By Steven Bancarz| A few years ago, a series of studies came out in an attempt to sort of ‘debunk’ people who practice spirituality. The study found that people who have a spiritual understanding of life tend to be more susceptible to mental health problems, addictions, and anxiety d
A fellow writer posted this on her facebook page and it really spoke to me. I wanted to share it with everyone as I know other writers feel the same way.
By Ali B. Thomson
Twenty-six years ago…
Lying in my bed and unable to sleep, I try to imagine what roller skating would be like. My friend, Autumn, is having a birthday party at the roller rink, tomorrow, and it will be the first time I’ve ever been able to skate. My brother said that it was hard and that I won’t be able to do it because I’m clumsy but I don’t believe him. My mother had told Autumn’s mother that I wouldn’t be able to go unless my brother could come, too. At first, I was upset because I didn’t want him to be there but, now, I’m glad he’ll be there because I can show him that I’m not too clumsy and that I can skate.
In fact, I think to myself, I won’t fall down but he’ll fall down and then me and my friends will laugh at him. That’ll show him that I’m not so little. With this thought, I happily settle down further into my blankets and imagine the party. There will be balloons, a giant cake with lots of candles, a pile of presents, and the invitation said that there would even be pizza and soda. The thought of varieties of soda makes my mouth water and I want to convince myself to pick whatever kind I want, even though my mother said we could only have 7Up. With a sigh, I realize that I won’t venture to try any of the other kinds of soda because I know that my mother will find out, somehow, and I really don’t want to get in trouble again.
Opening my eyes, I stare at the ceiling and wish that I could just go to sleep like my brother can. I also wish that I hadn’t broken my clock so that I’d know what time it is. It seems like I’ve been lying here all night and I’m pretty sure the sun has to come up soon. Squeezing my eyes shut, as tight as I can, I tell myself, “Go to sleep! Go to sleep! Go to sleep!” In response to my voice, a scratching sound comes from the bottom of the wall, where the corner at the end of the bed, meets it. I open my eyes wide, as a shiver runs through my body, and I listen.
I sit up straight and peer into the half-lit darkness of my room. Someone has turned off the bathroom light that is supposed to stay on and the only light I have is coming from my little 1’x2’ window behind me. Tingling butterflies of panic begin to unfold and flutter in my abdomen as the sound comes again. I feel the bed vibrate slightly with each noise, –Skerch, skerch, skerch-. I suck in air, in one big gulp, and prepare my lungs to scream for help but a vision of my mother’s face, in my mind, stops me. She doesn’t want to be woken up. She’s tired. Don’t be afraid anymore, toughen up, stop being a baby, there’s nothing there, stop waking her up, it’s all in your head, change the channel, think of something else, your monsters aren’t REAL! Continue reading
Here’s my guest post (that was actually posted yesterday) on another writer’s blog. I hope you enjoy and would love to read your comments!
Something woke me up, last night. Not the usual creepiness that comes at night. Not my kids. I don’t really know what it was; it was like a night terror experience but it wasn’t terrifying — almost calming. This was a whole new way to wake up for me. But, being who I am, I laid there and tried to go back to sleep until my brain made it clear that it wouldn’t let me. My brain likes to think about food pretty much all the time. So, not being able to vanquish the visions of a late-night snack, I got up.
This has absolutely nothing to do with my books but I’m going to write it anyway because, after all, this is a blog. There’s a fair amount of people that don’t like commas, a very sad amount of people that never use them, and even some people arguing heatedly over whether or not we even need them (don’t know about the Oxford comma debate? I’m sure Google does). I use commas a lot. Probably more than most people I know and I use them in my writing. The point of a comma (as I was taught, a long time ago) is to show the reader where to pause. Sentences and writings are all intended to convey the voice of the writer (except in textbooks) because you can’t just sit around and listen to people talk all day.
When I write, people know exactly where I would pause if I were speaking. When I read stuff by other people, with no commas, I actually try to force myself to not pause automatically. Take this sentence, for instance: “The following day Jo hiked up a very large hill with her cat boyfriend and picnic basket.”