The Latest Shooter

The latest shooter struck today. He killed 20 people in a Baptist Church in Texas. Last month there was a shooting at a concert in Las Vegas. That guy killed 58 people. People keep getting shot, and the shooters keep on shooting. They know they can get the guns and the ammo, no one will stop them. 

This is America, and we have the right to bear arms. It would also seem that we can kill with impunity, and all that will happen is a jail sentence, or a fortuitous self-inflicted killing, or cop-inflicted killing. Pass Go, and you’re free. What will Washington do? Keep your victims and their families in their prayers. They will stand by you.

But they will not do a damn thing to prevent the next killing. Are we at one a month, now? It seems like it. It seems that the horror of Sandy Hook was not horrible enough to enact any changes in the laws of our nation. Then came the movie theater in Colorado ( or was Sandy Hook first? So many now it becomes confusing) and still: crickets  at the Capitol. 

But, now, hold on a minute. If the killer isn’t white, then there will be outrage in our nation’s Capitol, and on the Twitter accounts of the lawmakers who we count on to make our country safe. We have a right to go shopping, to a concert, to a Walmart, a movie, whatever, and not get shot by a crazy white dude.  

It is only a terrorist act if the attacker is Muslim, or an immigrant. Why, even a 10 year old immigrant with cerebral palsy apparently was a risk to our national security last week. She is no longer in custody, but, excuse me, are you sure she will not strikes terror into the hearts of our heartless ICE agents when she’s 12? 

That’s right. Our country has lost all reason. And what will it finally take to stop all this senseless killing? Certainly the president could care less. He is too busy playing golf and charging the Secret Service over the top fees to stay at his resorts as they protect him. 

I do not think that, even if the Congress and the House became a more friendly and bipartisan place, that we could fix Americans killing fellow Americans quickly. And the NRA would surely never admit any culpability.

This is all very depressing, and not an encouraging way end 2017. It does make me wish for the days when America was a bit more innocent, and a bit more boring. Not to knock progress, no Sir. But the America of today is a shadow of the America I keep in my mind. Perhaps I am a bit delusional, but I picture a country that knows how to run itself without letting the guy at the wheel run us off the road for good.

This message brought to you as an excuse to not be working on my NanoWriMo novel. I’ll sign off now and get back to that project A.S.A.P. Thanks.  

I Know I Should be Writing My Truths

Say one thing, do another. Or, rather, don’t do anything. 

Every few weeks or so, I announce to my writer/artist/coworkers, that I have started another exciting project. I excitedly tell them the particulars, as they praise my ideas and creativity. At the time, I may even intend to actually do the project. But I don’t. Sure, I some times start it, plan it, outline it, read up on the idea, take notes, even begin to write it. But then I stop at some point, fairly early on. I let it sit, and I think of it every day, and of how I’m not doing anything towards its completion. My coworker, the graphic novelist, asks how it’s going. Some times I’m honest and tell him it’s stalled. Some times I say it’s coming along, oh so slowly. 

But I know it’s DOA.

Now, this morning, it has started again. I wrote for awhile, picking up on a topic I’d been knocking around in my notebooks for awhile. I call it my “feminist manifesto,” but it’s really more of a musing on my self as a woman.

I’m  all over the place. I feel the pressure lifted a bit since getting some words written, but, now, I’m on this newer topic, and not working on the story I’ve been writing about a time traveling little girl in San Francisco. 

I constantly think of new stories and outline it, plot character arcs, and know the whole thing.  Then, after the above-described writing stalling routine, I’m back where I started. Then, along comes another idea, and the whole process starts again. 

Why do I make myself feel like I’m failing,  when I am obviously able to keep writing,  but just not what I want  feel I should be writing? 

Maybe it’s this: I know I should be writing my truths, and instead I avoid it by plotting fantastic  voyages, but I never complete my trips to the end destination,  i.e. The End.

Sure,  that’s it. And I  still feel the failure of not finishing what I’ve started, ad nauseum. My best work has always been personal reporting,  essay writing, opinion pieces. I wrote press releases in high school for a public relations firm, and articles for the high school and community college papers. These were where I learned to really write. I wrote fiction and poetry at home, in my notebooks.  

I’ve always felt like an incomplete fiction writer, when I’ve had the writing going other places. I’ve let myself stall in the circle of idea-start-stop-failing motivation = no progress.  

My efforts are hampered along the way by depression,  procrastination, and severe anxiety.  I now take anti anxiety/depression medication. It is wonderful not to be constantly anxious, worried, and fearful of the unfixable things in life. The irony is that the medication makes me sleep. A lot. But I need to not be depressed and anxious.  The naps and sleepiness can be avoided on the days I go to work, it’s my days off, when I feel this drive to be writing, and making, and doing,  that get backed up when my eyes get blurry and the cat and I settle in for a good two hour nap. 

I just woke up from one of these naps, and here I am writing. For today at least, that is.