| Biographical Non-Fiction posted August 3, 2024 |
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A prayer, a hug, just a shoulder to cry on
In Need of A Friend
by Begin Again
FanStory is my safe haven. It's where I let my imagination soar, share who and what I am with friends, and know they have similar dreams, too.
Today, it's my place to cry.
Yet, it's my place to breathe again.
If only for a moment, I need to share the dark spot I stumbled into this morning and ask for your prayers. I don't want sympathy, medical suggestions, or expect any real answers. I want and need a little friendship, which I know I can find here.
As we age, many of us have experienced those moments when we walk into a room and wonder, "What did I come in here for?" Or when we are writing, we suddenly can't remember what word we are thinking of or even where the train of thought was headed. I know it's happened to me time and time again.
This morning, for whatever reason, I physically and mentally lost my story — Spirited Justice.
It was very early when I sat at my computer after a trying night with my family. It happens, but usually not bucket after bucket like this time. I'd had a restless night, so, of course, writing is my good spot.
Except today! I couldn't find the saved chapters I had written in the last few days, ones I hadn't posted yet. I even questioned myself if I had actually written them. Then, I really terrified myself because I tried to remember what I'd written and where I'd been headed, but I couldn't. A few pieces finally fell into place.
Deciding I was standing on the edge of the cliff, terrifying myself, and probably for no reason, I backed off. I pulled up FanStory and checked my mail. I read replies, reviews, and posts, hoping to channel that energy into calming my erratic nerves. Forgive me if my replies were weird.
Then, I took a deep breath and returned to Words, praying for miracles, but nothing was there. I checked recycled bins, history, empty folders, and everywhere else I could think of, but I couldn't find what I'd written. Even worse, I had to reread the entire four-chapter story so I could remember what I'd written. Good thing I enjoy my story, but it didn't help.
For a second, the word STROKE reared its ugly head, but I kicked it to the side. My little corner of the world was crumbling, and forgive me, but the tears were falling, and my body shook. How could this be? Somehow, I'd lost the story.
First, I held a heated battle with the author and the person in charge of keeping track of where the posts go — namely me since I wear both hats. Needless to say, that got me nowhere.
My next move was to go back into Word, Google Docs, Grammarly, and Pro Writing to see if I could find any clues. I must have checked the recycle bin and history at least three timesÂÂ, but with no success!
Next, I tried on my Psychologist Hat, which didn't fit well. I tried to rationalize that it was just a story (JUST A STORY!) and accidents happen. I told the patient — me — that it wasn't that big of a thing. WRONG! My stories are precious to me, and I'd lost my beloved characters somewhere in the abyss. And I wasn't sure I'd recognize them if I found them.
Today, it's my place to cry.
Yet, it's my place to breathe again.
If only for a moment, I need to share the dark spot I stumbled into this morning and ask for your prayers. I don't want sympathy, medical suggestions, or expect any real answers. I want and need a little friendship, which I know I can find here.
As we age, many of us have experienced those moments when we walk into a room and wonder, "What did I come in here for?" Or when we are writing, we suddenly can't remember what word we are thinking of or even where the train of thought was headed. I know it's happened to me time and time again.
This morning, for whatever reason, I physically and mentally lost my story — Spirited Justice.
It was very early when I sat at my computer after a trying night with my family. It happens, but usually not bucket after bucket like this time. I'd had a restless night, so, of course, writing is my good spot.
Except today! I couldn't find the saved chapters I had written in the last few days, ones I hadn't posted yet. I even questioned myself if I had actually written them. Then, I really terrified myself because I tried to remember what I'd written and where I'd been headed, but I couldn't. A few pieces finally fell into place.
Deciding I was standing on the edge of the cliff, terrifying myself, and probably for no reason, I backed off. I pulled up FanStory and checked my mail. I read replies, reviews, and posts, hoping to channel that energy into calming my erratic nerves. Forgive me if my replies were weird.
Then, I took a deep breath and returned to Words, praying for miracles, but nothing was there. I checked recycled bins, history, empty folders, and everywhere else I could think of, but I couldn't find what I'd written. Even worse, I had to reread the entire four-chapter story so I could remember what I'd written. Good thing I enjoy my story, but it didn't help.
For a second, the word STROKE reared its ugly head, but I kicked it to the side. My little corner of the world was crumbling, and forgive me, but the tears were falling, and my body shook. How could this be? Somehow, I'd lost the story.
First, I held a heated battle with the author and the person in charge of keeping track of where the posts go — namely me since I wear both hats. Needless to say, that got me nowhere.
My next move was to go back into Word, Google Docs, Grammarly, and Pro Writing to see if I could find any clues. I must have checked the recycle bin and history at least three timesÂÂ, but with no success!
Next, I tried on my Psychologist Hat, which didn't fit well. I tried to rationalize that it was just a story (JUST A STORY!) and accidents happen. I told the patient — me — that it wasn't that big of a thing. WRONG! My stories are precious to me, and I'd lost my beloved characters somewhere in the abyss. And I wasn't sure I'd recognize them if I found them.
Maybe I should have called Detective Donatelli and FBI Agent Garth Woodman because they are better at solving crimes than me. But even I knew I was stepping over the line, and I hadn't totally lost my mind yet.
Since I agreed with that thought, I reached out to a special friend who always has my back and loves my stories as much as I do. I figured she would understand and help me regain some sanity. I, at least. recognized I needed grounding.
That wasn't fair of me because she had enough on her plate without my babbling, and it was an early Saturday morning, and sleep was probably her agenda, not mine. Of course, that's rational, but I wasn't being too rational. I apologize publicly to her, even though I know she'd have been there to hold my hand if she'd been awake.
Which brings me to this post.
I'm gathering my wits about me, though I'm not sure how many good ones I have left, and trying to live up to my pen name — Begin Again.
I had to check outside for signs of an earthquake since I was still shaking. Nope, it's just me!
I know I opened Pandora's Box yesterday and let out some memories I'd buried. Did I let one of those evil ghosts creep out and serve me with a dose of payback?
I don't think I've lost every marble in my head, so the ghost theory is out. Did I make a stupid mistake and erase the chapters? Logic says yes! I don't know how, but I confess I must have. There's no one else to blame, except maybe the dogs, but they are too cute to accuse them.
Regardless of the possibilities, it doesn't matter. They are gone, and I can't find them. Whether I like it or not, the author in me must rethink, rewrite, and start again. That's where Begin Again throttles up and kicks me into gear. Painfully, it will hurt.
So, I ask my dear FanStory friends to send me a word or two of encouragement, a giant hug, and a prayer that I stay away from that cliff. I don't have a parachute, and it might be a rough landing, not to mention the horrible sequence of reliving my life as it flashed before me. That thought alone makes me choose to step back and write.
Thanks for reading and letting me pour my foolish heart out on this beautiful Saturday morning. I'll pour myself a cup of cappuccino, sit on the deck, and watch the river flow by. I could use a glass of wine, but it's morning, and I know the glass would turn into the entire bottle.
Knowing my friends are waiting, I'll Begin Again. Thanks for always being here.
Since I agreed with that thought, I reached out to a special friend who always has my back and loves my stories as much as I do. I figured she would understand and help me regain some sanity. I, at least. recognized I needed grounding.
That wasn't fair of me because she had enough on her plate without my babbling, and it was an early Saturday morning, and sleep was probably her agenda, not mine. Of course, that's rational, but I wasn't being too rational. I apologize publicly to her, even though I know she'd have been there to hold my hand if she'd been awake.
Which brings me to this post.
I'm gathering my wits about me, though I'm not sure how many good ones I have left, and trying to live up to my pen name — Begin Again.
I had to check outside for signs of an earthquake since I was still shaking. Nope, it's just me!
I know I opened Pandora's Box yesterday and let out some memories I'd buried. Did I let one of those evil ghosts creep out and serve me with a dose of payback?
I don't think I've lost every marble in my head, so the ghost theory is out. Did I make a stupid mistake and erase the chapters? Logic says yes! I don't know how, but I confess I must have. There's no one else to blame, except maybe the dogs, but they are too cute to accuse them.
Regardless of the possibilities, it doesn't matter. They are gone, and I can't find them. Whether I like it or not, the author in me must rethink, rewrite, and start again. That's where Begin Again throttles up and kicks me into gear. Painfully, it will hurt.
So, I ask my dear FanStory friends to send me a word or two of encouragement, a giant hug, and a prayer that I stay away from that cliff. I don't have a parachute, and it might be a rough landing, not to mention the horrible sequence of reliving my life as it flashed before me. That thought alone makes me choose to step back and write.
Thanks for reading and letting me pour my foolish heart out on this beautiful Saturday morning. I'll pour myself a cup of cappuccino, sit on the deck, and watch the river flow by. I could use a glass of wine, but it's morning, and I know the glass would turn into the entire bottle.
Knowing my friends are waiting, I'll Begin Again. Thanks for always being here.
True Story Contest contest entry
 Recognized |
#25 August 2024 |
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