Pull Up a Chair

I have no word count for today.

Some waiting was more focused today. Some waiting became plans about how we're going to wait in the weeks to come. Planning for limbo. Interesting.

I have found in my short albeit epic life that the simple act of sitting with another person in whatever space they occupy at that moment is a gift of solidarity. Sometimes the most useful and undemanding show of support for another who suffers is to pull up a chair.

Having said that, I am not always accepting of the gift when given to me. I want to be... more... nicer... and yet, the more I need support the more prickly I become. Luckily my husband and my friends, Chuck and Maribeth, have me pegged. They let me squirm and push and shove, and just when I'm almost exhausted by the sheer effort of keeping them away, they pull up a chair. They have never failed me. Near or far. Not once.

I couldn't type today. My mind was unwilling to play hide-n-seek with my fears. That's okay. I called Maribeth. We met at Unlimited Coffee and sat by the soda cooler for a spell. We wreaked havoc and made each other laugh like we do, but mostly we just sat together, sipping coffee and tea, and looking at each other.

Tomorrow is Thursday.

Photo courtesy of Rustman

"I'm on the Road to Nowhere..."

I drove 93 miles today. And I'm still waiting.

Waiting for the text to come or the phone to ring, waiting for a Yes or No, waiting for something.

I talked to a few friends on the phone - some new, some from quite a long time ago. I wrote 781 words today. I shared a bit of experience that I never thought would be useful to anyone. It seemed to help.

The sun is setting here, and I am tired. This is one of my favorite beach pictures of Connor. It brings me peace and seemed like a good fit tonight.

Tomorrow is Wednesday. :)

The Waiting Place

"Oh, the Places You'll Go!" is my favorite Dr. Seuss book. I give a special gift set to everyone I know when they are going from and moving on toward.

"The Waiting Place... for people just waiting. Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting."

I live in the "small town" of Phoenix, Arizona with three million other people. The neighboring "small town" that I am also tethered to is San Diego, California. You would not believe how small these two cities really are. Three degrees of separation and often less make it difficult for me to write about matters too close to the bull's eye.

Myself and many people I love in these two towns are "headed, I fear, toward a most useless place." Waiting for a date, an opinion, or a check. Waiting for medication, a friend, or a sign. Waiting for a text, a tweet or a status update. Mostly waiting for a Yes or No.

Here's the tricky part - I'm happy. In fact, in the face of this craziness and indeterminate waiting, this limbo, I am writing more than ever and finding joy in the crevices of my life. Paying attention to the details? Not so much - cuz the details right now suck pretty bad. I think It's more like opening up wide. Like Sound-of-Music-spinning-on-the-hill kind of wide. (Sorry if I just put that song in your head.) Less like demanding the precision of a flashlight and more like adjusting my eyes to the glow of a lantern.

Today we waited again, and again we heard nothing. None of us.

Tomorrow is Monday.

Farther Than Flagstaff

Yesterday was eventful - some good, some not so good. Like every day I suppose, but yesterday felt like it had too much caffeine in the morning.

One high point was writing 1,988 words toward the first draft of the novel. Another high point was realizing I need to rewrite most of the story because it's not following the Google map I printed. A new character has completely thrown the narrative off of its course - and I'm really excited about that! So I'll pound out the next 10,000 words, and see where I can make a course correction. Who knows, I may have to start from a different place altogether. I love how it takes nearly 40,000 words to know where the story begins. Love that!

Another high point was talking with my Canadian-writer-friend, Sterling Lynch. He says he refers to me as just one of his writer-friends, without qualifying me as an American. I'm quite certain he's fibbing. I can't imagine him not using the opportunity to feel just a wee bit superior. Le sigh. :)

Also, Sterling is the publisher of Social Media Set the Stage. We co-wrote the story of our social media collaboration that culminated in a production of two our plays. The scripts are included! (See the graphic to the right.)

In any event, we are embarking on a couple of new projects together. Well, one new project together, and he's agreed to be the principle reader for one of my new projects, "Farther Than Flagstaff".

I wrote awhile back that I want to capture my the experience of living through the first ten years of my son's life. What it felt like to live beyond the numbers in his medical records. My son endured a life of -- well, you'll see, he endured. This project has been whirling around in my head for a few years. Only recently did the structure fall into place: letters. Writing letters to a new friend who doesn't know the story. Someone with whom I can share the narrative without the numbers - stories like "Farther Than Flagstaff." I feel a bit overwhelmed, but still curious to see what comes about on the page.

And finally, much to my relief, the Phoenix Suns beat the Portland Trailblazers and are up two games to one in the first round of the playoffs. Go planet orange!

Photo of Flagstaff courtesy of L. Brumm Photography

Finding Her Voice

My 14 year-old daughter, Sophie, wrote this piece about a month ago. I wanted to print it right away, "Do you want to publish it? You can put it up on my blog if you'd like."

She looked pensive. "I don't know. What if it sucks?"

Now she sounded like a writer! "Do you like it?"

"Yeah. But..."

"If you want to wait or whatever, that's perfectly okay. Really. No pressure."

"Wait. If you publish it on your blog, I want attribution." Now she sounded like an author!

I Finally Found my Overalls

My mom told me about a week ago that if I cleaned out my closet she would take me to get new clothes. Seeing as I desperately wanted new shirts this didn’t seam to be a bad idea. Today was a half day at school so I picked today to go through my closet.

It’s always interesting what you find in a closet. There is always a lot of “Hey I didn’t know I had that.” or “So THAT’S where my English paper was!” And, every once in a while you might find something you didn’t bargin for. Like these overalls.

I wore these almost everyday in second grade. During the summer it was just me, my best friend Ry, and the overalls. Climbing trees, pretending to be super genius wizards who could make a poison out of everyday items; we saw the world in a different way. That thing in the backyard it wasn’t a tree to us, it was a look out post over our entire kingdom. *Pauses*

But people grow up, and apart. And one day, one summer, there were no more kingdoms, no more crazy concoctions, no more happy endings. The overalls started to see less and less day light and I saw less and less of my best friend.

Years passed, schools passed, summers passed. New friends were made, I discovered what cell phones, make-up, and boyfriends were. But I never let go of that little second grade me who loved castles, adventures, and tree climbing. The little second grade me who loved her best friend. I did, however, start to lose my overalls. I would do whatever people said was the “right thing” the “cool thing” I was just looking to find a new best friend.

Back to today. I was cleaning out my closet, and I made two piles on my bed: keep and give-a-way. As I got to the back of my closet I figured I could just throw all of what was left into the give-a-way pile. But then I found my overalls, and this time, I didn’t let them go.

-Sophie Biddle