Sue Baiman's Blog, page 3

First Kiss

Tell me my love

Between slow deep kisses

Where we melt into each other

And time stands still

Trapped inside a sphere

Containing only us

And our love

Tell me my love

Of your memories

Of that first kiss

The feeling of electricity

Sparking between our lips

When time didn’t simply stand still

It ceased to exist at all

And you and I

Were alone in a world gone quiet

Tell me my love

What you remember about that day

Did any other memories

Stand the test of time

That don’t involve the sensations

Of falling in love

With someone you’d swear you’ve known

Most of your life?

Tell me my love

As you kiss me again

Press into me again

Carry my soul wrapped in yours

To the ends of heaven and hell again

What were we talking about, my love?

Ah, yes, kiss me again.

Gestating Words

In case you hadn’t heard, I’ll be birthing another book in the (relatively) near future. And much like an actual pregnancy, the closer I get to the end, the more I just want it to be over with. I’d have to go look through my tweets to see when I started working on this one, but I don’t think I want to know. It’s starting to feel like forever.

I’ve changed titles and driven my cover artist (the insanely talented Scott Pond) half crazy ((I’m only taking responsibility for half–the rest is on him and/or his other clients (looking at you, Paul Cooley)).

But the good new is I think we’re finally getting back on track. I have some writing and re-writing to do while the cover is in the design stage. Then we’ll move to the layout phase for both the paperback and ebook formats. And while that happens, I’ll be doing the recording and audio editing for the audiobook version.

There’s still a ton of work to go, but the end is almost in sight. Really reminds me of when I was 7-8 months pregnant and thought I was big. Hehehehehe… I had no clue at that point.

Uh, oh. Now I’m hoping this is a really bad analogy.

Balticon 2015

In the almost stillness

Of the perfect afternoon

I contemplate the paths we have traveled

To this place where dreams are born

Where ideas are sparked

From the flint of community

And the trick is to both shelter that ember

From the sad fate of a quiet death

At the hands of Doubt

Or Insecurity

And breathe life into it

So that it becomes a flame

That burns bright enough

To survive, to grow, to thrive

Into a life of its own

Without getting burned

In the process

It is these moments of stillness

And these contemplations

That I realize that we are each

One of those sparks

Raw embers in desperate need

Of that breath of life

That sometimes can only come from another

A form of creative cross-pollination

Imbueing a confidence

A sense of purpose

So very different from

What we attain alone

Hard Realizations and the Determination to Change

Best part of being in a prom picture is finally realizing how hideously huge you have become. I’ve been making excuses for why I haven’t gotten serious about getting in shape because the truth is it’s scary. I know it’s going to hurt like hell and I don’t know if I’ll be successful. I guess that’s a mindset I need to change. Somehow I knew I’d recover from the divorce emotionally and financially but I’ve always had doubts about physically. I think I’ve gained about 100 pounds over the past five years. Telling myself I wasn’t ready to do the work yet or make a definitive commitment or whatever was so much easier.

And of course there’s always the thought that what if I lose the weight and I’m still alone. Then that would mean I’m just unlovable. Full stop. Right now, I can blame the weight. It’s like some sort of test, knowing that people love me despite the weight. As if it isn’t a part of me. It’s a shield from so many things. It’s also killing me.

If you’ve never had a weight issue, imagine what it would be like to put on a fat suit and carry an extra 50, 75, 100, 125, or 150 pounds around with you every day. My joints and back hurt so terribly all the time that I’m terrified of what any exercise is going to feel like.

But I guess I won’t know if I stay on the couch. And the only way out is through. I think that’s one of the thoughts I need to take to heart to motivate myself. I need to know that I can do this and I don’t yet. But obviously waiting until I do know that isn’t the answer and has only made the situation that much worse.

I’ve never been one to say I think I can about anything. I have to know. Somehow I knew I’d be okay before with other parts of my life even when the evidence to back up that knowledge wasn’t readily available. So I’m going to fall back on some of the coping skills that have gotten me this far in other areas of my life. Skills like talking baby steps but continually moving forward. Embodying the expression, “Fake it till you make it.” Reconditioning my responses. And living life one breath at a time.

I can do this. The only way out is through. And I’m stronger than I know. Strong enough to do anything. Anything.

Done Remembering

Today marks 365 days

That she’s been gone.

We went long stretches

Without talking sometimes

But never anything

Like this.

I don’t want to remember.

This day should never

Be special in any way.

She’s still dead,

Still gone.

Marking today changes nothing

Remembering today

Only serves to remind

That somehow a year

Has come and gone.

It sharpens the pain

That deadens each day.

If I’m going to remember

I want to remember

Her life, not her death

The limitless spark of her soul,

Not the limitations

Of her body.

I will remember the day

She drew her first breath

And started her journey

Through this world

Rather than her last

When she slipped into the past.

I hope I have many years

Of my own

Before I too am gone

But I do not want to count

The passing of time

Between our ends

I’m fighting back the tears

Sadness is my default

Reminding myself to smile

Remembering should be joyful

Maybe bittersweet

That’s what she’d want

So I’m done remembering

On this day

Letting it go and moving on

Because life moves on

And I can still see her smile

When I close my eyes

How has it been a year already?

One year ago today…about this time…my mom said she suddenly had a really bad headache and collapsed. Later that night, for reasons he couldn’t understand, before he could go to sleep, my middle son had to take items my mom had given him down from the shelf where they always sat, and put them on the floor. Only after he did that, could he go to sleep.

The next morning, I found out about my mom. She had gone by ambulance to the local hospital and been helicoptered to another hospital in Orlando. The prognosis was bad, and two days later she was gone. The next day, my boys and I drove 20 hours, through the night, to be with my dad, my sisters, family, and friends to say goodbye.

A few days after we got back from Florida, I had a dream where my mom was trying to explain to me that she wasn’t gone. Between that dream and what happened with my son that night that she collapsed, I no longer have any doubts whatsoever that the soul goes on.

I’m struggling a bit today, and I know this week will be difficult. But our days here are short and life is beautiful. She gave me so many gifts that started with the gift of life, and poetically ended with the gift of understanding that everything will be okay and there’s nothing to fear.

So, now it’s up to me to make the best of the days in-between. Thanks, Mom. I miss you.

Grieving Celebrities

The geek community, particularly fans of Star Trek, took a gut punch Friday with the news of Leonard Nimoy’s death. I have a hard time understanding people’s grief when the person who died was a celebrity. He was an artist. An actor. But I didn’t know him. The man.

He played a character that is loved by millions. And, he did a wonderful job portraying that character. But he was not that character. And the tv shows and movies where he played that character are still there. Spock didn’t die. Spock can’t die…well, beyond the death scene that was scripted for him in the movies.

I don’t mean to sound completely heartless, I understand death and grief touch us each differently. It’s been almost a year since my mom died and I am affected by her absence every day. But I can’t grieve for people I didn’t know. I can empathize deeply with their loved ones and the pain and heartache they are most likely experiencing right now. But that’s it.

It kind of weirds me out to see people fall apart about celebrities. Actors, musicians, writers…these are all people who have chosen a vocation where they hope and pray and work their asses off for the approval of the unseen masses..us. They create music, books, movies, tv shows in the hope that this thing that they’ve had a hand in creating is popular. And in those instances when this thing they played a part in makes it big, they are rewarded with the double-edge sword of fame.

As consumers of these books and movies, fans, we know these characters so well. Often better than we know our own family. They are there whenever we need them. They fill a void. Even if that void is simply needing some entertainment. We discuss them, dress up as them, write stories about them, pretend to be them. These are all wonderful things. And yet, none of these things has anything to do with the artist who originally created the character. Or very little.

Fame is such a strange curse. I’ve also never understood people wanting to be famous. I understand wanting to be successful in terms of earning a good living or being recognized by your peers. I imagine it must be nice to be wealthy. But I also imagine that money can’t buy happiness and fame comes with some strange consequences, including having people you don’t know think they do know you because they’ve read or heard or seen your work.

From everything I’ve seen and read, Mr. Nimoy was a wonderful man who carried his fame with dignity and grace. I’m betting things were more than a little weird for him on many occasions. But he was still someone I didn’t know. None of the movies or shows he did will change that, no matter how much I love the character he portrayed.

John Scalzi tweeted an attempt to explain to the non-nerds why some people were were so upset by comparing Mr. Nimoy’s death to that of a favorite grandfather.  Um, sorry but I don’t buy that. When my grandfather died, I lost someone I loved dearly and of whom I have very few pictures and no videos. Any time one of Mr. Nimoy’s fans misses him, they can rewatch something in which he acted. They didn’t have a personal relationship with the man. They won’t miss the things I miss about my Grandfather. Things like conversations about family, advice, the hugs, or the Hershey bars he brought every Sunday when I was a little girl.

I don’t know, maybe it’s strange that I don’t feel the kind of connections to celebrities that so many seem to feel. Personally, I find people thinking these artists are part of their family is the strange part.  Or, that their connection to the characters written and acted out by these artists somehow connects them to those that created them. I’m sorry so many people are hurting because of a celebrity’s death. I’m just not sure I’ll ever get it.

 

Words Fail Me

Words fail me

When I’m trying to find a way

To confront those people

Who have so much privilege

And are so far above so many

That they can’t see down far enough

To see the realities of so many lives

That are so very very different from their own

Words fail me

When the research has been done

The statistics bear out the truth

Of the hate, the institutional racism

The unfairness of pigmentation

Or the lack thereof

How crazy it is to think

That these people aren’t at a disadvantage

When not that long ago

They couldn’t order a sandwich

When you’ve been able to do whatever you want

Your whole damn life.

Words fail me

Because my parents and grandparents and great grandparents

Owned their own homes, cars, nice things

They had farms, and businesses, and good jobs

They had good educations

Where everyone in their schools

Was white, like them

And when people with darker complexions

Moved into their neighborhoods

Many of their pale neighbors

Moved out

Words fail me

When instead of celebrating these families

Who were in so many cases

The first in their family history to own their own homes

They fled in ignorant fear

Because there goes the neighborhood

But no, they weren’t racist

There’s nothing wrong with moving on up

Just so long as there’s still somewhere else

For them to move on up to too

When where they were is now inferior

Because it’s no longer lily white

Words fail me

When kids are gunned down

By the men sworn to protect them

And people look for any reason

To blame the victim

Even when he’s left in the street

Like the piece of trash those in power view him to be

Because he had the bad luck to be brown

And might have been a thief

When the thieves of Wall Street

Still sit in their ivory towers

Counting our money

If petty theft is worth half a dozen bullets

There are plenty of men in three piece suits

Who deserve a 50 caliber to the head

Words fail me

When people equate poverty with brown skin

Or welfare fraud with blackness

When people of any nationality or religion

Are targeted as being more likely to be terrorists

And profiled, pulled over, stopped, frisked, questioned

For being guilty of being brown

When the mass school shootings

Or Oklahoma City bombing

Or Letter bombings

Or serial killings

Were perpetrated primarily by white males

But those are isolated incidents

And not indicative of a bigger problem

Words fail me

When people can’t err on the side of maybe

Maybe these things are true

Maybe they’ve been wrong

Maybe their troubles and struggles

Because we all know everyone has these

And understanding our racist society

Or doing everything you can to correct this

Does not in any way diminish these things

That are true for you

But it does help pave the way

For a better tomorrow

Not just for those people who happen to have darker skin

But for all of us

Words fail me

When acknowledging that as a society

Some were once owned

And that while the laws have changed

That’s a history that many won’t forget

And I’m not talking about those whose ancestors were owned

I’m talking about those who think it was wrong

To change the laws in the first place

And will only ever see people with darker skin

As society’s problems

Words fail me

When politicians can’t find a way

To fund healthcare, or education

Or food for starving children

Or any of the things

That stand a chance to improve humanity

But they can fund wars

That harm us all

Without even looking at the price tag

Words fail me

When people complain about those

Who are powerless to change things

Who are the ones at the bottom

With nothing to their name

Instead of the politicians

Who instill this fear in the others

While stealing all of us blind

Playing a shell game where everyone

But the politicians and big money interest

Lose everything when they already had nothing

Words fail me

When people can’t see or understand

That reaching down to help someone else up

Does not pull you down to where they were

But puts us on equal footing

So that we can help each other

Because we have so so far to climb

And we’ll only get there

If we work together.

My Three Words for 2015

2015 is my third year doing three words. While I don’t refer back to these words often enough during the course of the year, I really enjoy this exercise and will continue to do it each year. Last year, my words were Storyteller, Habits, and Collaboration. The year before was Balance Schedule, and Breathe. I don’t know if anyone else has any rules around reusing words, but for now, I’m going to avoid that. Instead, I look at this as each new set of words building on prior years; much the same way our past experiences are always with us and we layer new experiences on top of the old.

So this year, on top of Balance, Schedule, Breathe, Storyteller, Habits, and Collaboration, I’m going to layer Planning, Practice, and Perseverance. Three P’s on my path to perfection.

This year, I’ll be publishing the second volume of my poetry, continuing to expand my editing business, attending Balticon, doing some voice acting, and expanding my skills by learning how to edit audio and do my own production work.

December has become the time of year where I take stock of what I’ve accomplished throughout the year and start to make plans for the coming year. New Year’s Day is a planning day. And this year, I’ve set some ambitious goals for myself.

I will be spending January finishing the novel I’m currently editing and working on my own book. Then a new novel is slotted for the first half of February. The second half of February and all of March will be devoted to audio work, my book, and yarn dyeing (The Balticon color ways). April and May will have another novel and I’ll be gearing up for Balticon. I’m hoping to release my second book before Balticon but I don’t have a date yet.

I have ambitious plans for the first half of this year (particularly when you factor in that I have a full time job that also now includes 10 hours of mandatory overtime every week).

With the new audio skills the word Practice will really come into play. I’ve done a lot of planning so far, but I have no doubt that I will need to continue planning and re-planning when life throws roadblocks in my path. Perseverance is a daily necessity already and I’m sure will only become more important as I juggle all the things.

So I will plan, I will practice, and I will persevere.

What are your three words this year?

Another New Year’s Day

It’s another New Years Day

Another new beginning

In the middle of the week

In a continuum of average

I get the day off

For which I am thankful

Because these weeks around the holidays

Are so pregnant with expectation

That dragging my ass to the office

More than three days a week

Is brutal

Tomorrow will be Friday

So today I’ll start the year

And tomorrow I’ll finish the week

These two days will hitch a ride

On the year before

Like baby monkeys

Clinging to the back of their mother

Today I will pause

For a bit of reflection

And a lot of planning

I make progress each year

By not making resolutions

I prefer to remind myself

Of where I succeeded

Before I list where I fell flat

So that when I chide myself

On the shortcomings

It’s tempered with the understanding

That I’m not a complete fuck-up

I will start the year with sweetness

Cinnamon rolls warm from the oven

An unrushed morning

Of peaceful joy

The year ahead

Regardless of whatever triumphs

Are in store for me

Will hold its share

Of stress, worry, defeat, and despair

I know this going in

So today I purposely

Make sure there is at least

An equal measure of all things good

I have learned

After not just other New Years

But through all those years

That I have the ability

To infuse my life

With peace, love, and light

And that I am the fulcrum

Between the light

And the dark

Since I won’t get to choose

When painful events occur

I make sure I find the good

In everything

Any time I can

So that there is an abundance available

To draw from in times of need

And I start each new year

Off on the right foot

In the hopes that the rest of the year

Will be the same

Even though I know it won’t

So while this is just another New Year’s Day

Any day that I’m here

Will never be just another anything

It will be the best day

I can make it be

And I will do my best

To make each succeeding day

Each succeeding year

Something worth remembering

Something worth doing

And something worth looking forward to

Happy New Year

Happy today

Happy tomorrow