Check off the Bucket List NaNoWriMo complete

Wow, time flies. The month is coming to a close in just five days. I reached 50,000 on November 20th and finished my first draft of Lyrics Of My Soul today. It's so insane how quick it all happened. Thing is, I don't want to stop. I'm ready to jump right in to my next project. So, that's what I'm going to do. I'm getting ready to outline another story I've been spinning in my head. I figure, why not? Maybe all I'll ever have are a bunch of first drafts, but that's better than having none. I want to get the main parts of these stories out while I've got them fresh in my brain. So, the new journey has just begun.

New Project is untitled and I'm just going to start working on the outline. Maybe, I'll start writing. Who knows?

Congrats to all my fellow Nano-ers. We are all winners because one word is better than none.

Write because you have to. Write because it's all you can think about and you can't breath or focus if you don't get these stories out on the page.

Let the words happen one at a time because there is no other way.

#AWritersLife

2 weeks in

Well, we are close to two weeks in. My current word count is 32,699. I think that's pretty good. The story is going well for a first draft. Been so busy with writing and life that I haven't had much time to post on here. I'll try to update once a week. Otherwise, see you after November.

1 week down

NaNoWriMo is going good. It feels good to be getting this story out after all this time. I'm 18,000+ words. I'm good with that. There's a little cushioning there in case something comes up and I have a day or two when I can't write. The story is progressing well. I'm also playing around with a few ideas in my head. Always something on the back burner. Keep up the good work fellow Nano-er's.

2671 Words

Day 1

First day has been pretty successful. I've been anxious all day hoping I could make the daily word count. I am pleasantly surprised that I ended the day about a thousand words above the daily goal. Now, I'm just hoping to keep this pace all November.

Well, I'm tired and ready for some rest so I can do it all again tomorrow.

#AWritersLife #NaNoWriMo

3 Hours and Minutes

It's the eve of NANOWRIMO. Hours away actually. My nerves are getting anxious. I'm not sure if this is because it's my first time participating or if it's because I haven't written anything on this scale in over a year and a half.

I keep asking myself: Can I really do this again?

The answer of course is YES. But, you know how it is when your start to over-analyze and doubt your own goals. I wonder if I'm prepped enough. If my story can make to my goal of 50,000 words.

Am I doomed if I don't write something at exactly midnight, the start time?

The answer of course is NO.

I'm pumped, I'm ready and Lyrics of My Soul is ready to come out of head where it has been stored for the past 5 years.

Wish me luck! Ask me my word count, Everyday!

You know what they say, "It takes a villiage..."

Well it takes that and then it takes: Google, Music, Caffeine, Friends, Fellow Writers, Endless nights, and Post-It Notes. Lots and lots of Post-It Notes.

Yes, I'm a dork and I don't care.

Times ticking.

#AWritersLife

27 hours and counting

NANOWRIMO is almost here. In a little over 27 hours, we will be able to begin our month long journey. I have a few more preps I could do but, I think I'm going to turn my thoughts off and take in a book by one of my favorite authors Penelope Douglas. I downloaded a sample and after 5 minutes of reading I was hooked. LOL. That's how it works when I read her novels. She truly is an inspiration to me as a writer.

I've outlined Lyrics of My Soul using Scrivener. So far, I think the program is awesome. I'll let you know more about it as my month progresses.

So, here's to the journey ahead. I hope it's all I expect it to be and more.

Please stay tuned to my post for the next month.

#AWritersLife

NANOWRIMO Prep

4 Days and counting.

Whose ready for November?

Trying to think of everything I can do to prep for the month. I still have two songs to write. I want to have those done so I don't spend a lot of time thinking on them in November. I have outlines, character developments, pictures on pinterest, and one planned out tour schedule. LOL The things us writers do.

Let's get this ball rolling!

Taking it old school

Okay, so my blog post have been a little dark recently. I assure you that I have been writing from my character's perspectives and not necessarily my own. With that being said, I'm sharing with you a little piece of my past.

Take a look and have a good laugh.

When I was in the sixth grade, my friends and I thought we were the coolest people around. LOL, of course you all know that is not the truth. We were dorky, bookworms who loved music.

But, I've got news for you Millennials, we created text lingo before it was a thing. I have proof. A nicely, handwritten in pencil, sheet of paper from 1992 with Abbreviations that we used in our letters back and forth to each other.

While I will not share some of them, here's a few for your viewing pleasure. Have a good laugh.

W.W.B.  Warren G Wannabe (Google Warren G if you don't know who that is)
F.F.         Flicked Flicker
P.E.         Preppy People
D.I.         Dumb idiots
V.G.       Valley Girl
W.B.S.    Wanna be singer
B.L.         Brooke Lover ( you had to be there)
S.             Salsa  (Nickname for someone)
S.N.         Shwin
B.A.         But Anyways
B.C.         Big cow
2.C.4.U.   to cool for you
I.B.C.N.U I'll be seeing you
T.B.         Too bad
C.Y.         see you


That's a few. Some seemed inappropriate to share lol but anyways.

IBCNU

Lyrics

I'm working on my prep for #NaNoWriMO. I've completely put my first idea on the back burner. Originally, I was going to work on book 3 of my Blurred Lines series. But, I've decided to take a break from that and work on a solo project that I've had spinning in my head for the last few years. I've waited because it involved musicians and song lyrics. But, I've been pointed in this direction. So, my new outline and character developments are ready. And tonight, on a whim, I started on some lyrics. This is my first song. First draft, it may need work.

Here goes nothing...

Book: Lyrics of My Soul
Song Title: Post Traumatic

Grasping for breath
Falling to the ground
It's not the same since you're back around
I want you to hold me
But you're staring into the dark

Holding my chest
Crying from deep inside
It's as if you've turned off, gone blind
I want you to kiss me
But you're scratching at the walls

They say I've lost you
But I won't give up
My last breath threatens
But I'm hanging on
Until it all comes down

Facing my death
Turning blue at last
It's all around too fast
I want you to stay here
But you're heading to the light

They say I've lost you
But I won't give up
My last breath threatens
But I'm hanging on
Until it all comes down

Until it all comes down
It all came down

In Too Deep

In Too Deep

By Sherry Howard

            Three Days Grace pumps through the speakers, almost drowning out the familiar hum of the tattoo gun. Mindless, I flip the pages of a magazine as I watch the clock on the wall across from me tick, seeming to be stuck at 11:45. It’s nearly midnight on a Monday night. Buzz is finishing up his last job of the night and I’m waiting behind the register to cash the customer out.

            I’d been working at In Too Deep since I was eighteen and ran away from home. Buzz had found me wandering the streets and trying to find a place in the world. I refused to return to mom’s because I wouldn’t let my step dad beat me anymore or watch him bruise up my mom. I’d tried to make her leave, to show her that there was more to life, but she refused. I had pulled her toward our front door, begging her to walk away. Hank barreled through the living room and smacked me clean across the face. He ripped mom from my arms and flung her to the ground. I stood in the door mere seconds and hollered for her to come with me. She shook her head no, so I had hurried out without looking back.

            All I’d had in my possession was a change of clothes, a book, a bottle of Jack, and fifteen dollars and forty-three cents shoved into my over-sized purse. I lived on the streets two whole weeks, stretching my money for bare necessities, planning to land a job right away. It didn’t take long for me to realize that finding a job in a dwindling economy wasn’t easy. Four days. That’s how long I went without eating before I became desperate.

            One night, I was meandering along a dark street, looking for a place to rest, when a car stopped in the alleyway. The driver jumped out and rushed into the back door of a business. He was in a hurry and left his car door wide opened. I crept along and was careful when I peeked into the car. My stomach rumbled at the sight of a half-eaten sandwich. I threw caution to the wind and grabbed it before thinking, gobbling bite after bite. I’d almost polished it off when the driver came back. My eyes were a deer caught in headlights, but I didn’t stop.

            The driver ran his hand through his thick hair. “You don’t belong out here. It’s not safe.”

            I talked, food falling from my mouth. “Maybe it feels much safer than where I came from.”

            “How old are you?” He asked as he took a step in my direction.

            I backed up. “Why?”

            “Pretty young girl like you. Someone’s bound to be looking for you.” He stopped his approach and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and blew smoke into the humid night air. “Bet there’s a missing poster with your name on it.”

            I’d finished the sandwich and stood with my arms crossed over my chest. “I guarantee there’s not.”

            “Look,” he said. “I’ve got a bed upstairs…”

            “I’m not a prostitute.” I turned on my heel and quickened my pace as I took off down the alley.

            He caught up to me with ease, grabbed my shoulder, and spun me around. “And I’m not a rapist. If you’d let me finish.”

            “Please, you have murder written all over you with your tattooed arms and cigarettes and…”

            “Honey, if I wanted to kill you, I had my chance while you were busy eating my sandwich.” He flicked his cigarette away.

            I huffed. “Fine. Speak. I’m listening.”

            He matched my abrasiveness. “I was saying, I have a bed upstairs in my office. I’m working on a client all night if you need a place to crash.”

            I studied him in the soft glow of someone’s back door light, noticing the triangle shaped scar under his right eye. Some may have found him intimidating, but one glance in his warm eyes showed me his humanity.

            “You’re not going to do anything to me?”

            “No,” he nodded his head to the door. “You coming?”

            I only hesitated a second before walking beside him to the back entrance.

            “Besides,” He said. “You remind me of my little sister.”

            “That’s just great,” I said as I waited for him to lock up his car. “I’m eighteen, I’m not a child.”

            He came up to hold the door open for me. “She would be too.”

            “Would be?” I asked as we entered a storage room and he turned to lock us in.

            He jingled his keys in his hands as he inspected me. “She’s dead.”

            “Oh,” I whispered.

            We stood in the nearly dark room for a long while before he cleared his throat. “Name’s Buzz.”

            “Lexie.”

            Buzz led me out to the main room and flicked a switch to bring the lights to life. “Well Lexie, this is In Too Deep.”

            It had been three years since I walked into the parlor and never left. Buzz gave me a job working the counter and, eventually, let me convert the office upstairs into an apartment. I found a place here with him taking on the role as my big brother. Of course, I wasn’t the same little girl. I’d cut all my hair off in a pixie style that I wore spiked up. I’d made Buzz give me a few tat’s and a tongue piercing that he insisted I didn’t need but caved in and did anyway.

            A hand slapped down on the counter and brought me back to the present. “Buzz said to pay $45,” said a frat guy with his newly tatted bicep on display in front of me.

            I cashed him out and looked up to see the clock was indeed working as it now displayed 11:59.

            I was counting down the drawer when the bell over the front door chimed.

            “Sorry no more tonight,” I said as I continued without looking up.

            A shadow fell over me as I glanced up at Jace. “Buzz in?”

            He scared the crap out of me. I only nodded.

            He stared at me. “Lock the door and pay better attention.”

            He proceded to the back as I made my way around the counter to close up. It wasn’t long before I heard the tat gun and I knew why he was here. He was adding yet another tally mark to his massive beast of a neck. That would make 15 marks crossed off in fives. Buzz never made him pay. They barely spoke, seeming to have some unspoken agreement about the situation. When I first got here, Jace only had three marks.

            I could only guess to their meaning. He was a monster. Massive in frame. Arms that could pick you up and throw you with ease. Dark. Mysterious. Murderer Maybe? Young, possibly a few years older than me.

            I put the money in a bank bag and made my way to the parlor area to lock it away in the safe. I peeked from the corner of my eye as Buzz held his gloved hand to the side of Jace’s neck and added another mark. Two in one day. My God, this guy was a killing machine.

            “Your girl there’s a liability,” Jace said once Buzz stopped the gun. “She doesn’t pay attention. Anyone could take her.”

            Buzz took off his gloves and deposited them in the trash. “I’ll talk to her.”

            I kicked the door shut on the safe. “I’m standing right here,” I said placing my hands on my hips. “If you got something to say-”

            Jace stood and hustled my way. “Girls pretty as you get taken from this neighborhood every day. I’d be on the lookout for prowlers if I were you.”

            “You mean murderers?” I pointed to his neck. “Is that how many girls you’ve killed?” Buzz and Jace shared a look but neither replied. “Looking for another victim? Serial Killer.”

            He laughed. “Can you believe this chick? Better watch your mouth, Darlin.”

            “She’s a spitfire,” Buzz interjected.

            “Whatcha going to do about it?”

            Jace held his Marine stance. “You’re trouble. Naive. Gonna get yourself snatched.”

            “I can handle my own,” I said. I tried to go around his side and make my way up the staircase to my apartment, but he shifted in front of me.

            “You need some street smarts. Who do you think you’re talking to?”

            “Obviously, a killer,” I spat.

            He moved in on me and I found myself backing up until I was flush with the wall. My breath caught as I shut my eyes tight and braced myself for what was to come.

            It never came. My heart pounded, blood rushing to my ears. Slowly, I let the scrunch of my eyes release and open. Jace studied me.

            “You’ve been hit,” he withdrew. “I wouldn’t do that.”

            “You sure about that?” I asked, letting the tension release from my shoulders.

            “You’re quick to judge, sweetheart.” He rubbed his hand down his tired face. “You don’t know me or what I do.”

Mystery night #2

                Q. Kiefer watched as a pin light sized hole appeared in the ceiling a mile above the cave floor. They must be bringing another one in he thought to himself.

                He had been down here 500,000 earth years. That means he had spent half of his life on this God forsaken planet, forced down in this damp, warm cave to live amongst the other non-humans. They had a never-ending supply of silver glitter and green slime running down the walls. The non-humans very own kryptonite to discourage any attempts at escaping.

                He thought about it once after he had studied the vibrating of the walls and the shifting of the floors for ½ a million years. He had made it two floor over when he found a secret door. But, that time, when he went to grasp the door knob it was covered in bloody fingerprints. He rushed through the door anyway. He made it into a room of mirrors. Floor to ceiling. All he could see was his own reflection. The doorway disappeared and all he could do was stare at himself. That’s when he felt the ground quaking and a shimmering came over the mirrors as the glass broke and seemed to dissipate. Once the mirror fragments were all gone, he found himself standing on the cave floor, staring up at the pin hole of light.

                He was never the same. He couldn’t explain it, but he was shaken.

                Now, when he stared up at the ceiling, he could only imagine what happened when he found the mirror room.

                “What’s your problem, whisker biscuit?” Said Frederick Lawson.

                Frederick was a new human patrolee with a profound love of fruitcake. Kiefer hated him. If it wasn’t for the kryptonite he would show him a thing or two.”

                “They burnt another one at the stake for trying to escape,” said Frederick. “You wouldn’t do that would you Q?” He asked with unspoken knowledge of the one time he did try to escape.

                Kiefer could her the other patrolee’s chanting. “Tis a witch, Burn the witch.”

                Kiefer turned to Frederick. “You know we’re not witches, Right?”

October Mystery Writing 1

For October, our library is hosting mystery events. For the writers’ circle, we had a night of creative writing mystery workshop. This is exercise #1 that we did.

                My muscles ache as I pull myself up from the cool concrete floor of the slightly darkened room I find myself in. A quick scan and I find that there are no windows or doors. A rush of claustrophobia sets in as I circle the room. My breathing comes in raspy gasps I fall to the ground, hoisted up on all fours, close my eyes as I will myself to take in one long breath, then another, and slower, another.

                I open my eyes. The haze clears and with another scan of the room I notice it.  A small, ring-sized, black box sits in the corner. Grudge like, I crawl to the box, hold it in my beaten hands, and give it a little shake. This causes no sound and I wonder if there’s even anything inside. With my eyes alert, I inch the box open and find a note inside, a fortune cookie paper that says, “Outlook for today not so good.”

Personality workshop

 

Writing Personality workshop

Expressive

                Amy was quick to jump when she stuffed everything into her suitcase, threw it into the backseat of her car, and left her childhood home behind. She took one last glance in the rear-view as dust flew up behind her mustang and clouded the last vision of home she would ever have. Turning 18 brought freedom and the opportunity to follow her own desires and get out of this po-dunk town. She wanted to live in the city of flashing lights and neon signs. Two-million people jam-packed like sardines.

                She turned up the sound of the radio and belted out every song. She was ecstatic. Ready to find a job in a restaurant, an art gallery, whatever. Maybe find a loft to rent with a couple of flat mates. Anything as long as it was her making the decision.

Analytic

                Miranda was carful in packing all of her books, paying extra attention not to bend the pages. She couldn’t believe that the university had called her off the wait list. Her heart beat faster as she thought about leaving the safety of her quaint apartment. She played the move over and over in her mind. Should I stay? Do I really need to go to college?

                She internally checked the pro’s off. Need college for future. Yes. Want to provide for my family someday. Yes. There really was no backing out. This was the move she had planned, down to the T.

Likely conversation between the 2

                “You are so messy,” Miranda said. “I swear it’s like you come home every night and throw things down as you make your way through the apartment.”

                Amy stood with her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry if I have places to be. Not everyone in the world is a bookworm.”

                Miranda held up a plate that she grabbed from the counter. “Look at this. I think this burrito is glued on. Everything has a place. Dishes have a place. We have a dishwasher.”

                “Here. You want me to deal with that burrito? I’ll deal with the burrito.” Amy snatched the plate and threw it in the trash.

Writing

It's been awhile since I've been on. Again, life gets in the way. But, I'm trying to jump back in the saddle and write something everyday. This week is going pretty good. Don't ask me about next week. LOL All of the stories on my blog are original works by me. They are as is, likely unedited. The works I share on here are not things I plan to publish. They are just short writings that I do with my writer's group or on my own to get away from working on my novels. Right now, I am doing a complete revision on my first book. It is taking me longer than actually writing the first draft did. I do have a book two first draft complete. Again, it needs revised. I have been studying writing samples and books. Plus, taking in all the excellent advice from fellow member's of the Parkland Writers' Circle.

I am preparing for my first ever NANOWRIMO. Several of the other members have done this before. I have not. I have a tentative outline for book number 3 though. I plan on working on that for NANOWRIMO. 50,000 words in one month. Sounds like a lot. But, I wrote my first two books from July 2015 to august-early September 2015. That's 163,000 words between the two books. Hence the need for revision and polishing and cutting.

Honestly, I don't know if I can do it again. Last time I had my best friend waiting everyday for the next pages of my book. She told me she had to read what happens next and that kept me going. Plus, caffeine, the adventure of something new, as this great need to get the story out. I'm not sure I have that drive in me this time. But, I guess we will find out.

My books are intended for a series of 8 books. Who knows how far I will actually get with all that? But, it's something. I started writing stories when I was in middle school. I never finished them, but it's always been in me. I remember taking a handwritten 43 page story to my teacher in the 7th grade and asking her, "What do you think?" She told me it was a start and not to quit. Also, yes you do have to use quotation marks around everything you speak. LOL. The things you remember.

Wow, how we have evolved since then. Now I can type as quick as I can think. No excuses for not writing. Though, me and my bestie had a word processor and typed our own news stories when we were 14. That was something.

The series I'm working on is planned for 8 books. And I don't know where that will lead or if it will lead anywhere at all. I have several other projects that have taken a back burner. Including, another series which I have planned out as 4 books. But, for me, planning and procrastinating go hand in hand.

We will see where it goes. Thanks for reading

Chance meeting

Writing exercise

08/03/16 Parkland Writers’ Circle Meeting

                I could already tell this was going to be horrible. My keys had tumbled off the bathroom counter and into the toilet, making me late for the atrocious date that my friend Mark had set me up on. Mark and I had been friends since college and technically, I did owe him one since he helped me pass chemistry but I could never imagine he would call in a favor like this.

                A new guy started working under him at his construction company. He thought the guy needed a little direction because all he did was eat tacos and sit on the edge of the truck all day. Mark thought with a little nudge, the guy could be beneficial, so he called me up to go on a “date” with him. I was working on as a teacher’s aide while trying to get my Master’s degree. I didn’t have time for this, but I couldn’t let Mark down.

                I rushed to the restaurant, running thirty minutes late after I had fetched my keys from the toilet. Only to find a dirty jean wearing, slouched at the middle, disaster of a boy, waiting for me.

                I sat down across from him. “Were you waiting long? I was held up in traffic.”
                Alex stared at me, wide eyed. “I know you. You were at the reading on campus of Professor Dumontier’s A beautiful garden.”

                I leaned back, a little shocked that this couch-potato had been at the reading. “I wouldn’t assume you would go to something like that from what I’ve heard about you.”

                “Mark said you were the quiet type. Like books. Smart. He thought we would have a bit in common. Is it true what he said?”

                “Well, that’s mostly true. What about you? I asked.

                “I don’t say much, but I assume a lot.” He moved forward to reach for the glass of ice water the waiter had set on the table. “I like books. Always wanted to buy a bookstore.”

                I nearly spit out my own water. Maybe we did have something in common. “Hmm. Me too.”

                “Maybe this meeting won’t go to waste. Let’s buy a bookstore. I think that’s why Mark really pushed us together. Your professor could do book signings there.”

                I contemplated, wondering if there was something to this date. “Let me hear what kind of plan you’ve got. Then, we’ll see.”

Pond Reflections

Pond Reflections

By Sherry Lynn Howard

My best friend doesn’t come to visit anymore.

            I can still recall when he was a young boy, treading through the tall grass on wobbly feet, hurrying to reach my muddy banks. He would slip his bare toes into my cool wetness, splashing as if jumping down into rain puddles. He wore an expression of happiness and guiltless wonder danced within his eyes.

            When he was a school-aged child, he would rush down to me with the neighbor boy in tow, fishing poles swung over their shoulders, anxious to cast a line into my middle. They hoped to get a few bites and told tall tales of catching the “big one”.

            As a teenager, when the January air had chilled me to my core, he sat along my banks with a pretty faced girl at his side. Their faces were flushed as they laced up their skates and stole innocent glances at each other. They carefully stepped onto my iced over crust, twirling and giggling as they enjoyed each other’s company. The girl fell on my iced over glaze, so my friend held out his hand to help lift her up. It was glorious to witness the moment when the laughter ceased and something magical took its place. He leaned in, digging the toe of his skate into my frozen cover, and softly pecked her lips. Time stood still as they locked eyes. It didn’t tick until their smiles grew infectious and they held hands, taking off to skate again.

            After that, the three of us spent our days together. They would come down to my shore often, spreading a blanket out next to me. Sometimes we would share a nice picnic. Other times, they would lay on the blanket as we watched day fade into night. The world would open up for us, revealing a magnificent sky full of twinkling stars.

            One day, my friend came down to my banks, pacing back and forth, dressed up in black and white. His family had gathered around to watch the pretty faced girl walk toward him. She was wearing a lacy vintage dress. They exchanged kind words, tears pooled in their eyes, and rings were placed on their fingers. My friend was smooth when he leaned in to kiss the girl, dipping her back as the crowd erupted in cheers.

            It wasn’t long before the girl’s stomach grew. They would still come down to visit, spreading the blanket out beside me, but they would read stories aloud and listen to soft music. My friend would spread his splayed fingers on her belly, staring in awe when it jiggled. She would giggle, at times she would slip her toes into the liquid pooling at my shore. My friend would tuck her into his chest to keep her warm against the chill coming off my liquid surface.

            They stopped coming to see me. I thought my friend had forgotten about me, but one day he showed up to visit with a tiny version of the pretty faced girl. They stood beside my shoreline, sadness waging wars in his dull eyes. He held the toddler’s hand, a smile trying to peek at the surface of his face. He nudged her toes into my dampness. She shrilly giggled and a grin temporarily stole the sadness from him. The girl waded in my liquid and he chased after her. We taught her how to swim. Soon after, they walked down to me with poles in their hands. We taught her how to fish. It was a splendid day when she slid into skates, for the first time, and we taught her how to twirl. My friend watched her, despair snuck up on him as the past came to light once again. He fell to his knees at my banks, tears pouring from his eyes. The girl went to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. They cried together.

            He stopped visiting after that. Years went by and I didn’t hear him. I became lonely as the seasons passed by and weeds grew up around my shoreline. I would look up at the night sky, but the stars didn’t twinkle as brightly as they once did. In the winters, my iced over glaze would go un-scathed. Our friendship seemed to fade away.

            One day, out of the blue, I heard the roar of an engine. To my surprise, it was my old friend. He stopped the mower at my shore. I noted the way time had changed him. His pale skin was wrinkled with age and his hair was a timeless gray. His hands shook as he stared out over my reflection. He squinted his eyes, seeming to replay our history, as we sat reminiscing.

            Sometime later, with anguish on her face, I saw the grown-up replica of the pretty faced girl again. She cried at my shore holding an urn in her hands. She took off the lid and let the ashes, of my friend, spread out onto my bank. My gentle waves welcoming him as we became one.

             My best friend doesn’t come to visit anymore. Instead, he rests peacefully inside me.

             It’s going to be okay though. We will not be lonely because I hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet treading through the grass.

Serenity

Serenity

By Sherry Lynn Howard

When I hear the word Serenity, I think of a peaceful rolling meadow covered in flowers or the warmth created by a fireplace. It reminds me of tranquil relaxing evenings at home surrounding by loved ones. It’s a word that brings to mind the smooth bluesy voice of Annie Lennox. Serenity to me, is that moment in your life when you’re able to take a deep breath and feel right with the world. Serenity is inner peace.

I’m sure most of us out there are seeking that feeling. Wondering if we will ever find it. When we do find it, we hold on to the moment with all our might. We’re afraid that the peacefulness will slip through our fingers quicker than we can grasp it, leaving us lost and confused. For once we find it, we are constantly searching for it again.

I once believed I had found my peace with my place in the world. I was content with my life, but one word brought all that to halt. Having me once again searching for my warmth. I became lost and afraid.it left me scared of where my life was heading.

Change. It’s one of the most feared words amongst mankind. We, as humans, tend to fall into certain routines and patterns. It’s only common that we like to stick to what we know. I’m not above this myself. I like things to be a particular way and when I get thrown off course, I tend to get anxious. I had no way of knowing that the change I was about to face could very well be the very thing that put me on course with my destiny.

            I’m one of those people who believes that, in this journey that we call life, there are pivotal moments. I believe we are set on a path that will led us to certain points. While, I do believe we make choices that could alter this journey, I also believe that there are times that are just meant to be. There are moments in our lives that are supposed to occur in an attempt at helping us reach our potential. Some call this destiny. Some call it fate. Others call it divine intervention.

            Honestly, I question everything. At times, I tend to overanalyze and rethink situations until it seems redundant. That’s just the way my mind works. I’m overly cautious and think things through more than others. Sometimes, I would say being that way is not a good thing. I’m reserved. I don’t jump without looking.

I’m the type of person who makes pro and con lists. I try to think through every possible scenario before making a decision. Some would call me indecisive. I say I’m just making sure I make the right choice, but I’ll admit this pause is sometimes over-exaggerated. Which, at times, causes me to miss out on opportunities that are placed before me.

            I have a hard time believing in something bigger: A higher power. I know why I have hard time. It’s because I like to be in control of my own life. When I think about the possibility of not being the one in control, I get a little freaked out. My personality demands that I be in control. So, having faith in something more is a real struggle for me.

            I consider myself a believer. Still, I love my rock and roll. I fight for the outcasts. I stand beside the oppressed. I believe in the acceptance of different ideas and I feel that loving the world despite our differences is a much better approach. So, the statement that I’m a believer shocks some of you. No, I’m not a typical believer, but I do believe in someone bigger than all that’s happening here on earth.

I’m also a philosopher. I question everything. I want to know the why, the how, and the what-ifs. I have this great need to understand why I’m here. I sometimes feel like my purpose for being here doesn’t seem to be on the right path. I guess I always thought I was destined to do something spectacular.

As a kid, I envisioned my future as a grand journey. I wanted to be Da Vinci and paint great master pieces. I wanted to be an archeologist, travel the world, and discover something amazing. I wanted to be President and lead our world to a better place. I wanted to write something so fabulous that people would be moved by it. I never imagined I wouldn’t be any of those things. So, to find contentment in a life that wasn’t those things was a feat in itself.

            As a philosopher, I feel like I have this ability to see things differently and think outside the box. I don’t live in a world of black and white. I know some people think they live somewhere in-between. They live somewhere in the grey area. I don’t think I belong there either. I see the reds, blues, greens, vibrant yellows. Our world is such a magical place. I want to live in the green tips of the grass on a new spring day. I want to live in the blue sky after a rain storm has cleansed it. My world, I see it in color.

            I consider my life a kaleidoscope. You twist it and you get to see one color. Twist it another way and you get to see something else. It’s constantly changing and never the same. Thus, bringing out the magic. I’m one of those people who tries hard to notice the magic in life. So many people forget that there’s this world just waiting to be discovered. So, like a kaleidoscope, I gather who I am and what I believe from a wide variety of colors. Twisting and turning to discover something else. Something new.

            Backing up to the beginning, I have trouble putting my faith in someone higher. Sometimes my insecurities get the best of me. There are times that I doubt that what I believe is right. This causes me to hold back and become depressed. I become anxious and insecure with who I am.

Times like those are the ones where I have to reach out for something else. I have to ask for guidance. There are two particular points in my life where I flat out asked, “God, if you’re real show me a sign.”

            I know I’m not the only one to ask and I most certainly won’t be the last. So, when I’d given up on over-analyzing and questioning, I thought why not ask the source. If such a being existed, why wouldn’t they show me the way.

            The first time I asked it was the fall. (Maybe that fact seems unimportant, but it’s key in this story). I’d been reading the Bible from the beginning. I had a determination to read the book from beginning to end. I just knew that If I could make it through, the answers I’d been searching for would be revealed to me. I was about half way through. I was just finishing up the Old Testament. If you’ve ever read the entire Old Testament you may relate, but the only thing I got from that was a lot of confusion about who was related to who.

            I was doubtful that the second half would hold any answers. I just read the entire Old Testament and felt like I didn’t understand a thing. So, I looked to the sky and said, “Alright God, show me a sign because I’m not sure I’m finding it in here.

            Days went by and I didn’t see anything that would lead me to believe that God had given me a sign. I was feeling heavy in my heart. Honestly, I felt let down. I just knew that if he was out there he would hear me and he would answer. Yet, as the days went by, I was disappointed.

            Some laugh and the next part of my story. That’s okay. I sometimes laugh myself. I was getting ready to go to work one evening. I walked out of the house and got into my car. I was pondering the night ahead as I slid into the seat. Weirdly, a movement from the right corner of my eye caught my attention. I looked over. What I saw had me perplexed.

            On the car antenna was a leaf. Not too unordinary, but it was odd enough that I got out of the car and went to inspect the leaf. A leaf being on the car was not unusual but it was the way that it was there. The leaf was down on the antenna. It was as if someone had taken this leaf with their hands and pushed it down onto the antenna.

            As I inspected the leaf, my over analyzing mind went to work. I just couldn’t comprehend how this could happen. This was fall. It was a dead leaf. If someone had taken it and pushed it down on the antenna, it would have crumbled. It would have fallen apart. It wouldn’t be intact perfectly pushed down on the antenna. It couldn’t just blow on to it that way either.

            I circled the front of the car, inspecting the leaf over and over. I slowly started to laugh. I thought to myself. Only God would send me a sign like this. It was perfect to me because of the type of mind that I have. I believe that he knew I would notice and over-analyze. Realizing that this event was more than likely not possible to happen by means of the human world.

            I left the leaf there and drove around with it stuck on the antenna for a long time. After all, it was the sign I had asked for. I told the story to many people over the years and many laughed at me. That’s okay. I still take it as a sign.

            There is one other more personal experience that I attribute to me asking for a sign from above. This one more personal and life altering.

            I loved my job. I had been with my company for 12 years and I was proud of that fact. People my age don’t stick to their jobs. It’s common for my age group to jump from job to job. They seem to be on a constant quest for something better. This was not me.

            I would gladly have died without ever having switched my job. We all know my generation will die working. There won’t be much retiring. Funny thing was, I was okay with that. I had a job I loved. I liked to get up every day and go into the office. I was happy and felt content with where I was.

            That all changed swiftly. The company sold out and eventually our facility merged with another facility. Word of our closing came quickly. I was saddened by this. I felt like this place was my family. In some instances, I knew more about my co-workers than I did my own family. My work life had always felt safe and secure. It was a special place unto itself. A magical place where caring hearts and helping hands saved the world.

            At first, I was optimistic. I was positive. I told others to stay positive, but over time, I watched more and more of my co-workers leave. I myself started to question my place. I began to hate going to work. For the first time, in a long time, I didn’t feel like I belonged. A series of events would occur that would lead me into a depressive state.

            I knew the only way out of the situation was to decide if moving over to the new company was for me. I held on for a long time. Telling myself over and over that I was going to be okay once we got over the initial shock. While, I didn’t like the change, I was willing to work at accepting it. Though, my outlook stayed positive, I became less and less of who I was.

            Looking for a new job was not something I wanted to do. I wanted my old job back. The one I loved. Faced with the truth, I accepted that there would be no going back. I started thinking about finding another job, but I was still very back and forth with how I felt about everything. I searched jobs online and while some were things I could have applied for, nothing spoke to me. Not one job I saw stood out as the one.

            The weird thing was. I didn’t have to look. Eventually, the right place would find me.

            A co-worker knocked on the door to our department one day. She handed the lady I worked with a piece of paper. I saw her looking the paper over, but I didn’t think too much of it. Finally, she came down and handed the piece of paper to me.

 She said, “I think this is for you.”

I looked down at the piece of paper. The word Serenity was written on it. I questioned my co-worker. She told me that the lady who dropped it off thought she may be interested. Only thing was, my co-worker already had a possible job lined up. She told me she was waiting on that job and that she just knew this was my answer.

I kept the piece of paper on my desk for several days. I looked at the ad for the job on Facebook. It seemed exactly like what I was looking for but I held back. Again over-analyzing, I had some uncertainties. One being winter and driving in the snow. Anyone who knows me can tell you, I hate winter and I’m an overly-cautious driver. The other was change. I had not looked for any other type of work in 12 years.

I went back and forth trying to decide if I should apply for the job or not. I didn’t even have my own car. My aunt had been nice enough to drive me to work or let me use her car. So, I wasn’t even sure that I could make this work.

The next morning, I woke to a flat tire. So, I had to call on an elderly friend to take me to work. Something crazy happened and I got talked to at work by my boss. Which, never happened to me before. I was so exhausted trying to fit into the new company. I felt in my heart, time and time again, that this company was trying to push me out, maybe that wasn’t too far from the truth.

That weekend I went home drained and worn out. So very uncertain of where I was headed. I had never felt like this about my work before.

I was sitting at home, that Sunday, doing laundry. Contemplating the road before me. I took on the mundane task while getting lost in my own thoughts. Finally, when I had no direction. I asked, “God, show me a sign. It’s got to be something I understand. Make it clear.”

            Never did I believe that it would be so clear.

            Over the months prior to this event, I had been working on a book. It was the first book I’d ever attempted to write. The weird thing was, that while I was writing I had this strange need to talk about how my characters put their beliefs in the one above. This was not something that I thought I would try to emphasis in my writing. It just came to me as I was going along.  My characters would face some harsh realities, but along the way they would get signs from above. In my story, the sign would come to them and they would just know that they were on the right path.

            In one particular part of the book, one of my main characters is driving along. He just left his old life behind and was trying to find his way. Inside his head he’s talking to God and asking him for a sign that his life is on the right path. So, he’s driving along when the radio goes to static. He hits the radio over and over again. He starts getting angry. When he gives up, the static clears and a song starts to play. It’s Train’s “Calling All Angels”. The song comes on and as he is driving around the bend he sees a girl walking along the side of the road. He can tell that she is hurt and needs his help. In that moment, he realizes that the song is his sign and he knows that he is exactly where he is meant to be. He stops the car and helps the girl. Altering their lives and becoming a pivotal moment.

            So, I’m at home that Sunday afternoon asking for a sign. It’s so crazy. But, I’m walking back and forth doing laundry and contemplating the path ahead of me. All of a sudden, my computer turns on and Train’s “Calling All Angels” starts to play. If you don’t know, the first few lines of the song are as follows:

            “I need a sign to let me know you’re here. All these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere. I need to know that things are going to look up.”

            This sign was specific to me. I used this as a sign in my book. This exact song for a reason. To this day, I can’t tell you how the computer came on by itself or why it was playing that particular song. I’ve decided it’s best to try now to question it. This sign helped me to realize that my path was already set up for me. It was handed to me on a piece of paper. All I had to do was put my faith in the answer.

            I applied for the job with the idea that if it was meant to be, it would happen. I hated to have to change, but I knew that my journey was altering and leading me somewhere new.

            The moment I met with the Serenity family, I knew this was going to be a good place for me. I felt it. Never before had I felt that good about an interview. It seemed like it was all falling into place.

            I did get the job. As I’m writing this now, I know that I’m in the right place. I’m still new and everyone is still figuring me out and I’m still figuring them out, but I feel like I belong here. I feel like I was led here.            

             I think I realize now that the it’s not the big moments that make our intersecting paths worth wild. It’s the small ones. This path started with just a simple name on a slip of paper. It has led me to a great place in my timeline.

            The workers have welcomed me with open arms. Even when I had a temporary setback, they stood beside me. It was more than I could ask for.

            I hear their stories and I see their actions measure up to the type of people that I want to be associated with. They are strong, compassionate, caring, understanding. To put it simply, they are my role models. I aspire to be more like the people that make Serenity what it is.

            Serenity is a Christian based non-for-profit organization that specializes in hospice care. I’m kind of surprised at how much that appeals to me. The Christian part because, though I’m a believer, I have my struggles with my own faith. In this situation though, I know I was led here by God. So, it only makes sense.

            I believe my story is not done. Being led to Serenity is part of that. These people inspire me to achieve my greatness. I want to have the traits I see in each one of them. Maybe they will show me how to reach others and, with my writing, I could make a difference. Truth be told, while my childhood fantasies wanted me to be amazing, I know that all I ever really wanted to do was make a difference. I wanted to touch someone’s life and inspire the greatness in them. I know that’s why I’m here. To learn how to do that from these wonderful people.

            I’m still that girl who struggles with my faith and letting go of control. I’ll always over-analyze, ponder, and question the what-if’s. I always love rock and roll. After all, I’m a kaleidoscope. But, now I know that the signs we seek are out there. Sometimes all we have to do is ask to see them better.

I’m an introvert. Most of the time I keep my thoughts and stories to myself. This story though, it’s meant to be shared. This world we live in is a magical place created by magical people. Some of them inspire others to be better versions of themselves. Some of the best of them work at Serenity and have inspired me.