Jessica MacIntyre's Blog, page 3

Thank You…

It’s Monday March 17th.  Three thirty in the morning to be exact, and I am not asleep and have not had good sleep for days and days, so although I’m making this blog post, and yes I’m a writer, the grammar and whatnot will probably be craptastic, so please, forgive me.

The last couple of weeks have been a tornado of doctors, hospitals, tears, worry and fear. You see, my grandfather has been living with us for the last four years. The last year or so his health has been tenuous to say the least. We made several trips to the emergency room, spending many nights on hard uncomfortable stretchers while he was poked and prodded with needles and IVs, all the time asking when he could go home. He was 81 and suffering from Congestive Heart Failure along with COPD and Emphysema, among other things.

I grew up in my grandfather’s home and he was ‘Dad’ to me. He was the father in my life. I was thinking about it in the last few weeks and in all that time I can’t remember him ever really saying an unkind word to me. He had a sweet and gentle nature, even when terribly ill. A nurse who had been poking and prodding him for hours once remarked to me, “He’s an agreeable little fellow isn’t he?” I laughed. “All his life,” I said.

Two weeks ago he, for the first time ever in his life, did not get out of bed for two whole days. He wasn’t eating or drinking either. We called an ambulance to transport him to the hospital because he was too weak to get in a cab. This wasn’t the first time we’d had to do this, and honestly, when they took him out that day I was sure he’d be back, just like every other time. Turns out this time was different.

A few days ago the doctors let us know that there was no recovering this time. Basically his body was wearing out and they would focus on ‘comfort care’.  In the back of my mind I guess I knew this was going to happen, but still, it’s a shock to hear it. It’s hard to imagine the one person who’s always been there for you without hesitation or judgement will just be gone. But that’s just what happened.

Tonight, at around seven o’clock, I held my Dad’s hand as he passed away. That may sound awful, but you know what? It really wasn’t. We were alone, and I turned up the heat to make the room was toasty warm just the way he liked it, and I had made sure to keep the door closed all afternoon so he could have quiet. In that little room in the stillness it was just he and I as he took his last breath and slipped away from this world. It may sound crazy but it was as peaceful and beautiful as the birth of any baby. Although my eyes hurt from crying and my head and heart ache, it really hasn’t been the worst day of my life. It’s actually been one of the best. I’m so lucky and grateful that I got to be there for it. It was truly a privilege.  My mother worked in nursing homes for many years and often told me it was, but I didn’t truly understand that until now.

After he passed away I didn’t call the nurse in right away. I sat and talked to him for fifteen minutes or so and just kept holding his hand. In your life many people will love you, but if you’re lucky, nobody will love you quite like your Dad, and indeed, I was incredibly lucky.

Thank you Dad, for everything. Especially for doing all the things you didn’t have to do like raise a child that wasn’t even your own. Not for one minute did you ever make me feel like a burden or a problem, even though the horrible bouts of my illness, you still only just loved and cared for me. You were a true gentleman, and a human rarity, and I’ll love and miss you for the rest of my life.

Lynn Shepherd, Give Your Head A Shake!

We have a saying in the Maritimes when someone does something stupid or doesn’t appear to be thinking clearly in some way. Whenever we see someone on self-destruct mode we feel the need, out of love, or concern, and sometimes quite frankly, confusion to say, “Give your head a shake!”

This week a piece was published in the Huffington Post by a writer named Lynn Shepherd entitled: If JK Rowling Cares About Writing, She Should Stop Doing It.

Now, if this post had been written by a reader or a critic I would have just given my own head a shake and moved on. Largely people who don’t write novels have no idea what the process entails and as such can be forgiven for making ignorant statements. But Lynn Shepherd is a novelist herself. Never mind the fact that she clearly states she hasn’t read any of J.K Rowling’s books but goes on to demean not just the writer but the author’s readers as well. Never mind that she makes the ridiculous argument that Rowling has ‘had her turn’ and ‘sucks the air’ out of the market so that nobody else can have a chance to sell anything (as if people can only read one writer).

Those things are bad enough, but honestly, that’s not what disturbs me about the piece. Really, Lynn Shepherd’s words are indicative of a bigger problem. Snobbery. Writers are absolutely disgusting to one another at times. If you don’t like what someone is doing it seems totally normal to not just tear them down, but their audience as well. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen people discussing a book they enjoyed only to have someone else come along and make judgements on their intelligence based on the fact that they liked a particular book or writer. Nowhere else in the arts is this as big a problem as it is among the writing community, and frankly, it makes me sick.

Writers get up on their high horses, forgetting that their work is out there to be criticized as well. Shepherd is finding this out the hard way as people have begun giving her books one star reviews on Amazon, stating openly that they haven’t read them. They feel that turnabout is fair play. After all she did the same to J.K Rowling without cracking a page, why shouldn’t they do the same to her? I totally disagree as I’d never review or rate a book I haven’t read, but you have to realize, if you’re going to be a snob and drive a stake through someone’s heart, be prepared to have it driven through your own at some point.

I really believe that instead of focusing on what another writer is doing, a good writer is writing. A true artist is working all the time with their head down and largely not noticing what others are up to. If J.K Rowling sells millions of books and makes millions of people happy, why and how does that have a negative impact on me? You shouldn’t begrudge someone their rewards. As Stephen Pressfield said, “The professional has learned that success, like happiness, comes as a by-product of work. The professional concentrates on the work and allows rewards to come or not come, whatever they like.”

None of us really have any control over how our books will be received, but we do have control over our actions. We can choose to behave toward each other with some class or we can belittle someone else’s success by telling ourselves that their stuff is no good and they don’t deserve it anyway because the public is ‘stupid’.

Perhaps if you’re going to do that you need to question why you became a writer in the first place. In other words, give your head a shake!

The Unborn – Book Cover!

Here is the cover for the third book in my vampire series. The Vampires of Soldiers Cove: The Unborn.  Release date: April 1st!

 

So You Don’t Care About Ellen Page

So, actress Ellen Page came out this week. How awesome is that?

Wait…what’s that I hear you saying? You don’t give a crap about it? You don’t care one way or the other? It makes no difference to you? Ellen Page is not a hero for coming out?

Well then…aren’t you enlightened. It must be nice to live in such a bubble that you can’t see what enormous guts it took for her to do that. You must have totally glossed over the portion of the video where, for a brief moment anyway, she looks scared to death. What’s that? You didn’t watch it? My bad. Here it is if you’re interested. I watched it and was actually pretty moved.

Look, I know most of us have gay friends at this point and it seems like ‘no big deal.’ They’re out and you still like them, love them in fact. I hear you. I have gay friends too. You know what I’ve never asked most of them though? What was it like to come out? We only think of it from our perspective. When they came out to us it might have been no big deal…to us. BUT…what was it like for THEM?

Perhaps for some of them it really was no big deal, but I know we would also hear lots of stories about sleepless nights, shed tears, fear and doubt. The worrying and wondering: will this or that person still want to talk to me? Will my parents still love me? Will I be in danger of losing my job or bullied at school?  But we largely don’t think of those things because, like a Hollywood actress, they don’t affect us directly.

Ellen Page might not have been your hero this weekend, but I guarantee she was a hero for someone. The backlash of people online is pretty harsh, and one only needs to read the comments of any article that was published about her this weekend to see why visible people coming out is still necessary. I know we are all looking forward to the day where it no longer matters, but guess what? That day is not today, and so yes, it’s news, and yes it’s important.

I had a volunteer gig a few years back where I sat on one end of a phone that people called when they were in crisis. If you’ve ever sat and listened to a young person cry and question their existence for any reason, and you have a heart at all, it would break. Some were gay and contemplating suicide for that reason alone. Even in Canada where we consider ourselves to be more progressive the world can still be a cold, cruel place for gay people, or anyone who is different. The day being gay no longer matters is the day they stop calling the crisis lines. I don’t work there anymore but I suspect if we were to ask the people that do they’d tell us those calls still come in on the regular.

It matters because it may save a life. That’s a farfetched concept to most people who are cynical about seeing celebrities trying to do some good, but not to me. I’ve listened to more than one person’s gay child tell me they want to die. If this saves even one family from having to stand and cry at the grave of their child while the coffin is lowered into the ground her coming out was more than worth it.

So to Ellen Page I say, thank you! Thank you for being brave. Thank you for not just thinking of yourself, but others as well. As far as I’m concerned you’ve done us proud here in Nova Scotia and I admire and salute you. Thank you for being here, and thank you for perhaps helping someone else stick around too. You didn’t have to do it, but you squared your shoulders and did it anyway. That’s my definition of a hero.

Writing to Quiet Voices? I Don’t Think So.

So, here’s a question for my writer friends. Not that I’m excluding those of you who are strictly readers because you can certainly wade in on this as well. Here it is:

I see a lot of writers saying things like, ‘I write to quiet the voices’ or ‘The voices won’t shut up.’ Any and all variances you can imagine are put forth by writers on Facebook and Twitter daily. Now, I get what they’re trying to say, really I do. I know what it’s like to be overwhelmed by ideas and dialogue, but do you ever stop to consider what people who ACTUALLY hear voices might think when you say this?

Well, let me tell you. As someone who is both a writer and has a mental illness which causes me to have auditory hallucinations (voices) I get pretty pissed off. I know you don’t mean to piss me or anyone with mental illness off, but really, think about it. You hear voices? Really? No, you most likely don’t. I’m sure you hear the thoughts rumbling around in your head and they can play out pretty intensely to the point where, like I said, you are overwhelmed by ideas. But you hear voices? Pardon my language but…bitch please! NO you DON’T!

If you were to really hear voices you’d be on a drug for that. Hearing voices is not fun. It’s TORMENT!

And let me tell you, auditory hallucinations would probably make you the opposite of creative. I’ve known lots of other people with the same problem and the voices don’t whisper brilliant ideas. They don’t help with your writing in any way. In fact they are distracting and disturbing and mine at least, are severe assholes. It’s extremely hard to write when I’m hearing voices. It’s hard to do anything at all. When I see anyone referring to this as a kind of creative spark I think it both diminishes your faith in your own personal creative flow, and insults me.

I’m not under any kind of false impression that people are going to stop saying this anytime soon, but please, if you read this and you’re a writer please consider talking about your creativeness in another way. It’s not romantic or artistic to ‘hear voices’.  It’s a suffering that can only be understood by someone who has actually experienced it.  It’s a kind of mental torture the likes of which I hope you never know. If you’re actually hearing voices – and I say this in all seriousness – please see a doctor!

If you’d like to know what it’s REALLY like to hear voices you can read a post I wrote a few months back called, A Day with Psychosis. If you read that you’ll see what ‘hearing voices’ does to a writer. I hope that if you’re a writer that next time you catch yourself talking about the voices, you’ll stop and think first. It starts there.

The Unborn – Teaser 2 – PROLOGUE

Hello blog followers! As promised on the fan page, here is a teaser from The Unborn, to be released April 1st. The following is the prologue for book 3 in it’s entirety.  Don’t forget to like, share and/or comment!

 

Prologue

            Craning her neck all the way around she stretched and tested the muscles, making sure they were still in good working order. There was only so much a body could take and the older this one got, the less pliable it was. Aging was unacceptable, but also inevitable. Vampires under normal circumstances didn’t age, but in this case, it couldn’t be helped. Twenty years ago when she’d looked in the mirror she had seen this body as the epitome of everything she wanted to be. Beautiful, strong, athletic. It had served her well, but the time was drawing near to jump.

            Over the last quarter century she had been careful, methodical. Cultivating many choices, a whole city full of choices in fact. Although now she believed this may be part of the problem. Too much variety at a banquet and one could end up starving to death while walking around with an empty plate. Time was running out. She had to decide soon who it would be and when she would do it.

            Catching a glimpse of her naked back in the mirror she froze, disturbed at the reflection. The green mark, which had been the mere size of a dime only yesterday, was now covering her entire back in one massive splotch. Instinctually her emotions turned to anger, but she quickly regained her demeanor, realizing that the sentiment would do her no good. She would need to act soon, but for now she could cover it up.

            Breathing deeply she closed her eyes and sucked hard at the air, taking as much into her lungs as possible. She held it there for a moment, the oxygen burning her chest as she felt the tell-tale markings begin to disappear, absorbing their way back into her body. Opening her eyes she inspected her skin once again, happy to see that it had returned to its usual milky perfection.

            Quickly she dressed and ran a brush through the long blonde hair that she had taken such good care of over the years. It had become such a habit, and at times a pleasure that she had consciously looked for a receptor with the same quality. After having acquired the soothing routine she was sure she’d miss it. If by chance she had to give it up to take possession of a man over a woman than so be it, but she really hoped to stay female. A pleasing body, especially a well-endowed one with large blue eyes and dimpled chin had entitled her to certain things. Beauty certainly opened doors, but of course, there were always other methods.

            The transition would be upon her soon, and there were many with the preferred qualities. Receptors that she had groomed and come to know well. Before she could make a final choice however, there was one more avenue she had to explore. Someone new to her. Someone she had been keeping an eye on for a few weeks who had seemingly come out of nowhere, and yet was familiar somehow. The early reports that she’d received had been promising. There were instances where this woman, a vampire, had appeared to start a fire with absolutely nothing. Lots of vampires had special abilities and talents, but fire, needless to say, was unique.

            The body was excellent as well. Only perhaps twenty-five. Long hair as desired, although dark and curly this time. She smiled at herself in the mirror. Yes, she could get used to that.

            Pursing her lips together one final time before turning away she put the finishing touches on her makeup. Her assistant would be back any minute with another report on this new addition and she hoped it would be just as impressive as the last. So far as she knew the woman had no idea she was being followed. Certainly someone who had committed as many murders as she had in such a short time would be more careful if she thought someone was keeping tabs on her. Her behavior remained unchanged, which was good news for them.

            The entire process had been fascinating. Not only did this vampire appear to be very young, but she also seemed to have an insatiable blood lust, murdering two, sometimes three men a week. She kept to the opposite gender, and when they wanted to know why, it hadn’t taken long for them to find their answer. It seemed the blood gorging young thing had an appetite for a certain kind of man.

            Sexual predators.

            She targeted them, watched them, played cat and mouse with them. She played their game so well that they never saw her coming until it was too late. If ever someone was an expert at being a snake in the grass, this woman was it. She wanted to know everything about her. What made her who she was? Why did she only hunt certain types? Why was she here? Where had she come from?

            So far they’d only gotten snippets of answers, not enough to put the entire puzzle together, but that was about to change. Soon she would make herself known. After all she was passing through their territory and one could only do that for so long without permission. Under normal circumstances she would be expected to introduce herself and ask for hunting privileges. She certainly hadn’t done that yet and it led her to believe that this one, for all her intelligence, might have less experience than she’d hoped. If she could provide what was needed all would be forgiven however. There would be no need to ask for permission for anything anymore once the girl’s body was hers. And if she wouldn’t or couldn’t explain the reasons for the things she was doing that wouldn’t matter either. Once the two had become one she would understand everything the young one was doing perfectly. It was just a matter of practicing patience, and after centuries of completing this ritual over and over again, patience was something she had in spades.

 

The War of Art

“The professional learns to recognize envy-driven criticism and to take it for what it is: the supreme compliment. The critic hates most that which he would have done himself if he had had the guts.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

 

“If you find yourself asking yourself (and your friends), “Am I really a writer? Am I really an artist?” chances are you are. The counterfeit innovator is wildly self-confident. The real one is scared to death.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

 

“The most important thing about art is to work. Nothing else matters except sitting down every day and trying.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

 

“We must do our work for its own sake, not for fortune or attention or applause.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

 

“It’s better to be in the arena, getting stomped by the bull, than to be up in the stands or out in the parking lot.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

“To labor in the arts for any reason other than love is prostitution.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks and Win Your Inner Creative Battles

“The professional has learned that success, like happiness, comes as a by-product of work. The professional concentrates on the work and allows rewards to come or not come, whatever they like.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

“The artist cannot look to others to validate his efforts or his calling. If you don’t believe me, ask Van Gogh, who produced masterpiece after masterpiece and never found a buyer in his whole life.”
― Steven Pressfield, The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles

 

If you’ve read all of those quotes you should have no problem figuring out what they all have in common. They’re all from the same book. A book called, (obviously) The War of Art.  It’s a book that I’ve recommended time after time to other writers and artists, although I have yet to hear back from any of them as to whether or not they’ve read it. While I can’t be certain, if I had to wager money on it I’d bet they haven’t because they’ve not talked about it. Here’s the thing about this book. Once you read it you are filled with a burning NEED to talk about it. Those who have read it, if the message has touched them, actively seek out other people who’ve read it or enthusiastically recommend it.

Perhaps I am putting too much on this book, but I don’t think so. It’s no understatement that this book changed my life when it comes to writing and creating.  A few years ago I was in a place where I was unable to finish anything. I would start, stop, reread, tell myself it was all garbage and go back to either start something new, or not try at all. I was filled with fear of showing my work to anyone. I’d make excuses as to why I wasn’t doing it but when it came down to it, really, I was just plain scared. I would say things like, ‘my work is just for me’.  Translation: I’m too frightened of being judged.  I’m certainly no Shakespeare but I produce. I finish. I do my work and ‘let the rewards come or not come, whatever they like’.  

I don’t know Stephen Pressfield, although I’m obviously an enthusiastic recommender of his books, so nobody is coercing me to say this of course. But I see my fellow Indies struggling and I know that if a lot of them read this book they’d at least have clarity. An artist never stops struggling, but what you are struggling for can make all the difference. I know we Indies also have a thing about not paying more than $2.99 for an eBook for some reason. This eBook is $7.75 and worth every red cent of it. Honestly, you’ll read it and shake your head at what a steal that price even is. Don’t believe me? Go read all the five star reviews!

If you consider yourself an artist at all, please, go read it. If you don’t want to pay for it at least see if your local library has a copy. When you do read it, I’ll be here. Come find me and we’ll talk.

 

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

As another year comes to a close it’s normal to look back and reflect on what the past year has held, and what the goals or hopes might be for next year. I know some people poo poo this type of thing, but for me it’s always been something I’ve done. There are good years and bad years of course. As the saying goes, ‘you can’t win ‘em all.’ In 2013, while I certainly didn’t win ‘big’, I feel I had a lot of victories and a lot to be grateful for.

Around last January I started to think about music again. I had been dedicated to the idea of becoming a singer in my earlier years and had spent some time in my late teens/early twenties singing in rock bands. I lived for it. I decided I’d try again, this time with only the hope of finding people to play music with. The feeling of standing in a room making music with other people is not quite like anything else and unless you’ve done it, it’s hard to describe.

Terrified, I auditioned for a band. I hadn’t auditioned in years and wasn’t sure what was going to happen. What did happen was that I shocked myself. Sometimes a person does that.  I didn’t expect to get hired but I did, pretty much on the spot too. I can’t even tell you how good that felt. But as good as that feeling was, it didn’t last. I realized over the course of the six or eight weeks I was in the band that I simply don’t feel the way I used to feel about music. I once had a fire and passion for singing and would have done anything and put up with whatever I had to just to be able to get onstage, but as events began to transpire between band members (as they do with all bands, this was not unique to this band at all. All have disagreements and personally I think the biggest thing successful bands have is a group of people who gel. From there you can work with whatever challenges come along) it was evident it wasn’t a happy situation, or at least, I wasn’t happy with the situation.

I bowed out, which I think was the best decision for both me and the band, but became a little depressed. Music, while it’s something I love and can’t live without, is probably not something I’m going to be a participant in, and that’s ok. I came to the conclusion that what I was missing in my life was the act of being creative and so I turned to my other creative passion, which is of course, writing.

I threw myself into it and on March 23rd, The Vampires of Soldiers Cove went up for sale. I didn’t know if anyone would read it or even care. Since that day it’s been downloaded thousands of times and I’ve sold a respectable number of paperbacks, the book’s paperback edition even landing on Amazon’s top 100 in Fantasy books, ranking it’s highest at #74. The kindle version was #94 in the UK paid store as well. During one freebie weekend promo event the book went all the way to #1 in the free kindle store.

People, I’m sure, think, ‘big deal your free book was #1’.  I can understand that but if you knew how many kindle books are free on a daily basis, well, let’s say I was really proud that day.

I also had my first book signing, which was an epic hit! Followed by my second book signing, which was an epic failure.  I’ve also published three other books and had a setback with my illness. With every year there’s some good and bad. All you can do is appreciate the good, and cope with the bad.

Many, many people have contacted me both publicly and privately to say how much they love Rachel and Gavin. I love hearing that of course, but it’s still a little weird when people talk to me about the books. I lived alone with this story in my own head for so long that it’s still a little surreal to hear other people discuss it, but I love that they love it. As a writer that‘s really what I value. Not the praise, but the knowledge that other people get it. Not everyone has of course and some people are obviously not fans, but that can’t be helped. Nothing is universally loved, but it’s liked enough to spur me on.

As I look ahead to 2014 and the release of (hopefully, if all goes well) three more books and a brand new movie blog that I’ll be launching with my friend Tiffany, I want to say a special thank you to those of you who’ve supported me this year. I may not have won the publishing lottery but I’ve made lots of new friends and accomplished things I never thought were possible for me. All I want is to keep writing and entertaining. At heart that’s really what I am. The biggest thrill I get is being able to take people away from their lives, even if only for a little while. We all need that break from the mundane routine of life, and things like music, books and movies provide that.

So here’s to you, the readers. Thank you for reading and sharing and prodding me forward. Also here’s to the indie community. A year ago I didn’t even realize it existed but it’s proven to be a vast and supportive network from which I draw strength daily.

And here’s to 2014! It’s onward and upward from here.

I wish you the happiest of new years!

The Unborn (first teaser)

Hello minions! Book three comes out in March/April. Here is a snippet. The Unborn is written a little differently in that it’s divided into three sections. Section one: Rachel. Section two: Gavin. Section three: Rachel. Here is a little sneak peak from Gavin’s section of the book. Merry Christmas!

Snow had begun to fall on the journey home and with wet wings it was harder to fly. It took more effort but the thought of facing the intense pain that awaited him upon shifting back kept him in his crow form all the way home. Normally he would stop and rest at least once, but not this day. Finally, scoping out the backyard from the air and realizing he was home gave him no choice. He glided smoothly to the ground landing safely in front of the door of the small rebuilt toolshed and quickly slipped inside.

            Gavin dressed quickly with the extra set of clothes he always kept inside and was halfway across the yard to the backdoor when the weight of his conversation with Rachel started to sink in. The grief and anger consumed him and he decided to go for a walk in the woods instead. Alexander was inside and he knew he was going to disappoint him. He had promised to bring Rachel back but he didn’t know exactly how to break the news to his brother.

            Alexander still wasn’t speaking but in every other way seemed perfectly fine. He pined for Rachel, however. Almost as much as Gavin did. He missed her, probably because she was the only person who could truly communicate with him. He could of course write notes, but he seemed to very much dislike that and seemed lonely for her company. Alexander longed for the company of someone who could converse without being verbal.

            Gavin turned away from the house and made tracks toward the woods in the five or six inches of snow that had fallen in the last couple of hours. The familiar emerald of the woods with its tall pines and evergreens had been transformed to white by the snow that was still falling in large flakes, blanketing the ground and adding to the silence. Out here he could find peace.

            The sun was beginning its early winter descent and Gavin walked on, looking for his usual spot. He was soaked from snow but didn’t care. There was someone out here who needed him anyway, and if it could ease his own pain to ease that of his friend’s at least there was that. Sharpening his vision he crouched low and listened until he heard what he was after. There was a rabbit about twenty yards off, scurrying along, probably trying to make its way back to its burrow when he stopped, detecting Gavin.

            The two stared at each other for a moment, and then in a flash Gavin pounced, grabbing the small creature and snapping its neck. It was important to him that the creature didn’t suffer. He hated killing any living animal, but was wise enough to know nature’s way and so tucked the kill under his arm and headed to see his friend.

            Arriving at his usual spot he leaned up against the tree observing his friend sleep. He called out to him with his mind, waking the creature from its slumber and watched as the big cat stretched and yawned. The bobcat rolled over, locked eyes with Gavin and twisted his nose up, smelling the fresh meat. Gavin held the offering up and spoke slowly. “It’s for you. Come on now. You have to eat. You’re getting weaker.”

            The cat stood and limped its way over to Gavin, pain radiating through his old body with every step. Gavin could feel it and moved a little closer, meeting him halfway and sparing him any further discomfort. When the cat got close enough Gavin put the rabbit down and sat with his friend while he chewed on his dinner. He stretched out his hand scratching him behind the ears as he began to purr and chew at the same time. At one time Gavin knew he must have been a magnificent animal. His paws were the largest he’d ever seen on a bobcat and his coat, once beautiful and thick was now thinning. He ran his hand down the cat’s side, feeling ribs as he did.

            “At least someone listens to me,” he said, scratching him under the chin like a housecat when he’d finished his meal. “I’m afraid you’re not long for this world, my friend. I’ll miss you when you go. You’ve lived a long time though. As much as death is to be feared, you should fear a life without end even more, especially if you have to spend it alone.”

          

It’s a Wonderful Life

Every year when the wrapping, baking, buying and prepping is done, my husband and I sit down together, take a few deep breaths and watch, It’s a Wonderful Life.  For anyone who hasn’t seen this movie (which I don’t imagine is very many people, but just in case) it’s the story of a man named George Bailey (Jimmy Stuart) who is so despondent that he finds himself on Christmas Eve standing on a bridge ready to take his own life.

As the movie opens one of the first things we hear is the conversation between Clarence, an angel who has yet to receive his wings, and a senior angel who is getting ready to send Clarence to George in order to help convince him to live.

The senior angel tells Clarence that a man on earth needs his help, to which Clarence responds, “Splendid! Is he sick?”

The senior angel then replies, “No, worse. He’s discouraged.”

George is absolutely certain that the world is better off without him and so Clarence decides the best course of action to convince George Bailey not to end his life is to show him what the lives of everyone else around him would have been like had he never been born.  

George is someone who, as a young man, had big plans to do big things but like so many of us, fell into the trappings of day to day life. George thinks he has lived a very small life and makes a difference to no one. However when he’s shown a world in which he had never existed he realizes that one doesn’t need to do ‘big things’ to have a big impact. The ripple effect from his life had a massive effect, and all who had come into contact with him were better off for having known him.

I dearly love this movie and one of my favorite scenes is close to the end when George’s brother, Harry (someone who has just been decorated with the Congressional Medal of Honor) raises his glass to his brother and says, “To my brother George, the richest man in town.”

You’d have to watch the entire movie to get why that line is so poignant and if you haven’t seen it I don’t’ want to rob  you of the moment that will surely (if you have a heart at all) give you what Oprah likes to call, ‘the ugly cry’.  I ugly cry at that moment every year even though I know it’s coming.

I really feel this is one of the most profound movies ever made. Not just because it’s a holiday classic, but for its basic truth. The truth that every life matters. Wherever you fall on the socio economic scale or how you fit into this weird, baseless class system we’ve developed. Every life matters.

YOU matter, and don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t.  Think about all of the people you have ever come into contact with. You may have helped people in ways you didn’t even realize. You are too important to exit the stage before your story is finished. If you are thinking of writing ‘the end’ before it’s time then think again. Think of your impact. Think of good old George Bailey.

I know things are difficult at times. I’m right there in the struggle with you. We’re not perfect. We fall, we fail, we lose our way. But never think that you don’t matter, because I assure you that you do and if you can’t see it right now, my Christmas wish for you is that you’ll at least hang on for one more day until you can.

Merry Christmas.