After some weeks of deliberation, I have decided to take a hiatus from weekly posting.  I will “take off” the rest of December.  I am changing my schedule to the first Monday of the month and allowing myself to post randomly if so inspired.  Look for me again January 2016.

After a particularly difficult post, a friend asked me why I even bothered to publish that post.  I made a commitment to myself to post every Monday regardless.  Good, bad or indifferent.  Just show up.  For almost two years I have showed up regularly with few exceptions.  I am writing this on Tuesday rather than Monday because I was too ill to write coherently yesterday.

Having satisfied myself with the first exercise, I want to focus now on quality and depth.  I almost without exception have posted “off the cuff”.  I would just sit down, open my computer and start typing.  I found I easily reach 300 or more words in a sitting.  I often bring some closure to my thoughts.

I am finding myself holding on to things that need writing.  They need writing in my story rather than randomly in a weekly blog.  If only my inner circle has opportunity to read it I will be satisfied.  Because I will have finally done it.

I am still staring at the first tentative page in longhand of a story that needs to be written.  I believe I have begun because it contains dialogue.  I have never written dialogue.  I have not written fiction since elementary school.  I don’t know what I wrote, but back then we were required to write a short story from a prompt from time to time.  I don’t write dialogue because I have difficulty recalling what others say in a manner to quote verbatim.

I have a sense of what I want to tell.  The feeling and idea and concept I want to convey.  I need to get an idea of how to convey the message.  It will be fiction.  But, I don’t think the ending will be exactly happy.  I want to be real in the sense that life doesn’t stop at happily ever after but that a sense of wholeness is possible even after tragedy.  Even on the final day.

I doubt I will get overly religious, because I am not overly religious.  I am a believer in Christ.  I struggle to be a disciple.  But, I do know He has carried me through more heartache than some would believe possible.  He has restored my belief in myself as well.  He and he worked in tandem to bring me up from the depths of sadness and break the grip of grief that had such an icy hold on my spirit.

I will have to rely on him to help me through my emotional turmoil when I am writing.  He will have to be patient and understanding.  He will have to know I am fine, but my characters are not.  It will be interesting to see how this plays out.

Meanwhile, I will try to bring more substance to Raining Orchids.  Just less often.  Thank you for reading and supporting my effort at fulfilling a lifelong ambition of being a writer.  See you after the holidays….



He and I walked down to see the muddy water boiling through the gates from the lake into the flooding river bed.

This gushing torrent is pouring from the same serene lake whose lovely face I have shared previously.  She is overloaded with rain and bursting at the seams.  Not her normal self.

I know how she feels.  I have a torrent of thoughts flooding my mind.  I recently filled one of my paper journals and switched to a fresh one.  I keep hauling around the old one.  I have been back through it several times trying to figure out what I am afraid to discard or shelve.  Finally, yesterday, while again going over the pages, I realized the whispers of the bigger story I want to tell is started there.

I shared with my friend today my idea of what I want to tell.  She had asked me if I have taken classes or is my writing a gift.  I don’t know about it being a gift, but, no I haven’t taken writing classes.  I haven’t even read many books on the prescribed reading lists from high school or college.  I simply write.  I have written forever.  When the prescribed writing of school days ended, the pen of teenage passion waned, and my babies were big enough to play without constant surveillance, I began journaling.  From the first time I heard about the concept of blogging, I wanted to try it.

I always wanted to be like John Boy Walton and write stories.  I never felt I had a story to write.  I still don’t have a fiction story to write.  My cousin encourages me to write the book.  I want to tell my story.  Every woman’s story.  Wish me courage.  Wish me discipline.  Wish me strength.

I fear letting the story come forth, I will become like this raging river boiling from the depths of the lake.  Churning out of control and spilling forth over the banks meant to contain me.  The banks of calm rationality I try so hard to maintain.  But, dear reader, you know I despise fear.  Here is a fear I must overcome and free myself.  He will hold on to me when I start to go under.  He will not let me be pushed to the bottom of the churning turmoil of emotional energy.  He will lift me up to Him in his prayers and we will ride out another flood of life together.