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Right here, right now.

I heard a woman say once, “Be where your hands are.”

Doing dishes :(She was talking about doing dishes, and I thought, well that’s common sense. You can’t possibly be standing at the kitchen sink, elbows-deep in sudsy water, and be anywhere else.

Or, maybe you can.

Maybe you can be there at the counter, scrubbing away shards of dinner but thinking hard on yesterday’s mistakes or pleading for a better tomorrow — which means more time and more money and “not one more bill,” because September is a hard month and that first Fall paycheck that’s due soon is already spent. And then some. And, while your worries and frustrations sure get the plates clean, they also kick up the water which soaks into your shirt, and Oh. There you are, back at the sink.

Be where your hands are.

It doesn’t take much to set me spinning. News of crashing stocks (again) and predictions of economies on the brink, are enough. In a flash, I am hours ahead, or days past, or years into apocalypse kind of crazy. To put it in perspective: at one point this week, I seriously considered pulling my retirement funds and stuffing it all in my mattress. Kick it old school, I thought. Screw the Market.

It took my dad’s reassuring voice – “everything comes back around, just celebrate when the stocks go up again” (because they will) – and a phone call to a good friend to remind me that there’s plenty in this world I can’t control.

I’m not alone.

And, I do have today.

…

Be where your hands are.

So, I focus on things that keep me grounded, in the moment:

  • Laughter, from my kids or with a close friend or at myself (I can be fairly ridiculous at times), because a good belly laugh strikes the air and cuts through my fear and brings me back to Here and Now.
  • Reading books out loud to my son or daughter, because I can’t read aloud and let my thoughts wander at the same time. Plus, that time – snuggled up, sharing a story – I don’t want to waste it.
  • Checking in with friends who know me well enough to say, Yeah. You could stuff your mattress, but really, what would that accomplish? A poor night’s sleep. Trust the Universe.

Be where your hands are.

…Where are you today?

* Picture courtesy of tjshirey via Flickr.com

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On Perceptions, Guest Post by Heather Cashman

“We all perceive others through the veil of our own experience.”
~Heather Cashman

Perception, the first book in Heather Cashman’s series, The Tiger’s Eye Trilogy, gives readers a unique view into a time and place where the main characters see the world through two sets of eyes: their own and their tiger companions’.

I glimpse a flash of dual understanding about my world through my kids on occasion. Like when my daughter draws me a picture that shows her and her brother wearing giant and ornate crowns and the “mommy” and the “daddy” standing in the background, a smear of ink. It’s clear who she thinks is in charge.

But seriously, imagine. Seeing the world – your world – from two different perspectives. As writers of fiction, we do it all the time, but in real life, we struggle to know just what another person is thinking.

Today, Heather Cashman joins us to talk about perceptions, and how often, the way we view ourselves is much darker than the way others view us.

*****

Stained Glass Perceptions

Heather Cashman

Perception is a fascinating concept. The simple idea that two people can view the exact same object and see two different things astounds me. One of my favorite aspects of the novel, Perception, is the study of ways in which people see themselves, see others, and see the world.

The word* “perception” is derived from the late 15th century and was used in reference to collecting or taking possession of rent, crops, profits, etc. The word took on different meanings over the next several centuries to be a more general “taking in.” Today, Merriam-Webster defines perception as “immediate or intuitive recognition or appreciation, as of moral, psychological, or aesthetic qualities; insight; intuition; discernment.”

In order to discern or recognize, one must first have experience. The human experience is as unique as each individual human, influenced by culture, environment, nurturing, abilities, and choices. Therefore, each person’s perception will always be unique.

Continue reading “On Perceptions, Guest Post by Heather Cashman”

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Wednesday’s Word: Kleptocracy. Say that three times fast, and then write a story.

The last few weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking: about new routines, upcoming projects and books unfinished. Planning, but not so much creating. It seems right, then, to click over to Wordsmith.org and spend some time with the Wednesday’s word of the day* — and my muse.

(I hope she’s listening.)

Today’s word:

kleptocracy. Noun. A government by the corrupt in which rulers use their official positions for personal gain.

A word and definition applicable to many, I’d say.

*****

Head of Household

Under the muted glow of the nightlight, Nora pulled at her lip. In the mirror, she could see a growing line of blood trickle down the inside of her mouth.

“Damn,” she whispered.

“Guess I got a little crazy, huh?” Glen came up from behind her and put heavy hands on her shoulders.

“Crazy!” Nora said. “You bit me.” She wriggled out from under his grip.

“Yeah, just making sure you knew who was in charge.” He slapped her ass. Nora flipped him off and marched back to the bedroom. She heard Glen laugh, but he didn’t apologize.

Glen wasn’t always so rough and crass. It wasn’t until the day after they’d gotten married, when Nora woke to the sour smell of morning breath and Glen’s face staring down at hers, that he started declaring he was now “master of her domain.”

“Good morning?” she’d said, as she’d laughed and pushed him aside. She had thought he was kidding around.

The next week, though, he began claiming her time, telling her exactly how many nights a year she could go out with her girlfriends. No more Happy Hour meet-ups or impromptu coffee dates. And “Ladies night out” was a conspiracy, he said.

During dinners, he got greedy, taking much more than his share and leaving her with scraps some nights. She called him out on it, but he told her she’d just have to start cooking more.

“The King has a right to seconds,” he said on the night she served tenderloin. “And thirds.” He stabbed at the last piece on the platter.

And after the lights went out, he was like an animal in hiding most nights. He waited until she was almost asleep and too tired to fight back and he took her. Tonight, he’d been vicious.

“How’s the lip?” Glen asked as he crawled into bed.

“I can still taste blood…just so you know,” she said.

He patted her head and turned over without saying goodnight. Nora sat up on her elbow and studied the shape of his silhouette. When she heard his breathing slow to a shallow rhythm, she reached out and put her hand on his waist.

She squeezed.

He was growing fat.

*****

 

They Might Be Giants – Don’t Let’s Start from They Might Be Giants on Vimeo.

* Wednesday’s Word means write something – an essay, poem, or flash fiction – based on Wordsmith.org’s word of the day and post it by midnight. Past pieces from this fun writing exercise can be found under Wednesday’s Word on the sidebar to the right.