Blogging Is NOT Writing

I have read more blogs in the last three years far more than I have written. I agree with everything you’ve said in this post. I get more out of what you have to say about blogging than if I typed the word into my search engine. Thank you, for all you do!
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HarsH ReaLiTy

I think people just like to argue.

Blogging is sharing ANYTHING on a form of media. That “anything” can be writing, photos, food recipes, poetry, pictures of your dog… whatever!

Writers write. Photographers post photos. Cooks post recipes. WE ALL BLOG! We are NOT all writing!

Why is differentiating the two so important to me? That is simple to answer. I help to clarify the line between blogging and writing as a writer because I am ALSO a social media networker. What the hell do you all think I do all day? I don’t ONLY write and I don’t ONLY publish blog posts all day. I network, I meet and greet, I engage, I socialize – I BLOG! That is the portion of blogging that so many people miss.

Why do people miss the correlation between blogging and their personal form of expression? People want to be noticed, obviously. They…

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For Some, The Bell Still Rings

A few days before Christmas. A few of the residents asked the CNA if she’d be working on Christmas? She cleared her throat, caught her breath, as she guided five (Visually Impaired) residents into the dining room for supper.

“Yes” she hollered!

A few of the residents, cheered. They told her about gifts their family sent them in the mail. They asked her if she would stop by their rooms, and sit with them so they could open their gifts with her? She said she would be glad too, she only had forty other residents to take care of!

She worked straight through the morning without sitting down to drink her traditional spiked Egg Nog!

Finally, lunch was over, and her choirs were done. She headed down to Karl’s room. She called him Karl because he reminded her of the main character off of the movie  Sling Blade. He  was about three inches shorter, hunched  over, and sounded like him when he talked.

She went into his apartment, and he asked her to grab his box on the bed? She put the box on his lap, and sat directly across from him. The box was taped up on all four sides. He worked hard trying to the pull the tape off himself, for sometime. She didn’t offer to help him right away, she could tell by the smile on his face he was enjoying the fact he had something to open.

He turned the box to each corner to see if one side was easier than the other. He stopped a few times, bringing the box up to his ear and giving the box a shake. She asked him if he would like help? He replied in his raspy, nasally, loud voice, yes! 

She opened one side of the box, and gave it back to him. He ripped the other side open himself, and quickly tossed the wadded paper out that had been put in for padding. The aid could see there was individual presents inside for him to un-wrap.

Karl, was so excited about getting his box open. He pulled his first present out of the box like a rocket-ship over his head, then waved the gift with victory!

look what I got, look what I got, look what got!

Tiny, Mighty, And Picture Incher

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Tiny room, tiny radio, tiny television, and MIGHTY spirit!

I read an article on the Daily Post, encouraging us to post from our phones or tablets. (Which is well worth the read). I’m at work this evening. My showers are done, my medicines are passed, and one resident is walking the halls, and another resident is in the snack room. I have a bit of time on my hands.

Here is a tiny story.

If you follow me, you know I work in a Supportive Living Facility as a Nursing assistant. I work with the Blind, and talk about my residents on occasion. If you’re new to my blog, and have a minute, read here to close in on the buzz.

Friday, our nursing supervisor talked to Emmett about how she needed to cut back on the amount of soda she’s been drinking. She told her to only drink soda on the holidays.

Emmet, agreed and went back to her room.

A few hours later she came out of her room, passed the nurses office, and into the snack room where the soda machine sits.

She puts her first quarter into the machine, and says:

This is for Veterans Day, second quarter, this is for Thanksgiving, and her third quarter this ones for Christmas!

Tanka Challenge: Vacant workshop

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Open the shutters

Halloween decor all over

Dust as thick as thieves

Cobwebs swaying to and fro

Time to gut all these pumpkins

 

This is my first attempt with Tanka, I participated in a challenge offered by: Ramblings Of A Writer

week 16 – Decorations & pumpkins

Thank you, for this challenge, I enjoyed myself!

I’m hoping I did all of this right?

Reading And Writing And The Places They Have Taken Me

I have a small count, of the amount of books, I have read in my life. I wish someone like Bernie Freeman would’ve introduced me, to a love of books, in my childhood. I can’t help to raise my eyes into the rearview, touch the road behind me, wishing  for a portal, to change my “who has time for reading attitude”.

A lot of my high-school years were spent looking through windows of others trying to seal up their cracks, even if there was nothing to seal. I stood there creating a persona of support knowing support would create friendships.

School was not easy for me educationally, socially, or physically. The friends I did have, and still have today, I worked hard for. I wonder if I was able to go back, and change the person I was then. To whom I’m now, in this second. If I would end-up with the same results. I think I would, but I would have saved some energy for the reading, writing, and other educational subjects.

Five years ago, I took a basic English class. The teacher had us first free-writing: she told us to set the timer, and for fifteen minutes write whatever came to our minds. She said: “Don’t  worry about any grammar, just write”. We did this for a few weeks in and out of the classroom. She would also have us reading “Dead End in Norvelt” Which I instantly drew interest in the American author: Jack Gantos. She would have questions for us after every chapter and then ask us to describe in detail how we felt about the chapter. She also brought in a jean jacket, of hers. The jacket had been personalized. She wanted us to pick one material item, meaningful to us, and describe in detail what the material looked like on the outside, but also what the piece meant to us on the inside. She had us write our first draft in the beginning of the class, the second in the middle, then the third, fourth and fifth. Then at the end of our last class she showed us how far our writing had come from the beginning.

The final came around, and of course the topic the teacher had for the essay, took me all of the two hours. I poured my heart out writing about an old colleague of mine. After she told me “times up’.  She met me at the door, and took my paper. I was embarrassed, because I cry when I write. I was hoping to bow my head, put the essay on her desk, and get the hell out of dodge!

“Shelley I know you’re going to school for nursing, but I think you should continue an education in writing. A lot of people have a hard time tuning into the characters of  books they read, and you seem to do this well. I have enjoyed reading your work and hope to see you when time allows. Keep practicing”

I then found this platform and met others who encouraged me, as well.

A little over a year ago I started reading a blog about a mother, who writes to her daughter. She writes beautiful content, about life and the lessons she has learned. She led me to self discovery when she wrote about an old flame here. And how she ended the relationship without any explanation.

“I stopped talking to him altogether. And it was the cruelest and kindest thing I could think of”.

When commenting on her post about this particular line. I explained to her how she showed to me his side of the story instead of my own. Then she wrote a post on poetry where she removed another road block. One, I had put up myself. I used to think certain poetry was above me, and I wasn’t smart enough to read and understand certain poets and the poems they wrote.

“Poetry, though, is like a window on train: You see through it what you want to see, while simultaneously, the glass reflects you back. What I mean by “you own it,” is that your interpretation is equally valid to the poem’s meaning as that of the Poet’s. Too many people read poetry as if they’re trying to get to the right answer”.

I found myself diving into poetry on social media here. Author: Lang Leav writes brevity poems, powerful snippets about life and love. On her page, I then found Leo Christopher who wrote this:

“You assume I chose the most painful path, That my actions hurt you the most, but you’ll never know the sacrifices I made to spare you much grater heartache, sometimes that is the best love can do”.

Through these writers I was able find the peace from the past of my first love.

A while back Alyssa, you wrote a letter explaining where you’re with God. I try not to preach, although in person, you may tag me as such. I do not spit out verses because, I have never read the bible. I have gone to church and feel I have given my life to God. A while back I fell off the wagon of attending church.

I tried befriending a family from the church I was attending. They shot me down, snubbed me, and on my third attempt I could have sworn, I received an eye roll. I thought to myself.  This place is full of shit! However, I continue to pray and thank God for my family. I don’t have answers on why bad things happen or why he lets them happen. I do know, as you have shown me, in many post, like the examples I gave above. There is another side of the story.

When you wrote Leaning-into-the-lyre-on-the-occasion-that-you-need-hope, again with all your links you helped me understand depression, which my mother (step-mom) has suffered half my life.  On this particular blog post you posted another link  to a blogger who takes you “down the rabbit hole” of Sexual abuse. She compares her life to Virgina Woolf another writer I have heard of, but knew nothing about. When reading Woolf’s suicide letter.  I instantly heard my moms voice. She never committed suicide, but there were many times she wanted too. I was sorry for thinking one could come out of such hell so easily. I thank my mom, Lin from those depths, for loving my father all these years the way she has. I know you have made my father a happy man.

I’m no longer standing outside people’s windows to try to seal up cracks. I’m sitting here looking out my own window. Reading, writing, and getting educated. So, maybe one day, instead of trying to support the world. I can support myself and in turn. Be the person, I have always been.

Leaning into the Lyre–On the Occasion that You Need Hope

A, I know this post is a few days old. I still want to share. Maybe, someday. I will be able to link to you, exactly what kind of clarity you gave me in my own life. I recommend to people, reading her links she has also laid out for us. In the words of Victo in a previous comment. “You put together some of the most beautiful post” Thank you, again!

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Dear Lily June,

I’ve probably said this to you before, but one major part of being a writer is being a collector. It’s both crazy-making and healing: Every image I’ve seen is seared into my brain, every passage I’ve read has been packed tightly in the chaotic library shelves of my mind.

Having a mental illness that causes me to organize, list, store, and obsess usually aids me creatively. But how does having a creative habit that causes me to hoard, compare, ruminate and obsess affect me mentally? That cuts both ways, sometimes driving me into despair, other times giving me hope that pain can always be channeled into poetry.

When you can’t let things go, you can’t let them go. Every pain I experience, read or write is an echo. It’s a steel-winged irony.

***

Still, I know that dwelling too deeply–diving down into the same waters that, at points like this, threaten to drown me–isn’t…

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Tell Me Something Good

I have been down in the dumps. Instead of posting “what’s on my mind” on social media I would rather post here in front of most who don’t know me. I’m searching for words or a post of encouragement. To flip my flat as a pancake spirit over. Feel free to leave an uplifting comment, link to post, joke, or words of wisdom. I’m looking for anything to lighten my mood.

Hardwood Table

My mind

Sits at the table

Inside out

Outside In

All these sounds

Screaming in

Locust humming

Motors running

Cars Honking

someone coughing

feet tapping

Table squeaks

Blood boiling

Hard to breath

Fist clinched

Grinding teeth

racing heart

Whats wrong

With me

All this noise

Quiet shouts

Shouting at me

Calling me out!

 

 

 

Laughing To The Grave Part III

My mind, has more, than five or six subjects racing around the groves of my brain, at high-speed. I can catch flickers and share those easier, with you.

My friend Chris and I have been friends for almost thirty-years. She can still make me laugh, to the point of tears.

We were on the subject, of her moms second marriage. Which took place when she and I were growing up. She was telling me, when they moved into their first home. Her step-dad, immediately started to finish her a room in the basement. She said, he could not get her down there fast enough. She lived down there all through high-school. When her brother, the son of her mom, and step-dad, grew up. He told his mom, he would like, her old room, in the basement. When their mom mentioned this to his dad, He said: “absolutely not, that basement is a death-trap!”

When my husband gets his feathers ruffled. He has a tendency to puff up the upper part of his chest. A few weekends ago. He was mowing the lawn. He hit a valve on the air-conditioner, it started leaking anti-freeze! When he came in, and told me. I made a snide remark to him, to slow-down. His fist was still down at his sides, as he bawled them up and puffed out his chest. (think of Pop-Eye and how he used to stand.) To fuel-the-fire, I puffed up  my chest, and put a bit of a twerk on the move to exaggerate and lighten up the situation. He then, in turn, battles my move. He throws his shoulders back so hard, his pearl-snaps came un-done and he pulls off an Incredible-Hulk move!

A fb friend of mine, who I barely know. She was having a few problems, which is not funny, I know. The reason you could tell something was wrong is because she was posting a post every five minutes. She was blasting people, and things they had done years ago. She received a message from her inbox, a lady who told her “get back on your meds” she gave us the name, of the woman, who sent her the message, on a post. The lady’s  last name was Dick. She said in her post, “it isn’t a wonder her last name is what it is.”

We had company yesterday afternoon. She showed up, and my son had just got, into the shower. We were standing in the kitchen door-way which also faces the bathroom. I seen him grabbing a towel, as he put the towel around him. He yells: “Keep distracting her mom!”

I got a selfie stick from a co-worker, last week. I went to my parents house and we gave it a whirl!

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