Happy Hermit

I really can't breathe.

Waiting with indecision riding me, I wonder if I should consider a different edge to my career. Maybe I could take a new turn and try another adventure. 

Unexpectedly, warning bells sounded between my ears as I tried to talk myself out of the fear that triggered when I seriously considered clicking the “submit application” button. It will only be one building over. There will only be a slight change in my focus.

Reading and re-reading the job description, I know that I once fit that profile. However, my confidence was whittled away as my duties were stripped from me. No longer one of the chosen, they revoked my ability to participate in events, in projects. There was no longer an opportunity to lead. I became a hermit, and I have grown to like it.

My shell wraps me in a false sense of security. Walls and the ceiling protect me from unforeseen threats. No one can attack me from the back. I have matching chairs, dual screens, and a functional, yet stylish floor lamp. Hanging on my wall, I find a poster that mirrors my fascination with spooky lighthouses and thunderstorms. Next to it hangs my crowning accomplishment, my college degree, Magna Cum Laude. On my shelves sit pictures and other items that remind me of home and family. Behind me is a window which I can turn toward anytime that I feel too compressed. My office is arranged according to fung shue standards. I can breathe here. 

 
Out there, I would have the cold glow of fluorescent lighting. Exposed, there would be no protection from people. The fabric walls would not be large enough to hold my lighthouse and thunderstorm poster or strong enough to support my degree. I am not even sure if there would be room for my shelves or my chairs. The restrictions of the cubicle would require significant contortions to come anywhere close to creating a peaceful setting. The crush of the free space above and around me would be devastating.

So, I panic trying to struggle with the possibility of change. Management could throw me out of my cozy home at any minute, regardless of my job position, but maybe they won’t. If I go to another department though, I will be willingly surrendering part of my environment that allows me to stay sane. 

 
How would I react out there? Would the distractions and reactions be too much to handle? Could I grit my teeth and grip my shaking hands until I became adjusted to the change? I don’t know. Lacking answers to these questions, my mind does not know the next move to make.

My environment should not play a factor in career growth, but it does. This panic is not rational, but it is real. What is normal about a panic attack is that it makes no sense. One's emotional state goes beyond what should be displayed. 

My lungs feel too full and I cannot take in any more air without water spilling from my eyes. 

 
That’s silly; I know.

Silly, silly hermit. 

Please Don't Make Me Watch

"I don't want to watch the military movies where everyone is killed."  I beg my son. 

Every time he wants to watch these true story movies I tell him that I do not want to watch them.  They make me cry, and I like movies that make me laugh, stretch my imagination, or have me on the edge of my seat in anticipation.

He does not understand. He was thinking of going into the military and my heart seized. I know that must be the reaction of mothers when they hear of those intentions. 

My dad was in the Army and his little grandson worships him. That grandson now considers his future. What classes should he take in High School to help him on his path in life? He chose ROTC and classes for handling medical emergencies.  I cringed. 

I am so proud of him for wanting to serve his country and community.  It thrilled me that he intended to follow in his grandfather''s foot steps.  It also sent me screaming inside. 

I know motherhood includes letting go, but I don't want him to leave home with the cross hairs of a gun following him. What kind of mother am I to let this happen?  Letting a child leave home running into danger is against my nature. 

Now, I am watching a Navy Seals's movie in which there is only one survivor. There are too many movies just like it. I cannot name them because I shut the movies out of my mind. Right now I am ignoring the sights and sounds of a battle. 

My son wants to watch them. Does he want to die like that?  Why do I have to watch him want to see and admire the horrors of war?  I don't want to see it. How can I imagine him as a soldier and watch the soldiers die?

"Please son, I have a wild imagination and I do not want to imagine that you are there. Don't make me watch this."

I'm Shocked!

Rhetorical questions are often the most difficult to answer, and I have many when attempting to write romance.  I find myself asking the most questions about sex.  You would think that with four children I would not have any more questions to ponder about that subject.

However, while reading I find myself thinking, “Oh. My. Gosh!!!  Did I really just read that?  Wow. That is exciting and naughty!”  Whether you have actually done the action or not, people want to read those scenes. I know I do.

It's entertainment. It's sex. It's everything that you are thinking, but don't dare say. You were not raised that way.  If your Mama heard you talking or writing like that, she would wash out your mouth with soap. Sheesh.

These are the forbidden scenes; our chance to show the world a sexy peak at our characters’ love (sex) life.  Are these necessary to sell the personality and proclivities of the characters or just to sell books?  Either works for me.  I still like to read the scenes.  That’s terrible; I know!  Shame on me!  If anyone found out, I would lose my Southern Bell status.

It seems like the more the creative writer pushes the edges of naughtiness, the happier the reader is to go there.  I am in no way saying it is a bad thing.  Sometimes though, it is a shock factor to see things on a page that you may be well aware are possible in real life.  Is it the shock or the sex that raises the suspense level?  What will they do next?  How in the heck would that work geometrically?  Should I try that or would I throw my back out?

So how do I as the writer depict great sex scenes?  How do I make the reader want more without saying it?  How do I spark the reader's imagination so that they will take their minds to graphic places without step by step instructions?  Is that even possible or do I have to draw the reader a road map, or a body map in this case?

I find myself writing and re-writing these sections. I go from chains and whips to a chaste kiss depending on who I imagine reading the section. When I think of my female friends reading it, I find myself writing as naughty as I dare.  However, when I think of male friends or co-workers reading it, I want to back off to a PG rating. 

When I am working on it I will tell my critique friends that I am trying to get the piece down to an "R" rating when it was at the level of an HBO special. Where is the line between naughty and nasty or nice and naughty?  There has to be a middle ground where I can be comfortable and proud of my work.

How do I censor my dirty mind or do I?  How can I write about sex and look people in the eye? I must keep up my status as a sweet southern lady, right darlin'?

Here Again

"I swear to God, I don't know how we are here!  The programmers said that they could do it, but I did not think that they could revive the land!"

Liz looked at Shadow excited to be alive again. Months ago they ceased to exist. They knew they were gone, but could only mark the passage of time through their Users. Liz's User heard that the game would live again. Disney had released rights to the work. Liz and Shadow were not recreations but revivals of themselves. 

"It's strange."  Shadow agreed. He seemed uninterested. His User had moved on, dismissing Shadow long ago. 

Not Liz though. She stayed alive in the back of her User's mind. Her User refused to play or become intrigued with any other on-line games.  Liz was the best side of her User. Well I say the best. Liz existed and played the User's manic side. High energy, creativity, drive, flirtatiousness, and daring!  She played an awesome pirate. 

Liz found her play ground in this world. She lived in contrast to her User, which caused all sorts of problems in the real world. There were also good advantages from the grey dividing lines. Her User gained both confidence and health. Liz had dreamed and dreamed of  playing again in the world that had been destroyed and here she stood. 

She examined herself and looked to see if the programmers had left out any aspect of her character.  Her favorite clothing items earned through lengthy quests adorned her body. A quick check of her weapons closet showed all of her high level swords and daggers, voodoo dolls and bombs. Her cannons were ready with a full load of lighting and fire shot. Her Frigate waited in the harbor. All of her pieces, her work remained. 

It felt so great to be real again. Liz wanted to board the closet ship and use the cannons. She missed it so much. However, this game cannot be played alone. She needed crews to fight battles and guilds.  We needed to chat and communicate. Remembering this, Liz's happy face fell.  

She knew she would once again be alone, looking for companionship and a captain to man the ship.  During the game it was extremely dangerous for her User to feel alone.  It is dangerous for anyone to feel that way in an RPG. My User can and has analyzed that for weeks.  

Liz looked back at Shadow and smiled. "I am going to play.  This part of my User needs to exist.  Our Users will need to work through this and balance their worlds. For now come with me."c

"Liz. You know I do not want to be here. There are too many bad memories and knowing your User so well, I can't stand to see you this way. I can't stay.  If I stay it will be because you want me to stay and I won't be happy,"

He searched Liz's green eyes begging her to understand. Though Liz felt very seperated from her User, they were ultimately the same person.  "Good-bye Liz. I am going to the world that makes me happy. I live in the 1940's not the mid-1700's."

"I know this is not your place. Our Users' place is by each other's side, but you, Shadow, no longer want a home here. You will always have a home and a crew when you visit. I will do my best to stay out of trouble and remember that my User is ultimatey in charge."

"Good."  Before he vanished, he gave Liz a heartfelt memorable kiss. Then he disappeared. 

Ode to Lost Gamers

He played for hours and hours mastering the game. He wanted a sense of achievement or to find a world of acceptance. Hours became days. Days became months, until all he lived was the game. 

Family would check on him and bring him food, but the real world quickly fell from under him. He could only think of the game.

He never left the game. When he was forced to connect to the real world, he only thought of the next battle, the next level, or another night with his crew. 

His crew were better than outsiders. They knew and enjoyed the game.  They had everything in sync in the game world. 

These were real friends. They wanted to be with him. They wanted to flirt and work as a team. It did not matter how imperfect he was. His character existed as the handsome leader. 

As the lines started to blur between the game and life, he started seeing himself as that character. His self esteem rose. His ego made him feel powerful and confident. That was not a bad thing, but the personality and other rules of the character also moved into reality. 

One day he woke up and those features and mannerisms were a part of him outside of the game.   His life mirrored his avitar. 

Nothing else mattered. His game life was better, more exciting than real life. The struggles and fears of real life could be completely avoided. 

His crew became his crew offline and he could still only think of the game. He had become completely obesessd. Reality crumbled as the game bled from the edges of RPG to life. 

He couldn't see it. He could no longer look at anything with a view from outside of the game. This new reality was better, less stressful, a chance to be the invincible hero in the game. 

He watched oblivious as the spaces between the worlds fell apart. He knew where he was most happy. He knew where he was sexy, popular, and witty. He had the ladies attention and he was exactly where he wanted to be. 

The lines continued to fade until one day his family came to check on him and could not find him.  

Maybe he moved away to make that new start. Everyone wanted to believe that.   In truth, he was in the game. Permanently on quests with his crew. He had purpose and friends. 

His family searched, but he could not be found. Anyone on the game reached him easily on his favorite server. The family never knew where to look. 

He completey lost his hold on reality, but he was happy. 

Then one day, they shut down the game and the servers. Those who still had a connection to reality moved back into their real lives and mourned his loss. 

One Minute to Midnight

I'm writing a story with a similar title and reflecting on this ordinary hour. The clock ticks quickly through the day. We dread 8:00 a.m. and are excited about 5:00 p.m. But it's just time. 

A clock marks the passage and as we pray for the week to move fast, we wish for the weekend to be slow.  It does not work that way, it's just time. 

We are bound by it's laws in this life and midnight advances at the same speed as any other hour. It's just time. 

We grasp for moments taking snapshots in our heads desperate to remember special points in time. It's important because time keeps moving. It's just time .

Midnight has passed once again without any remarkable event, but how many midnights in the past were memorable or tragic for someone.  It's just time. 

We learn to move and dance to it's rhythm because we cannot bend its will to ours. Midnight moves on past us every night. It's just time. 

Hushhhh...

We hide in plain sight and suffer there too.
We know our stereotype, and we know what it takes to cope.

Hushhh...

We know we cannot reveal ourselves or our future is crushed.
Jobs are lost. Families are ashamed.

Hushhhh...

I have heard others refer to silent illnesses,
but the illness screams loud and clear to the bearer, only to be denied a voice.

Hushhhhh...

No one can see. No one can know.
We draw further into ourselves and our own world.

Hushhhh...

Each attempt to reach out becomes another failure.
Protect the lie to survive.

Hushhhh.
Hushhh...
Hushh...