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Wants Are Temporary. Actions Are Not.

For the past year or so, I’ve been barely writing. I used to write every day, but somewhere amidst the muddy whirlwind of life, I fell out of the habit. As much as I love writing, there was always something I wanted to do more.

It’s a painful thing to reflect on. I’ve watched more movies and shows in the past six months than in the two years preceding them, and I’m convinced I’m lesser for it. My entire life, my most constant love was putting pen to paper or hands to keyboard. My brain works best when spelled out in front of me, and I think a lot less clearly without it.

Lately I’ve been thinking about writing a lot, but I still find myself following the siren call of wants more often than not. Then, a couple nights ago, starting a reflection journal for the first time, I had a thought that led to a bit of a breakthrough.

Wants come and go. I don’t have to let them rob me of achieving my goals on their way through. As I thought more about it, I picked up my reflection journal and wrote.


Wants are temporary. Actions are not. Choose your actions based on your long term goals rather than temporary desires.

When I let my wants guide my actions, I was taking time from the actions that would grow me in the directions I actually wanted to go.

Last night, I wanted to watch a movie, eat something… anything but what I needed to do. Instead, I sat down and began to write.

Personal Statement on Yesterday’s Invocation and a Link to More Information

I felt honored to have Arizona State Rep. Athena Salman read an invocation I wrote at the Arizona State Capitol yesterday, April 18, 2017. I did not expect the outsized reaction something so innocuous received, and I am grateful to her for her defense of it, and to the other legislators who stood by her.

This post by the Friendly Atheist outlines what happened. It includes footage of the invocation and its reception, and the text of the invocation read.

Writing Tips: Senses

When we think of senses, we usually just think of the basic five:

Sight
Touch
Taste
Smell
Hearing

There are more, though (and ESP is not the sixth). Others include:

Pain
Self-explanatory.

Pleasure
Pain and pleasure are not mutually exclusive.

Equilibrium
Equilibrium is the sense of balance. Is the character standing on a moving train/ground that is rippling from earthquake tremors? Or are they balanced on stable ground?

Mental State
Is the character stable or unstable mentally? Do they act logically? Do they feel empathy? Do their emotions whip from one extreme to another without equally extreme triggers?

Mental Location in Time
Is the character focused on the present or so caught up in thoughts of the future or memories/flashbacks of the past that they lose touch with the world around them? Especially important to consider with characters struggling with PTSD.

Bodily Sensations
Full bladder, racing heart, etc.

Emotional State
Is the character angry? Sad? Amused? All of the above? How strong are the emotions?

Temperature
Is the character hot or cold? How about the things they are touching?

Including more senses in writing allows the reader to visualize and engage more completely with the story. However, it is possible to overdo when writing a book, or to choose elaborate words when simpler ones will serve just as well. Resist the urge, unless the character would normally describe things in an over-the-top way.

Orlando

When I first found out about Orlando, all I could think was, “It’s happening again.” There was no shock at the fact the murders happened. They happen, on a smaller scale, every day. Dread, yes. Crushing grief, yes. Fear, and a sense of how frail any perceived security is in the face of everyday hate, yes.

As the day has gone on, however, that fear and grief have strengthened, and with them has come anger and exhaustion. Every day, violence hits minorities in our communities. This senseless act of hate was inspired by nothing more than sexuality and race.

How many more tomorrows like this must hit before we learn to accept those who are different than us? How many more body bags will be filled with gay and POC and trans lives? How long until a body bag closes over my own head?

Still, I will shine. I will shine for the lights that were cut short in Orlando. I will shine for my dead brothers and sisters of every hate crime. I will sparkle so fucking bright that all the people who follow me into the bathrooms with threats and fists will be blinded. I will shine with the fierce love we all deserve, until the whole world shines along with me.

But it still won’t bring the dead back.

Seven Ways to Break a Heart

I can’t fall in love like memories merging.
I only know how to intertwine limbs, not lives.
In your dreams, I was your miracle unwinding:
your favorite glimpse of the afterlife.

I don’t believe in heaven or gods or forever
just in the moments when our touch ignites.
I don’t know what romance sparks in you, darling
I only know I’m watching you say goodbye

I remember the first time we fell together
but not as well as the first time we matched minds
Still, you don’t want friendship with a side of good times
You want me, and I want my own life

I can’t pretend that I won’t miss you
But I also can’t pretend that I can change
I don’t know what this merging is you speak of
But I’m happy enough as me each and every day

If that’s not enough, don’t stay.

Light in Loss

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A precious friend passed away recently, and her death has been one of the hardest things I’ve survived. A lot of me died with her, but not all the things I lost were bad. When her light disappeared from the world, so too did my ability to justify procrastination. I lost some of my distractibility, and a large portion of my reserve from those around me.

She was so young when she died. She taught me time is limited, and that we never know how much more of it we have. We can only live, and live fully, so that when our stars burn out, we leave without regrets.

Since she passed, my creative output has soared, but my heart is still long from mending. At the most random of times, I find tears leaking from the corner of my eyes. I’ve never been one to cry, even at loss, but I find myself doing so every time I remember she’s gone.

My grief bares my soul in a way I am far from comfortable with, but I’m still not sure that it’s bad. Still, every poem I write holds her at its heart, and I weep with the words, happy or sad.