Natasha Fondren

I was tagged by Robin in a writing meme ages ago, but her answers were so hilarious, I got stuck. So you can click on over to her blog, and skip mine today.

*now imagine a month has passed, in which I answered half the questions and left this post in my drafts folder*

Oh wait, I went back to my archives to link to an answer, and found I’d already done this meme before.

*now imagine me deleting 1,000 words (I tell you, it’s a curse!)*

My new answers were basically the same. Except I composed a haiku. This was a month ago, and I’m not sure why this seemed a good idea at the time. I’m with Virginia Woolf, in that I think poets magical and mystical creatures possessed by mysteriously bestowed talent, and thus don’t dare attempt writing poetry on my own. Except haiku.

rhythm left to right  
     emotions black, setting white  
     soundless melody

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I’m pretty sure I’m mixing my metaphors. Or something. I’m pretty sure there’s some rule that states that if you’re not a poet, you get to leave your darlings intact.

Thursday is Border’s day, and I’m letting myself play with my YA WIP all day long. I can’t wait. It’s still simmering, but it’s getting closer to the boiling point. I think I’ll be able to write some words that I won’t have to delete. Yay!

And finally, Bernita and Writtenwyrdd awarded me the Prolific Blogger Award. This first made me feel proud—then guilty because I’ve been a delete freak lately—and also pleased—then unworthy as my blogging has been suffering from the affliction that we will not name.

I think there are a few of you who don’t frequent the blogs below, and I thought you might enjoy them. I figured you all visit the ones I left out, but who very much deserve many awards and much applause. Here are my seven nominations:

1. Bernita Harris: I know she gave this award to me, but she rocks. Her posts are brief and beautiful, with the most lovely, evocative prose. And I’ve been inspired to write whole stories from the artwork she posts.
2. Alexis Grant: A journalist-turned-memoirist who is charming and interesting and helpful.
3. Erica Orloff: Y’all know Erica, right? If not, run to her blog. Right now.
4. Charles Gramlich: Posts made of awesome.
5. Shrink Rap: Posts made of hilarious.
6. Dean Wesley Smith: Posts made of smart. heck out his Killing the Sacred Cows of Publishing series. Your career will thank you for it.
7. Paul Greci: Made of Alaska cool. He has a treadmill desk. I am jealous.

—Every winner of the Prolific Blogger Award has to shall, if they choose to participate, pass on this award to at least seven other deserving prolific bloggers. Spread some love!
      —Each Prolific Blogger must link to from which he/she has received the award.
      —Every Prolific Blogger must link back to This Post, which explains the origins and motivation for the award.
      —Every Prolific Blogger must visit this post and add his/her name in the Mr. Linky, so that we all can get to know the other winners.

Clearly, I need to fix the css on my lists. I’ll put it on my… list. *blushes*

And finally, am I the last writer on earth who learned that if you hold down the Control key when you hit Backspace, it deletes a whole word at a time?

Way cool.

How’s your writing going? Whatcha working on?

I can’t stop watching this spoof of Dodge’s Superbowl commercial. (Via Tobias Buckell: his rant on the commercial is hilarious!)

…when you’re bargaining for your life? We’ve all been there, right? Some life-threatening medical attack, an accident, a huge scare, or—god forbid—a medical disaster in your immediate family? Maybe intense pain?

Whatever the cause, out come the plea bargains with the Universe, God, or whoever you worship.

Last night, I had a killer asthma attack. Nothing much new, and it’s not a big deal except when you’re in the middle of it. Drowning is sure not the way I want to go, that’s for sure. There were a few moments when no air would go in or out, and I mentally told the universe, “I promise I will be a better writer tomorrow.”

And then, when I managed to cough up some of the mucus, I wondered what my friends would promise.

But first, there are two great things happening today. First, Susan Helene Gottfried has started a Women on Wednesday Meme in order to celebrate women authors. (I’ll be joining in after November is over!) Second, for the first time, a charity for sexual abuse survivors has made the finals of L’Oreal’s Women of Worth contest. Please consider giving Shannon Lambert your vote: the prize is $25,000 to the winner’s most charitable cause, and sexual violence is too common and too prevalent to be swept under the carpet as often as it is.

So what are your plea bargains, your promises under duress? What would your characters’ promises be?

There is a photo that haunts me. I can’t find it. I scoured the internet. Even days after it was posted, I lost it, and now it’s been a year. I remember it vividly. I can’t get it out of my mind.

It is a room full of people, and all the people are looking at a TV screen. The photographer captured the very moment when they received the good news: the whole room is caught mid-cheer, mid-jump. One woman, on the left side of the picture, has a fist raised high over her head, and her expression is ecstatic.

There are many people celebrating in this picture but the woman is the one who haunts me. She is so happy. In my whole life, I have never seen a woman this happy before. Ever. She is overjoyed, ecstatic, beyond thrilled. Even beyond the joy of a mother when she first holds her newborn baby.

Not even a thousand words can evoke the happiness on her face. 

Her face is even more joyous than this one:

Or this one:

Or even the child laughing in this one:

I have listened to many people this past year. I am trying to understand that woman, because the photograph captures the precise moment when the results were in for Prop 8.

I have listened, and what it always comes down to for those who are against same-sex marriage is “it’s not normal.”

That’s when I realized that two women walking hand-in-hand is normal to me. Two men kissing is sweet to me. When I see a same-sex couple publicly expressing love for each other, I am touched; I don’t feel the need to look away.

Love is always beautiful. Even “ugly” people are transformed when they are in love. It is why brides always look beautiful.

I guess this is because I know and have known gay people. In my world, it is just as normal to be gay as it is to be straight. I am surprised that this is not the case for the majority of Americans. I am surprised at how many people have not seen same-sex couples interact normally, on a day-to-day basis.

That’s when I think the only hope is for people to see same-sex couples loving each other. Again and again. That’s when I realize the power of television, or the power of movies. That’s when it also makes me sad that more brave men and women will have to risk their jobs and even their lives before the majority of Americans will see same-sex marriage as “normal.”

And about the children: The evidence is overwhelming that children of same-sex couples fare just as well as children of heterosexual couples.

I keep going back to the woman’s joy in the picture. I keep giving her a backstory. I imagine she is on the brink of divorce and she thinks her fight to “save” marriage will save her marriage. I give her kids. I sometimes give one of them cancer, whose survival is dependent on this woman remaining married to her husband who provides health insurance. I make her life worse and worse, because only then can I understand the sort of transference and scapegoating and delusion that has led her to be so joyous at depriving others of a very normal and a very it-harms-none happiness.

I close my eyes and see the woman in the photo and she looks like a hundred other mothers. She is probably a great mother. Probably she’s pleasant to be around. Probably she’s enthusiastic and charming. Probably she is energetic and charismatic. Probably I would like her if I didn’t know.

The worst of it is that certainly she believes she is making the world a better place. Certainly she feels safer. Certainly she is proud of what she has done, considers it one of the achievements of her life, her contribution to making the world a better place.

Most pictures of Prop 8 and similar supporters are serious. They pretend, at least, to be slightly regretful, as if they are doing this for the good of all. Those are schooled expressions, the expressions of people who have taught themselves to appear proper.

But this one woman, this one photograph, captured the raw truth.

That scares me. I have no idea how to explain to her that voting against same-sex marriage will not make her life better, will not make the world a safer place for her or her children, will not protect her from the evils in this world. I am sorry she is afraid, but this is not the cure.

I wish this picture would haunt her. I wish she would study it as deeply as I’ve studied hers. I wish she would try to relate with the people in these pictures as much as I’ve tried to relate with her.

Because when I recall the expression on her face, the only thing I can think is that the kind of joy she feels is just not normal. The pleasure she derives from preventing the sacred and holy union of others is just not normal.

Bloggers sometimes die. Pass on. Move on. However you like to think of the loss. And maybe you’ve already heard that Erik Ivan James, of Inside the Gazebo, has passed on. He hasn’t blogged for two years, and a friend of his just emailed me. Erik and I exchanged a few emails last year. He was kind and welcoming way back when I first started blogging as spyscribbler. Seemed such a gentle and true soul.

There are services out there that will post notices to social media, post a last blog, etc., should you die.

But we have no rites for mourning our online friends, no funerals, no last words, no sermons, no nothing. Just… gone. So I’m at a loss, sitting here. I want to say goodbye. I wish I could just thank him for being him, for being around, for sharing himself with us.

When I go, I want to thank you guys for being my friends, for giving me such amazing support during the last two crazy when Glenn’s been working in Alaska and my life has gone through big, major changes.

Well, anyway. That’s the post for today. If you don’t know Erik, the archives of his blog are a wonderful read.

The friendly people are on the other side of the creek. There is a group of campers who stay here year round. As in all year. Did I mention?

This is OHIO.

It gets SNOW.

I couldn’t find the grey water dump. I happened across two people sitting outside, and they both got up, walked me to the dump station, then walked across the bridge to my side of the campground and proceeded to find a closer place to dump for me.

They stay here all year round, have for about five years. They want to head to Arizona in two years, but they were unsure where to go. I was thinking, “Hello, Internet? Google?” but I got the feeling that wasn’t in their vocabulary.

I told them about my dream to get to Slab City, but I explained I’d have to add a few things to my supplies. Slab City is dry camping (no hook-ups), which means I need solar power, batteries, and a water pump (to get water from the tank to the faucet). I can do without the last bit, actually.

I’m just about the smallest (but cutest!) camper here. Today, a $500,000 motorhome pulled in. I felt really tiny. There are a few more popups, but no one is inhabiting them at the moment. Some tent campers.

I also have not bought a “blue tank” yet. The small ones are $72. People are always rolling them down the street (behind their golf carts) to the dumping station.

Instead, I bought a blue pail for $1.92. It doesn’t hold much, though, so I have to empty it every time I do the dishes. Which is fine. I don’t really use much water, other than that and brushing my teeth. I go to the restroom for the rest.

I’ve got a stove and a refrigerator, so this isn’t really my definition of roughing it, LOL. This is easy-peasy. I could cook every meal over a campfire and be cool with it. Anyway, here is an AWESOME video of Slab City, where I’m dying to go this winter. It won’t embed, I’m sorry!

Did you watch it? Please? Every second is worth it, I promise!

You watched? Okay, isn’t that the COOLEST? Squee! I’m so excited!

If you were to take off in an RV, where would you most like to go?

“You just don’t find good people every day,” he said. It was funny to hear him say that, because I’d been thinking the same thing about him the day before.

On Sunday night, I set out the patio set on the front lawn because no one bought it. Two guys popped by and got it, and also took a bunch of other stuff I was trying to unload. As if I weren’t grateful enough about that, get this: they helped me change the tire on my boat’s trailer. In fact, they drove the spare and the deflated tire to their friend’s garage—on a Sunday night!—inflated them, brought them back, and put them on.

Isn’t that the nicest?

So he popped by tonight and said the above statement, which cracked me up. Last night, I’d been thinking that about him: that you don’t find good people like that much around here.

One of my friends also saved my butt and came over on Friday and Saturday and helped me BIG time with the moving sale. I would’ve been completely lost without her help. And my two graduating seniors helped me put up my camper, which I could not have put up on my own, not in any world, LOL.

Another recent graduate that I just met took a bunch of furniture I couldn’t unload, and helped me carry up a TON of stuff from the basement.

All good people.

I’ve been whining a lot about how tired I am, and how much my body is aching, and how much I hate packing. But meeting people—good people—has been the number one thing I’m excited for in my new lifestyle. I want to see the Grand Canyon and the whole of America, but mostly I want to meet people.

I can’t help but think this is a good sign for my new life. Four more days!

Are there a lot of good people around you, locally? When/what was your last encounter with good people?