I knew it was coming.
When I’d planned #write365, I did so knowing full well that my father, who had bravely battled a brain tumor for the better part of two years would pass along into whatever waits for us after the world in which we live and which we will leave. I shrugged, and figured I would be fine. There had been plenty of time to rationalize my grief, to set and sort my feelings and tell him I love him.
And so, I planned and plotted and plot planned. I wrote intricate stories about backstories that would not see the light of day, but would be there to ensure that Ewa Stolarczyk’s friendship with Anita Sobczyk was real, and that they were the founders of the Sick Clique. There were fictional streets written based on factual towns.
On April 20, he passed, and I was sad, but I knew it was coming. There were feelings sorted, and ready to be dealt with. Death until now was easy peasy. You would be sad a few days, and never forget about who passed, but life would go on.
We awoke on April 21 and the tornado hit. Feelings flew every which way, and in the end the only truth was chaos. Up was now down, but only if down was left. Emotions were raw and brutal. The Sick Clique took a back seat and soon after, got out of the car and hadn’t been thought of, aside from clips and phrases and in passing thought as though they were old friends I’d not talked to in a few years, but wouldn’t pick up the phone to talk to for whatever reason.
Things are steadily improving. I told someone the night he’d passed that I’d moved on already to the 5th stage (acceptance), except I was truly in stage 1. And I think I still am. But, I’m ready to be angry and I’m ready to bargain. And someday soon, I’ll accept that the motherfucker known as Cancer took a wonderful life who’d be as proud of me writing as he was of me not writing.
I’ll get back here. Soon.
Write Lab 2.0. My monitor is greasy.
The interlude in between acts of the untitled coming of age story. Words subject to change as I’ve never actually written a journalistic story about a gigantic rock star committing suicide in the middle of a stage during a live performance of a song he fucking hated. But, I’ll try.
Continue reading The Interlude
I’ve decided to combine a few ideas into one, to make a more seamless story. The people in Oh-Anon, the Non-addicts will be appearing as part of the story in Paint It (working title). Josh Szewczyk, friend of Larry Szysz will likely be the addict in the group, previously named Jerry.
I’ve written a lot the last few days, but mostly done research on Polish immigrants and immigration in the late 1800’s. Remember, people: research is writing, especially if you’re somewhat unfamiliar with your topic. There are research notebooks in my backpack right now and that excites me.
I feel fairly accomplished so far, having written, researched and otherwise thought of writing constantly the last few weeks. My creativity is really starting to fire and I’m excited to keep going. My sole disappointment is that I can’t find anything to grasp onto with Roanoke. It’s like a boat out in the ocean with a lost motor; adrift and waiting for rescue or bidding time until it sinks.
Keep after it, #write365 challengers.
Three best friends score tickets to the concert of their lifetime, only to have the lead singer — who battled some very well known demons — kill himself on stage directly after playing the biggest hit of their career “And We’ll Paint It.” The next twenty years of their lives recall that moment for each of the three now thirty-six year olds trying to forget, one trying to constantly remember, and one refusing to believe it happenend. This is Larry. Continue reading Paint it — 02/23
When I was younger, I had no idea how to treat death or communicate feelings of death to someone. In a receiving line (I was a Catholic in a former life) at a wake, I would shake the grieving hand, avoid eye contact, mumble the word sorry and look for someone as unhappy as I was to be there. As I’ve matured, I’ve realized what needs to be said and how.
Here, friends is that wisdom. Again: As part of the legacy I want to pass on, I pass these words on to you, my dear reader.
Continue reading Peter on Loss — 02/19.
Inspired by Amber’s link to Chuck Wendig’s flash fiction, I decided to write about a twisted love. My personal goals were to take just an hour and make sure I wrapped the story up. While I did take less than an hour, I did not wrap the story well, and rushed the ending.
C’est la vie, kids. This is #write365. Any writing is good writing.
Continue reading Twisted Love 02/18