Do You Use a Novel Writing Software?

home-office-336377_1920Was having a thought the other night…maybe I should start using a novel-writing software to help organize this story I’ve been working on lately.

Googled some last night and got a few ideas, but I have no idea which one to choose. There are a few online options: Litlift and Novlr. But not sure those would work for me.

I downloaded a free program called ywriter5 last night and it doesn’t take .docx files and that won’t work considering I write in Microsoft word.

Just need something to help organize my thoughts.

Any suggestions? Do you guys use one?

Poem: Bad Start

It’s difficult not to sleep all day

when the dreams are more lively

than the real world outside

 

How does one break out of the habit

of one’s own reality?

Can you make an exception?

For one’s accidental inception?

Or maybe that’s what I need

 

Come Leo, show me where the real world lies.

 

*** Lately, I’ve been using poetry to sort out my own emotions, my thoughts, what’s been going on that’s troubling me. Not only does it keep me writing almost everyday, but its been therapeutic.

You might also see me talking more and more about Seasonal Affective Disorder as the winter months draw ever closer. We all have our own personal cryptonite, I suppose.:/ Wish mine didn’t make me depressed half of the year.

 

 

Poem: Twenty-eight

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Twenty-eight and dreading thirty

life is one long road…often dirty

find a job, get married, buy a house

Soon you are a stay-at-home-mouse

Your hair is gray, your children grown

Husband retires, then you’re both at home

You’re growing old and grand-kids, too

Then you’ll remember you had things to do

You wanted to travel, to see the world

paint a masterpiece, get your hair curled

Dance in a rainstorm and write a play

walk across Paris on a sunny day

But time passes with deliberate intent

hair turns white; back and shoulders bent

Soon you’re back wishing you were twenty-eight

But it’s a wish that came just a little too late.

 

 

Poem: When Old Times Become New 

Had a great time visiting with family this weekend, but it’s still hard knowing that my Grandma is gone and things will never be like they were.

I have never liked change and it breaks my heart knowing that time passes and people move on and we will keep changing without her…and there is nothing I can do about that. 

I often write poetry to sort my own thoughts out. Here’s something I wrote last night.
Family visiting

Played pinochle

Feels normal

Like old times

But there’s a voice

Missing from the room
And it’s a large voice

Laughter and a flash

Of eyes full of mischief

Light glinting off 

Pair of large glasses

Do I remember the sound

Of the voice those glasses

Belong too?

Or is that why I’m sad?

The heart rebels when 

Life moves on and family grows up

We’ve only got eachother now

But man that house seems quiet

With one less voice

Filling up the room

Helping Others When You Can’t Help Yourself

girl-1064659_1920There’s something that’s been on my mind lately.

As you guys know, Mike and I have moved to a new area, and that means…new job for me. AGAIN.

My last job was great for me: sit in a room and type and don’t have to talk to anyone if I don’t want to. Boring, yes, but not taxing or stressful because I wasn’t forced to be interactive on days where I really didn’t want to.

People might shake their head and be like: what are you talking about? What’s so hard about talking to people?

But when you have social anxiety, there is everything wrong with talking to people. It is very difficult to help people when you can’t help yourself.

I don’t know how much I’ve stressed over and over to people who are close to me, and to others and I hope they will eventually get it.

Working in Customer Service where your job is to help people is sooo difficult when you can’t help yourself.

Inside, you feel like you can’t breathe, you are drowning. Your mind is telling you to do something, but you are also fighting with yourself. I can’t, I’ll do it wrong, I’m hopeless, I’m worthless, look at them staring…they know…they know…

On top of the anxiety, there’s the depression that comes a long with it. You feel like a loser. A simple job and you can’t do it. Everyone else is fine, no one is having troubles. There must be something wrong with me. I’m a nobody, I have no purpose, I feel so worthless…so worthless.

These are only a few of the thoughts that were running through my mind today when I was at my new job where I have to assist customers and I have to put on a smile, and I have to interact with people and pretend that I am okay when I’m not.

I even mentioned to my co-worker: “I’m a little anxious today, it makes me feel like extra slow and stuff.”

Didn’t really get much of a response. But where’s the time really to go into the full length explanation, and who knows really what to say to all that anyway?

I think I’ll be looking into seeing a specialist soon as therapists know the right responses to these feelings…or at least you hope they do, but something else has been bothering me:

Why aren’t more people aware of how debilitating anxiety and depression are in the work place?

I know it has effected me and my career…or lack thereof one.

Why aren’t we talking about it? Why aren’t more people aware how difficult it is to put on a brave face, when inside you feel like you are drowning?

WHY DON’T WE TALK MORE ABOUT THIS?

Anyway, I just wanted to throw that out there. Those of us that struggle with this are heroes when you have to bear this burden in silence, and we really shouldn’t have to be.

It is a real thing, and more people should be understanding out there…work place included.

Ah, I feel better now. Anyway, what are you guys doing tonight? Anything thoughts on this?

New Book to Read: In the Lake of the Woods, by Tim O’brien

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Not much going on this weekend. Parents came and visited our new place, did some errands, and now tacos for dinner. Yum!

Yesterday, got a new book at the used book store down the street: In the Lake of the Woods, by Tim O’Brien. I remember reading this book in school and I loved the writing style. The voice through out the story just flows and you don’t want to put it down. I also loved The Things They Carried, too.

Do you guys have a favorite writer whose writing voice just speaks to you? 

Poem: Out for a Walk

Our new neighborhood is full of some interesting people. This is but a glimpse of my walk this evening after work today. The neighbors’ cats are so funny, too. A lot of them just hang out near the sidewalk (or in the middle of the sidewalk) hoping that someone will pat them as they walk by. Attention hogs! lol. I’m very thankful that I live near some great parks. Was walking up one of the gorges, tonight.

img_20160823_190158896.jpgangry cars at stoplights

cat stretched out on the sidewalk

a furry checkpoint

pay the toll

(one pat, a scratch behind the ear)

and be on your way

a young girl named “Marty”

a huge, long-haired dog

looks like a four-legged Chewbacca

two women wearing name tags

clutching flyers: Avoid eye contact

a couple who clearly don’t shower

lovely garden, though,

a guy walking his dog

tugs on a ball in his dog’s mouth

water brown and stagnant

so dry, my scuffing feet

drown out the sound of running water

thoughts are racing

and breath in gasps

need to go, go, go

up one more stairs,

down two, one more to go

then back home and time

for the inhaler; breathe, breathe

breathe in the life

of a home so varied

of one walk

that took only thirty minutes

 

A Lesson in Peach-Eating From J. Alfred Prufrock

peach-863349_1920I bought peaches the other day. And every time I think of eating one, lately, I can’t help but think of that poem by T.S. Eliot, “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.”

If you don’t know the poem I am referring to, I found it here on this website. Most of my English teachers throughout the school years had us read the poem.

Mostly because of its evocative language. You can tell the way the narrator feels by the certain words he uses. The poor guy really does paint a sad picture. Anyway, the peach eating.

In the poem, the narrator questions:

“Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.” (T.S. Eliot)

What is up with this peach eating business?

Well…peaches are messy. If you are going to eat one and have the juice drip down your chin and elbow, you better do it with confidence. Especially if you are wearing white trousers.

But all I can think about is how sad the speaker sounds. He describes himself as something scuttling across the floor in some dark, deep, sea. A bottom feeder?

Poor J. Alfred Prufrock. He doesn’t think very well of himself…

And neither have I lately. That’s probably why I keep thinking of this poem.

But enough of that.

I ate a peach tonight for dessert actually, and it was fabulous.

I sometimes think I am the only one who actually liked reading this poem when they made us dissect it in school.

What do you guys think?