Reblogged from seventhvoice:

Thank you so much to the lovely Soumyav at http://soumyav.wordpress.com/ , Cloudbourne at  http://cloudborne.wordpress.com/ and Melody at http://melodylowes.com/ for  honoring me with this beautiful award.

For those of you who are yet to experience the wonderfully powerful poetry of Soumyav I encourage you to pop in and check out her blog.

Soumyav’s words and kindness of heart show through in every post that she shares.

Read more… 238 more words

Fionn was recommended for a reality writing award.... http://seventhvoice.wordpress.com/2012/06/19/blog-award-thanks-for-writing/ Its such a tribute to him - as he puts it an"ordinary 12 year old boy". But he is MUCH more than that, in what he writes here and how people respond! i don't think it is an official thing which requires any voting, but more a tribute to his work. and I am not even sure who to thank? but all i can say is , whoever you are, you are VERY kind, and it's a beautiful gesture! Thankyou!

October third 2008

My agent Stacy, called me today. She said that she pitched my manuscript to the publishing house, but it would be a hard sell. She told me that since it’s not a “continuation” of my first book, I would have a hard time getting it published. And I know the business and I really do understand. But I’m unmotivated to continue on. I wrote those characters in in that time period and I’m done with them. I want to move on. She kept going on about just “modifying” the story, about how that might help. I don’t know if it’s something that I want to do though.

I’ve sort of been working on a new project. I told myself that this time I will write for me. This time I won’t think about the end game — not about readers or getting published or any of that. And I’m not even going to tell anyone until I finish it.

Anyway, Carl came home from school yesterday and told me he wanted to move in with his girlfriend. He’s 17. I told him that what he needed to do was clean up his crap around the house. It’s like every time I want him to do something simple, he threatens me with this moving out stuff. Then he said to me that he understood why dad had left me, and that’s what really hurt. I tell myself that he’s just a kid and that he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He thinks he knows everything, but he doesn’t. Heck, I know I don’t. I told him he should move out and save me all the trouble of cleaning up his junk. The truth is though, I don’t want to be alone. God knows I don’t want another husband, but the thought of both my sons being on their own and me just being in this old house by myself, well it scares the shit out of me.

Mike called today and said that Ben is doing great. He’s apparently in the 95th percentile or something. I pretended to know what that was. It’s still weird to me that I’m a grandmother. It makes me feel old.

Sometimes I regret not having my boys closer together. I can tell they are worlds apart. Carl is still in high school, for crying out loud, I don’t blame him for not being able to relate to his 28 yr old brother. It’s not his fault, it’s mine.

As my regular readers know, I had me one f**k all of a time obtaining the proper documents to get my ID back, since I didn’t really need once since I scored my DUI’s back in 2007. 9/11′s world is a much different and more strict place when it comes to things like that. At any rate, I finally got that dialed in, and made a trip to the DMV two days ago THINKING it would be equally, if not even more nightmarish then the week long hell ride that the Social Security Administration had been. However, not only does the God of my understanding have a sense of humor, he also takes care of me in ways I don’t expect, or deserve.

I got there at 7:15 in the morning, thinking I had beat the rush, since I had thought the place opened at 7:30. WRONG. They opened at 7:00 and the place was already pretty much full. I went in knowing that I had the right paperwork, and backpack with all of my writing stuff and big book in tow, settled in for what I thought was going to be a marathon of keeping busy while I waited. Long story short (?), I was in and out of there in about a half an hour. I went up to the counter to take my turn at it with one of those senses of impending doom. It was all going much too smoothly, so it was bound to go to hell in a handbasket at any given moment. It costs 20 dollars to get a new ID, so I had the guy a 20. He comes back with a ten dollar bill in his hand and explains that since my old ID hadnt expired, they prorate the charge. I was also informed that since it had been longer then three years since my DUI convictions, I would NOT be needing an SR22, the high risk and very expensive insurance one needs after drinking and driving. I told him he got a gold star, and would be singing his praises to everyone I knew. (which I stand before you doing, just like I said I would.) It just goes to show me that I can never underestimate my God. That ten dollar bill came into play later, and is another blatant example of my Higher Power working in my life.

My cell phone provider and I had a little misfire on what service I was paying for when I went to pay my bill. He thought I said one thing, when I had actually said another. He went to bat for me, like he always does when there’s issues. He was on the phone grappling with the corporate whores for about a half an hour. Another long story short, I told him I was willing to pay the difference and did so. All I had on me was the ten dollar bill that I got back from the DMV, and some pocket change that had collected through the rest of the days adventures. I can never question in all reality, the presence of God in my life.

I also scored a job working at a metal scrap yard. Decent pay, a schedule that allows me to utilize public transit (as if I have a choice) and weekly paychecks, at least for the first two months, which will give me a great start at saving up money to get myself an apartment, and stuff to put in it. I have to take a forklift test tomorrow (Thursday, August 30th) and despite some apprehension due to have ZERO previous experience with forklift operation, I am confident that things will go smoothly and I can start next week. (I am confident about it because the gal said I will watch a video, and can take notes before the test.)

I have this issue with time perception. Part of me feels like I have been dragging my feet, and not doing everything I can to handle business on a daily basis. This boils down to impatience and not fully trusting God. However, as I sit here and talk to you in my own special way, I realize that I’ve only been out of jail a few days more then a month, and that all of these things are happening a lot faster then they do for a lot of other guys in my situation. Again, this is the result of me taking the action, and leaving the results up to God, not the other way around, if that makes sense.

As always, thanks so much for taking a moment to be a part of my life today. We will meet again soon! (Don’t forget to click like, subs

That whole freak out revolved around my not having the proper documentation for jobs to hire me, which boiled down to not having my social security card so I could get my photo ID (please refer to yesterday’s post for clarification). I had reached my wit’s end and had the single most difficult day emotionally since I’ve been out of jail, to say the least. If I was to be honest with you about it, I’d say that I pitched a fit like a three year old until I ran out of gas and fell asleep. At any rate, the conclusion had been reached that there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it, except to keep on putting in applications, and hope that someplace would accept the documents that I had.  I believe the saying is “Let Go, and Let God.”

I realize that the lesson to be learned from this situation (as with most in my life) is glaring and very obvious.  I actually said a prayer today on my way down to the place I was going to register with that revolved around telling God that I do trust him, even though I doubt and want to take control. Perhaps this is His way of showing me that he heard me, and that I do indeed need to just relax and let Him handle things. This may sound basic to someone who has been living this way of life for awhile, but for me, there is no way that I can deny the depth and gravity of the value of what that prayer is to me.

Oh, I neglected to mention… the Social Security card came in the mail today. If ever there was a SMH scenario in my life, this is it. Give me another hour or so, and I’m sure I will be able to have a real good laugh about it all. For now though, I’m really just sitting here soaking in how tangible and incredible it is.

After the emotional crap fest of yesterday afternoon, I was completely both mentally and physically destroyed. All I could do was crawl into my bed and zone off into the cosmos. Before I knew it, I started getting tired, and my eyes were heavy like a thousand pounds of steel. I looked at the clock at about 8:30pm and knew I was in for it if I fell asleep that early, because I’m known to only sleep four or five hours at a time, at most. I sent a couple of texts messages in an effort to keep my mind occupied, but no one was available to chat. Long story short, I fell asleep before nine. Imagine my surprise if you will when I woke up and the clock said 5:30am. NINE HOURS OF SLEEP! Unprecedented to say the least. I woke up this morning feeling renewed, refreshed and ready to take on the day with a strong sense of closeness to my Higher Power, whom I choose to call God, which escaped me for most of the day yesterday.

Here’s my point.

I live a new lifetime each and every day. If I really am to embrace the One Day At A Time credo, then not only do I have a chance to forget about yesterday’s woes, but I actually get an entirely new slate.  I can look back on it, learn  what I need to learn, and move on. It’s that simple, and it’s a beautiful thing. It’s not just for me to take each day as it comes, but it feels like a brand new life every time I get out of bed when I allow the process to work, and that’s a gift that I only hope I am able to pass on to someone else who needs it. Maybe it’s you?

I got hired at a recycling plant today. Before you get too excited though, allow me to stop the celebration by saying that I didn’t get hired. Wait a minute… what does that mean? That means that she hired me, asked me when I wanted to start and then asked me for my ID and stuff. I showed them what I had been given, with the assurance that while it was not enough to obtain my photo ID, that it was sufficient for employment purposes. Apparently, it isn’t. Even with my horrid work history, this was by far the shortest employment stint in my sordid life and I am not thrilled.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t face sanctions at the place I’m living. They said I’m not being punished, but yet I can’t go anywhere other then to look for a job until I get a job. Well, wait a minute folks, I just got hired. It’s not my fault that I have everything I was told I needed, only to have them tell me that what I have isn’t good enough. So, I AM being punished, just as if I was someone who sits around the house and fucks off all day. THAT pisses me off to no end. My plate has been so full just with what I have going on right now, lumping me in with the do-nothings and slackers really jerks my chain. Going to look for a job somewhere else isn’t really going to do me any good either, since I ALREADY HAVE A JOB. The real kick in the nuts is that there’s a really good chance that my spot will be filled by the time my social security card gets here, which is what I need to get my photo ID. etc.

So, here I am being punished, but not being punished. Not able to leave the house, even though I was just hired somewhere. Fuck this shit man. I just hope that that spot is still open for me whenever that damn social security card gets here. *shakes his fist at god*

ADDENDUM/EDIT 5:45pm

Yeah well, shit. As with most situations, my demeanor has calmed with time. I called my sponsor and gave him the run down and whined to my mother for awhile, and got it all out of my system. In the end, I can be frustrated with God all I want just as with any other relationship, but it’s what I do with that frustration that really matters. So, when I talked to the director of the house, and told him I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, and he gave me some suggestions, then subsequently went and did what he told me to, then it’s a little easier to get back on track mentally and can focus on what needs to be focused on. Between you and me, it feels damn good to hear my sponsor tell me that Glenn’s doing some very right things in his life. I need to keep working on being patient, and not going against the flow of what my Higher Power’s will for me is, but really… I’m doing ok, and ok is a whole lot better then I’ve been.

This evening I decided to start one of the bigger assignments for treatment, which is to write out my life and usage history. Of course, I had to grin. Asking a writer who is neck deep in three or four different projects to partake in this monolithic task is probably more then they bargained for. I mentioned in the opening paragraph that having an outline of what to write about reminds me a lot of my creative writing class in Junior High, but that it’s actually nice to have that part of the deal figured out for me, instead of having to do it myself.

One thing I’ve already ascertained from the first page of scribbles is that while my memory does NOT serve me well, it seems to me that it comes and it goes as it seems most necessary. I’ve recalled a few things from childhood that I’m not sure I’ve been able to recall before this point, and I really appreciate that. Perhaps the damage from 20 years of bong hits actually does start to go away after awhile. (?) I am actually quite willing to post the aforementioned assignment if/when I get it back from my counselor. I think you guys/gals/in betweens will enjoy it, or I will give you your money back.

My primary treatment counselor is one of us, so I am unable to use her name. However, I have known her for quite awhile, and she lends a huge amount of credibility to the things she is teaching us. I will also say that an open mind can learn a whole lot from someone who is just book learned, but that is much like, as a friend of mine put it “a person who has no children teaching a childbearing class.” The thought occurred to me in a rather strong way that if there were more people who were actually in recovery willing to commit their lives to the work, that there wouldn’t be as much of a need for those who aren’t, and if that was the case, why couldn’t I personally do that? I am book smart (believe it or not), charismatic, articulate, and I’ve always wanted to have a reason to go to college, and I cannot think of a better way to live my life to help others. Sure, it wouldn’t replace being a sponsor, and service commitments for my homegroup, but it would be right up my alley.

So, I’ve emailed the P.O. and will see my sponsor tomorrow night. I hope that this is in the cards for me, because right now, I am absolutely thrilled.

So, it occurs to me that the pain and guilt I am experiencing from the recent hot mess of a relationship I was in (and subsequent break up), is actually a very valuable lesson in how my behavior effected my Son’s Mother, at least in part. I know that it’s not directly an eye for an eye scenario, but I definitely see parallels between the two. I now know what it feels like, and hopefully I can use this to my advantage in future relationships, whether it be with my Son’s Mother, or someone else.

The Dalai Lama says “Inner development comes step by step. You may think, ‘Today my inner calmness, my mental peace, is very small,’ if you compare, if you look five, ten or fifteen years back and think ‘what was my way of thinking then? How much inner peace did I have then, and what is it today?’ Comparing it with what it was then, you can realize that there is some progress, there is some value. This is how you should compare – not with today or yesterday’s feeling, or last week or last month, not even last year, but five years ago. Then you will realize what imporvement has occured internally. Progress comes by maintaining constant effort in daily practice.”

So, it’s with those two things in mind, that I share my mind and life with you here today.

I suppose part of me hopes that maybe at some point of time, someone can read something I’ve written and relate and maybe even learn something from it. Not that I think I’m some sort of scholar, or even that I have anything wise worth sharing. I know that  I’m not the only one to ever experience anything that I happen to be going through (both good and bad), however, maybe within the black letters of my randomness, you can share a smile, tear, or something inbetween with me.

thanks for taking a minute out of your day to stop by. please feel free to subscribe, +1, or whatever the hell it is you do with this particular site to get notified of new posts. it would mean alot to me to know you’re interested in my silly little life.

and then we needed more potaotes so i said “hey chris p,cause it use to be more than one chris so i call him chris p, tell gabe to get some potaotes going.”

he replied, “okay!” and zoom he was off. chris p gets back and says, “gabe is on it!”

a LOT of time passes and i go, “chris what the f**k up with those potatoes.” chris goes to check it out, zoom he gone! i leave the line to take back an empty six pan all nonchalant like…

and i see this…

but in a pot.

this was all that was left…

and i was like…

‘Don’t NOT write something because your Grandma might read it; You won’t ever be a successful writer if half your head is always focused on what others may think of you because of what you have written.’ 

I draw on this always when I find myself pulling back and trying to be politically correct or polite in my writing.  A reader knows when writing is stilted or full of pretence, grow bored and never read you again. 

Draven Ames, horror author of upcoming book, Bullets Till Midnight writes about just this in his latest article here.  [http://dravenames.blogspot.com/2010/11/be-real.html]

(c.) 2010 Tahala.

My first writing job was as an online writer for Big Brother II.

During each 8-hour shift I was expected to produce daily diaries for half of the contestants, write one feature article a day and one ‘he did, she did’ short per hour. If I was on a day-shift it was my duty to do a poll at a local shopping centre or write a quiz for online viewers, and if it was an elimination Sunday I had to interview the eliminated housemates and family members of other housemates present at the elimination. I also had to capture my own stills from the daily live feed. What a brilliant experience it was and I had great fun making up tittilating article titles and provocative photo captions.

It was chaotic at times and hilarious at others and the writing came easily when the house was full of housemates, each one eager to out-perform their competition. But once the contestants were eliminated, my shift-mate and I found ourselves writing about the house cats because the two remaining housemates slept the days away, and really the writers were forced, as our editor said, to make “koek from kak.”

Towards the end of the event, I was tasked with interviewing the mother of one of the contestants; the press had slated her for being a bad mother and so when I telephoned her, it took a lot of calm negotiating to get her to agree to the interview. She was embarrassed about the way her family had come across in the local sensationalist mag that had already interviewed her and she was eager to minimise her family’s exposure to public scrutiny, even though her daughter had already outed the family skeletons in such a public way. It must have taken me well over half an hour of just listening and reassuring her until she agreed to be interviewed.

Families are not perfect, parents are fallible. When I interviewed the contestant’s mother and when I finally wrote the story, I realised that as a writer I didn’t have to add to her pain and humiliation by continuing to present the hardships of her family in a judgemental way; there is more to a person’s life than some bad choices they’ve made. It was my first interview and an extremely valuable lesson: writing about other people demands respect and an ethical responsibility from the writer.

Since then I’ve written a few profiles of people and I’ve managed to present the people as I found them, allowing their own words and their environments to paint them, trying to minimise my own prejudices or views.

For one of the elective courses that I took at varsity I had to interview someone I didn’t know and I interviewed a biker who trawled our suburb like a contemporary cowboy. He agreed to the interview and all was going well until he launched into a sermon on Krishnamurti and then he reached across the coffee table and pinched me viciously on my arm – to illustrate a point about feeling. I was stunned at how he reached across the boundary of writer/subject; this wasn’t supposed to happen. He then told me that if I had not interviewed him that morning, he had planned to end his unravelling life! At the end of the interview, he gave me his card, I gave him mine, but neither of us ever used each other’s number again and although I wrote the article, I never attempted to publish it. The experience sort of turned me off writing profiles.

However, I’m still a voyeur, what with my Big Brother training and all that; but these days I watch and I write and I imagine and I use all of those imaginings in my fiction. Fiction is a much smarter genre in which to manipulate the lives of your characters without anyone really getting hurt.

For the record, I haven’t watched a Big Brother episode since I uploaded my last story on the Big Brother II website. But, I’m a girl in touch with my roots, and I know that I’m the writer I am today because of the lessons I learned in the green room at M-Net in Randburg.