Basically, life has taken over.

I still have stories in my head. My issue is getting them out. I’ve never been in any sort of class for this – my only qualifications for trying to be any kind of writer is that I read a lot, I know what I like, and I know how to write (in the educational sense, not the creative one). Other than that, I’m at a loss, and not finding my direction.

I’ve lost my job recently – the economy hit me hard – and now I’m trying to deal with life. But I’m starting to see that maybe this is a moment in time where i can clear my head and get something done as far as this… desire to craft goes. I do have the desire. What I lack, it seems, is the capability. I believe that the reason I lack the capability is because I’m clueless as to where to go.

If this is “writer’s block,” I don’t like it. I always thought “writer’s block” meant you had no ideas, and were stuck. This is not my problem – my block is in the physical sense. I have a gazillion ideas, but I can’t seem to latch onto one long enough to pull it out of my head. At the moment, it’s just a huge jumble – like a knot where I can’t find the ends so I can start to untangle it all.

So.

It’s been a year.

I really want to do this.

I now have a lot of time on my hands. Maybe I can put that to good use.

We shall see.

Anita sighed. She would swear on her own mother’s grave that this child needed a set of T-shirts that said “Drama Queen” in about ten different languages, so people would know it was coming. Mary was the utter definition of the phrase. It was always someone else’s (or everyone else’s) fault, and she would never accept any consequences for her own part of what was going on. Instead, when things went wrong, she would blame, blame, blame – and then sit down and cry and feel sorry for herself.

Anita wanted to put her arms around her and make it better, but whiners could not be tolerated. Mary needed to learn to stand on her own two feet. “That’s enough, Mary. Get up and go do the dishes. It’ll give you time to think. You need to stop complaining and doing the ‘woe is me’ act and start acting like the person you want to be. Stop blaming everyone else and figure out where you messed up so you don’t do it again.”

Mary looked at her, her jaw open in shock. She then burst into the predictable tears, and only stood up to clean the dishes when her mother nudged her with her foot. “Stop kicking me!” she screamed. Anita just rolled her eyes and sighed – this was a level of frustration she was becoming all to familiar with. She turned on her heel and went to take care of Mary’s younger brother. “Just do the dishes, Mary.”

Mary stood up and screamed, “You hate me too! You don’t even care!”

Anita turned on her heel and stood her ground. “Do the dishes, Mary, unless you want to get grounded. As for the ‘hate’ thing, get over it. I’m not going to get into this again. You have a responsibility for your choices, and now you’re seeing the results. If you don’t like it, then learn from your mistakes. I’m not going to sit here and baby you so you feel better. Now GO DO THE DISHES.”

She came downstairs to hang up the phone, and was surprised to see the place devoid of life. One other perk of being a part of a group that had been compared to the Spice Girls was that guys – and lots of them – were there all the time. She wasn’t interested in anyone else, but the attention was fun. But now, it was empty.

She placed the phone on the receiver, and Kim opened the door to her room. Quietly, she walked over to the phone. She wouldn’t meet Kelly’s eyes. Her jaw was set as she hit the “Play” button on the receiver, turned on her heel and walked back into her room, shutting the door behind her.

“Okay,” she heard her own voice on the recording. “I’m in my room now. So what do you want to talk about?”

“You know what I want,” said Sam. She heard herself chuckle. “Honey, where’s the dog?”

“He’s right here…let me slide some peanut butter on my…”

Kelly finally woke up enough to hit the “Stop” button. Someone must have answered the phone after the machine had picked it up, and the entire conversation was not only recorded, but played to the room while it had been going on.

No wonder the place had cleared out.

Sheila stiffened. She turned to see a woman running towards her, bleach-blonde hair stiff with hairspray, circa 1992. She was wearing a faux-fur coat (in Mid-July!) that was flapping with each swift step she took. Her lips were a bright red smear. Sheila could see a few of the store’s patrons watching, eyes wide in amazement. Even here, in hillbilly hell where you see all kinds, Stephanie was something to see.

She stopped right in front of Sheila, and smiled. Lipstick was on her teeth, coloring them a weird shade of dark pink. “Darling, I haven’t seen you since..” she floundered. Not surprising. If Sheila lit a match right now, Steph’s head might explode from all the alcoholic fumes wafting from her mouth. It wasn’t even ten in the morning.

“Yeah. Since you showed up in court. Remember? On his side.”

She then reached out and gave a solid smack across Stephanie’s face. Sheila’s palm sang as Stephanie’s cheek turned a slightly darker shade of red. It hurt, but it was worth it. It didn’t seem to phase Stephanie much – the morning nips probably dulled the pain. Her eyes widened as she held her cheek, her charade dropped for only a moment.

“What the…”

“You know what it was for.”

Sheila turned, walking away, not wasting any more breath. She got two steps before tripping. She looked down, and saw red-tipped nails around her ankle. Then she saw Stephanie’s face. Her eyes were brimming with tears.

Oh, my God. She’s actually thrown herself at my feet.

“I’m so SORRY!” she wailed. Now everyone was looking. Holy Christ. “Pleeeeeeeease!”

Sheila kicked her foot free. She took a moment to look into her shopping cart. Nothing really important there. Before Stephanie could get another lock on her, she was out the door.

Linda’s three kids waved without turning around, running towards the heavy double-doors at the entrance to their school, backpacks bouncing with each step. She smiled and enjoyed the moment – if only for a moment – before her mind started churning with the “to do’s” for the day.

She had to start with some grocery shopping. Not only did they need food to feed the family, but she had a dinner party that weekend. She had been selected by the Chamber of Commerce that year to host the annual Silent Auction – where local businesses would donate items to be sold – all proceeds going to charity. Linda’s home was definitely large enough to hold the event, and as a former chef, she planned to add to what the caterer was bringing with her own winning recipes.

Once that was done, she needed to clean the house

…just because I’ve got money doesn’t mean I can’t clean my own house…

and the pool, and get things ready for the different soccer practices/dance recitals/doctor’s appointments that were going on this afternoon.

Crap – she’d almost forgotten. It was her turn to provide after-game munchies for the soccer team. That was today. She’d need to add stuff to the list and get home asap to whip something up. The kids loved her snacks the best of all the moms, and she didn’t want to disappoint anyone. With a sigh, she drove towards her house. Help was coming in ten minutes, and she needed to be there to answer the door when it did.

As expected, the doorbell rang, and she answered with a bright smile.

“Hello, Jack!”

The young man on the other side didn’t return her greeting with much more than a weak nod and a grunt. He shoved a crumpled paper bag into her left hand with his own as he shook her hand with his right. The money slipped from her palm into his effortlessly, as if he were the maître d’ at the most expensive restaurant in town, rather than a drug dealer making his weekly delivery. He turned on his heel and stalked down her well-landscaped garden path, like a vampire trying to escape the sunlight of her cheery soccer-mom attitude.

She closed the door and heaved a sigh, looking down at the bag.

Help had arrived!

As I said in the “About Me” section (or, if I didn’t, I meant to!) I’ve done blogging before. But this is meant to be a creative outlet for me – a place where I can “hone my skills”, as it were. A blog is a blog is a blog – which is usually a place to rant and talk and yammer on about things that don’t really matter to anyone but those closest to me.

This is different.

I will not be doing that here.

Every now and then, I plan to post interesting tidbits and juicy information I come across that can help me become a better writer. They will be in this section (“On Writing” – named after one of my favorite authors’ books. I’ll let you figure that one out.) – and this post is going to end with a few such tidbits.

But for the most part, you will see me posting short pieces on this site. Most will be for practice only. I welcome – and appreciate – any constructive criticism you may wish to leave behind. Note: I said constructive. If it’s not constructive, it’s gone.

Other than that, I’ll go ahead and post my “juicy tidbit” right here: the Internet Writing Workshop. This is a list that’s run by Penn State, and it’s got some goodies on it. I’m thinking of joining the list – but for now, I’m going to use some of the writing exercises they have posted to get me warmed up. I’m going to keep looking for more “juice” that’ll help me. Who knows, maybe it’ll help someone else too.