I'm so proud of my youngest girl, Shenandoah. She is on a mission! She has found something that she is passionate about and is working hard every day to be able to follow this dream, no matter what obstacles are in her way. She has been told on several occasions by family and school personnel that she can not be a Marine Biologist. Yet, that is her passion.
My oldest daughter, Meghan, is following her dream as well. She has started her own business, which is growing steadily every month. It is so amazing to see their dedication and determination in spite of all the obstacles thrown at them.
My middle daughter, Tristana, is finally becoming the person she was always meant to be. Her dream is becoming a reality this year as well. Overcoming obstacles along the way has been heart wrenching and painful, but she didn't let them get in her way. Pure joy radiates from her now.
So, my greatest passion? Some of you think you know. Some of you may be wrong.
My greatest passion in life as a kid and young adult was to be a published author. Yep, I know. Some of you are saying, "What??? Not art?" That's right. Not art. Art was a passion I found much later in life. But, writing, that's been the BIG one all along. It wasn't others who got in the way of this dream, but the worst obstacle of all, myself! I told myself over and over that I would never be able to write that well. I didn't have any stories to tell. I didn't have the creativity to write. I wasn't smart enough.
Those are all the stupid things I told myself over the years. Ludicrous, I know! Here I am at 46 years old starting not just one, but three different books. I have SO many stories to tell and so little time. It is time for me to follow through with my dream, and time for me to get out of my own damn way. I don't even care if they are ever published. I just need to get my stories written down.
Today, I want to share the very beginnings of one of those stories with you. Please remember that this is unedited and far from finished. Any feedback you can give would be amazing. Thank you.
Chapter 1
The
Jeep bounced along the boulder-strewn ground, through a dense forest of massive
trees. Similar to the California sequoia, the trees were more gnarled and
knotted from roots to upmost branches. Many of the tree trunks were easily as
thick as a house. Deep grooves made their long, twisted way along the trunks
creating fascinating patterns, knots, and curves. The tops of the giant trees
disappeared in the heavy growth and dense forest. Over the centuries, as
colossal roots grew and emerged through the soft earth, they created knotted
archways below the trees. Some were large enough to drive through and others just
big enough to crawl under. Average sized pine trees, aspen, and an array of shrubs
created a gentle contrast and filled the space between the monstrous trees. An
occasional clearing broke the monotony of the forest and made the way for the
Jeep slightly easier.
I felt like a tiny mouse maneuvering
through a complex maze in search of the prize, a yummy slice of cheese. A large rock sent the Jeep jostling and
sent me off the back seat.
“Oww!”
I yelled as I grabbed my sore head with both hands. “Slow down a little!” A soft covered top would be great right
about now, I thought ruefully.
The
two men sitting in the front seat continued their conversation, oblivious to my
discomfort. The music blaring from the CD drowned out any recognizable words. Rolling
my eyes, I turned back to the forest with a sense of anticipation. The Jeep cut
through thick undergrowth and crushed plant life in its path. The forest was quiet
except for the rumble of the engine. I had not seen a single animal or bird
since entering this quixotic maze. The Jeep careened around boulders and enormous
trees.
As we turned a corner around a house-sized boulder,
I felt a sudden change in mood. Gripping apprehension pulled at my gut. I
looked around the forest for the source of this new and unwanted emotion. Patches
of blue sky flashed brightly between the tangle of limbs. The forest itself lacked
a sense of doom. The size of the trees was overwhelming, but not menacing. The
forest floor was a tangle of pine needles, rotting tree trunks, patches of
moss, and decomposing organics, but maintained a sense of peaceful solitude. Tree
roots, twisted and tangled, wound their way into masses of snake-like balls and
long ropes that made their way through and around objects on the forest floor. Mosses
and lichen grew along tree roots exposed along the ground. Bright orange
mushrooms peeked from underneath a blanket of moss.
As
we drove deeper and deeper into the forest, the feeling of dread; heavy and
almost painful, enveloped me like ice water. I shivered uncontrollably and
wrapped my arms around my shoulders. I had never experienced anything as
intense and fierce. Surprisingly, we drove through a curtain of growth and into
a small clearing where not a single sapling grew. My heart racing, I looked
around the clearing. The ground was covered in a fine, soft layer of bright
green grass. Out my window, to the right of the clearing was a mass of trees
that were so thick as to hide any light that might have tried squeezing through
the trunks, branches, and growth.
My eyes were drawn upward and fell upon
an unexpected wonder. I blinked my eyes a few times, rubbed them and looked
back out my window. Sure enough, it stood there hidden behind years of growth. Several
hundred feet above the forest floor, supported by a labyrinth of tree limbs,
was what appeared to be an abandoned Victorian home. Broken windows stared out
into the world, lifeless, and empty. A tower of bay windows stood majestic and
on guard, a maze of long, twisted vines creeping their way up to the top. Old
dusty curtains, torn and faded, hung in the windows. The house was shrouded in
vines that gave the home the look of a forest dwelling from a fairy world. Wooden
shingles were missing from the roof in many places. The house was cloaked in
decay and decomposition.
Impossible! I blinked and felt faint. I
looked at the men in the front seat to find them oblivious to what I was
seeing. I looked up to the house, visible through the limbs and leaves. The
Jeep veered to the right and the main tree supporting this marvel was along our
path. Time and rot had made a tunnel beneath the gnarled massive tree trunk. As
the Jeep neared the tunnel, the house disappeared from view.
Going through the tunnel felt like a rebirth,
a cleansing of the soul. The shade of the tunnel muted the light slightly, but
the yawning roots and rotting wood looked like a complex spider’s web. A scene
from “The Hobbit” flashed through my mind and I wished at that moment that I
had a Sting of my own to fend off any
monster spiders that popped out of the web. The feeling of dread started fading
as quickly as it had started and by the time we drove out the other side of the
tree trunk, I felt refreshed, but curious as well.
Abruptly, the image of an old woman in a
dusty, torn gown staring out one of the sightless windows of the house struck
me with such force, I gasped. I spun around on the back seat and looked out the
back window, anxious to see the house again and to see if I could catch a glimpse
of the lost soul within. I knew that she was there, waiting, lonely, and solemn.
Another
clearing lay on the other side of the giant sentinel. Bright green grass met my
gaze. My eyes followed the trunk of the tree upward. The tangle of limbs seemed impenetrable and impossibly stable. As the Jeep bounced along, the house
again came into view. The home looked like it sat upon flat earth with not a
single tree in the yard. I was overcome with fear, loss, anger, and deep
loneliness. I knew she was long dead along with the house, forgotten and
alone. She was eternally waiting
and wondering. As wood rotted and fell from the house, pieces of her slowly
fell away leaving an empty shell, all but the intense feelings.
The
loneliness consumed me and tears ran down my cheeks. We approached the edge of
the forest and, as the trees closed in around us, the feelings faded as the
house slipped from view. I turned in my seat feeling as if weeks of emotion had
passed in what I knew had only been seconds, seconds of my life that would
forever change me.
The
drone of voices and music drifting from the front seat penetrated the quiet
turmoil of my world. I looked around the inside of the Jeep for traces of the
time warp or black hole I must have just passed into, through, and out of so
completely. I felt drained, exhausted and emotionally ragged. A bounce over a
large rock jolted me from the trance I was emerging from. Instead of relief
from emotional stress, I hoped for, the jostling of the Jeep made me feel even
more exhausted and I quickly fell asleep before my brain could really process
what had happened and despite the rough bouncing of the Jeep. Never before had
I fallen asleep so quickly and completely.
Chapter
2
CiCi rubbed her eyes, stretched, and sat
up on the side of the bed. The sun clawed at the edges of the dark curtains
fighting to enter the gloomy realm.
A
shower would be good this morning;
a fleeting thought.
But,
that would require energy,
she thought as her shoulders sank lower. Hands pressed into the edge of the
bed, arms straight, shoulders slumped, and head dropped, CiCi didn’t know what
to do next. Defeated by the hostile rays of sunshine sneaking their way through
the dark room, CiCi sighed heavily. She looked at the rays of sun where fine
particles of dust were floating softly and going nowhere important. They were
mesmerizing, floating through the air like jellyfish drifting in the ocean.
Dreams.
Dreams were one of the few comforts CiCi had in life. She looked forward to her
dreams. Always full color and packed with sensation, they brought life into CiCi’s
otherwise dull existence. This dream was a little different from her usual. The
emotional roller coaster was so much more intense and real. CiCi walked to her
desk, sat heavily, and pulled out her sketchpad and pencil. She wanted to
capture the essence of the dream before it dissipated into the murky edges of
her memory. There was just enough light pushing its way around the curtain to
light her work. She quickly laid out lines and started shading in the form of
the trees with their twisted roots, trunks, and branches. Working quickly, she
used her fingers to blend and drag graphite across the paper.
As she started in on the house high above
the trees, she slowed down, contemplating every nook and cranny. She wanted to capture
the upmost detail. Pausing, she gazed dreamily at the house.
This was the one skill she was most proud
of. Carrying a sketchpad around with her at all times was the only thing that
kept her on the rational side of sanity. There were stacks of them in her
closet from her earliest memories of drawing, through her childhood, where elephants
and puppies were her favorites. A faint smile touched her lips. She glanced at
the closed closet door, picturing the dozens of sketchpads. She hadn’t ventured
through the stack in a while, but could remember with great clarity the
sketches that lay within each and the evolution of her work. The tattered and
torn edges of each book marked its age and history of use. The older ones were
more mangled and some were no more than spiral notebooks. There was an assortment
of sizes and colors. And each one had its own special quality, memory. Stick
figures and houses were her first subjects. As times passed, the sketchbooks
had more and more variety of content:
sketches, class notes, tic-tac-toe games with classmates, glued in
leaves and other memorabilia from her life. She even had sketches that others
drew for her. One particularly special addition was that of a watercolor her
grandmother painted directly into her sketchbook. It was a mountain scene with
pine trees and a field of flowers. Her eyes welled with tears.
Memories of her grandmother came crashing
in around her.
NO!
I won’t think of her. It’s just too painful. Better to push it all away and
never think of her or the pain of her loss. It had been nine years since her grandmother passed. There
were no pictures of her in CiCi’s room or anywhere in the house to remind her
of what she had lost. Memories of that gentle, loving woman were kept locked
away in the darkest recesses of her mind. Memories were no good if all they
brought was pain. Memories were best forgotten. Unfortunately, they were never forgotten.
CiCi turned back to her sketch. Looking good, she thought as she began
adding more shading and highlights to the house. Images of the dream began
fading, but the emotions would be with her for a long time, she knew. Her
pencil hovered above the top tower window. She sat contemplating that space. Not
sure why, she moved her pencil away from the tower window. The house looked
Victorian in style and had a tower of bay windows three stories high. She tried
to capture the decay and ruin of the home by adding fine lines and details to
the window frames, wood siding, and eaves of the roof. The front porch
stretched just ten feet across the front of the house. The heavy wooden door
was a massive slab of ancient wood, gnarled, with deep grooves weathered over
time. The faster she drew, the quicker details were fading from her memory.
There was something missing. She could
feel it, but couldn’t pinpoint what it might be. She continued with the details
of the sketch hoping an image would come in sharp and clear, but she knew, as
did with all of her dreams, that the images faded quickly and were impossible
to bring back. A nagging feeling that she was missing something wouldn’t go
away as she closed her sketchbook and put it in her backpack along with her
pencil case. She had things to do today and didn’t want to be late.
Walking the short distance to her mirror,
CiCi glanced at her wrinkled clothing. Black jeans, black t-shirt and black
hair that hung in front of her eyes and down her neck. Emo. That’s what others called it. CiCi just called it “not
caring”. She slept in her clothes every night and changed only when she took a
shower every other day. She raked fingers through her shoulder length hair and
turned to grab her backpack.
