I’ve been thinking about making this post for a while. I’m not going to get super scientific. Just a few facts.
The world is made for right handed people. Left-handed scissors? Crap. I’ve had to teach myself how to use right handed scissors, and now I can’t even use left-handed scissors. Every door knob, handle, appliance is geared for a right handed person. Think about hand crank can openers and feel my pain.
Left-handed people are relatively rare in society. About 10% of the population is left-handed. Even more rare are female lefties. Believe me, when I see a fellow female lefty, I get excited. It doesn’t happen often.
Both of my parents were born left-handed, and both were switched at a young age at school due to the belief at the time that being left-handed was the sign of the devil. In the middle ages, being left-handed was thought to be witchcraft. Luckily, my parents didn’t subscribe to either one of these beliefs and allowed me to be my left-handed self. One of my brothers is left-handed. I’m searching my brain for anyone else in my family who is left-handed and I’m coming up with nobody.
For certain sports, there is an advantage to playing left-handed. In tennis there is a clear advantage. Rafael Nadal is a right- handed person. But he plays tennis left-handed. I’m not very familiar with baseball, but I think there is also an advantage of batting left-handed.
There seems to be genetic differences between being right-handed and being left-handed. Left-handers may have superior verbal skills, but scientists still don’t know. All I know is do not ask me to do math.
You can always see a lefty coming. Ask them to show you their pinky and side of their left hand – the part that touches the paper.
Let me know in the comments if you are also left-handed! 👈
Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?
Am I being serious? Yes and no.
I’m at a point in my life where I wear my bathrobe to get the mail. I answer to no one but myself. I’m sorry, that’s incorrect: I answer to the cat.
After a lifetime of not making the best decisions, I’ve backed off. What I learned in childhood taught me how to choose the absolute worst partners. Thanks, dad!
After a recent relationship ended, I decided that I would no longer be actively taking applications. It’s not that the job was filled, it’s that we’ve pulled the job off the market due to a poor candidate pool. Time to go within and heal what is wrong so I stop making bad choices.
Besides all that, casual dating is not fun for me. I don’t like it. I would rather get to know one person very well, not know a bunch of people not so well.
I’m thinking of a phrase here. I think it’s a meme. There are several iterations of it. It goes something like, “I like to be alone, but I want someone that I can be alone with who also likes to be alone.”
Yeah, that. And they have to be OK with me wearing my bathrobe to the mailbox. Because I’m not going to stop doing that.
I’ve asked the universe/God to stop sending me the wrong things. I am done with the tests. I get it. I know where I went wrong. Or if I don’t know, I’m working on it. Stop sending me somebody’s dusty ass son, universe. Please and thank you.
Oh, one last thing: I will never give up my writing again for anyone or anything.
The two songs I thought of when I was answering this prompt are: Jar of Hearts by Christina Perri, and The Chain by Fleetwood Mac. Both of these songs are my jams.
Jar of Hearts
I know I can’t take one more step towards you ‘Cause all that’s waiting is regret Don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore You lost the love I loved the most
I learned to live half alive Now you want me one more time
Who do you think you are? Runnin’ ’round leaving scars Collecting your jar of hearts Tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold From the ice inside your soul So don’t come back for me Who do you think you are?
I hear you’re asking all around If I am anywhere to be found But I have grown too strong To ever fall back in your arms
I’ve learned to live half alive Now you want me one more time
Who do you think you are? Runnin’ ’round leaving scars Collecting your jar of hearts Tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold From the ice inside your soul So don’t come back for me Who do you think you are?
It took so long just to feel alright Remember how to put back the light in my eyes I wish I had missed the first time that we kissed ‘Cause you broke all your promises And now you’re back You don’t get to get me back
Who do you think you are? Runnin’ ’round leaving scars Collecting your jar of hearts Tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold From the ice inside your soul So don’t come back for me Don’t come back at all
Who do you think you are? Runnin’ ’round leaving scars Collecting your jar of hearts Tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold From the ice inside your soul Don’t come back for me Don’t come back at all
Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are? Who do you think you are?
Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies
And if you don’t love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you saying You would never break the chain (never break the chain)
And if you don’t love me now (you don’t love me now) You will never love me again I can still hear you saying (still hear you saying) You would never break the chain (never break the chain)
Listen to the wind blow, down comes the night Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies Break the silence, damn the dark, damn the light
And if you don’t love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you saying You would never break the chain (never break the chain)
And if you don’t love me now (you don’t love me now) You will never love me again I can still hear you saying (still hear you saying) You would never break the chain (never break the chain)
And if you don’t love me now (you don’t love me now) You will never love me again I can still hear you saying (still hear you saying) You would never break the chain (never break the chain)
Chain keep us together (running in the shadow) Chain keep us together (running in the shadow) Chain keep us together (running in the shadow) Chain keep us together (running in the shadow) Chain keep us together (running in the shadow) Chain
My perfect day, from start to finish, was the day I received the first batch of my book in the mail. A close second was doing book signings. The process of writing a novel took much longer than one day, of course, and it wasn’t perfect, but the feeling of handling a solid book that contained words I strung together, was unlike any other feeling previously or since. I could think of other ways to spend a perfect day, but none as profound as this for me, as a lover of words.
I started writing this book in 2003, and the idea formed over a fairly short span of time. I have been a tennis fan since the age of 15, and I am not going to tell you how many years ago that was, but it was approximately 102 years prior to 2003.
When I write, I see images. I see the scene playing out between the characters, where they are, what they’re wearing, their facial expressions, if the air is still or breezy, hot or chilly, and I see it start to finish just as a film or on a real in my brain.
The novel started with a small seed of an idea that turned into an image in my brain. The scene was the end of the book. I hand wrote most of this book in a black, hardbound canvas covered book that was probably meant to be a journal. I have journaled my whole life and I have written my whole life as well, although not for public consumption.
So the image that I saw in my head of the scene, playing out of the end of the novel, I wrote at a feverous pitch, on the first page of my black bound book. I then had to form character names, settings, and all the good stuff that goes along with novel writing. Which I had never done before. I bought books, I researched how to outline, but basically I winged it. I wrote the novel in about three months. The scenes played in my mind, and I was able to extricate the best out of the story that I could. I edited and re-edited the novel. I pitched my manuscript to agents and publishing houses for a full year of my life. I had some interest but never any yeses. Frustrated and emotional as I was, I refused to accept defeat. I decided to self publish. Back in 2005, when I finally got past trying to find a publisher and an agent, self publishing wasn’t as acceptable as it is these days. Nor was it as accessible. It was, however, much more affordable. I chose to use lulu.com, which probably was due to the fact that that was one of the only self publishing houses available at the time. Uploading the novel was a fairly simple process. I chose the cover, the font type, the color of the font, and the cover is from stock image. Formatting the pages was a bit difficult and the first print proof of the book was too many pages, too large of a font, not the right cover, not the right title or font – not the right anything.
So, I went back to the drawing board and finessed it into what it is now. I paid extra for the international ability to sell on Amazon, and once I received the first shipment of books myself, I couldn’t believe that I had done this. I had a book with an ISBN and it was registered at the Library of Congress and it was available for sale on websites. I held this bound grouping of words in my hands, and it came out of my brain. It was surreal.
Because I did not have an agent I had to hustle my own promotions. I held book signings at local bookstores, I made sure all local bookstores had copies of my book from the warehouse, I promoted it as much as I could through word-of-mouth and through online sales. Shortly after I wrote the book and launched it, I switched careers that involved a lot of training, and the creative part of my brain went dormant. I am still in the career that I switched to all these years later, but I have recently found joy in writing again. I owe it to a muse I found in the most peculiar place. I lost my muse long ago, so to find another one in a weird place, and completely unexpectedly was a shock and a joy. So thank you muse, and I will see you at the park in 2033. Until then, I’m pondering ideas for a second book, but I have no solid kernels on which to build yet. For now I continue with daily prompts, poetry and short stories, about some of my favorite things, which include Paris, cats, dogs, pigeons on the lamb, and Sometimes relationships.
For those of you who have considered writing a novel, or working on a novel, or have finished a novel, what are your experiences with the process? For example, I started at the end and worked my way back to the beginning. I worked pen and paper. I edited my own book with the pages looking like a murder scene had taken place. There was so much red pen. I didn’t tell anyone I was writing a book until I was done the book. I felt like it would be breaking a spell I was under. For me when I write I get in a zone. Does anyone else experience that? What are your experiences as you are writing whether you are working on a novel or another piece? Please comment below!
*I originally posted links to my book on a separate page on WordPress, but it has disappeared. I don’t think WordPress likes tennis.*
The song I thought of today is Unwritten, by Natasha Bedingfield.
I am unwritten Can’t read my mind I’m undefined I’m just beginning The pen’s in my hand Ending unplanned
Staring at the blank page before you Open up the dirty window Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance So close you can almost taste it Release your inhibitions Feel the rain on your skin No one else can feel it for you Only you can let it in No one else, no one else Can speak the words on your lips Drench yourself in words unspoken Live your life with arms wide open Today is where your book begins The rest is still unwritten
Oh, oh, oh
I break tradition Sometimes my tries are outside the lines We’ve been conditioned to not make mistakes But I can’t live that way
Staring at the blank page before you Open up the dirty window Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance So close you can almost taste it Release your inhibitions Feel the rain on your skin No one else can feel it for you Only you can let it in No one else, no one else Can speak the words on your lips Drench yourself in words unspoken Live your life with arms wide open Today is where your book begins
Feel the rain on your skin No one else can feel it for you Only you can let it in No one else, no one else Can speak the words on your lips Drench yourself in words unspoken Live your life with arms wide open Today is where your book begins The rest is still unwritten
Staring at the blank page before you Open up the dirty window Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find
Reaching for something in the distance So close you can almost taste it Release your inhibitions Feel the rain on your skin No one else can feel it for you Only you can let it in No one else, no one else Can speak the words on your lips Drench yourself in words unspoken Live your life with arms wide open Today is where your book begins
Feel the rain on your skin No one else can feel it for you Only you can let it in No one else, no one else Can speak the words on your lips Drench yourself in words unspoken Live your life with arms wide open Today is where your book begins The rest is still unwritten The rest is still unwritten The rest is still unwritten
…is how I will be answering this question. Just kidding. It’s tennis. This prompt has been asked and answered before. I have nothing new to add. Maybe I could play tennis while performing interpretive dance? But not today. For now, my responses to previous prompts are below. Happy Monday!
What do you enjoy doing most in your leisure time?
A tongue in cheek title, but it’s a serious post today, folks. I received a spam comment from a “life-of-the-party” type telling me that WordPress can easily access all of my information and surely I could make up some stories. Well, clearly this person doesn’t read my blog at all, which means I take little value from the statement. But they do have a point. Much to the spammer’s chagrin, today I won’t be making up a story or writing a poem. nor will I be performing interpretive dance.
In my leisure time I enjoy battling migraine. In my workday, I battle migraine. When I’m writing a story, I battle migraine. It’s a war, made up of many battles. Some battles migraine wins, and some I do.
I wear purple battle armor
I’ve suffered from migraine since I was 12 years old. I’m going to scream this from the rooftops: migraine is not a headache, although that is the most commonly known symptom of migraine. Many symptoms accompany migraine. And there are many types of migraine. I started out with the headache type when I was 12. And then progressed to the aura which is followed by headache as a young adult. Then I got slammed with the shadiest, dirtiest, low down piece of crap migraine I’ve ever had: vestibular migraine. Vestibular migraine is characterized by vertigo, which is the sensation of spinning. It is also characterized by a rocking boat sensation, where you don’t have balance and you walk funny. A headache, sweating, stomach upset, vomiting, tinnitus, and a host of other unusual symptoms are also seen with this type of migraine. This migraine seems to be chronic for me. I live with it every day, all day. Migraines are often genetic. They can also be traumatic brain injury induced. Migraine is a neurological condition, not a headache. There are several types of migraine, and some of them are quite shocking. They are all beasts.
Types of migraine
I consider myself a bad ass for dealing with this shit every single day of my life, continuing to work and trying to live a somewhat normal life. Having vertigo for over 24 hours and throwing up nonstop, ending with a trip to the ER, where they can’t help, is not something I would wish on any enemy that I would ever have – infinitum. Many of my family members have migraine of varying types, severity and chronic states. If you line up my family members next to each other, put on a blindfold, move to the side, wave your arms around in front of your face, you will poke every single one of my family members in the nose and yes, you will have poked a migraineur.
What causes or exacerbates it? Having a brain. Also, the barometer rising, the barometer falling, the barometer being too high, being dehydrated, not getting enough sleep, getting too much sleep, too much stress, not enough exercise, turning your head wrong, these are all things I can bring on a vestibular migraine for me which, as I explained is chronic. It’s running in the background in my code. It comes to the forefront when it wants.
I have medication, but they don’t work quite as well as they should, and it’s always about tweaking the medications for us chronic migraineurs. You cannot cure migraine. Migraine is a neurological condition. It is controllable. For me, medication is essential. CBT and other types of behavioral therapies help. Vestibular rehabilitation exercises help. Getting up out of bed when you feel like you’re going throw up yet again and you can’t stop spinning helps. But imagine having to do that every day.
This is key to understanding
I don’t expect to ever be cured of this, and I don’t expect anyone to understand how you can be completely disabled at times by something you can’t see. But people who have an invisible condition or disability will understand what I’m talking about. What I do in my leisure time is I fight migraine. It is a war. I will fight to the death.
In my other free time I poke fun at Blahganuary, because I can create. I write stories and poems because I am a creative. There’s a section of my brain that isn’t filled with misfiring neurotransmitters and conductivity overstimulation or hypersensitivity. The calm area is where I get into the writing zone and chill.. I just also happen to have a chronic neurological condition that at times is disabling. I never let it win, and I never will.
While I was writing this piece using dictation, WordPress heard me say vestibular wrong. It typed out “Mr. Buler.“
(“Buehler? Beuhler? Buehler?” anyone?)
So to WordPress, thank you. I now have a nickname for my condition. When it acts up, as it is known to do, I will tell Mr. Buler he can kick rocks. I may even say it out loud in public, just for fun. “Mr. Buler, could you not have stayed home today? I mean, you didn’t even bring your battle gear. I have mine. And I’m going to use it.”
“It's Amy,” I said. 