If you read my last blog, you know that a couple of weeks ago, my life was a little eventful. My husband was in the hospital for brain tumor tests, and I witnessed a car-deer accident that didn't end well for either the car or the deer.
There were a few other things happening too, either in my life or in the lives of close friends and family: divorces, deaths, 40th birthdays and book writing. Nothing terrible ended up happening to me (Mark didn't have a brain tumor, and I didn't hit the deer), but things happened around me, and I felt buffeted by the winds of other people's change.
"You're caught up in a...swirl," my mother remarked over the phone.
When I think of a swirl, I think of a chocolate ribbon weaving through a tub of vanilla ice cream, an eddy in a creek, a tiny cyclone kicking up dust in a vacant lot. In this instance, however, a swirl was a matter of existential commotion, as if the finger of God dipped down into the atmosphere and stirred things up a bit.
Swirls like these can be good or bad or both. Some people have lucky streaks (swirls), while others seemed cursed with bad fortune for awhile. Swirls are significant strings of events - not just one or two nuggets of news, but an overwhelming pattern.
It may be indulgent, but I like to think of existence as a landscape over which weather systems of fate, destiny, coincidence, deja vu, and karma coast, float, stall, and...swirl. And I like to think of life as a wide open space, with a sky overhead, a horizon up in front, and paths to follow; it seems more like an adventure that way. And you can't have adventure without a few swirls along the way.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
It's Not a Tumor
I said this line in the worst ever Arnold Schwartzenegger imitation as I drove my husband, Mark, to the ER a week ago last Thursday. It was my attempt at lame levity in an extremely grave and uncertain situation and it fell flat, not only because my husband was in a lot of pain, but because I didn't believe it. I was terrified that he did, in fact, have a brain tumor.
My husband, Mark, is a healthy, active guy. He golfs, bikes, jogs, and if he's not at work, then he's spending time with our kids - taking them to sports practices, playing with them, running errands with them. In other words, he's a super hero, and super heroes aren't supposed to get brain tumors.
Wednesday, in the middle of a work presentation, he got a sudden severe headache, and he lost partial vision in his left eye. His vision would come and go, but the headache stuck around. By Thursday morning, he was not only in a lot of pain, but he was disoriented and confused. I'm certainly not an expert, but I didn't know what else it could be, except a tumor.
At the ER, they hooked Mark up to an IV and ran a bunch of tests that took most of the day. He slept, thanks to the pain medication, and I sat in the deliberately dim room, trying to contemplate a life without him. It wasn't a good day.
I knew what it meant to lose someone unexpectedly. My sister died when she was 26 and I was 18. I didn't want to lose Mark. In fact, I've spent much of my adult life alternately (and uselessly) guarding against tragedy and preparing myself for it, but we were in the grip of something beyond our control. There was nothing I could do but wait and pray for luck and strength.
The diagnosis finally came in late afternoon: viral meningitis. While not great, it was a heck of a lot better than a brain tumor. It wasn't even the bacterial kind, which can be fatal. Viral meningitis is like the flu - it just has to run its course. By Saturday, Mark was back to his normal, healthy self. I was relieved, but my emotional recovery wasn't as quick. I wasn't sure it was over. He could have a relapse. More tests could come back with something bad on the radar screen. I was still haunted by the visions I'd had of a future without him.
Friday, the day after diagnosis, coming home from work late afternoon, I crested a hill and witnessed an accident. A deer, being chased by a coyote, ran full speed into oncoming traffic. The four-lane road was relatively empty, except for me and the car that hit the deer. The poor animal hit the windshield and its body and the glass shattered. The deer flipped high in the air, landing in the road where it would occasionally twitch. The coyote beat a fast retreat, safe in the grassy and vast open space.
Hand to my mouth, tears in my eyes, I turned my car around. The driver, getting out of his battered and bloody car, looked at the deer, locked sad eyes with me, and shook his head. For him, that deer had come out of nowhere. Unable to watch the deer twitch once more, I drove away.
I was tempted to label our brain tumor scare as unlucky, but we were extremely fortunate. Real tragedy hits as hard as that deer-to-car accident. It leaves you shocked and alone, sad and wounded. I know of a few tragedies that have hit others recently - a friend going through a divorce, a friend of my parents who succumbed to cancer - and while Mark and I had a glimpse of it, we were spared the full impact...this time.
Confronting mortality is a humbling exercise. There is an exquisite balance to life that I have yet to master: facing my fears while sustaining my courage, loving at the risk of hurting, living at the risk of losing. But I suppose that's what life is all about - counting our blessings and trying to figure it all out along the way. I am very grateful to have my super hero husband back, and to the friends and family who helped me through it. Carpe Diem!
My husband, Mark, is a healthy, active guy. He golfs, bikes, jogs, and if he's not at work, then he's spending time with our kids - taking them to sports practices, playing with them, running errands with them. In other words, he's a super hero, and super heroes aren't supposed to get brain tumors.
Wednesday, in the middle of a work presentation, he got a sudden severe headache, and he lost partial vision in his left eye. His vision would come and go, but the headache stuck around. By Thursday morning, he was not only in a lot of pain, but he was disoriented and confused. I'm certainly not an expert, but I didn't know what else it could be, except a tumor.
At the ER, they hooked Mark up to an IV and ran a bunch of tests that took most of the day. He slept, thanks to the pain medication, and I sat in the deliberately dim room, trying to contemplate a life without him. It wasn't a good day.
I knew what it meant to lose someone unexpectedly. My sister died when she was 26 and I was 18. I didn't want to lose Mark. In fact, I've spent much of my adult life alternately (and uselessly) guarding against tragedy and preparing myself for it, but we were in the grip of something beyond our control. There was nothing I could do but wait and pray for luck and strength.
The diagnosis finally came in late afternoon: viral meningitis. While not great, it was a heck of a lot better than a brain tumor. It wasn't even the bacterial kind, which can be fatal. Viral meningitis is like the flu - it just has to run its course. By Saturday, Mark was back to his normal, healthy self. I was relieved, but my emotional recovery wasn't as quick. I wasn't sure it was over. He could have a relapse. More tests could come back with something bad on the radar screen. I was still haunted by the visions I'd had of a future without him.
Friday, the day after diagnosis, coming home from work late afternoon, I crested a hill and witnessed an accident. A deer, being chased by a coyote, ran full speed into oncoming traffic. The four-lane road was relatively empty, except for me and the car that hit the deer. The poor animal hit the windshield and its body and the glass shattered. The deer flipped high in the air, landing in the road where it would occasionally twitch. The coyote beat a fast retreat, safe in the grassy and vast open space.
Hand to my mouth, tears in my eyes, I turned my car around. The driver, getting out of his battered and bloody car, looked at the deer, locked sad eyes with me, and shook his head. For him, that deer had come out of nowhere. Unable to watch the deer twitch once more, I drove away.
I was tempted to label our brain tumor scare as unlucky, but we were extremely fortunate. Real tragedy hits as hard as that deer-to-car accident. It leaves you shocked and alone, sad and wounded. I know of a few tragedies that have hit others recently - a friend going through a divorce, a friend of my parents who succumbed to cancer - and while Mark and I had a glimpse of it, we were spared the full impact...this time.
Confronting mortality is a humbling exercise. There is an exquisite balance to life that I have yet to master: facing my fears while sustaining my courage, loving at the risk of hurting, living at the risk of losing. But I suppose that's what life is all about - counting our blessings and trying to figure it all out along the way. I am very grateful to have my super hero husband back, and to the friends and family who helped me through it. Carpe Diem!
Saturday, July 9, 2011
RWA NYC Conference
Last week I was fortunate to attend the National Romance Writers of America Conference in New York City. Take aways:
1. To my new writing friends from New Jersey, Boston, and here in my hometown of Denver - you are amazing, incredible women. You inspire me with your talent, determination, and enthusiasm, and I am so grateful that I met you.
2. To all the volunteers who made the conference possible - thank you! Your hard work made everything possible.
3. To all the industry professionals in attendance who conducted pitch sessions, spotlights, and workshops, thank you for your time and effort, it was tremendously informative and rewarding. I dipped my toe into the gigantic sea that is publishing and it was exhilarating. Can't wait to plunge in all the way one day.
3. I love Central Park.
4. I love Times Square.
5. I love writing, my fellow writers, and the inspirational stories of hard won success that some of you shared. Thank you for your courage and camaraderie.
1. To my new writing friends from New Jersey, Boston, and here in my hometown of Denver - you are amazing, incredible women. You inspire me with your talent, determination, and enthusiasm, and I am so grateful that I met you.
2. To all the volunteers who made the conference possible - thank you! Your hard work made everything possible.
3. To all the industry professionals in attendance who conducted pitch sessions, spotlights, and workshops, thank you for your time and effort, it was tremendously informative and rewarding. I dipped my toe into the gigantic sea that is publishing and it was exhilarating. Can't wait to plunge in all the way one day.
3. I love Central Park.
4. I love Times Square.
5. I love writing, my fellow writers, and the inspirational stories of hard won success that some of you shared. Thank you for your courage and camaraderie.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Romancing the Love Boat
Why do I write romance?
Blame it on The Love Boat. I grew up watching that 70s TV show religiously every Saturday night with my grandmother and my older sister. As a six-year-old, I absorbed those weekly stories of romance on the high seas with Captain Stubing and his crew and it was a very comforting ritual for a child. I knew I could sit in the basement with my matriarchy and watch characters fall in love and live happily ever after.
Then, when I was twelve, I saw the movie Romancing the Stone. I thought Joan Wilder was the coolest person on earth. She wrote romance novels, she lived in NYC, she got a jungle makeover, she fought the bad guys, wrestled with crocodiles (or was that Michael Douglas?) and, in the end, saved the day.
My latest favorites? The English Patient (both the film and the book): great love story (not necessarily happy) with a world view. Perfect. Or how about Pride and Prejudice - great UST (unresolved sexual tension) and character development. Love stories are great platforms for all kinds of lit and film, and I've never met a love story I didn't like.
So, why do I write romance - is it a question of nature or nurture? Certainly, TV and film have influenced me, but I think it's also in my nature to gravitate towards a genre with empowered women and plenty of room for comedy. Love stories and happy endings don't hurt either.
Blame it on The Love Boat. I grew up watching that 70s TV show religiously every Saturday night with my grandmother and my older sister. As a six-year-old, I absorbed those weekly stories of romance on the high seas with Captain Stubing and his crew and it was a very comforting ritual for a child. I knew I could sit in the basement with my matriarchy and watch characters fall in love and live happily ever after.
Then, when I was twelve, I saw the movie Romancing the Stone. I thought Joan Wilder was the coolest person on earth. She wrote romance novels, she lived in NYC, she got a jungle makeover, she fought the bad guys, wrestled with crocodiles (or was that Michael Douglas?) and, in the end, saved the day.
My latest favorites? The English Patient (both the film and the book): great love story (not necessarily happy) with a world view. Perfect. Or how about Pride and Prejudice - great UST (unresolved sexual tension) and character development. Love stories are great platforms for all kinds of lit and film, and I've never met a love story I didn't like.
So, why do I write romance - is it a question of nature or nurture? Certainly, TV and film have influenced me, but I think it's also in my nature to gravitate towards a genre with empowered women and plenty of room for comedy. Love stories and happy endings don't hurt either.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Manifest Destiny
Starting a blog feels like staring out at a vast new frontier - the wild, wild west, otherwise known as cyberspace - and staking out the fence posts of my very own homestead. This blog is my own small piece of the wilderness that I will attempt to tame, cultivate and grow.
Hello my fellow bloggers and neighbors in this online land. Hello fellow writers and readers. Hello to anyone kind enough to stop by. Stay tuned for highlights on the RWA National Conference, my thoughts on writing, and my (mis)adventures and discoveries in the online frontier. Cheers.
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