writing

School Girl Crush

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Yesterday, I wrote a scene for a work in progress about a childhood crush. In this yet-to-be-named novel I’m writing, the man had a childhood crush on a girl who spent the summers with him in Cape Cod. At a certain point, she never comes back. He spends his life tracking her down, and then stalking her until they meet again under strange circumstances on the METRO in Washington D.C. This scene had me thinking about my own crushes through my lifetime.

When I turned 12, which was a lifetime ago, my dad decided he wanted us to have family time by learning how to SCUBA (Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus). Yes, I had a privileged youth. I remember the nights we spent in the pool, learning how to breathe underwater. I also remember the book I was handed to study up on SCUBA, because all SCUBA divers have to pass a written test, even the twelve year olds.

Lauren SCUBA

That book with its blue cover sat by my bedside as I simultaneously thought of boys and played with Barbies. I had entered that time in my life where my body was changing and I was going through puberty, but I still loved my dolls. I straddled the line between childhood and adulthood, not sure where I belonged yet. As an aside, I also wore a heck of a lot of Laura Ashley jumpers. Twelve year olds today do not dress the way we did in the early 1990’s that’s for sure.

When the test day came I stared at the problems, and they looked like gobbly-gook. In all truth, I think there was a whole lot of Algebra. Math wasn’t my forte, and I hadn’t even started Algebra yet. (Now they seem to start it in Kindergarten, but then they didn’t).

And so, Phil, a tall, buff, blonde dive-pro at the shop sat next to me and gave me hints. He knew I knew the rules and how to dive. He just needed to give me a little bit of encouragement, so I could pass. And pass I did, with his help.

I’m sure dive-pro Phil knew I was in love with him. I made it blatantly obvious. I followed him around like a puppy-dog. I asked for him to be my dive partner on numerous occasions. I thought, me, a twelve year old child had a chance with this grown-up twenty-five year old man.

And Phil, knowing I was a child, dealt with it in such a nice way. He was kind. He didn’t blow me off. He never belittled me or was condescending. I’ll never forget, on one of our dive trips—I can’t remember if this was in Florida or in the Cayman’s—my mom burst her eardrum. I wanted to go back out in the water, because I was looking for sand dollars. So Phil went out with me, and he dragged his knife through the sand so we could find our way back to the boat, and took me out to a whole colony of sand dollars. This meant so much to my twelve-year old heart. He dealt with my school-girl crush with such grace, but he also gave me no allusions that he reciprocated (thank God—I was just a child).

Now I’m a grown-up, and I know the crush on dive-pro Phil was an adolescent awakening to the world of love and romance for me. It’s funny thinking back on those days and remembering how young and naïve I was. I had many more crushes after that, and I’m sure people had crushes on me. That’s just the way it goes. But the thing that makes crushes feel so poignant is the impossibility involved that doesn’t exist in a loving relationship. A crush is just that, a crush, and if it never moves forward it wanes and dies and both parties move on with their lives.

I don’t remember how I felt when I heard dive-pro Phil was getting married. I remember thinking it was logical, because he was an adult. But being only twelve or thirteen years old, it didn’t hit me the same way as other crushes who rejected me, who went on to get married, who left me when I felt like I needed them the most, or who moved on when they should have for the benefit of us both.

The thing about crushes, as illustrated in this story, is that they can teach you about love. Dive-pro Phil looked at me as a child, someone he could help teach to dive. He mentored me, and taught me about kindness, which is such a huge aspect of love. And he did it in a way that was appropriate, even knowing that I had a school-girl crush on him. I’ve learned a lot from all the crushes I’ve had, because pain also brings insight. I moved on and I learned how to apply that knowledge to my relationships, and now to my marriage.

Interestingly enough, another Phil came along when I was in college, and I thought I loved him so much. I put him on a pedestal, and I didn’t walk away even when he hurt me. I didn’t walk away even when I started hurting him. He was my best friend, my confidante, but the truth is a relationship wouldn’t have worked between us because we didn’t know how to communicate our deepest feelings with one another. It made the time we had together thrilling and fun, but it also made it hurtful, confusing, and frustrating. It took me a long time to move on from Phil2, and my relationship with my now-husband suffered because of my grief associated with losing my friendship with Phil2 and the possibility of what could have been between us. Once I processed all those heavy emotions, my relationship with my husband grew.

Crushes crush. They’re intense, yes, but they’re meant to end. Relationships bring a whole new level of love to your life, one that grows and changes with time. A crush is fleeting and not meant to last forever, but a lesson for how to love in your true and meaningful relationships.

Who was your first crush?

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Choices, Procrastination, Overbooking

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Today, I made a choice to work on yearbook for PTA. I made a choice at the beginning of the year to be the Yearbook co-chair, and no matter how much I may regret that choice I committed myself and therefore must do it! The thing is, I usually like doing creative tasks, like design the yearbook. But now, I feel like it’s one more thing I added to my list when I should have made my focus this year writing and running.

I started out this year gung ho about writing. And as other humans may know, sometimes that insatiability at the beginning wanes with time.

For instance, when you meet a new person and fall in love, all you can think about is that person. 24/7 you are thinking about them, fantasizing about them, and wanting to talk to them over and over again about everything under the sun. You literally cannot get enough. You think the feeling will last forever, and suddenly without warning you’ve been married for fifteen years, and that person you used to feel so giddy about is scratching his butt on the couch and peeing all over your guest bathroom floors. Honeymoon over.

The same thing happens when we take on a new endeavor like writing. When I first started focusing on my writing, all I wanted to do was write. I loved the feeling of writing. I loved the rush it gave me when someone praised my work. But then, I hit a roadblock, and wham! I stopped writing.  Why? Because writing is hard, and a writer has to make a conscious effort to choose to write, even on the days when that writer feels like the writing sucks. Even on the days, when the writer writes 1,000 words and promptly hits delete. Even on the days, when she feels like no one is buying her work. Writing is hard and full of roadblocks and rejection. So how can we stop the roadblocks from holding us back in what we want to achieve in life? How can we go forward with our writing when we feel overwhelmed?

  • First, stop choosing everything else over writing. Stop blaming procrastination. Procrastinating is a choice.  Once you realize this, it’s easier to think consciously about moving on from that procrastination and choosing to write especially on the days it’s hard. People have praised me for having written two books saying, “I can’t believe you do that, have three kids, and a day-job,” but the truth is when there’s something you want to do and love to do then nothing can stop you from doing it. So don’t let yourself stop you from doing it simply because it’s hard.
  • Don’t take on more than you can chew. I need to listen to this advice. I think in our world, we’re expected to do so much. Be a working parent, go to all the school functions, volunteer, make food. But don’t. Seriously learn how to say no. I didn’t say no enough this year and probably overextended myself. Don’t add things to your life if you don’t have the time to commit to them.
  • Prioritize: If you’re striving to be a writer, get published, or finish a novel then make writing your priority. Get up early and write. Stay up until midnight to write. Just write so words can get on paper and you are achieving your goals. Make choices that are conducive with this lifestyle, instead of making choices that will sabotage your end-game.
  • Give Yourself Grace: Being someone who has dealt with depression for most of my adult life, this one is very important. Everyone needs weeks and sometimes even months to regroup. Sometimes I do this by watching hours of Netflix. Then I won’t watch TV for months, and I’ll refocus on my writing or my reading (which by the way helps you be a better writer).
  • Don’t Be Afraid to Ask For Help: I think we humans tend to think we live in a box and that our experience is individual from everyone else. The truth is, we’re part of a larger society. We have other people we can depend on when we need it. My husband is a huge supporter of me. He makes my life easy at home, often doing laundry, cooking, and generally picking up the slack. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have his help (live in a pit). And the thing is, I know I can always talk to him when I’m feeling down, or when I’ve been procrastinating for months, or when I think nobody will ever read my book again. The truth is, being a writer is hard and can be discouraging, so having someone who can talk you out of the deep pit of despair is awesome. Having people who say, “You need to write,” is inspiring and it helps motivate me to do what I want again. Don’t be afraid to ask for help, because true friends want you to succeed.

This post is as much a reminder to myself as it is to my audience on what I need to do to stop letting life get in the way of achieving my dreams.

What do you think is your biggest hindrance to your goals?

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The Flaw of Perfectionism

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This weekend, I sat on the bench and watched my son compete in a gymnastics meet in Roswell, GA. He’s been in gymnastics for years, and he’s good. He’s generally a hard worker. But he missed about five months last year due to a dislocated shoulder, and he still holds himself to the standards of the boys who are in their second year as level 5s.

He did well at the meet. He messed up on the floor, and that was his first event, so I think that led him down a dark wormhole in his mind. But after rings, he started crying. He was so upset. He scored a 10.1 on rings (not bad by any means), but he felt like he should have been scored higher. And he hyper-focused on it, getting more and more upset. At one point, he even walked off the floor. I tried to calm him down, but he wanted to be by himself. By the time he made it to his last event, high bars, he’d calmed himself down and he managed to pull an 11.2, first place for the event.

 

Watching him struggle was hard for me, and I recognized myself in him. How many of us quit when it gets tough? How many of us quit when we feel like our best is not our best? I sat and watch my son beat himself up, because his rings weren’t perfect and that’s hard for a parent to see. Mainly, because he inherited this trait from me and probably from the way we parent.

I’ve done a lot of reading over the years on perfectionism, because having struggled with it I know it can be debilitating. The thing about perfectionism is that it doesn’t spur you on to bigger and better things, it actually holds you back from being all you can be. It takes all the positives of a motivated individual and turns them into negatives and all the what if’s pop up: what if I fail? what if I don’t win? what if? what if? until the what ifs make the person stop doing what they love. The “what ifs” seem to become the driving factor in making the perfectionist feel trapped by their own perceived lack of achievement.

I haven’t been writing lately, and I know this is from self-doubt and perfectionism cropping into my mind. I haven’t been putting the time in, because I still don’t know if I’m good enough. But doing what I love should be good enough for me. I tried to emphasize this to my oldest son over the weekend. “You love gymnastics, right? Then keep working hard, and don’t get so bent out of shape over one meet.” This is a hard lesson to learn, and it’s a hard lesson for me to teach. I’m sure he’s seen me give up when things get tough, or when I don’t think the writing is just right, or when life gets too overwhelming

So how do we overcome perfectionism?

We need to teach our children that good enough is good enough. Winning isn’t everything. Hard work matters, but it’s okay to fail. In fact, learning how to cope with failure leads us to success later on and gives us the tools to know how to succeed.  We need to stop being afraid to let our children fail.

Celebrate victories. When my son didn’t do as well as he wanted in the meet, he said that the first place on high bar didn’t even matter. I told him he was nuts. He had scored 1st out of 61 kids. That was something! I told him not to focus on the negative, but to look at the overall picture, to learn what he could work on for the next week, and to look at the fact that he tried hard and did well.  I pointed out that he came in 5th overall in his age group (top 20 out of the 6o kids), and that last time we’d done this meet he had come in 9th. I showed him his progress. We celebrated his victory with a trip to Starbucks, and as the day went on he became excited about winning his gold on high bar and the feelings about the rings began to dissipate.

Love and respect yourself. Perfectionist tend to be mean to themselves. Self-blame. Self-critical. They’re often meaner to themselves than anyone else in their life. This leads to depression. Love yourself and all your flaws, and learn how to let go of the need for perfection.

Don’t give up. Persistence pays off. As a writer, this is something I’ve had to learn. Giving up gets you nowhere. Learn how to roll with the punches without assigning blame to yourself or making yourself feel guilty for failures, work hard, and keep at it.

Perfectionism is something I’ll have to work on controlling for the rest of my life. I’ll fight the feelings that come with it, and it seems like my son will too. But I know with mindfulness, I can let go and learn how to be happy with my best.

 

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Resolutions for 2016

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There’s a cold front sailing into Montgomery encapsulated in three-six inches of rain, and unfortunately the storm seems to be raging in my head. I’ve had a headache for two days now, and no amount of nasal spray, Allegra D, Sudafed, Tylenol, or Advil seems to be helping it.

It seems fitting to wake up on New Year’s Eve with a headache. Starting a new year is like a fresh start. Oh the possibilities. But sometimes the only way to get to where you want in life is to suffer pain and heartache (or in this case, a terrible headache). This headache is a little reminder to me this morning of how far I came this year in my own life.

I’m a big fan of New Year’s Resolutions. I know they say only 30% of people achieve those resolutions, but for the last few years I’ve been in that 30%. The hint to achieving your resolutions is to set small, measurable, attainable goals.

For instance, instead of saying: I’m going to lose weight. Say: I’m going to lose 15 lbs. Or instead of saying: I’m giving up all sugar forever and ever, say: I’m going to give up drinking soda. Instead of saying: I’m going to become the next great author this year, say: my goal is to publish one book. Seriously, measurable and realistic.

So what’s my resolution? I have one main resolution, and I’m sure I’ll add goals as the year goes on.

  • Finish revising Little Birdhouses and start querying.

That’s it. I’ve been sitting on it and not doing what I need to do with it, and it’s starting to annoy me. So I know I need to finish. I’ll query it, and if that doesn’t go my way then maybe I’ll submit it to Booktrope. They published my book, The Devil Within, which has been moderately successful.

I have a couple of things I’d like to achieve this year as well, which aren’t really resolutions but just items on my list to check off.

  • Run a Half-Marathon – this is a biggie and scares the crap out of me, but is also really exciting.
  • Finish working on The Cape and start revisions.

That’s it folks. What are your resolutions this year?

 

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A Little Bit About The People I Love

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I’m in a writing funk this month. Although, I’m not feeling particularly restless about it like usual. I think this is because my life feels full. And what a wonderful feeling that is.

We had photos done for Christmas cards this year. Don’t worry if you didn’t receive one from me. It doesn’t mean I don’t like you, it just means I’m a cheapskate and only ordered 50. So if you were in that lucky fifty, count your blessings!

Here are some of my favorite photos from the photo shoot by Amanda Kay Photography. You should go over and like her page, and if you’re local then use her! She’s very talented.

I felt like the photos are such a good representation of who my kids are. My oldest is always climbing, and the photo in the tree captures his personality so well. My middle one can be quiet but spunky. And my baby is sweet, but a little sassy too.

I was so impressed with how much their personalities shown through in these photos. I think it gives you a little taste of what my every day life is like. I will say, it took us awhile to get my oldest down from the tree so we could take the rhino photo. There’s always one stubborn one in my family (wonder where he got that from?). And I was a little surprised these came out as well as they did, because I felt like I was going to blow my gasket since they were running around like the little lunatics they are and complaining about having to sit still for photos! Aww, kids. You know what I mean if you have a few of your own!

So Merry Christmas (or Happy Chanukah or Happy Kwanza) from my family to yours!

 

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Excuses

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This is the excuse post. The one that explains what the hell I’ve been doing in the last week and half since you haven’t heard from me. Mostly it’s because it’s Christmas time, and Christmas time is crazy-busy time in my already crazy-busy world.

Also, I chose not to work out on Monday so I could stay home and watch Christmas Vacation, snuggle on the couch with the kids, and eat popcorn. I have my priorities straight!

But seriously, I want you to know this blog isn’t going silent, but the next few months I have a lot going on so I will not be posting as much as usual.

  1. Christmas Time: Of course! How many parties can be fit into one month? Can I get all my Christmas shopping done and wrap and still escape with my sanity?
  2. Gymnastics Season here we come. In case you’re new here and didn’t know, my oldest son is a gymnast and gymnastics season kicked off in November, but it beefs up in January and February. We will be crazy busy, but I hope to post some of his videos here if I get a new camera for Christmas. He’s pretty amazing. I’m not biased!
  3. I may be am a little crazy, because I’m actually entertaining the idea of running a half-marathon with my sisters in April. Here’s the training schedule I’m doing, and as you can see it’s taking up A LOT of my mornings that I used to use for blogging. I’m still not certain I can do it, but heck, I’m going to try!
  4. HalfMarathonTraining
  5. I can’t get rid of that 4 above and bring it down below, so you’ll just have to deal!
  6. I’ve been really into reading this month. I read I’ll Give You The Sun by Jandy Nelson, and it was flipping fantastic. I highly recommend it.

All of these excuses to say that I’m really sorry! I hope to post at least once a week in the next couple of months, but wanted to stop by to tell you a little bit about what’s going on in my crazy life. Also, if you’re a subscriber to my newsletter, a new one will be coming out on December 31, 2015!

 

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What If…

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What if I had written all weekend long? What if I chose a different career path? What if I hadn’t had children? What if I had married someone else? What if I didn’t live in Alabama?

“What if?” is the essential question in writing a story. Most stories start out with an author thinking “what if.” I spent most of my weekend on the couch, because my five year old was sick. While having my hot potato of a baby lay on me all day, I watched the whole season of The Man In The High Castle. I realize this makes me an extreme couch potato. But the story was so good I couldn’t tear myself away. I went to the bathroom a few times, and ate, and my daughter cuddled up against me and I provided her comfort, which is what one needs when they’re sick. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a weekend, minus the “sick.”

This show on Amazon is so well done, based on the book by Philip Dick, which I have yet to read (it’s on my list). And it asks the question “what if the Nazis and Japan won WWII?” What a question to explore. The characters are so believable, and the suspense kept me watching. Highly recommended!

I tout myself as a character writer. The Devil Within mostly was written because I felt a strong connection to Will’s character. But the “what if
questions were still there. I asked myself, “What if I were growing up with an oppressively religious father? What would I do? What are the emotions I would feel? What if fundamental religion hurts more than helps? What if the person I’m supposed to depend on most hurts me the most? What if my ally is not a saint?” These are just a few questions I asked myself as I wrote The Devil Within. I’m not sure I found the answers, but writing through it helped me explore thoughts on religion, family, and guilt that I’ve had for a long time.

The new story I’m writing I’m asking myself : “What if everything is not as it seems? What if your whole life is one big lie?”

I often wonder why I feel the need to write, but I think it’s because I’m always thinking about the “what if” questions. Life isn’t black and white. It’s filled with choices, different paths, and to me writing is a way to discover what might have happened if…

“What if” question are you trying to answer today?

 

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Persistence in the Face of Fear

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Hey Lovely Readers! I’m fessing up as a slacker once again. With this short and busy week, I feel like I’ve been behind the 8-ball. But before I get to the point of this post, I don’t want you to slack and miss the opportunity to get The Devil Within for 99 cents! The sale ends on October 17th, so there’s not a lot of time! If you like Southern literature and coming-of-age novels with some grit then you’ll like this book.

The Devil Within Cover

Enough of my shameless plugs. Now back to slacking. Over the weekend, I started writing a new piece. Yeah, I know. I was supposed to stick to rural Alabama and Anna Kate. But I was stuck–seriously stuck. And then I wrote a short for the class I’m taking through University of Iowa (Go DUCKS!), and it begged to be expanded. And people in the class really liked it. And as a writer, I seek to serve my readers.

I also ran a lot this weekend, and when I run I think. And sometimes I overthink. As we all know from the post that’s circulating around Facebook, overthinking is a sign of being a creative genius (or so some article says, and I’d like to believe that over just thinking I’m nuts). Overthinking can also cause some issues. My thought process revolved around solving problems in both books when I ran, but pretty soon it turned into: Why am I writing? Does anyone even want to read my books? Why does it have to be so hard to land an agent? Will I ever finish editing Little Birdhouses? Can I even write a query letter? Is it worth it? And fifty thousand other rhetorical questions I could throw out of you. Rhetorical questions are a no-no in writing too, but if you know me you know I LOVE to break the rules.

Every writer questions themselves and what they’re doing and whether it matters. They want to hide behind a rock in the face of fear. Instead of facing the wolf, they’d rather curl up in their bed and be eaten. Do the brave thing and write the words, because if you don’t you’re going to be more unhappy than if you do. If you’re a writer then you have to write for sanity. If you’re a writer then you have a driving force and you need to write. If you’re a writer, I’m here to tell you DON’T GIVE UP! I have thoughts that my writing sucks and no one wants to read it. Everyone has those thoughts. Taking this online class has boosted my confidence as a writer ten-fold. I’ve received such great and positive feedback on my work. It’s nice to receive that after receiving tons of rejections for agents, because at least I know if I keep trying I will some day make it.

And what does making it even mean? It means making writing a priority in my life every day, editing my stuff, putting it out there and making a few bucks. Sure, I’d like to be rolling in the dough like Stephen King, but I know it’s not realistic. Maybe some day–we can all hope to dream. But the important thing is: Don’t give up! Don’t give into the fear. If you give into fear you’ll never know how far you can go (I even wrote a blog post about that not so long ago).

Now, if you want this same post with more colorful language go read Chuck Wendig’s post over at Terrible Minds. He knows what he’s talking about.

And I promise I’ll stop slacking (maybe). And I’ll write a blog post tomorrow morning before I succumb to fear in the Maze of Terror (that’s another story).

What do you do when you’re slacking or procrastinating (in anything, not just writing) and how do you get back to the task at hand? I play Civilization or binge watch Netflix.

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Adventures of Smithsonian Mug Continued

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Does everyone out there in this great big world of ours feel like they never have enough time? Or is that because I’m an over-committer. I’m loving this free MOOC (massive online course–or something like that) I’m taking, and I’ve been spending a lot of my free seconds online with the class. And so today, I’m going to share the second piece I wrote for the class, in which the mug I personified becomes an object of conflict and desire. The assignment was to have two people fight about the object. I chose to do this with the mug as simply an object, not personified as in the last assignment.

Oh, and if you’re a visual person here is Grandfather Mug and Red Tall Mug from the last story “Smithsonian Mug.” You may want to read that one before you read this, but they can stand alone too.

Red Tall Mug and Grandfather Mug

Cracked Up
About 500 words

“I know I left Smithsonian mug on the shelf. Have you seen it, Rob?”

Rob sat at the table and upon hearing my words shifted his eyes and turned his back, ever-so-slightly, away from me.

“Haven’t seen it.”

I glanced at the pot of coffee, only two-thirds of the way full, instead of brimming over the top like normal. The rich aroma of brewed beans led me to Smithsonian mug.

“Ah-ha!” I said. “You have it.”

“It’s just a mug, Lauren. Get another one. Red tall mug is in the cabinet.”

“I don’t want red tall mug. I want Smithsonian mug. Smithsonian mug belongs to me. I bought it! I want to feel the curve of its warmth against the palm of my hand. And Smithsonian mug wants to be there too. I can tell.”

I slammed my fist on the table, and Smithsonian mug wobbled as black coffee spilt from its edges onto the white surface of the breakfast room table.

Rob’s startled eyes opened wide. “Smithsonian mug doesn’t want to be corrupted by milk. Black coffee only.”

“What are you talking about? Smithsonian mug loves milk. The feeling Smithsonian mug gets when he’s filled with coffee and then slurps up a teaspoon of milk. It’s like how a child feels dipping an Oreo and waiting for it to get just the right amount of soggy before popping it in his mouth.”

“Fine, you can have your precious mug!” Rob said.

He stomped toward me but didn’t see the Barbie doll on the floor until it was too late. It happened in slow motion. He tripped one leg held askance from his body as his arms flung out from his side, trying to catch his balance. Smithsonian mug flew through the air, coffee splashing the sage green walls of the kitchen. The deafening roar of the crash filled my ears as the precious mug shattered into small pieces across the tile floor. Smithsonian mug was no more.

“At least we can’t fight over it anymore,” Rob said. “I’ll get the mop.”

Some comments I received about this, is that my hand on the table was too startling and did not flow with the fight. I could see that, but anyone who knows me knows that I sometimes react more strongly than the situation calls for. My husband is also like this, and sometimes he’s non-nonchalant, like he is at the end of the story. Still, it gave me something to ponder in relationship to my story-telling skills, which is the point of the class after all.

What do you think? If you’re a writer, leave me a comment-story about an object that’s being fought over! I’d love to read it.

Did you know The Devil Within ebook is on sale until October 17th! Pick up your copy on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1QU3axK.

The Devil Within Cover

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Smithsonian Mug

/ legreene515 / 5 Comments

I’m sitting in my blue chair listening to Johnny Cash cover One (originally by U2). Look it up if you haven’t heard his rendition. It’s fantastic. It’s Monday, and that means a Monday Blog. I thought today I’d share the first of three pieces I wrote for the online class I’m taking: How Writers Write Fiction.

The first week of the online class was Welcome Week, and there were three assignments to get the creative juices flowing. In the first assignment bringing an everyday object to life. I chose the Smithsonian Mug. I chose this mostly because I love coffee, and I drink out of this mug almost every day. It’s my favorite (sort of like my snowman pajamas).

Smithsonian Mug

I sit on the center of the shelf. All the others surround me. I am the prized possession. The one she always reaches for first in the morning. I sit up tall, proudly displaying the words We Can Do It! of a suffragette woman from long ago. She calls me the Smithsonian mug, named after the place I was born, where other mugs like me lined the shelves, my sisters and brothers in ceramic. The images printed on my body proudly display historical images of this land where we live. My grandfather, faded from too many cycles, has been pushed to the dank, dark, back of the cabinet. I can see the crack of light seeping through the seam in the cabinet door like a ray of light, but is he left behind to languish in disuse.

Every time the doors open and she reaches her hand in, I stand up a little taller, hoping to be picked. I am like a child calling out pick me, pick me to the captain of the team during P.E. I am the popular one, and my fellow mugs are the ones who are always picked last.

My print is fresh and unspoiled. I look back at Grandpa mug, hanging his head low, hoping to be put out of his misery, transferred into a brown box and sent off somewhere as others have gone before. We simply call it going to the box. No one knows where you go after you leave this place, this house, the world directly beyond the cabinet.

Red Tall Mug said The Man took him in a car one time. But she, The Woman, only drinks from me in the morning while sitting in the blue recliner, typing away at keys on a black box. Red Tall Mug says the world is vast and more beautiful than we could imagine. But I am content, being filled with coffee and a splash of milk, and sitting cradled in the palm of her soft hands as she continues to pick me to provide her with the kind of creature comfort only I can provide.

Did you know The Devil Within ebook is on sale until October 17th! Pick up your copy on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1QU3axK.

The Devil Within Cover

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