Writing can be a lonesome experience, especially when it’s done in the confines of a notebook that isn’t shared with anyone else. I have so many thoughts and feelings and stories and ideas that have taken up countless spiral notebooks that lay around my house, thoughts that go unfinished as I lose interest or decide that the contents are, well, lame. I’ve always found it easier to write for an audience. The feedback keeps me going, as if I, myself, am onstage and being cheered on. And when I am ridiculed, it feeds my fire even more to write more passionately as I fight for those thoughts I believe in. But never have I written fiction for the public eye. Those remain locked up in those notebooks, stories and characters that seem to be living and breathing as I document their tales. As I develop their story and the dilemnas they must face, I live with them throughout the day. They become my friends, and at times I find myself thinking about them more than I think about the people I see every day in “real” life. My very movements become theirs as I transfer parts of me into them. We write what we know. But ultimately we lose contact. I grow bored of their story that goes nowhere without my pen to paper. And they die an untimely death as I prohibit any hope of them going on by ceasing to continue their lives. And after a break from writing, I soon develop new “friends” with a whole new set of problems that I have already solved, but have yet to develop how they get there.

I am starting a new story. But this time I have decided that I will keep the process in the public eye. If you look at my blogroll, I have included a link to another blog I have created, Writings and Ramblings. It is in its baby stages. Only two chapters have been completed, and I can already think of edits I need to make to it. But my hope is that with feedback or suggestions it might go further than any of my old stories that remain in confinement, never to be completed. Sure, I may grow bored of this one too. Then I’ll start a new one. But to truly consider myself a writer, I need to share my writing rather than hold it all to myself.

This weekend I went away to stay with some close friends. They live in the area where gold was first discovered, surrounded by trees and bordered by a part of the river. The property is large enough for the kids to run around and get dirty while we catch up over drinks and a cloud of smoke. Going up there is like a mini vacation. It is far away from the city, the war, politics, work, stress, guilt, should haves, could haves, would haves, chores to be done, expectations to live by…… Lonely and forgotten hearts are left behind, ex-husbands cannot penetrate the lack of cell phone reception, gridlock traffic doesn’t exist, high heels and curling irons are not invited. It is a place where kids can be kids, and adults can be young again too.

We look forward to this trip every time it comes around. Lately it’s been a once a month occurrence. My family and one other family take the three hour drive to stay in a a three story house full of kids and dogs and the best people we’ve ever known. Several hours in the kids’ feet are pure black, bug bites litter their arms and legs, and laughter is the largest sound to be heard besides the gurgling river and the chirping crickets. The occasional knee is scraped from go-carts plummeting down the steep driveway. Cans (and books, and anything else we can find) are hung in the trees to be tortured by numerous rounds from pellet guns.

There is nobody there to keep the sound down. Nobody is annoyed by it. The party goes on until the kids are too tired to stand, and then makeshift beds are created in every corner of the house so we can be ready for another day.

We didn’t want to leave today. But responsibilities still exist in the real world, and the obligations were starting to creep in. Huge hugs and plans for the next month, and we were on our way. Back in the real world….. a marriage is disinigrating, people not old enough to die have died, dinners for the next few nights are planned out, an unpaid bill is looming overhead, supervised visitation is getting closer and closer, gas prices are steadily rising, the newspaper still hasn’t found any good news, and my house has once again failed to clean up itself. And while my vacation is missed, it is still good to be home because home….is mine. Exhausted, I kicked my feet up and skimmed the news while my daughter tried her hand at making pancakes for the family. We watched as my son caught up on the video games he had missed over the weekend and I caught a few minutes of sleep. Showers washed away the forest, toothbrushes wiped away the junk food, and kisses ensured safety until the morning. We’re back. We’re exhausted. We’re happy. And we’re looking forward to a month from now when we’ll BBQ and project movies from the bank of the river where gold was first discovered. But I think we discovered our own treasure.

Email me at winecountry.singlemom@yahoo.com