Tuesday, November 22, 2016

2016 Presidential Election

I'm not writing this post as a way to debate anyone; I'm just trying to get my thoughts and feelings out. If you disagree with what I have to say, please just scroll on by and leave me be. I have as much right to my thoughts and feelings as you; and that is all these are: thoughts and feelings.

I still do not understand how Donald Trump won the election. If Hillary Clinton won the popular vote (a fact no one has disputed), and the Electoral College is supposed to vote *with* the People, then Hillary should have won. I've read a few articles declaring that "the average citizen just does not understand how the election process truly works." Well, then, explain it to us; please! We are not complete morons. In this age of 24/7 news channels and the Internet, Americans have more ways than ever before of learning about their candidates and making the choice they believe in. If the Electoral College is not legally required to vote the way the People vote, then exactly what IS the point of the Electoral College? In this age of computers, why can't we just cast our votes electronically from home, and have a mainframe computer somewhere programmed to count the votes up as they come in? All that would be needed is for one person to write a program that would let the computers do everything else!

Monday, November 21, 2016

So, here's the thing...

As much as I used to *love* writing as a child, as an adult, it seems like I just can't do it now. It isn't that I don't want to, or that I don't have any ideas. I have a million ideas, and I *think* about writing all the time; but the minute I go to actually *do* it, my brain freezes. The thing is, I'm scared to write.

Why am I scared? I lived with my parents until I was 23, and my parents didn't believe in privacy for their children. Diaries, journals, letters, poems, lists, homework assignments - all were fair game. If my parents didn't like what I wrote for *any* reason, an argument ensued. As a child, I didn't think about what I was writing, or why I was writing it; I just wrote. But my parents didn't believe that. They believed I was writing to make them look bad. Half the stuff I wrote wasn't even about them; it was fictional stuff. Yes, some of it might have been based on them, but there is a difference. It didn't matter. Once they (with emphasis on my mom) had it in their heads that I was writing something bad, especially if they thought it was about them, I got in trouble.

This didn't just happen when I was a child. I wrote poems, stories, and letters to friends as an adult; if my parents read them (if I accidentally left something out in the open), and didn't like what I'd written, I got yelled at. Not just "hey, don't write this stuff," but long, loud yelling.

Any time I start to write now, I begin thinking that I'm writing is something that could get me in trouble with my parents. I'm 40 years old and worried about getting in trouble with my parents! How dumb is that? I know it's dumb. But it's how I feel.

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Welcome to My Blog

I am a writer/wanna-be-author. I've wanted to be an author for as long as I can remember. I've been making up stories since I was two years old. When I was little (and by little, I mean up until age 12), I had 50+ stuffed animals. One of them was my make-believe husband; the rest were my "children." Each one had a name, age, and story line. My "husband," Tom (a Howdy-Doody puppet) had a job in a ketchup factory. I think I got that from watching Laverne & Shirley. I know, they worked for a beer company; but something about that scene where they are standing behind the line of bottles rolling by on an assembly line stuck with me, and in my 3-4-year-old frame of reference, they must have reminded me of ketchup bottles.

My "oldest child" was a stuffed monkey named Gordo. He was a trouble-maker. He was always causing problems for me and Tom.

I don't know where half the ideas I came up with for story lines for my "children" came from, but I do know that some of them were my way of figuring out my complicated world. I was born with the neural tube defect Spina Bifida. As a child with Spina Bifida, I spent a lot of time in and out of hospitals. I remember giving my "children" some of the same health issues I, or my hospital roommates, had. I remember hearing my mom talking to other parents or the doctors and nurses, and not understanding a lot of what I heard - things about children being abused, and/or used to gain sympathy for a parent who was having trouble with his/her spouse/significant other. I didn't understand those things, so I would replay the conversations/situations using my "children," then think about what I, as their "parent" should tell them to make them feel better. The things I told my "children" to make them feel better usually ended up making *me* feel better, so as weird as it all sounds that I did those things, I guess it was a good thing. Right?