Fleeting Thoughts: How Do We Wish to Be Remembered?

 

Have you ever thought about when your turn is up on earth, how, if, or what you’ll be remembered for? Not to sound depressing, but just thinking about impressions we leave behind as our mark in the world as our legacies. Will we leave an indelible print on someone’s heart or mind? Will we be remembered for any words of wisdom, humor, quotes or empowering messages?

 

I try not to think about my eventual non-existence in this world and had never really thought about what I’d leave behind in people’s minds and hearts. I have occasionally thought about my not having any natural children through the years, which leaves me wondering if when my time comes, will anyone remember me?

 

What would I like people to remember about me, if asked? Well, I’d certainly like to think that in some small way, the words I leave behind in my books and stories and definitely in my social media footprints may make a difference to someone or many someones as the world goes by. I’d like to think my caring and compassion will occasionally come to mind as a fleeting thought or in discussion by any who may have known me, or perhaps, from my writings, or by some who never knew me. Would all my scribbles across numerous notebooks and scraps of paper be scrutinized? Cherished? Tossed in the garbage?  Will more people read my books after I’m gone, like so many now famous authors of the past who were considered unknowns while they lived? Will anybody ever even remember that I once existed?

 

I wonder if other writers ever think about our writing and what will happen to all the words we leave behind once we’ve fulfilled our purpose on this earth.

 

Do you ever wonder about how you’ll be remembered?

 

Nobody really knows the answer to any of these questions, and of course, me being a curious soul, am just really thinking out loud. But wouldn’t it be interesting if we could actually ‘look down’ after whisked away to another dimension after our time here on earth is done and get a glimpse of how others perceived us and our work?

 

 

©DGKaye2021

 

 

Kindness, Tears and Loving Beyond – #Grief and Loss

Unexpected kindness is the small things, ordinary things someone kind may do in passing, like when someone sends us a card to let us know they’re thinking of us as a lovely gesture, often without them realizing how a simple gesture can mean so much and can bring a smile – or a tear.

 

I’ve received some lovely cards – both physical and ecards, as well as many messages, and it is comforting and humbling to know that people hold us in their thoughts. Yes, I do realize I keep saying ‘us’, as old habits die hard. I remember reading in quite a few books, how grievers tend to speak about their lost loved one in the present tense, as though they are still here. I am guilty of this as in my heart my beloved is still here with me. I don’t know that I shall ever use the past tense for my husband.

This journey of grief is certainly not for the faint-hearted. The ripples and waves, and sometimes tsunamis of grief roll through randomly and unexpectedly 24/7. Tears splash so easily – a thought, a memory, a condolence, a photo, loneliness, even opening the fridge door and catching a glimpse of his favorite foods will set off a new stream of waterworks. The smiles aren’t as plentiful as it literally hurts my heart to smile sometimes.

The tears are a constant release of pain that ooze out through the eyes, somewhat allowing the heart a tiny bit more of breathing room – until the pool refills itself, something that stuns me, the abundance of tears that never cease to replenish.

The only comfort for me in this time is being able to talk about my husband and all the good and funny things about him. But these talks only satisfy me if they are with someone who knew him well, because they could appreciate the moments with me. And then there is music, but most days I find songs too painful to listen to so I’ll resort to mindless TV.

It’s barely been six weeks since I laid my husband to rest in the double-decker grave I bought for us, yet, the pain in my heart feels like it’s been trodden over for years.

Every new day brings with it yesterday’s sorrow within. I miss my husband terribly and I can’t help but wonder if it will ever get easier. But one thing I know for sure, I will always love him from the core of my being, and not time or anyone can take that away from me.

I’ve been humming a song in the back of my mind lately. It’s a passionate song about loving someone forever, and it’s a beautiful Italian song that I always loved, only now, it’s taken on so much more meaning. Al Di La means ‘Next Life’ or ‘Above and Beyond’, I will love you beyond the beyond. This song was made famous from the 1962 movie – Roman Adventure starring Suzanne Pleshette and Troy Donahue.

 

Take a listen. And if you would like a direct translation of the lyrics, you can find them here.

 

 

©DGKaye2021

 

What’s my Rage? Why? #Guilt, #Grieving and #Loss – #Birthday #Coronavirus and the ‘System’

 

Rage crying and guilt. It’s a thing. And it’s real for me. Like Elizabeth Kubler-Ross states in her book, On Grief and Grieving, there are five stages of grief and you may not feel them in order, but surely everyone will experience them all. Well, I’m still in big time denial, a.k.a., shock, and that doesn’t mean I don’t believe my husband is alive, literally, only that numbness and other defense mechanisms set in and help to play games with my mind to sort of attempt to ‘take the edge off’ the heaviness by playing the ‘pretending game’. Like when I actually get busy doing something, I pretend George is sleeping in the bedroom. But of course, that only lasts so long.

The five stages of grief are certainly not in same order for me. My denial stage is the shock not worn off. Depression is my inner rage. Bargaining is useless, as it’s much too late for that, so I’ve switched that one up to guilt, because guilt is part of the heaviness I carry within. And as for acceptance, it’s so far off I can’t even visualize it.

 

Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t I know! I’m beating myself up at why my husband couldn’t be saved before he became terminal.  I’ve always looked after him. Every little symptom I’d report to the doctors. Covid made everything harder and worse. I can’t stop replaying the summer before he died. He’d complain and question why he’s so tired. What did I know? He was aging, he had ‘other’ issues, we were locked down for Covid, no real living, and no more getting to actually see a doctor! Tele-health calls were scant, but my husband had so much bloodwork done in the last year of his life, how did nobody catch anything? Labs should tell a story. Everyone was so busy taking care of his other issues that the possibility of cancer was totally over-looked.

Bloodwork weekly, low sodium levels, chronic indigestion and sleeping in half the day. I worried all the time. I spoke with doctors as much as I could get hold of them. Was nobody as curious as me? Did anyone consider something worse? Why did it take til February of this year to put him through the ringer of all tests til the grim discovery would show? He was so bloody tired!

These questions haunt me and squeeze my heart with grief when I start screaming out the whys. Yes, if my love could have saved him, he would have lived forever. Covid has shut down most of the world and the ironic part about it is that thousands more die because they can’t get a surgery booked or even see their doctors in the live. Labs are helpful – somewhat, but there’s nothing like being looked at by a doctor, to look in the eyes, skin, listen to hearbeats and breathing.

I’ve been told that my questions are all part of the grieving process, despite me feeling they are all valid questions. I’m living with guilt that I didn’t do enough for my husband. I didn’t scream out to doctors, my whys. People were dying from Covid and our doctor’s hands were tied with rules and regulations with lockdowns and cooties. Doctors not seeing patients, hospitals not allowing scheduled surgeries. Who was I to fight the system? This system has killed so many others who couldn’t and can’t see a doctor unless they were taken to emergency and admitted through the system. No. Right now I am far from acceptance. Nothing can bring my husband back, and yet, the guilt engulfs me; like crying over spilled milk, I know it will get me nowhere except into a darker abyss by dwelling on the whys, yet, I can’t stop asking.

Happy Birthday Puppy

 

Yesterday was my husband’s birthday, only weeks after he passed. I had extra anxiety all weekend. I decided I’d be able to handle the day better if I went to visit his grave. I struggled with it being too soon to go there, but feeling worse if I stayed home and grieved the day all day at home. I went to visit his grave, although I somehow feel closer to him here at home. They hadn’t even finished shoveling more dirt and laying the grass over where he was buried. Remnants of the funeral flowers and ribbons lay scattered over his grave. I threw in a few of my personal stones – rose quartz for love, along with some others, and I placed the stick of the little balloon with the cub on it that says “I love you” in the ground. It was attached to the little puppy love who sleeps with me on his pillow. Puppy love didn’t need to hold on to that balloon anymore because he has me beside him, so I thought Cub balloon would do better keeping him company at his gravesite.

 

Beloved Puppy

 

Birthday at the grave

 

~ ~ ~

 

Note: I recently wrote a post about the state of craziness here in Toronto with vaccine output. I am happy to report that in the past week, our province has got their act together and currently 50%, almost 1.5 million adults, have had their first Covid shot in my city, despite the detrimental number of cases still occurring daily for weeks now, approximately 3000 new cases daily. And one very special nurse who promised they’d save me an Astra Zeneca shot invited me to come have it on this past Friday. I feel blessed that all my networking has paid off and whenever my city decides to ever open up again, I’ll feel a lot more secure about entering the fray – not to mention, be able fly again as soon as flights open up here, and the UK will put Canada back on the ‘approved’ to visit list.

 

©DGKaye2021

Life Love Loss

 

Time for a #Rant – #Covid #Vaccines in Canada the Disorderly

I haven’t been back writing much lately, due to my husband’s recent passing. But that doesn’t mean through my grief that outside influences haven’t been getting my goat, like the way our province of Ontario has become a big joke for the incompetence of our government on the handling of containment and the sorrowful lack of vaccines, and the system of no law and order when it comes to how they are rolling out vaccines at random.

 

When I got my first vaccine in early March, my doctor’s office managed to get me into a local pharmacy that had openings, but not for my lack of trying, I could never get through the line to book, it’s much easier for a doctor’s office to connect. The pharmacist who gave me the jab had told me there is no return date booked for my second vax, but it will be four to 12 weeks. Well, no return date, and our province has decided four months will suffice. Why? When the directives are 4 to 12 weeks by the pharmaceutical suggested dosing, and we don’t have enough vaccine around, Health Canada ‘decided’ four months is sufficient. Do we even have any data of efficacy for that long of a wait gap?

Our province did not begin vaccines with a plan of law and order. In fact, front line workers are only RECENTLY being called on for their turn. I guess they forgot that all the people who work in factories who go to work and bring home the Covid to their families are creating wild hotspots within our city and contributing to the 3000 plus daily cases daily we’re still getting. This is a fire that can’t be extinguished because our borders are a joke, as is our government, and vaccines are being sent to us willy nilly. The general public is lost and speaking out about the joke of a system where they have to look for popup places, often getting shutout because if you didn’t stand in line from the wee hours of the night waiting for them to open, you more than likely lose out. We’re like a bloody third-world country here!

Gratefully, while I was watching the Canadian news the other night, the media announced that @VaxHuntersCan, has taken it upon themselves to establish a responsible group to take over where the government sorely missed, using social media to help Canadians get a heads up on where vaccines will be offered daily, how many spots, how to book, and who is sold out. From VaxHuntersCan, came another branch @VaxHuntersTO, they post specifically to Toronto’s availabilities. Note their slogan under their name on Twitter – “Here to help people navigate the overly complex vaccine rollout and do the Ford government’s job for them.” Yup, thanks to them they are helping Canadians out where our government fails.

Now, here’s the bug up my ass. As I am living in solitude and grief with the passing of my husband, I am ANXIOUSLY awaiting my second dose, where I know not where and if it will come from, so I can get the heck out of here by July/August. But hey, this country is farrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr from even getting close to vaxxing Canada with round one.

Here’s something that niggles at my mind. The only reason my age group was randomly called out of order, which allowed me to get the first vaccine, I found out from the pharmacist, was because at that time, (the age allowances have been changed several times since for those eligible for the Astra Zeneca – just another reason people have no confidence and don’t know what to believe about safety), the pharmacy’s vaccine was soon to expire. That’s how I got in.

Fast forward to a few days ago, when I began following @VaxHuntersTO on Twitter, they announced two pharmacies (close to me) that had lots of spots left for the Astra vaccine, that are supposedly expiring in May. So I called up both those pharmacies and told them I noted there were lots of spots on the website still available. A lot of people don’t want Astra Zeneca for whatever reasons (most of which because the government has changed their mind on age limits), so I asked if I could come in for my second dose and was refused. I didn’t hang up without making a comment, reiterating that they have vaccines, nobody is coming for, they’re about to expire, but they will go in the garbage instead of vaxxing anyone waiting for dose two. Yes apparently, in our Covid capital of Toronto where we can’t get enough vaccines, they will throw them out before giving anyone a second dose.

DO YOU SEE WHY I NEED TO GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE???

So I’ve been DMing on Twitter with one of the persons running this VaxHuntersTO site, sharing about my discoveries and they are as appalled as I am. Apparently, ‘the person’ I’m chatting with runs a clinic downtown Toronto, and they told me that they will have left overs and they will personally DM me to invite me in for round two!

Thank goodness for competent citizens because certainly our government cannot seem to get their shit together!

Note – I’d also like to add that my first dose vaccine came from India. Ironically, when India was doing so well before this next tragic wave hit them, they kindly helped Canada out with Astra Zeneca from their plants. My heart (what’s left of it) goes out to India for the horrific predicament they are in right now. It’s gut-wrenching to watch those poor people in desperation to save their loved ones. I know Canada and the US are sending them equipment, oxygen and ventilators as they so desperately need for this killer next wave that is unrelenting there. I hope other countries will send along some healthcare workers to help ease their under-staffed situation, the same way so many are helping out each other in so many other countries, including my own.

People are dying everywhere, kindness and compassion are essential in these times everywhere and from everyone. We are all one as the world.

 

©DGKaye2021

 

bitmo Kindness Matters

 

Shopping for One – Life, Love and Loss – #Grief

 

After two weeks of grueling paperwork, phone calls and income tax, and … grieving, I thought perhaps I should run out and pick up a few groceries – few being the operative word. I should have known by the sunny sky I’d spied when I peeked out the window before leaving, the sunshine would be short-lived as it rained down a five minute stunt of chunky snowflakes as soon as I pulled out of the garage. Maybe it wasn’t the right day to venture out into the world in my new singleness.

 

I had zero vegetables left – or chocolates, so that was enough to motivate me to get outside, only my second time out since my husband’s funeral. Still, I felt strange. But I thought it would also be a good idea to just get out. Sure, plenty of times while my husband wasn’t well I’d done the shopping solo, but I was still shopping for the two of us. This time I wasn’t.

I ambled into the supermarket, feeling slightly numb from the combination of half an Ativan and carrying the boulder around as added weight, which feels permanently attached to my heart. I chose what I needed for myself from the produce section and picked up a few red grapes. I stopped myself for a moment in thought. George likes green grapes. I try to explain to him, to no avail, that there are better benefits from eating red grapes – resveratrol, for one. But I’d continue to get him his green grapes, as the extra health factor in the red grapes didn’t excite, and myself the red. Today I only bought the red grapes.

As I ventured up every aisle just looking for a few things, my eyes glanced the many items I’d normally throw in the basket for my husband. Nope, don’t need the almond milk creamer, but thanks again Stupidstore for not having my soy creamer. Again! I grabbed myself a case of fizzy water, and left behind the case of gingerale, which is another staple for George. I picked up my toothpaste, not his.

As I scooted down the refrigerated aisle, I was taken aback when I passed his favorite rice pudding cups. How many years have I bought him those cups? I stood there for a few minutes just staring at the rice pudding, but in actuality, I was staring right through it, far and beyond. Then I went to the chocolate bar and candy aisle – George’s favorite aisle to roam in. I picked up my milk chocolate big bar, and left his dark chocolate one behind.

I bypassed the bread aisle. None required. The same oatmeal box caught my eye as the one I had at home, still almost full, save for that one bowl I tried to feed you again after you ate it the previous day and loved it. But that was that day, every day we’d cross a new challenge.

It was a short shop. I’d had enough. I went to stand in the Covid partroled lineup to cash out. My position in line, directly beside the flower shop. The roses took me back to the roses of two weeks ago, the ones that were placed on your coffin. Let’s go, let’s go, I kept repeating silently within as I could feel another outburst of grief brewing within. I needed to get out of that store. I just couldn’t breathe.

I think it was a bit too early for me to venture back out in the outside world, especially alone. I realized that being locked down in my Covid-free lockdown home is where I feel most comfortable at this moment. There I can be more comfortable in my unacceptance that you’re really gone, like when I’m in the living room, I pretend you’re sleeping. That’s how I’m able to function right now.

I feel the same aching inside every time I open up a cupboard or a fridge door in our home. So many of your favorite foods that I don’t eat remain resting on the shelves. I’ll throw it out someday. But right now I’m just not ready.

 

sad face

 

Triggers are everywhere and in everything. As the well of grief refills itself daily, I learn the simplest of things can set off a tidal wave of tears. Below, I’ll share a poignant passage from Gary Roe’s book – Comfort for the Grieving Spouse’s Heart, which I recently read and reviewed:

 

…My grief is like that. It can make a fool out of me without warning. No way to prepare for it. No way to anticipate it. Every moment, I’m at the mercy of my surroundings and my emotions. ~Gary Roe.

 

©DGKaye2021

Life Love Loss

 

 

Smorgasbord Posts from Your Archives -2020- Pot Luck – #WritingHabits by D.G. Kaye | Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

I found this in my archives, not even sure I reblogged it? But It’s always interesting to look back on plans, then a year later, look where things went – south? Looking at plans, did they come to fruition? And then of course, the dreaded burnout. And then eagle-eye Sally Cronin found it in my archives and shared it at her Smorgasbord Blogs from the Archives Series.

 

Smorgasbord Posts from Your Archives -2020- Pot Luck – #WritingHabits by D.G. Kaye

 

 

Welcome to the current series of Posts from Your Archives… and I will be picking two posts from the blogs of those participating from the first six months of 2020. If you don’t mind me rifling through your archives… just let me know in the comments or you can find out the full scope: Posts from Your Archives – Pot Luck – 2020

This is the first post by D.G. Kaye, Debby Gies and she shares her observations about her writing habits and how the have changed over the course of her previous six books. I am sure something we can all relate to. This was first posted in January 2020 and just before Debby took a book break.

 

Change in Writing Habits, Book Break the New Book

 

Today I’m talking about how I notice some of my writing habits have changed through the years. When I wrote my first 6 books, I was disciplined differently. I did my writing first thing in the morning right after breakfast – or the day would surely distract me. But as the order of life sometimes changes, so has my writing.

I could write a rough draft in 2-3 months of writing 5 days a week with anywhere from 100 to 2000 words in a session, depending on the inspiration – sometimes the well is empty. After writing time, I’d move to the computer. Writing all my drafts in longhand comes in handy when wanting to stay off the computer to avoid distraction. After checking out blog comments, posts and social media, and although writing for the day was done, I then spent time in between the daily grind of life, reading articles on learning the trade of self- publishing and homing in on the craft of writing.

It’s now well over a year since I put out a new book. Oh sure, I was working on one, but somehow my enthusiasm wasn’t there, and I stopped enjoying the writing. Then life happened – a lot, then came winter vacation escape, and finally, I realized that I just needed a year off from the disciplined mandate of writing a book.

In that time of not writing a book I was still writing. I write 2 monthly columns, blog articles, book reviews, run guest interviews and have been featured as a guest myself on many blogs, and have even ventured into writing poetry more seriously. There’s no shortage of writing in my life, I just wasn’t feeling inspired to write another book without a timeout from the burnout of publishing 6 books in 5 years. Each of those books took up a good 6-8 months of my life, and I realized how swiftly life is passing by, and decided I need to be living a bit more before committing to a new project. So, I learned to accept my welcomed book writing break and learned it was okay to not be writing a book for a while. The only pressure I had was self-imposed, so I finally admitted I don’t have to write a book every day for the rest of my life, and if I’ve lost the interest for a particular project, it’s okay to abandon it. Now that doesn’t mean that all the work I’d put in would go to the delete bin. All it meant that the started manuscript would live in rest in a folder until such time I may get inspired to go back to it.

In that time away from book writing, without the rules of my self-imposed discipline hanging over me, instructing myself to write first thing in the morning, I didn’t always only write in the morning anymore. And I noticed I was developing new writing habits – writing spontaneously as compared to writing by schedule.

In my old writing habits, if the morning had passed and I was into my daily activities, I was done writing till the next morning. If an idea sprouted to mind, I’d simply jot down a sentence with the idea in a notebook to keep for fodder for a future a topic to write about. But now, throughout this past year plus that I haven’t put out a new book, I have found that random ideas have taken up more of my immediate attention—going with the inspiration when it hits. Instead of just making a notation, which would have certainly had a different interpretation than the one I originally had in mind from the magic of the moment, instead of just jotting the thought down and left to meld into the many other fleeting ideas, I’ll immediately pick up a notebook and write what comes to mind about that topic, while it’s fresh in my mind, dropping whatever I’m doing in that moment to take advantage of the moment. Please head over to Sally’s to continue reading.

 

*Note, I think I originally wrote this post in early 2020. Intentions were good, but 2020 happened big time in my life, and still continues. The book was finished and self-edited then left aside again. As soon as I get some semblance of a publishing mojo, the book will be released. Stay tuned!

 

Source: Smorgasbord Posts from Your Archives -2020- Pot Luck – #WritingHabits by D.G. Kaye | Smorgasbord Blog Magazine

 

©DGKaye2021

bitmo live laugh love

 

 

Updates – This Extrovert is in Hibernation Mode #Health and Wellness

The last cliffhanger I left you with for my first 2021 post, my husband’s illness, my nonfunctioning leg, and our shower ceiling caving in, have been keeping me quite busy lately. The onslaught at everything coming at me has put me in introvert mode. I am 99 percent an extrovert and one percent introvert. When I get in introvert mode, it’s an introspective thing where I need to close myself in – not quite at the part where I’m digesting things and trying to find my way around what seems my new life.

When I get quiet, my mind is very busy. And until I can come to resolutions and/or acceptance I need to go within myself, not ready to share with others what I haven’t yet digested myself. So for those good friends of mine who check in with me daily and silently know that when I’m ready I’ll spill, thank you.

I feel right now my life is at a crossroads of many things – some I can’t peg, yet, I know are brewing, and some I’m having a difficult time facing. I don’t know if this past year was a catalyst for or if because of the isolating life we’ve been living alone together 24/7, it has allowed me to watch and be part of as my husband’s health issues persist. In a flash I seemed to have gone from wife to caregiver.

As I long for the days of Covid to pass so I can resume living, I’m just as anxious about when the time for living does come back. Because the living I’ve known for over 20 years now, is not and will not be the same. Since just before the new year, my husband has been accumulating fluid daily. This happened five years ago when he was first diagnosed with Cirrhosis of the liver. He was drained and put on two types of heavy-duty diuretics. One in particular was specific to pulling fluid from the liver area. The combo finally got properly dosed and worked well for the past five years. Then late last fall, a side effect of one of the pills, retaining too much potassium, was raising hub’s levels and had to be cut down. Thus the fluid buildup came back – except it’s not going away anymore so he’s now that guy who Dr. B told me about five years ago when I asked him if this fluid retention would come back. He’d told me he had patients who had to have a paracentesis every month, but maybe my hub would be luckier, I’d hoped. We had a good ride for five years, but now my husband has been going every two weeks for draining (Paracentesis). They can only get out approximately four of the ten litres he carries (we know by weight). Four days later he gains it all back. Last week I spoke with Dr. B and he’s moved the procedure up to once a week. We have to sign consent papers every time he has this done because of course the danger of inserting the long needle in his side with a drain tube, guided by ultra sound, done by a radiologist, has its risks. Today is drainage day again, thankfully.

My life has changed so much, considering there’s been no real living going on. Last February we were in Mexico, we came home mid March and the next day was lock down. My husband fell ill the day before travel home day, and life has been unwell ever since. Just like that, snap, our lives changed, during lockdown. My husband will not be going back to work of course, so I never got to experience that transition time from when he went to work a few days a week and loved to run errands, giving me my personal time. He always needed to be busy. So he got involved, voluntarily with some household jobs – emptying dishwasher and the many garbage cans. Then he’d take some garbage down the end of the hall to the chute, and the rest to the recycle bins in the parking level. It gave him something to do and he enjoyed it. I don’t enjoy it quite so much, but I’ve relieved him from his duties. The days before draining days he walks on a walker because his legs are like lead.

Current prognosis on past events:

So it took three weeks and various shades of yellows, greens blues and purples, but as of four days ago, I can walk proper without limping. I’m pretty sure I tore my calf muscle. It was painful and only a few days later the bruising was down my whole calf, ankle, and foot. I was using hub’s walker for over a week. So I guess there wasn’t enough excitement when I stubbed a toe bang on, precisely to the corner of the TV stand. I don’t remember feeling that kind of pain in many years. After sitting down and holding my foot for ten minutes til the initial throb wore down, I hobbled to the freezer door, below the fridge doors. I opened it and put my foot right among the frozen vegetable bags and stood there with the door opened for a good five minutes. It helped a lot. The pain was gone. The next day however, 3 toes and half my foot up were purple and I couldn’t move two toes. But, as of this writing, I have movement back. I am definitely blaming this shyte on Mercury Retrograde. Our shower was fixed and retiled almost two weeks ago, and we’re awaiting the new shower door. Until then, I’m grateful for the clear, shower curtain and temporary bar they put up for the meantime.

Two nights ago I had to call 911 as my husband slid to floor trying to get out of bed at 130am to go to washroom. I could not lift him for all the tea in China and was forced to admit my defeat and call for help. I realized my superhuman powers are limited after watching two EMS guys struggle to finally get him up. They were very kind and gave me some helpful tips  to help ‘seniorize’ things at home. They are also going to set up some help to come in a few days a week to help with hubby, so I’m looking forward to that part.

So yes, as you can see, there’s a lot I’m swallowing right now as my first priority is my husband, but in my head and as I witness my husband’s health decline, it’s all still so raw and very tough for me to witness and accept, as I’m having to learn to accept that things will never again be the way they were.

So that’s my update. I felt since I’d posted about the mayhem going on in my life, my readers at least deserved a follow up.

 

Never take life for granted for it can be snatched in the blink of an eye.

 

©DGKaye2021

bitmo live laugh love

 

Let’s Have a Look – About #Writing – Writing Fiction vs. Nonfiction

 

Welcome to my new series in this new year. I decided to call it – Let’s Have a Look. #LetsHaveALook

 

So what exactly will we be having a look at? How do I describe this? Random topics or incidence I come across in daily life – from reading or watching the news, to a blog I may have read that gives me pause, are things I’ll be looking at. A spontaneous thought if triggered about a why or that raises a question to myself – I’m going to bring discussion to the event or article here.

 

So, Let’s Have a Look!

 

Today’s post came about inspired by a reply from my author friend, #fantasy writer, Diana Peach, who mentioned in reply to my comment I’d left on her recent post, when she shared about how one of her characters in her WIP sometimes directs where the story leads.

I had commented that I have enough trouble writing nonfiction about real people – implying that I could only imagine all that is involved in the creating of characters and fantasy storylines and Diana responded with this:

 

“Part of me thinks it would be harder to write real people, Debby, because a non-fiction author is writing from a particular perspective as well as making interpretations about others, all the while trying to represent the truth. It’s easier to just make everything up! Lol. A post from you about how you navigate that would be really interesting.”

 

***

Okay Diana, here’s the post!

Well yes, Diana brought up a good question in her reply, and prompted me to respond with a post about perspective and truth when writing nonfiction as opposed to creating fictional characters – whom often hold many real truths within their characters as well. Is it harder writing about real people? Let’s have a look.

Okay, I thought it would be fun to look at our differing perspectives on difficulty differences between writing in fiction or nonfiction. Diana claims it’s easier to write fiction (in gest?) because, she claims ‘it’s easier to make stuff up’. But in my opinion, I think writing in every specific genre brings its challenges.

As Diana claims, writing nonfiction entails finding the right perspective, while interpreting what we believe to be our truth. That’s what nonfiction writing is in essence, but there are other conditions to take in consideration as well:

  • The subject matter, and who will my story affect, regarding the ‘real’ characters in my stories?
  • By telling a truth that involves other people in the story, we have to be careful with descriptions and identities to avoid getting sued.
  • We don’t have the luxury to ‘alter’ a character in our story because that would be distorting the truth. So if that character has exhibited bad behavior, which is often a feature in our nonfiction/memoir stories, we have to take care how we present those people, leaving us having to be creatively truthful about exhibiting some of their most despicable behaviors.

 

I believe there are more barriers for nonfiction writers. Whether writing about characters or in an informative  self-help nonfiction book, the author must speak truth, and facts must be varifiable. Anything left unchecked or untruthful, will certainly create pushback on the author.

On the other hand, writing fiction allows for a lot more room for creativity, but it still must be a coherent telling and the actions and scenery must depict the setting. A good example of keeping the story flowing accurately is a story I remember reading about a long time ago, regarding the importance of continuity. I’d read that when the movie Ben Hur was being filmed, someone had caught a man wearing a wrist watch in one huge crowded scene – not a good look while wearing a toga. Well, it’s not hard to figure out nobody had watches back in those biblical times so this was a major faux pas. But it’s a good example of little incidental things that may go unchecked and can hinder a story from keeping real and true to the time period the story reflects.

So in summation, in reply to Diana’s comment where she expressed that it is easier to write fiction, I don’t exactly agree with that because to produce a good story, having all the elements tie in, writing engaging characters, and not to mention, worldbuilding, I should think it is an equally intense task writing for fiction writers too. Every genre requires research whether it’s fantasy, historical or literary fiction, or nonfiction. It’s a lot of work to write a book – any book, as all us authors here know. So as much as I appreciate Diana’s nod to nonfiction, I’m nodding right back at her.

 

What do you peeps have to say? Do you think writing in any one particular genre is more difficult than another?

 

Original post from Diana for reference https://mythsofthemirror.com/2021/01/19/when-characters-mutiny/comment-page-1/#comment-80280

 

©DGKaye2021

bitmo live laugh love