Lent And The Art of Giving Up/A Stuff

      Hi guys,

      Well, I was planning on that re-lease of Three Ways this weekend, but, y’know, bipolar idea, poorly planned, and life/work in the way of getting through chapters. But as another week isn’t going to kill me. here’s what I was going to post next week.

      It’s coming up to that time of year… Okay, it’s a different time every year courtesy of going on a lunar calendar and crafting a medieval table isn’t perfect (indulge yourself here).

      No, it’s not Easter yet, though the shops think it is. But its almost the 46 days of Lent. Take out the Sundays, and you have 40 fasting days to remember J’s fasting in the desert, facing the three human temptations. And, as the crucifix in my church’s side chapel portrays a rather ripped Lord and Saviour, benching rocks, doing crunches, and squat-thrusting.

      “But hang on, isn’t religion irrelevant?” I’ll get into this another time. Here’s just me going on my second Lent from Wednesday 26th. “Fine, we’ll talk about it later. Go on, give up meat and stuff.”

      Yes, going without meat is a known one, some on the Holy days, some for the full-ascetic 46 days. Dairy can be thrown in, too. Some might say it’s not much, though I kinda ruined myself towards the end last year. First year Catholic, the breaks. But through it came the thought of and prayer for those doing without meat, dairy, and espresso coffee.

      Such a small thing, but so very profound to me. Then there’s the whole penitential side, popping along to the Stations of the Cross – which, if you look at it right, is the entire human condition –, and, yes, breaking out the laundry list before the big three days. Plus, the powerful, OMG that hits home sight of the priest lying prostate (yes, it’s jaw-dropping).

      So that was last year. Something changed for me, and it struck me in a blackout last week to consider those without power in its electrical and literal senses (that last one just hit me now). What about this year?

      Well, meat and dairy is back on the hitlist for 46 days. I’ve already cut out my $38 a week espresso coffee habit, except for a few here and there, but will keep away for 46 days. And I’ve been co-sponsoring a student through The Smith Family since August, so going a bit further for those without things.

      But there’s something else I’ve been feeling since going into recovery, that others in my group have shared. Loneliness. Being bipolar, addictive, is isolating stuff. And I’ve been trying to fix it in that something to do with likes and retweets. So, I’m going to do something that could hurt, but put me closer to those without connection, and by and large, powerless.

      40 days no twitter. Yes, I’m taking Sundays off because I’m still going to blog, got that book to re-lease, and twitter is one path to traffic. But 40 days throwing my phone down, itching for connection, with only the trudge of prayer to get me through, all to be empathic.

      “So what?” An interesting question. All I’ve said is that I’m going on Lent. But what about you? Sure, Lent is a Christian thing, but empathy is in human nature. How better to build it than to aim yourself in the direction of someone missing out?

      Why not, for 46 days, go without your coffee, or your meat, your social media, save the money up, and give to the charity that suits you best? No, I’m not asking you to come through the doors of the church, this isn’t an agenda. It’s a suggestion to dig into your humanity for a couple of days, put your mind on someone else without what you have and hold dear, and do that little bit you can to lift those people up, even by a fraction.

      A tough ask? Just as tough as you want to make it. Is this it for now? Okay, I might have another Lent post, but have something else in mind. And Three Ways? Next week, fingers crossed. And that’s all I have.

      See you next week, have a good one, and I hope you have a think about that question.

      T. M.

Writing Myself In

      Hi guys,

      Well, it’s getting near to that re-lease date (see what I did there?), and The Ways In will be yours to swallow, spat back out, and swallow again – I liked Anaconda, and I will die on this hill. But speaking of which, here’s, well, a few things…

      I ran into some “advice” on twitter that reeked of “this is my view” – and stand by there being too much of the person vested in it, while admitting I did not respond in the best manner. Okay, I was a prick. But at the start of the advice was “Don’t write in your own wounds,” and the core was, “Wounds are non-fiction.” Never mind you might write about rape, domestic abuse, torture, etc.

      So where do I stand, writing an autobiographical character in a fictional story, using my own memories, experiences, and putting the character through things I went through? Well, I felt personally attacked – one of the joys of poor boundaries and inability to differentiate.

      Handling criticism isn’t my strong point. It goes with the territory of dealing with unnecessary criticism and put-downs from school peers, parents. Oh joy. But with so much of me on display, I’m not just up against normal deriding, any flow issues (I think my timing is out), but personal deriding. If Cole Brodas cops flack, that’s me copping flack.

      I haven’t filtered myself for Cole. In fact, as things have changed for my life, I look back and feel the drudge of, “Oh, he’s undiagnosed bipolar,” “Oh, he should be in recovery,” “That scene shows unhealthy boundaries.” It scares the crap out of me. Have I crossed a line? Am I doing worse than I pictured I would be doing at the beginning? How big is this problem?

      I suppose that’s my risk, thanks to my sister asking, “Why don’t you write a story about yourself?” at 19, and picking up the gauntlet a decade later. It’s what a writer does with a book, send the baby out into the world to live, fall in love, go to their wedding, and have a bunch of soldiers come in to chop it and the guests to pieces – wait, that was Game of Thrones. The Red Penning?

      But when this idea popped into my head, it made me laugh. I’m writing a zero-deaths romance after putting about twenty people to the sword? That’s a warm, buzzy memory, an urge to hit that publish button (for reals now, sorry about the mix-up before). Maybe that’s the only reminder I need to accept the risk and whack the world with TWI.

      As for you, should you play keep yourself away from your books? Maintain the wall between you and the story? Write your wounds in memoirs only? You do what you believe is best.

      But I will say to those with mental illness, those recovering, those who’ve been through a lot, and art is your therapy, put yourself in – in a safe way, of course, you don’t need all the details.

      And for all, why not do the Clive Cussler (LOVE YOUR WORK!) and put a caricature of yourself with a donkey sidekick in your books as a comic relief McGuffin.

     

      Yay, I made it a positive finish. Phew! As almost always, have a good one!

      T. M.