#IWSG – OCTOBER CHECK IN - “WHEN DO YOU KNOW YOUR STORY IS DONE?”

The awesome co-hosts for the October 5 posting of the IWSG are: 

Beverly Stowe McClure, 

Megan Morgan,

 Madeline Mora-Summonte,

 Angela Wooldridge, and Susan Gourley!

This is a terrific question, but I've written exactly one story, for #StoryTime Bloghop, that is part of a larger opus. You can read it here at: "The Day The Cat Got Out" I had to stop at 1000 words, as it is a flash-fiction type of challenge and the ending for it is perfect, I think. But, I'm not any good at knowing when a story should be done, or if you just edit your way to an ending and hope for the best.

Now, my father loved to read, when he was alive and he was a champion drinker and philosophizer and when he would get to talking about the authors he enjoyed reading, he would come up with some pretty funny stuff. He never tried to write, but he would say things like, “If I were going to write a story, it would be something like this: [There was a man. He lived and died. The end.] I think it lacks something in the detail, though.” He never took the art of trying to create something very seriously, or rather, he had never really thought the process through.

courtesy:youtube.com                                         

My mom, on the other hand, wrote poetry and I believe she was quite good, but for a long time, she wrote only for herself and would never let anyone see what she had written. She eventually had some of her poetry published and won a few competitions and I read some of it, and while I enjoy it, it's the kind of poetry that I envision ladies of a certain era, say the in early '30s, would read at a summer's tea. Rather innocuous and pretty, painting pictures of little forest animals frolicking or something. I rather expect my poetry to evoke feelings of intense emotion; loss, rage, or passion unleashed. Poetry is a perfect art form, at least to me for emotions such as these. Matthew Arnold's "Dover Beach" is one of the finest pieces of poetry I've ever read of this type and it just smacks you in the face at the end. It's one of the reasons I love Shakespeare's plays.

My introduction to poetry was not very secure, although it had its hilarious moments - just ask Robert Lee Haycock - and it wasn't until University that I discovered the poetry of D. H. Lawrence. His poem, “Black Snake” was a revelation to me and I fell in love with poetry from then on. But, as per usual I've entirely digressed.

The truth is this; I don't know when my story is done. I haven't become that mature a writer yet. I seem to be quickly getting to that point, but I cannot give anyone any advice on how to end a story gracefully or even badly. I honestly thought we were going to write about “What Music Means to Me”, and where I got that idea from, I don't know, some kind of wish-fever-dream, since it has NOTHING to do with writing! But, I would have a LOT to say about that! Happy #IWSG'ing.

And Don’t Forget the 2016 IWSG Anthology Contest!

Last year’s contest was science fiction — parallel world/alternate history — and the result wasParallels: Felix Was Here. This year, there’s a new theme and all members are invited to submit.

 Eligibility: Any member of the Insecure Writer’s Support Group is encouraged to enter — blogging or Facebook member. The story must be previously unpublished. Entry is free.

 Word count: 3000-6000

Genre: Fantasy

Theme: Hero Lost. It could be about a hero turned villain, a villain’s redemption, a hero’s lack of confidence, a hero’s lack of smarts, etc. It can be about any kind of hero including superheroes, mythological heroes, unexpected or unlikely heroes, or a whole new kind of hero. This theme has plenty of scope and we’re open to pretty much anything along these lines. No erotica, R-rated language, or graphic violence.

 Deadline: November 1st, 2016

How to enter: Send your polished, formatted, previously unpublished story to admin @ insecurewriterssupportgroup.com before the deadline passes. Please include your contact details and if you are part of the Blogging or Facebook IWSG group.

 Judging: The IWSG admins will create a shortlist of the best stories. The shortlist will then be sent to our official judges.

Prizes: The winning stories will be edited and published by Freedom Fox Press next year in the IWSG anthology. Authors will receive royalties on books sold, both print and eBook. The top story will have the honor of giving the anthology its title.

We’re excited to see the creativity and enthusiasm that’s such a part of this group put into action. So don your creative caps and start writing. And spread the word!

ROW 80 4th QUARTER POST 6, SUNDAY CHECK IN – P.D. OR NOT P.D.

I can’t even begin to create a riff or a parody of probably the most famous soliloquy in all of English Literature. Sorry, Hamlet and Shakespeare. Besides, it’s a monumental waste of time. I’m not in a time-wasting or a particularly jolly mood. That’s not a good sign.

Anyway, my oldest friend from California called yesterday, to see how I was. Her daughter, named Sheila, coincidentally my mother’s name, is getting married on October 20^th, which also coincidentally, would have been my mother’s 81^st birthday, so we talked quite a bit about both Sheilas. This is all rather odd, because my friend forgot that my mother’s name was Sheila when she had her daughter and her daughter’s day of her marriage just happened to fall on the 20^th of October. Oh well.

My friend really called because she’s been reading my blog and knows what’s been going on over here on Nebraska Ave 33605 in the last few weeks. Bless her. She and I usually spend enormous amounts of time on the phone; just hours. Lately, no. I know she’s busy helping Sheila get ready for her wedding. Sheila is her baby and as pragmatic as my friend is, she wants it to all go well. “We didn’t order the nightmare option,” she said to me yesterday. She’s been my friend all these years, mostly because she’s funnier than I am. Not really. She’s clear-headed and loving and steadfast; we had lots of stupid adventures in school.

So, I told her this whole mess of going to the Neurologists on Thursday and having to run (stagger and hit walls) up and down halls, keep trying to follow and touch the Dr. C. Fuo resident’s finger when it’s clear I have barely any vision and no depth perception. I actually have bruises on the inside of my elbows by my pulse points where she used the hammer to see if I had reactions. After an hour of this, and her talking too loudly to me in very heavily accented Chinese, she left the room, saying she’d be back in a “few minutes.” I had a jacket on, but was frozen. About 20 minutes later, she comes back with the attendant, Dr. Gipson, who with no introduction barks out “Why are you here?” and you know the rest.

My friends says, “Gee, nothing like a little humiliation to go with your frustration at no one listening to you.” Bingo. She wins the kewpie doll. I have heard everything from thyroid, malnutrition, (which I have, and I fight constantly) anemia, (B-12 injections, which I give myself once a month) bipolar, (I take medicine for) neuropathy, (yes, in my feet, not in my face and ears and chest.) I suspect they are putting it all on “ hold” until I get out of “medically needy” (State of Florida picks up the tab for 960.00 per month) to March of 2013, where Medicare and Simply Health take over and cost State of Florida 0.00. That’s my suspicion. Maybe, I'm faking it. That's the worst implication anyone can ever make and that makes me killing-furious. Anyone who knows me, knows that would never be the case. I've spent over 1/2 century with my mother's repudiations of living falsely ringing in my ears. Yeah, I'm a slow learner, but getting almost dead and homeless finally made that shit stick and it stuck hard.

Before I can ever, ever call bullshit on anyone or any institution around me, I have to be willing to ring the bullshit bell down on my own head, and I'm not seeing it here in the mirror. If you'd like me to play what-the-fuck-scramble-metaphors-Nebraska-Ave style, we do it swell here. I once overheard someone tell a pimp he was an astronaut because of all the space between his eyes. I learn the 'hood well. But you get my point.

So, rather than fight this battle and bore the daylights out of my poor readers and myself, this is my plan. So far, the TGH Neurology Department is 0 for 3 in my book. I worked at a Teaching Hospital; one of the finest, the University of Michigan when I was in school. It was chock full of fine people who loved nothing better than to answer your questions. They didn’t give a shit if you were a student or some guy off the street. They were there to teach and they taught. I learned a whole bunch.

This month’s nerve-fuckery has already started. 2 nights ago in as many tries, I burnt the bottom of my hand on the heel on the left side on the oven grill. I’m going to have to have JC pull the baking pans from the oven. I can't feel the heat so well and I sure as hell cannot see the distance. JC can pull the racks for me. No biggie. It’s just one more pain in my ever-growing pains in my ass. Anyway, I burnt my hand on the synovial, the left side. So, of course, my carpal nerves, on the right side screamed all night. Assholes.

It’s shit like that that the lack of dopamine causes your nerves to do this weird stuff. The worst thing for me is the racing heart; my pulse gets up to 120 or 130, blood pressure is normal. I weigh 102 lbs. I don’t have tremors all the time, especially in the morning. Most P.D. patients don’t. As many as 35% of Parkinson’s patients never develop tremors. I know that I have the problems with the mood swings. For the last 3 weeks, I’ve been really weepy. No particular reason; actually it’s probably a very good outlet, because it does control the impulse to want to hurt thems that deserve it. Bodily. I may have to resort to beheading. Just kidding. I have an appointment with my Primary Care Physician on Tuesday and I’m going to ask for a 2^nd opinion. I also have one or two friends who are out-of-network, as it were; I’m going to scratch around.

I find something else that is good. I laugh at some of the… Most. Idiotic. Stuff. Ever. I’ve always been this way. @YumaBev (follow her on Twitter! and at her blog, Parkinson's Humor) almost put me in a coma with her “Energeezer” comment. I commit what I call “cyber-terrorism” that in reality is no more than saying something asinine in response to someone else’s goofy picture on FB. Those eeCards are a riot. Time-suck wasters certainly, but chilling out is vastly under-rated at times. Cracked.com is a wonderful site to bust a gut over. Bonus points for learning cool shit, too. Robert Brockway, my favoritest columnist, the "Word Puncher" is one of the finest writers and the rawest. His "Lion Drome" segment nearly hospitalized me, it was that hilarious. Good times! 

Bryan on Runescape and I raise hell in our Clan Chat. Every time we start some awkward exchange, Killa pops in. This is typical:

DD: Yo hoe

VF: Fuck you

DD: Penis

VF: Tee hee

Killa(logs in): What the hell is going on here?

DD: Oops. Busted again.

VF: ha ha

In reality, Bryan is that old soul. We all know one or two in our life times. He’s the one I met three years ago. We still talk. There are three people from Runescape that I have known for several years since before homeless, since before sick, crazy and that I will always know. Bryan’s one of them. I don’t know why, he just is. We all have them. I don’t question. We all have some of these souls in our lives; they enrich us. JC is one as well. That was quite the digression. Stet; I’m in a hurry, today.

Laughing releases dopamine and I feel better for a while. The pain recedes; my nerves quit giving me hell. The pain in my shoulders and neck and head may stop. I also get out of my own whatever-this-is. I know other people have it far, far, worse. Thank God I don’t have ALS. I pray to all things Holy for people and their families who must deal with that. I know this isn’t it. It may be P.D. It may not be P.D. I’ll find out. From doctors who will care. For me.