Life in progress

Tag Archives: school


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Stream of Consciousness Saturday – Senses

It’s been thirty-four years since I had a discussion in a class in high school – I don’t even remember what the class was, only that the teacher could easily be led astray by an interesting conversation and we wouldn’t have to do any work if we could catch her attention with something.

The discussion was based on two things. First – everyone, at some point in their lives, has six months left to live. If you could know without a shadow of a doubt that you had that much time left, would you want to?

The second of the two subjects that day has more to do with today’s prompt. And I swear, I wasn’t thinking of this when I came up with the prompt. (not sure if I should put that in there or not, but I can’t take it out now, right?)

Anyway, the second of the two subjects we talked about that day was, if you had a choice between losing your sight or your hearing, but you had to choose one, which would you pick?

Most people if I remember correctly, said their hearing. After all, being able to see makes getting around a lot easier. But I was torn. I love music. I love to be able to hear the birds sing. I can’t imagine not being able to hear the beauty of a great guitar riff, or the voice of a singer I adore. I just… can’t.

With so many years of hindsight, and having a Deaf child, I am really now torn. I see him enjoying life without sound – he can still feel the beat of music, and he’s able to communicate for the most part with just about anyone through gestures and body language. Still, he’s never been able to hear music, and so he doesn’t understand what he’s missing.

I don’t know how I would cope without my sight either. Gone would be my camera, and all but the fragrance of flowers. And I walk into things as it is…

It’s a question that will probably stay with me for another thirty-four years, if not more. I hope I never have to choose.

 

This post is part of SoCS: https://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/05/16/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-may-1714/

Post one of your own!


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M is for … Money-Making Manuscripts

Writing for money–earning a living at it–has long been a dream of mine.  I’d dearly love to have any day job, but being single and caring for my two kids with their numerous disabilities, makes it unfeasible for me to work outside the home. I’ve never attempted to hide the fact that I live off of the social assistance that I receive for my kids. Actually, scratch that. I have a paper route for which I earn a whopping $15 per week.

So during the time that I’m not driving to appointments, looking after them when they’re either sick or sent home with behavioural issues, I write. I suppose you could say I’m in a rather enviable position, in that if I do make even one dollar selling a novel I’ve gained something.

The fact is that one day I may find myself living alone. If I’m unable to care for my kids anymore, for whatever reason, and they go to assisted living elsewhere, I’ll have nothing but whatever I gain through this practice of writing. Yes, I have a background in bookkeeping, and have worked in retail, reception, data entry, and on dude ranches and thoroughbred farms, but who will hire me when I get to the point that I can’t care for my children and have nothing to put on my resume since 1999?

Realistically, at this point, my future lies in my writing. When I have enough money saved I’ll take more courses; I’ve never been more determined to do anything in my life, and I want to be good at it. If I can sell these manuscripts I have laying around–three of them so far–either to a publisher or by self-publishing, I may just be okay. Is there a living to be made? I think it’s best I find out now, while I at least still have my paper route.

 

Things are getting weirder with Jupiter and Xavier over on my fiction blog. Click to read: http://lindaghillfiction.wordpress.com/2014/04/15/m-is-for-maniacal-mischief/


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JusJoJan 16 – Sometimes I Have the Strangest Conversations

Yesterday I had to take my son, Alex, to the doctor to get a note for school. It wasn’t for a high-risk field trip; it wasn’t because of some strange sort of disease the school needed to be assured he was free from – nothing like that.

I needed a note to say that he was allowed to eat. The first conversation on the phone with the doctor’s secretary went something like this:

Me: Hi. I need an appointment to get a doctor’s note.

Secretary: Okay, what is it for?

Me: Well, you see, the nurse at his school won’t let him eat until he has an all-clear from the doctor.

Secretary: Soooo, when was the last time he went to school?

Me: Today.

Secretary: How long has it been since the school didn’t allow him to eat.

Me: It’s been about a week.

Secretary: ….

Me: So can I get an appointment soon? Or…

Secretary: I don’t understand.

Me: Neither do I.

All of this, of course, came about because he aspirated (inhaled and had lodged in his right lung) a piece of food on Christmas Eve. For the most part he is tube fed, but the school wants to make sure it’s safe for him to eat before they’ll let him do so.

So today I went to the doctor. That conversation went as follows:

Doctor: Sooo… what do you want me to write?

Me: Just say he can eat. OH, and drink. I don’t want to have to bother you again in case they decide that’s against the rules as well.

Doctor: And he’s been fine when he eats at home, right?

Me: As fine as he’s ever been.

Doctor: Oookay.

(She starts typing.)

Me: I guess this isn’t something you write a note for every day, eh?

Doctor: Err, no.

Today, Alex went to school with the note in his backpack. After not being allowed to eat with the other kids for a week, he’s a happy camper.

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Post on your site, and join Just Jot it January. The rules are easy!

1. It’s never too late to join in, since the “Jot it” part of JusJoJan means that anything you jot down, anywhere (it doesn’t have to be a post) counts as a “Jot.” If it makes it to WordPress that day, great! If it waits a week to get from the sticky note to your screen, no problem!
2. If you write a JusJoJan post on your blog, you can ping it back to the above link to make sure everyone participating knows where to find it.
3. Write anything!
4. Have fun!


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JusJoJan 5 – Keeping It Together

I can always tell when my youngest son, Alex, is ready to go back to school after having time off – his behaviour is intolerable. Right now I’m trying to ignore him while he plays a game on his Wii U and screams and claps louder than one would think is humanly possible. The alternative is to shut him in his room until tomorrow morning, in which case he won’t get the nutrition he needs because he’ll unplug his feeding pump.

If tomorrow is a snow day I may just kill something.

Don’t let the above post scare you off! Post on your site, and join Just Jot it January. The rules are easy!


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Schoolin’

I have to say, I’m probably enjoying my online courses more than I have a right to. When I was a teenager I hated school. I took off every chance I got – would drive to Niagara Falls for a day instead of going to classes. But now that I’m an adult I don’t understand my mindset back then. Okay, sure, to me high school seemed pretty useless. After all, what better way to learn about life than live it? The walls of an institution didn’t seem the most conducive setting for LIFE with capital letters. I suppose, now that I’m writing about the life of a teenager in my novel, it’s good to look back and remember as much of that time as I can.

But I digress.

This post is supposed to be about my current schooling. I passed my grammar course with a fairly decent 83% and now I’m on the last phase to getting my certificate – Writing Short Stories.

Before the course started I thought I was just going to sail through it, much as I thought I would with the grammar course. Why wouldn’t I? After all, I can bang out a respectable short story in an afternoon. When I received the lesson plan however, I was stopped in my tracks. You see, the course will take me almost up to Christmas and I will have one short story to write. First I must submit an idea. A few weeks later, my task is to hand in a first draft, and at the beginning of December I must write the final draft.

So I’ve got all this time to write a short story. No problem, you would think. But I’ve got all this time to write a short story, and that’s the problem! To come up with ONE idea and ruminate over it over the course of two months is torture to me. You see, I’m what is commonly referred to these days as a ‘pantser.’ I get an idea, but I not only have to write it down right away, if I don’t actually write the story right away, I’ll lose it.

You might say, so just write the story and have done with it. Hand it in when it’s time. That would be fine, except my OCD won’t allow it. If I know myself well, I will write it, review it, edit it, edit it some more, and given that much time and that much editing, it’s going to look like a pile of steaming crap by the time I go to submit it, because I’ll have overthunk it to death.

I have decided, then, to try for once to actually take my time. Do the whole outline thing, maybe even draw myself a storyboard; create characters before I write the thing… I’ll treat it like an experiment. Do it the way the other half – the non-panster – does it. It’s going to be a challenge.


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Shattered Hopes – writing assignment

Leila awoke to the sun streaming through her bedroom window five minutes before her alarm was due to go off.  She stretched, catlike and smiled to herself. Awareness dawned as clear as day.

Tonight’s the night.

She rolled over and gazed at the pillow beside her, fluffed up, soft, inviting. She pictured in her mind what he would look like laying there in the soft sunlight, a mere twenty-four hours from now. In her mind’s eye she saw him open his eyes and smile at her adoringly, as happy to be there as she was to have him. She breathed in, imagining his musky natural scent, heady as a glass of fine Italian wine, and what it would be like to cuddle up in his arms, to feel the comforting warmth of his embrace.

Jeff.

She whispered his name out loud and the feel of it on her lips caused her mouth to water. Her hand slid down her body to the sensitive spot between her thighs. She turned to look at the clock. Two minutes left. She didn’t have time. Instead she propped her head up with her hands and looked around the room, making plans. Candles. She would need lots of them. And incense perhaps. Or not. She could see herself at work today, unable to concentrate even more than usual just knowing…

Tonight’s the night.

Jeff.

Her radio came on giving her a start but then she laughed out loud when she recognized the song: “Anticipation”, by Carly Simon.

She leaped out of bed and into the shower. Thoughts of what kind of music to play for the evening entertainment distracted her from the task of shaving, her causing her to nick herself. She swore under her breath and let the water run over the cut, hoping that she wouldn’t have a scab to mar her perfect date, with Jeff… It was going to be a tough day.

Showered and dressed for work, Leila flicked on the light as she floated into the kitchen, singing the song that was now stuck in her head. Through the large picture window she could see clouds gathering.

‘Never mind,’ she thought to herself. She grabbed her favourite yellow mug with a large animated sun hand-painted on its side and filled it with hot coffee. Still mulling over music she turned on the radio. Maybe not date material, but the DJ was certainly in tune with Leila this morning. She danced around the kitchen singing “I’m walkin’ on sunshine, wooah,” until she heard the front door slam closed. Her roommate, Amanda was home. Coffee in hand, Leila shimmied out of the kitchen to greet her best friend. She came to a dead stop when she saw the look on Amanda’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Leila asked. “Did something happen at the stagette last night?”

“Jeff’s not coming tonight,” Amanda said, worriedly. “He has to work.”

“What are you….” Leila looked down at the piece of paper in Amanda’s hand. It was a glossy photograph of a man, nude but for a g-string, a collar and a pair of pink shirt cuffs, his hands at the back of his head and a face that looked exactly like… Jeff.

Leila let out a tiny shriek of disbelief as her cup hit the floor and shattered into a thousand pieces.