Miss Lou over at Miss Lou Acquiring Lore has done me the great honour of taking up the gauntlet in the “Just Jot It” series I began back in January, with Just Jot It July.
So this is me, just jotting about her month-long event for anyone who wishes to take part.
I think it’s pretty well known here on WordPress by anyone who has been around for at least one summer (like me) that July and August are the slowest months hereabouts. Posts drop off because of holidays, people go on hiatus… hiatuses… hiati… Heck they sometimes even to to Haiti! …where was I… Oh yes! Vacations! They also mean that there aren’t as many people read our posts, so our view counts tend to go down.
For these reasons, it’s great to have prompts to keep us going. And that’s what Just Jot It July is all about.
So go and check it out, jot down your own post, and join in the jotting fun!
First, I’d like to say thank you so much to everyone who participated in SoCS today. We’ve almost hit the record number of posts – two more and we’ll have beat the previous record of 21. I so appreciate everyone making this weekly event a success! You’re all awesome!!
My apology is to all of you who have posted today whose posts I haven’t read and to all of you who have left comments that I haven’t answered. My sight is incredibly blurry tonight, so I think I’ll close the computer and hope tomorrow is better.
It’s the question I am most asked about my thirteen year old son. At 60 pounds and 4’3″, with the amount of enthusiasm he has for everything, he can easily pass for an eight year old.
Born Deaf, his lungs are compressed by his large, deformed heart. He’s barrel-chested and is covered in scars, least of which is the tube in his stomach from whence he receives 99% of his nutrition. He is hooked up to a feeding machine about five hours a day. I’m sure he experiences pain – more than likely he’s been through more than most of us in his short life.
But I marvel at his little body. That he keeps going without complaint – he’s never known any different. I’m sure he’s realized by now that he’s not the same as most kids. One of his major goals in life is to eat in the cafeteria with the other kids at school, instead of being sent to the infirmary for lunch every day.
It amazes me what the human body can endure and still keep going. We think of ourselves as fragile. We grieve when something stops working. Our eyesight fades, our hearing goes, our muscles tire more easily – but imagine if you had always been this way.
My son is a constant inspiration to me. Everywhere he goes he makes people smile with his joy in life.
I’m not sure what kind of tree this is, but I thought the blossoms were pretty.
Of course my helper for today’s paper route wanted his picture taken with one. Not sure what was distracting him, but the good news is, nothing ran me over.
As I waited in the Emergency Room with my elderly mother today, I listened to two strangers discussing the horrors of what they had heard routinely goes on in ERs across the country. And horrors they were.
One spoke of elderly patients dying in chairs and on gurneys whilst being ignored by overworked staff members; the other gave an account of a friend of a friend whose nine year old daughter died after not being properly treated. As the story went, two doctors of opposing opinions argued over the proper care of the child. One believed the girl had pneumonia and wanted her on antibiotics but the other decided it was a mere cold. The latter of the two was also on the latter of two shifts and won out. The nine year old lasted two days before flesh-eating disease got her. The parents are still waiting for the lawsuit to be tied up a year later.
In all of these cases, the tragedy which resulted might have been avoided with the presence of a competent patient advocate. After a cursory search in my own area of the world, which is Ontario, Canada, I discovered that finding an outside advocate isn’t easy. (I did only a quick search because had I been looking for an advocate in the case of an emergency, it’s logical that that’s all I’d have time for.) I found that it’s possible to get one to accompany a patient to appointments, etc., but the advocate must be interviewed in advance and paid for – highly inadequate in the case of having to go to the hospital in an emergency, and inaccessible for someone with no money. In any case, most of us rely on family and friends to advocate for us, as was the case with the little girl.
I have no way of knowing what the parents’ knowledge of medicine was, nor what their levels of intelligence are, but I do know, as a parent, that most mothers know what their children are like when they’re healthy and how they act when they’re sick. Was the mother in tune with her daughter but unable to express her concerns to the doctor? Did the doctor simply choose not to listen? Again, I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s important for us to have at least a little understanding of what our loved ones are facing before we take the trip to the hospital in the first place. If that means going on the internet to search for the symptoms, so be it. At least we’ll know what questions to ask when faced with a busy doctor, and what to insist on as far as tests go.
I can’t help but think that these horrific events could have been prevented with the right amount of basic knowledge, advocacy, and attention to detail.
It’s scary to think that doctors don’t know what they’re doing. It’s frightening to know that our hospitals lack the funds to provide quality of care. But what is just as alarming is the fact that there’s no one to stick up for us, the patients, when we can’t or won’t stick up for ourselves.
In my infinite wisdom borne of never having enough of a challenge in my life, I’ve decided to join Camp NaNoWriMo, which starts July 1st. My goal is to write 25,000 words of the sequel to the novel I started and failed as a NanoWriMo project in November of 2011. That one took me 18 months to finish. I’m not under any delusion that I can get the sequel done in a month, so I won’t even try.
But wait, Linda, I hear you saying. You can’t even reply to the comments on your blog, what makes you think you can take on another project?
To answer that question, I have no idea other than that I need to start being creative again or I will go completely around the bend. I’m halfway there now, and let me tell you, the scenery ’round there is scary-dark and smells ominously like a fart.
Is it worse than getting lost in the woods while at Camp Nano? There’s only one way to find out. I figure I should be okay as long as I don’t come across any bears — ‘coz you know what THEY do in the woods.
I want people who read my fiction to fall in love with my characters. Not the bad guys necessarily, but at least the good guys. It took me a while to figure out how to do this, but in the end it always comes down to emotions. When my characters emote in a way that people can relate to, they feel a connection.
When I write, “Hank felt sad,” I know that my readers will look at the words on the page and think Hank is sad. Too bad for Hank. But if I write, “Hank cried,” people will read this and feel it, because it’s something that they do, or try not to do, when they are sad.
Emotions have a way of getting the best of us. They’re something we share, no matter our race, language, or beliefs. They are universal. And so when we see someone whose beliefs we don’t understand on the news, for instance, and they are crying, we feel their pain. At least those of us with compassion.
My best friend John told me a while ago that when we yawn when we see someone else yawn, it’s a sign that we’re not a psychopath. I know this has nothing to do with emotions, as such, but it does show our capacity for understanding what someone else is feeling. Empathy, compassion, sympathy… they’re all necessary for us to understand. And what makes good fiction worth reading as well.
As the temperature and the humidity rise, and the air gets harder to breathe, I find myself wanting to stay inside more. It’s like winter, only backwards – I’m looking for the ice inside and avoiding the furnace outside.
Therefore, I’ve been sitting on my ever-spreading derriere for the past couple of days trying to organize my writing. I’ve done some editing, and I’ve started jotting down notes for my next novel. (Yay!) I’ve had a couple of glowing reviews already for my A – Z novelette (which I still need a title for) and I’ve begun to look into the process of self-publishing. …and I have no idea where to start.
I have a couple of questions for anyone out there who has gone before me in this regard.
1. Do you have an ISBN for every piece of work you’ve self-published? If so, publish first or ISBN first?
2. Did you have to apply for rights in every country in which you sell?
I’m sure this is just the tip of the iceberg – actually an iceberg sounds nice right about now. Feel free to shoot me now for all the complaining I did in the winter. I deserve it, I know.
Tell me, how hot is it where you are? Make me feel grateful.
lindaghill.com 