Remembering

The horizon raised and lowered with each breath. She lifted her head off her friend’s chest and looked deep into her eyes.

“I love you.”

The other woman didn't respond, not verbally. Her bright eyes and exhausted smile said it all.

The woman returned her head to its previous spot to listen once again to the thud thud of the beloved heartbeat. She focused on the sound and ignored the clicking of the machine that pumped pain medication directly into the weak body.

Very little was spoken. It was as if all the important things they needed to say where encapsulated in those three words.

Her soul was slipping out of her body and the friends parted knowing that this was the last time they would see each other.

Goodbye.

It seemed so strange to say it. How many times had she said it so easily to friends and family? Now it stuck in her throat. The word seemed too small.

She drove home not paying attention to anything but the memory of the heartbeat. She didn't cry that day or the following day when she received the call to announce the death of her friend.

At the funeral, many old acquaintances seemed surprised and somewhat hurt that she wasn't crying her eyes out like the dutiful best friend.  But she had mourned, years ago when the cancer had been detected. When she sobbed curled up on her bed with her husband unsure of how to comfort her and so just ended up simply holding her.

So instead of grieving that day, the best friend remembered and celebrated her friend. How she took soup to those who were sick, how she visited the elderly at nursing homes singing horribly off-key tunes to the delight of the residence, and was worried about her dear friend’s minor health problems while she in turn was succumbing to her own sickness.

The first visit to the graveyard was the burial and the second a few weeks later to put some flowers on the grave. Each time was rather strange. No sadness or sorrow. Just a reminder that she wasn't around.

It wasn't until a few years later, while in a movie theater that she cried and cried being unable to stop. She cried in the car and all the way home. She couldn't understand why she was crying now. It wasn't like the deep grief she felt on being told her good friend had cancer. It felt more like a gate had opened and the heartache was surging out. It wasn't painful really, more like the twinge you experience when cleaning a healing wound.

It wasn't a magical experience. It didn't propel her in some new direction or cause her to drastically change how she treated her loved ones. No great epiphany to share with the world. It was simply her way of grieving.

Written by Shawn Du

Los Angeles Times Book Festival 2014

Le Var Burton

I came so close to meeting a childhood hero!!!

I was introduced to Le Var Burton on the television show Star Trek: The Next Generation when I was ten years old. Mr. Burton played the beloved character Lieutenant Geordi La Forge whose disability had not stopped him from succeeding in his career. This show solidified my love for science fiction and provided me plenty of positive role models.

It was not until a few years later that I realized Burton’s role as the host of the television show Reading Rainbow on PBS. I still remember the episode where he visited the Old Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts (a hands-on living museum) to find out how people lived in the early 1800’s (Season 2, Episode 3: 

Ox-Cart Man).  I was captivated with the things I saw on this show, excited to know that reading could take me to any place and time. Years later, I was glad to see that my nephew loved the show as much as I had.

It was a great pleasure to know that Mr. Burton was going to be at the Los Angeles Times Book Festival this year. Unfortunately, I missed the special reading at the opening of the festival and the line to take a photo with the actor/director/producer/author. However, I was able to take a photo of him during his interview at the PBS booth. I wish I could have had the opportunity to share with him how much of an impact his work had on my life. Without watching him on Star Trek, I would not have watched him on Reading Rainbow. And I might not have found my love for books as early as I did. Thank you Mr. Burton!

Needless to say, it was a great beginning to the two-day book fair.

Reading Out Loud

I am naturally a shy person and growing up it prevented me from experiencing many things. When I was getting ready to attend my first semester of college, I decided that my adult life would be different. I would step out of my comfort zone and try things that excited and scared me. The first thing that I did was sign up for a voice class where I would be singing in front of at least 30 strangers. And it worked. I learned not to let my nerves stop me from doing what I wanted (and bonus- I got an A in the class).

This brings me to present day. The week after I attended my first writing club meeting, I actually read one of my short stories to the group. It was bad. But being good wasn’t the point. My goal was to hear my words out loud and to listen to the constructive criticism that the others would provide. This is the only way to become a better writer. Now there is one less hurdle to cross on my road to becoming a published writer.

Oh, Get Real!

It's been a long time since my last post. A really long time. I am still a struggling writer. But as the saying goes, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  So last week I did something I have wanted to do for a long time. I joined a writing club. I went last Thursday but didn't bring any of my own writings with me.  I just wanted to get a feeling for the people in the club, to see if it would be a good fit. I was a bit nervous because it was something new. But the people were friendly and I found some real talent there.

I did have an epiphany. I realized that the story I have been working on wasn't going anywhere because it lacked passion. I was seeing it as a scholastic exercise instead of a story that had to be told. And worse, I didn't care about the story. If I didn't care, how could I get a reader to care?

So I tried another tactic and remembered a painful but important event in my life. Keeping that in my mind, I began to write a emotional story. I'm not sure how good it is, but at least it felt real. I plan to read it to the group this week. My heart races and my stomach sours a bit thinking about reading my story to the rest of the group. But I realize that I have been writing too careful.  I need to take more risks, get a little messy and hopefully a little better.

Photos

Fun with Photoshop

 

 

 Don't SUPER SIZE  me!

 



Hidden Things

It is amazing how something so small, like the flu bug, can lay you out.  After wrecking havoc with my young son, the flu bug took its turn with me. Thankfully, the worst is now over and I have plenty of help from my family.

During my covalence, I read a review of an interesting book, Hidden Things by Doyce Testerman and downloaded to my Kindle. Often times I find myself disappointed after reading just a few pages of a book, but not this one. It caught my imagination from the start and has not let go. Hidden Things is a well-written story whose plot is exciting, taking the reader to strange and unique places. The characters are unusual and full of surprises but are still relatable and even humorous. The plot is anything but formulaic. Its part mystery, part science fiction, but all of it is enjoyable.

 Check this book out. It is defiantly worth the read.

Am I an artist?

I love taking photos, making jewelry, and writing stories. But does this make me an artist?

What is an artist?

Dictionary.com says the definition of an artist is:

1. a person who produces works in any of the arts that are primarily subject to aesthetic criteria.

2. a person who practices one of the fine arts, especially a painter or sculptor.

3. a person whose trade or profession requires a knowledge of design, drawing, painting, etc.: a commercial artist.

4. a person who works in one of the performing arts, as an actor, musician, or singer; a public performer: a mime artist; an artist of the dance.

5. a person whose work exhibits exceptional skill.

 

 

But can't an artist be just someone who sees beauty, pain, wonder and shares it with the world?

That's how I see myself. No real training, just a desire to share what I find striking and fascinating.