and aware of the decisions you make and the end results.

And if you find yourself between another rock and hard place, do the process all over again. Going through this process means you will know yourself better. And that’s always a good thing.

After all, no one wants to spend her life between a rock and a hard place. After awhile, it really chafes.

Get More Writing Time Out of Your Day

Everybody's busy. Between working, going to school, taking kids to baseball practice, ballet, the library, grocery shopping, doing laundry and a myriad of sundry chores, who has time to write?

Answer: You do.

It's a common complaint I hear a lot. I, too, often find myself pressed for time. But there are ways of squeezing in a little extra time to work on those writing projects.

1. Pens and paper.

Most writers know to keep pens and a small notebook handy to jot down the occasional idea, but not many realize how valuable these tools are. Invented long before the computer age, these two items are much easier to carry around than even a laptop, are much more lightweight, do not require electricity or a signal and the batteries never die. The pen may occasionally run out of ink, but that's why you always carry extras. I suggest using a steno pad or one of those small fat notebooks that fit easily into a purse, tote bag, briefcase or even your pocket.

Though it may seem outdated or archaic to some to use pens and paper, they are still more convenient to use than a laptop while commuting or on your lunch break. It is also guaranteed that few would attempt to steal a notebook and pen right out of your hands as they might a laptop or other electronic device.

2. Commuting

Speaking of commuting, if you have access to public transportation, consider using it. Take those pens and pads with you. You will be amazed at how much writing you can accomplish if you leave the driving to someone else.

Within one week, I filled half a steno pad with writing. I can write very small and cramped when I need to in order to make the most use of a notebook. The pages I had written equated to 50 typewritten 8 ½ x 11 pages. Those 50 typewritten pages were then equivalent to 80 pages in a 5 x 8 inch format. It brought the total page count of my novel very close to 300 pages. That was just in one week of writing during my commute and lunch breaks.

3. Get up early or stay up late.

Buy yourself a half hour of writing time by setting the alarm clock half an hour earlier. If you have kids or other people to care for, make sure it's half an hour before everyone else gets up. Or stay up half an hour after everyone else has gone to bed. This may be a good time to do some research for some of those writing projects. Either way, focus on your writing project for that half hour and you'll get a lot more done than you think.

4. Fifteen minutes.

Force yourself to take those two fifteen (or ten) minute breaks at your job. It may not seem like very long, but you can get a good bit of writing done when you focus on it for ten or fifteen minutes. If nothing else, it will allow you time to focus on an idea or a character long enough to get some thoughts organized for later writing. Those fifteen minutes of writing could very well lead to your fifteen minutes of fame someday.

5. Waiting Time.

Waiting to see the doctor, dentist or any other appointment, waiting for a train or a bus, waiting on hold: all these are excellent opportunities to get some writing done. Everyone knows that, even when you show up early for an appointment, chances are you are going to be waiting for at least a good fifteen or twenty minutes or even longer. Use that time to work on your writing project. Whether it is three minutes or thirty minutes, use it to your advantage.

What can I write in three minutes, you may ask? I wrote a complete dialogue between two people by writing one or two lines during the 45 seconds it took the MARTA train to pull into the Five Points station; each day for a week I wrote one or two lines during that 45 seconds. Yes, it needed a little work afterwards, but I got the basics down. It can be done.

6. Lunch breaks.

A half hour or an hour lunch break can be an excellent time to move your writing project along. If you like taking lunch with your co-workers, it's an excellent break, but take at least one or two lunch breaks during the week to spend some time working on your writing.

7. Weekends and Holidays.

A prime time for those of us working during the week to catch up on some writing. Let it be known that you will be spending some time during the weekend, even if it is only a few hours, to write. Hire a babysitter for the kids or arrange for them to have a play date with some friends. Send the spouse out shopping. Ask for the cooperation you need to do what you need to do. Chances are, if you've been writing during the week, you will have a good bit of writing that needs to be typed, organized, fleshed out or completed.

No, don't spend the entire weekend or holiday writing. After all, everybody needs a little downtime. But at least consider setting aside a certain number of uninterrupted hours for your writing. You'll be glad you did when everything begins to come together.

Though it may seem as though you are working all the time, you'll still have plenty of "downtime" on days when you don't feel like writing or aren't inspired to write. But on those days when you do feel like writing, you can steal time even if it is only ten minutes here or fifteen minutes there.

Stealing those precious minutes is an investment in yourself as a writer. And, by stealing those minutes, you'll be amazed at how much writing you can accomplish. It does add up.

That's how I managed to write The Sword of Tilk Trilogy (Book One: Worlds Apart) in 7 months!

Now go steal some time!

Dying to be a Writer? Well, not exactly.

It is one thing to claim “When it’s my time, I’m ready to go!”

It is most decidedly, most definitely, a completely different matter when that moment is staring you in the face.

I spent seven months writing a trilogy to self-publish. Another five months spent proofreading, editing and rewriting. Finally, I reached the point where it was time to let go: it was time to publish the trilogy and allow it to stand on its own.

I decided to try and publish all three books on June 12, 2013. It was the anniversary date of the day I began writing the books. I thought it would be neat to publish on that date.

As it turned out, I didn’t feel well that day. I had taken that day off from work for the express purpose of publishing the books via createspace.com. All I could do was work on them piecemeal to complete some of the details required to get them to final publication.

I missed the self-imposed deadline and decided to aim for June 14th which was my father’s birthday.

I felt absolutely horrible. There was a pain in my shoulder that wouldn’t go away. I figured it was a pulled muscle. Then I contracted what I thought was bronchitis. I’ve had bronchitis before. About the only thing to be done for it is lots of sleep, lots of fluids and plenty of over-the-counter meds. I couldn’t see a doctor at that point but that’s another story.

I couldn’t get to work for feeling so bad. But so determined was I to get those three books published that I intermittently worked on them; there simply is no daunting the creative spirit.

I finally managed to get all three books copyrighted on the 14th and the official publication date is the 16th – Father’s Day. We used to tease Daddy a lot about his birthday and Father’s day oftentimes falling so closely together. We always treated them separately – they were two different days after all – regardless of how much grumbling Daddy did about that.

Once the books passed the review process, I ordered review copies on the 18th. I felt somewhat better and was ready to return to work the next day. There was nothing more I could do with the books: a careful once-over when the copies arrived and I could then put them out there for sale on Amazon.com.

All was right with the world.

I settled in to relax and watch a little television until it was bedtime.

It happened around eight o’clock.

I couldn’t breathe. Short, almost painful puffs of air were all I could do. It felt like drowning. It felt like suffocating. Even thinking about it sends surges of fear and panic through my veins.

And there it was: this could possibly be that moment.

That realization brought an entire barrage of emotions to the surface, the foremost of those being the truth: I’m not ready.

For all my talk, I wasn’t ready.

Or maybe a little voice told me it wasn’t my time.

Whatever the reason, I chose to get help rather than to wait and allow the fates to determine my demise.

As it all turned out, I had been walking around for about a week with pneumonia. But it was the heart attack that triggered the difficulty to breathe.

One wiseacre (who shall remain nameless but she knows who she is) asked me if I “heard the angels sing” as in some people see their lives flash before their eyes and some people hear the angels sing before they die. I responded with, “No, I didn’t hear the angels sing, but I didn’t hear no devil laughing, neither.”

I find a certain irony in the fact that this all occurred within hours of my ordering proof copies of the trilogy. Was there some significance to the fact that it happened after I had everything all finished and published? Was there a message to be found in the fact that I had yet to see finished copies of the books? Like maybe I should stop procrastinating so much and get on the stick and get my work out there?

Or maybe the incentive was in wanting to see the finished products, to hold them in my hands.

I don’t know, really. The Universe speaks in symbols rather than in plain English and I’ve never been very good at interpreting symbolism.

And I would like to clarify that the books weren’t what led to the heart attack. Writing gives me great joy and pleasure, even more once I hold the finished product in my hand.

No, I have to admit it was my own doing. A lifetime of bad eating habits, even more poor exercise habits and not keeping track of my blood sugar.

But all that is changing.

I take this as a new lease, a second chance and about a dozen other clichés appropriate for the experience. It is definitely a prime opportunity to put priorities in order and realize what is really important in this life.

With that in mind, I have a lot of writing to do.