Saturday, 18 March 2017

Such As It Is

This is it. This is what we have been given to work with. One life. One year. One Month. One week. One day. One moment.

For some of us, this is a death sentence because we live with mental illness; depression, PTSD, GAD, OCD, ADD, more DDD's but I digress. I always wanted initials after my careful what you wish for, little one. Others live without illness weighing them down. But, as REM says, Everybody Hurts. Life is just harder for some than others. And what are you going to do about it?

Life is short.  Probably a lot shorter than what we had hoped for. I doubt anyone on their death bed shouts "Dammit, why didn't you show up sooner. I was ready 23 years ago. Now look, dinner is cold. And I'm not reheating it."

Nope, I try not to take things too seriously, because, as you all know, it's all downhill from here. Might as well live as hard as you can and for all the right reasons.

If I had to make stuff up (I know, quit laughing) I would say most of my life has been made up of these incredible moments in time with happy, beautiful funny, incredible kids, an outstanding, quirky husband, beautiful, loving dogs, great careers (did I mention ADD.....) and less of the dark, icky, oozy stuff. 

Unfortunately, it is the dark stuff that sticks and sucks me into the abyss. There are moments so black and so bleak that there is no light. I prefer not to think on these. I work them out, one dark piece of twisted, burning metal at a time. Toss it away. Take on the the next piece. Chew on it for a while and it goes into the heap.

Now the happy stuff: my incredible, courageous, loving, patient husband. Without him, I'd be done a long time ago. My children, who have taught me so much in life and have made such an extraordinary difference, my grandchildren who have shown me what's best in life, my dogs, I wish I had enough years to own all the dogs I've ever wanted. My passions, Yoga, horror writing, being an artist, helping others, reading, learning, and my friends. Damn, I love you all. 

Find the happiness. Find the love. Find the hope, the peace, the joy, the passion that you deserve. Do not go through this life wandering and thinking and being desperately alone. Do not give up on yourself or others. Nothing comes to you; you have to fight for it. So go out there and brave the new world. And find the love and laughter for yourself. You deserve it. Baggage or no baggage. 

Thursday, 24 November 2016

Letters to Adam

Dear Adam;

My first son, my little fireball. How did an entire barrel of monkeys fit inside this tiny human being?

You are such a joy to be around. Your laughter and sense of humour, though a wee bit off kilter, speaks to your intelligence. Your compassion and sense of wonder makes me smile.

I see pictures of old punk bands and think, he would love this. Or I watch a movie and think, I can see him rewatching that scene over and over again.

Life has not been easy for you, yet you persevere. You do not wait for things to happen, but go out and make your own magic. Your gifts are many: an extremely hard worker, courageous, stubborn, quick thinker, quirky sense of humour, and your faults are few.

You are growing into your own person, developing a unique way of looking at things, loving people and doing what's right.

One day, my love, we will be together again. My heart will always be open.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Saturday, 15 October 2016

Donald Trump Should Come With A Trigger Warning

I am astounded in this day and age that a person who allegedly is groping women and assaulting them against their will is a front runner for President of one of the most powerful nations in the world. To hear him say he is a "magnet to beautiful women" and he "doesn't even wait" he just starts kissing and groping disgusts me.

Then there is the entire Bill Cosby mess, the Jian Ghomeshi assaults, Roman Polanski, Woody #$&)^ Allen, the list grows.

What is it about certain males that think women are objects just meant to be there for the taking? Walking, talking animated Stepford-Dolls just waiting to be groped and assaulted on a whim. Really? 

I blame the justice system, excuse me, the legal system that gives rapists light sentences because having this on their record will hurt their future careers. Really? What about the victim. Her life is ruined. Not just her career. Every day for the rest of her existence it will be in her head that she was violated without the ability to stop it.

I blame society for raising boys to be the 'man' of the house when daddy is gone. Ugh. That phrases sickens me. A six year old is not a 'man' to be lording around his sisters and mother. When was the last time someone said, 'okay you're the woman of the house until mommy comes home'? The implications are that boys are these omnipotent creatures while girls just are.

I blame religion for teaching the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Where the heck is the Mother, The Daughter and the Holy Intuition? And it is not just Catholicism or Christianity. It is Islam, and the Jewish religion and all forms of  patriarchal religions that say hey, if you have this genitalia, you can do this and if you have that genitalia, you cannot. 

I blame the parents that raise their boys to be entitled to take whatever they want. Rich or middle income families that feel 20 minutes of action shouldn't be a death blow to Junior's career.

I blame Hollywood for thinking that a 40 YO actor is washed up if she is a female, but a 75 YO male actor can be the love interest of a 26 YO female actor.

I blame corporations that promote sexism and mysogynistic behaviour, while ignoring the disrespect that goes on, and then wonders why morale is low.

I blame advertising that markets to a generalization of sexual assaults against women to sell clothing, perfume, cars, and even a Big Mac. 

I blame universities where, on orientation women are told not to use the tunnels at the University of Manitoba because they may be assaulted, and instead they should walk outside at -40. 

I blame loser, white trash men that have to go to an organization like Pick Up Artists to learn how to become predators and that they are entitled to jump on any female they desire. And that they are taught how to mislead, lie and drug women for sex.

I blame town councils that, after having an alarming increase in the percentage of sexual assaults, tells women that they have a curfew, instead of locking up the perverts.

I blame rank that instills power in a person that allows them to assault others and then to snicker about it afterwards because rank has its privilege.  

I blame women for perpetuating this myth by blaming the victim. I blame Christian women that buy into the pathos of, if you are married, you should be having sex whenever he demands it.

I think I just figured out why women are still marginalized.

Sunday, 25 September 2016

Life in Dog Years

How do you picture your life? I picture mine in dog years. I am of that age where I figure I can get one, maybe two more dogs and that's it, and that saddens me. It feels almost like when I realized I wasn't going to have anymore children. It is weird to realize you are living in the middle to the last part of your years.

Did I accomplish everything I wanted? Yes, for the most part. I did. I will never be one of those people that regrets not having done white water rafting, zip lining, skiing, repelling down a mountain or  kayaking. I will never regret pursuing careers such as psych nursing, medicine, philosophy, writing, psychology, or the police force. I will never regret having children, just the number of them. Should have had one more to even things out.

I will never regret having married, traveling the world or living across Canada. I will never regret studying Alternative Medicine, going to University or studying aircraft maintenance. I will never regret speaking four languages fluently, horseback riding in the mountains or finding a passion for horror.

I will never regret buying a Mazda MX-3 and popping a wheelie on Memorial Boulevard. I will never regret listening to Punk and Alternative music super loud and signing at the top my lungs. I will never regret swimming at midnight, drinking on the beach, running with the full moon and howling through the RV park.

I will never regret the passion for my husband, my partner in this life and all others. I will never regret staying home and raising my kids, putting off my career until I was old. I will never regret loving them so much it makes me feel like dying when I cannot see or talk to them. I

will never regret my grandchildren and what great people they are and how happy I am to know them.

I will never regret learning about everything and anything that I am passionate about, regardless of how weird, icky, redundant or strange it may be, because knowledge for the sack of knowledge is a love, loved best.

But I will regret not having all the dogs I ever wanted.

Monday, 12 September 2016

Living with Depression

I have had one foot through the veil my entire life. There are days when the whole leg is through the veil. Today, three quarters of me was there. I did not want to live any longer. I probably will not post this for a while because I am not through the worst of it, but not ready to talk yet. Or maybe I won't ever post it.

I am so worn out by major illnesses and my body breaking down. I am worn out from the pain, mentally, physically and emotionally. So far, the past 8 years have been hell. Lots of great moments, but some very terrible, lost in the agony of screaming on the inside moments, that, I guess, once a year, I hit the saturation point and I am done.

Today was that day. Today, I wanted to kill myself. I told my husband we should divorce so I can die. I thought of my grand children, my husband, my kids and the dogs. I made him admin of all the FB accounts I have so he can tell people, she gave up. I have told him no more dogs, because if I do do it, I don't want to hurt them. I thought about my estranged son, and wondered if it would matter to him.

My son hasn't spoken to me, really spoken to me in three years I think now. I honestly don't know him. I thought I did. He and I were the closest growing up. Yes, I did grow up with my children. And he is the one that is most like me. But I do not recognize him anymore. He is married. And gone.

My mind, body and heart are broken, and pieces of me are scattered throughout world. My soul is in the Netherlands, my heart is in BC, and my mind is lost simply touring the world and wanting me to be whole. I don't think that is possible anymore. I think I will always be the person with the pieces of her soul missing. I don't know if this was the Devine plan, to never feel like I matter to anyone other than my partner and my animals and the odd person. If so, you learned me. Don't know what point is though. I would have rather walked the earth a solitary unit than have a family that is living in the same city that I don't see.

Maybe there is something missing in me. Something that people cannot stand to be around for long periods of time. Maybe I am meant to be alone. I wish I knew. I wish I had the answer to why I am always being abandoned and torn apart. I feel like Prometheous. My liver gets eaten by birds every day, and in great agony, I endure it, only to have my liver regrow to be eaten again.

When is enough, enough? Will I ever beat this demon? I have lived with it so long now, it has become a part of me. My first dance with attempted suicide was at 14, then 17, and then I thought about it more numerous times than I care to remember. Some days life is meaningless and that is okay. It is the days when the soul ripping banshee tears through my mind and body and all I can feel is pain, immense pain physically and emotionally, that I cannot do it one more second.

I have just been diagnosed with cervical stenosis, on top of the fibromyalgia, ruptured brain aneurysms, another brain aneurysm, major surgeries etc.

In my head and heart, I've been wanting to not exist since I was three, the year the abuse started. And I believe the abuse changed the biochemicals in my body to disrupt and destroy my immune system, along with my emotional centres. As I continue to age, my autoimmune system destroys more and more of me, one cartilage at a time.

I went to the orthopaedic surgeon and told him, I thought I was two decades away from this. He didn't say anything.

What does all this mean? I really don't know. But the one thing I am certain of, is without my husband, I would not be here.

Today, I choose to live. For now.

Monday, 29 August 2016

Hippie: The Redux

All right, so when I started this blog three years ago, I decided I wanted to be a hippie. So far, so good.

Three years later, I am a trained and Certified Yoga Instructor specializing in Yoga for Mental Heath, PTSD, Anxiety and Depression, I am registered in the Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction Certification program, I am teaching yoga twice a week for a police organization and have done more writing and editing.

I am planning a three day Yoga Retreat and contemplating ghost writing a Yoga book for a highly intelligent, creative and flexible person.

I have also since then, been promoted and lead a unit in Operational Support. Been published a few more times, still working on the novel, and still battling demons.

I have achieved more towards my goal and have moved away from what is holding me back.

I still dream of my house on an acreage where I can grow wine (yes, I know) read, write, stomp some grapes in the backyard, run through fields of clover with the wolves and splash in  the ocean whenever the urge strikes.

Will it happen? Who knows. I try to stay the course, I meander, wander, stroll, roam and leap through paths. Life is more exciting when you can switch gears on a moment's notice.



1.     When did you start writing horror?
Probably the first “horror” thing that I wrote was a little vignette about a guy who comes home from work and hangs himself… a nice, uplifting little tale which was published in my high school newspaper literary page. Then I wrote a few horror stories for Creative Writing classes in college (one professor graded me “down” and told me to quit wasting my time writing stuff like that Stephen King fellow.)  I had been out of college a couple years when I really started regularly writing fiction and submitting to magazines. 2014 marked my 20th anniversary as a published fiction writer (not counting that high school foray).

2.   Have you written in any other genre?
I grew up reading science fiction, so a lot of my earlier stories, in particular, have some sci-fi to them. And I’ve written urban fantasy on occasion. I even have a short collection out that is strictly Christmas fantasy tales.  And I have a short fantasy story out there for young beginning readers, which I originally wrote for my son. Most of the story ideas I come up with have dark twists at the end, but every now and then a ray of light shows through!

3.  What makes you uncomfortable?
Loss. I worry about the things you can’t guard against. The things that come into your life from left field and steal everything you have – whether those things are human villains or cancer or a car gone out of control and crossing three lanes of traffic right at you. 

4.  Does your family read your work?
Not too much. My wife and sister-in-law have read some of my books. My dad read one of my novels once and decided they weren’t for him. I’m okay with that. I don’t really want to have to try to explain why I write the stories that I do!

5.  Does your writing make you uneasy?
Only when it’s taking me too long to finish a project!

6.  Who would you say you write like?
Me. There are a lot of authors I like and admire. I wouldn’t presume to think I write like or could be considered comparable to any of them, though I wish I did.

7.  Who are your favourite authors?
I like a lot of authors for different things, but the ones I come back to again and again include Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Richard Matheson, Nina Kiriki Hoffman, Clive Barker, Anne Rice, Edward Lee.  Growing up, I had a whole different list of science fiction authors, who still hold a big bunch of real estate on my bookshelves. But Isaac Asimov, Clifford Simak, Hal Clement, Charles Eric Maine, J.T. McIntosh, C.J. Cherryh, Eric Frank Russell, Keith Laumer and Robert Heinlein don’t have much bearing for a horror crowd!

8.  Who influences you as a writer?
Everyone I’ve ever read! Especially those listed in Question 7!

9. Do you remember what your first horror book was that you read?
I read all sorts of ghost stories and classics like Poe as a kid. But probably the first “adult” horror novel I read was Carrie, when I was a freshman in high school. That really opened my eyes to what you could do with character development and inner narrative.  That novel blew me away.

10.  How old were you?
14. It was my first semester of Freshman year.

11.  Is there any subject you will not touch as an author?
That’s a hard one. I believe you can write about anything… but I won’t touch things that I am not interested in reading about. Why would I want to spend my time?  Typically, I have no interest in reading about serial killers, or child abusers.  That said, in Sacrifice, Ariana qualifies as a serial killer, even though she’s doing it as an occult ritual. And in The 13th, there are unborn babies who are sacrificed along with their mothers. So it’s partially about context.  I personally wouldn’t have any interest chronicling the life of a real serial killer like John Wayne Gacy for example. There are people fascinated with the reality of that horror… but I’m fascinated by the kind of horror that is not of this tabloid-driven earth.

12.  What was the best advice you were given as a writer?
Write a lot, and always write for yourself – don’t chase a trend, you’ll always be on the run. Read your dialogue aloud. Read to yourself in the mirror, if that’s the only audience you’ve got. Listen to what your characters are saying. Would anybody REALLY talk like that? Storytelling began as an oral tradition and the best, most get-under-your-skin stories are typically those that can be read aloud.

13.  If you had to start all over again, what would you do different?
I think I’d learn how to write Romance.

14.  How many books do you read a year?
That number, sadly, gets less and less every year. The last time I read more than 10 books in a year was 2007 (I used to keep  lists).  The past couple years I’ve barely gotten through a handful of books a year.  I miss the days that I used to lie around the house and read for hours – just for pleasure, not because I was editing or blurbing something (which seems to be the only way I read at all anymore!)

15.  Do you write every day?
I do every day that I’m writing ;-) 

I’m a sprint writer, not a marathon writer. What does that mean? I can sit down sometimes and knock out thousands of words over a weekend when I can immerse myself and dedicate myself to it. But unless I’m under a real date-oriented deadline,  I might then go for a couple weeks or a month without writing a word. I’ve written over 10,000 words in a 24-hour period before.   I’m good at periodic long hard sprints like that. I’m not so good at religiously sitting down day-after-day and knocking out 1,000 words in a regular rhythm.  That said… when I’m really actively working on a novel, I do force myself into a daily schedule so that I guarantee that I’ll hit 6-7,000 words a week.  I can usually only keep that pace up for a couple months, but that’s enough to get a good chunk of a novel down on paper.

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