Write about the good times (without bringing up the bad) of a past relationship that went wrong.
Wow! This post is harder than most that have come before it. It's been 25 years since I've been in a relationship with anyone except King Charming. It's hard to think back that far.
Mitch? Well, it was sweet the way he met me at college every night just so we could drive together on the highway. And the way he proposed was very sweet. Too bad he ended up breaking up with me so he could date a friend of mine.
Richie? What a sweet boy. He was the perfect first boyfriend. He didn't push too hard but was very kind. He was exactly what a young girl needed at the time.
Ron? I would never have had the experience of working in a theater production if not for him. And there were other good times too but that was destined to end.
Do I think about them still? Occasionally. It'd be nice to know that their lives ended up okay. But that's as far as it goes. I was very lucky to find my man early in my life. I was all of 20. Now there are some definite good times that we've shared. Some bad times too. But that's what sharing life is all about and I'm so glad to be sharing it with him.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
The Sea
In all or any of it's forms or uses- What does the sea mean to you?
The sea is romance. I stand on the shore and listen the endlessly comforting lapping of the waves. I smell salt in the air and taste it on the tip of my tongue. I feel the warm breeze dance across my skin making it tingle in anticipation. The sensations are intoxicating like a long, deep, satisfying kiss from a lover.
The sea is mystery. Which direction when all look the same? What life have we yet to find? What secrets can we still learn about our world? Who can fathom the mysterious secrets of the depths?
The sea is adventure. It is Errol Flynn or Johnny Depp hanging from the riggings sword in one hand and dagger clasped in the teeth. It is new experiences, the kind they would never try at home, for those who brave it's fickle care today. The possibilities race the blood and pound the heart.
The sea is eternity. It has no beginning and no end. It was always there and will always be there. It is the womb from which humankind emerged and the grave to which our remains will be washed.
Romance, mystery, adventure and eternity. The sea is life.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
The sea is romance. I stand on the shore and listen the endlessly comforting lapping of the waves. I smell salt in the air and taste it on the tip of my tongue. I feel the warm breeze dance across my skin making it tingle in anticipation. The sensations are intoxicating like a long, deep, satisfying kiss from a lover.
The sea is mystery. Which direction when all look the same? What life have we yet to find? What secrets can we still learn about our world? Who can fathom the mysterious secrets of the depths?
The sea is adventure. It is Errol Flynn or Johnny Depp hanging from the riggings sword in one hand and dagger clasped in the teeth. It is new experiences, the kind they would never try at home, for those who brave it's fickle care today. The possibilities race the blood and pound the heart.
The sea is eternity. It has no beginning and no end. It was always there and will always be there. It is the womb from which humankind emerged and the grave to which our remains will be washed.
Romance, mystery, adventure and eternity. The sea is life.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
Monday, July 18, 2011
Recipe for a Happy Home
I like the One Minute Writer site because they give you a prompt that can be written about in a single minute or less. I tried one today and found it a bit more challenging than I thought it would be (hard to gather thoughts in a minute or less). But this is one that really touched my heart.
The prompt was: In my old family cookbook, there is a recipe for "A HAPPY HOME" that includes ingredients such as "4 cups love" and "2 cups loyalty," blended "with tenderness." Write your own "recipe."
My response: The husband and wife can be any spices that go well together. They have to complement each other, not be too similar. Then add in the ingredients that are your children. Cheesy, spicy, meaty, starchy, it doesn't matter. All combinations can work. You just have to remember to stir them up with lots and lots of love.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
The prompt was: In my old family cookbook, there is a recipe for "A HAPPY HOME" that includes ingredients such as "4 cups love" and "2 cups loyalty," blended "with tenderness." Write your own "recipe."
My response: The husband and wife can be any spices that go well together. They have to complement each other, not be too similar. Then add in the ingredients that are your children. Cheesy, spicy, meaty, starchy, it doesn't matter. All combinations can work. You just have to remember to stir them up with lots and lots of love.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
Synchronicity
Today's 30 Day Blog Challenge prompt: Write about how you've experienced the randomness of life. It could be any (or all) of the following: A random act or experience, A random encounter/meeting with a friend of a friend of a friend (like the Six Degrees of Separation theory), Synchronicity that you've witnessed
Yesterday I was at the mall with my best buddy and a couple of her friends. We had a great time and got along great. I don't remember how the subject came up but someone mentioned an interesting way of referring to pregnancy. It had something to do with a song, I believe. Anyway, my response was the fun line from the B-52's song "tin roof! rusted." Within about 10 seconds we turned the corner and the ambient music changed. Now the song playing in the background was "Love Shack" which is, of course, where the tin roof quotation comes from.
Too weird!
I don't believe in coincidences. When things like this happen, I always wonder what it is that God or the Universe or whatever is trying to tell me.
Oh dear God, don't let me come up pregnant. That would be bad on so many levels, but especially now that I've had a taste of the freedom to be found when the kids are raised and gone. Don't get me wrong... I love my babies. But I do love having my life back again too.
Tin roof? I don't have one. My son's girlfriend's parents do, though. Maybe I should give them a call? Nah, I don't know them that well. And my kid would kill me after her parents decide she can't go out with someone who has so whacked a mother which, of course, would be the only reasonable decision they could make.
Maybe I'm being too literal. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe the time spent with my friend's friends yesterday was the start of a a new relationship with a couple of wonderful people.
That'd be cool.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
Yesterday I was at the mall with my best buddy and a couple of her friends. We had a great time and got along great. I don't remember how the subject came up but someone mentioned an interesting way of referring to pregnancy. It had something to do with a song, I believe. Anyway, my response was the fun line from the B-52's song "tin roof! rusted." Within about 10 seconds we turned the corner and the ambient music changed. Now the song playing in the background was "Love Shack" which is, of course, where the tin roof quotation comes from.
Too weird!
I don't believe in coincidences. When things like this happen, I always wonder what it is that God or the Universe or whatever is trying to tell me.
Oh dear God, don't let me come up pregnant. That would be bad on so many levels, but especially now that I've had a taste of the freedom to be found when the kids are raised and gone. Don't get me wrong... I love my babies. But I do love having my life back again too.
Tin roof? I don't have one. My son's girlfriend's parents do, though. Maybe I should give them a call? Nah, I don't know them that well. And my kid would kill me after her parents decide she can't go out with someone who has so whacked a mother which, of course, would be the only reasonable decision they could make.
Maybe I'm being too literal. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe the time spent with my friend's friends yesterday was the start of a a new relationship with a couple of wonderful people.
That'd be cool.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Heat
Today's 30 Day Blogging Challenge prompt: How hot is it where you live?
I've lived south of the Mason-Dixon line all my life. I grew up in South Carolina, lived a while in Georgia, but have spent the last 23 years in Florida. I'm used to the heat.
My husband grew up just outside of New York City. When he was 18 the US Air Force stationed him at Homestead AFB. He hasn't lived in a cold climate since. He hates to be cold. He's more than used to the heat.
Of course, there are some things we don't get. I, for one, miss watching the leaves change color in the fall. We get about a day or so of fall here. The leaves of our deciduous trees are more like the Whomping Willow in the Harry Potter series. One day our leaves just wake up, decide it's time, and seem to shed all their leaves in a single day. We don't get to ride along on the highway and see the magnificent colors gracing the trees.
Living in Central Florida, we get something different. I've been here almost two years now and it still amazes me to look out over the undeveloped stretches of my drive home. We have an almost equal mix of deciduous trees and palm trees. Looking out over our landscape there's no doubt we're in a climate change zone.
Yes, it's hot here. In August it can be almost unbearable. Given Florida weather it's no surprise to me that air conditioning was invented in Appalachicola, FL. That's usually when my friends in Canada and the northeastern US pay me back for the evil phone calls I make in February and March when our weather is so nice.
I probably deserve catching that heat.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
I've lived south of the Mason-Dixon line all my life. I grew up in South Carolina, lived a while in Georgia, but have spent the last 23 years in Florida. I'm used to the heat.
My husband grew up just outside of New York City. When he was 18 the US Air Force stationed him at Homestead AFB. He hasn't lived in a cold climate since. He hates to be cold. He's more than used to the heat.
Of course, there are some things we don't get. I, for one, miss watching the leaves change color in the fall. We get about a day or so of fall here. The leaves of our deciduous trees are more like the Whomping Willow in the Harry Potter series. One day our leaves just wake up, decide it's time, and seem to shed all their leaves in a single day. We don't get to ride along on the highway and see the magnificent colors gracing the trees.
Living in Central Florida, we get something different. I've been here almost two years now and it still amazes me to look out over the undeveloped stretches of my drive home. We have an almost equal mix of deciduous trees and palm trees. Looking out over our landscape there's no doubt we're in a climate change zone.
Yes, it's hot here. In August it can be almost unbearable. Given Florida weather it's no surprise to me that air conditioning was invented in Appalachicola, FL. That's usually when my friends in Canada and the northeastern US pay me back for the evil phone calls I make in February and March when our weather is so nice.
I probably deserve catching that heat.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Mysterious Style
Today's 30 Day Blogging Challenge prompt: In terms of your artistic/writing craft, comment on the following idea: "The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious". ~~Einstein and "What shakes the eye but the invisible?"~~ Theodore Roethke
My husband and I have decided it's probably best if I don't ask him to read my work. It's not that he thinks it's bad. It's just not his style. He's not into the flowing, emotional style that appeals to me so much. So it's best he not read my stuff.
Of course, I'm not into reading the types of novels he likes either. His favored style is a straightforward telling of the story with just enough detail to let the reader know what's going on. Logical plotlines and suspense are what he favors.
Not me. Emotions drive my writing and play a huge part in what I like to read too. Sometimes there doesn't even need to be a plot. It's the invisible emotion that shakes my eye and heart. It's the mystery of trying to understand and explore something that is in no way based on logic that makes a piece beautiful to me.
Which of us is right? Both, of course. That's the beauty of our relationship - the fact that we complement each other so well. That's part of why I love him so. And that's part of why he shows up in my stories so often. No matter what the male lead looks like or the fact that some of his personality traits are different from my husband's, it's still him I'm usually writing about.
It's one of the ways I express the love I feel for him - that love that's still so deep and mysterious after all these years that it still shakes me to the core.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
My husband and I have decided it's probably best if I don't ask him to read my work. It's not that he thinks it's bad. It's just not his style. He's not into the flowing, emotional style that appeals to me so much. So it's best he not read my stuff.
Of course, I'm not into reading the types of novels he likes either. His favored style is a straightforward telling of the story with just enough detail to let the reader know what's going on. Logical plotlines and suspense are what he favors.
Not me. Emotions drive my writing and play a huge part in what I like to read too. Sometimes there doesn't even need to be a plot. It's the invisible emotion that shakes my eye and heart. It's the mystery of trying to understand and explore something that is in no way based on logic that makes a piece beautiful to me.
Which of us is right? Both, of course. That's the beauty of our relationship - the fact that we complement each other so well. That's part of why I love him so. And that's part of why he shows up in my stories so often. No matter what the male lead looks like or the fact that some of his personality traits are different from my husband's, it's still him I'm usually writing about.
It's one of the ways I express the love I feel for him - that love that's still so deep and mysterious after all these years that it still shakes me to the core.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
Friday, July 15, 2011
Six Weeks
Today's prompt for the 30 Day Blogging challenge: If you had six weeks to live, what would do?
I've always thought knowing when you're going to die is the cruelest form of torture. If I knew I only had six weeks to live, they would be filled with pain and a longing for what could not be.
The first thing I would do is run home and cling to my hubby. I can't imagine being without him and to know I only had six more weeks with him would absolutely tear me up inside. Then I'd cling to my kids for the same reason - intense love and a refusal to accept that I don't have a seeming eternity with them.
Then I'd get mad. Oh sure, I'd love to sit here and say that I could take this with aplomb and grace. But that just wouldn't be the truth. I'd rage and scream against all the gods, fates, whatever sent this my way. I have no idea how long the anger would last. I'd like to say I could get past it and be one of those patient, soul-filled people that accepts God's plan, but I doubt it.
I'd go see my mom and sisters. I'd go for a good long visit with them and just cling to them too.
I would wish for the resources to take a trip to Europe. It's honestly about the only thing left on my bucket list. I guess that's a pretty good place to be in, having only one thing left on your bucket list.
I'd write. Oh God would I write. There are so many stories in me clawing to get out. When I wasn't clinging to the ones I love, I'd write. I'd have to. But I know what I turn out would be dark and depressing. I always write what I'm feeling at the moment.
I would NOT sleep. I would find somewhere to buy some speed (hey, what? I'm going to get addicted? Well, the "cure" is coming, right?). I'd pop as much as I could get away with without overdosing so I wouldn't waste a minute of the remaining time in sleep.
I would not be able to stop myself from listening to the clock. Even though we have no actual ticking clocks in the house, if I only had six weeks to live they would all start madly tick-tocking and I would be driven as crazy by the sound as ol' Cap'n Hook was.
I hope I never know how much time I have left. I can handle the idea of dying. At least in the abstract. But to know it's coming and know how long I have, that would be a cruel knowledge. I would hope not to waste the time I have left wallowing in self-pity, but I know me better than that. If I knew I only had six weeks to live, my heart would die immediately and I'd be a dead man walking, desperately clinging to the things I love with a terrified abandonment of all semblance of sanity.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
I've always thought knowing when you're going to die is the cruelest form of torture. If I knew I only had six weeks to live, they would be filled with pain and a longing for what could not be.
The first thing I would do is run home and cling to my hubby. I can't imagine being without him and to know I only had six more weeks with him would absolutely tear me up inside. Then I'd cling to my kids for the same reason - intense love and a refusal to accept that I don't have a seeming eternity with them.
Then I'd get mad. Oh sure, I'd love to sit here and say that I could take this with aplomb and grace. But that just wouldn't be the truth. I'd rage and scream against all the gods, fates, whatever sent this my way. I have no idea how long the anger would last. I'd like to say I could get past it and be one of those patient, soul-filled people that accepts God's plan, but I doubt it.
I'd go see my mom and sisters. I'd go for a good long visit with them and just cling to them too.
I would wish for the resources to take a trip to Europe. It's honestly about the only thing left on my bucket list. I guess that's a pretty good place to be in, having only one thing left on your bucket list.
I'd write. Oh God would I write. There are so many stories in me clawing to get out. When I wasn't clinging to the ones I love, I'd write. I'd have to. But I know what I turn out would be dark and depressing. I always write what I'm feeling at the moment.
I would NOT sleep. I would find somewhere to buy some speed (hey, what? I'm going to get addicted? Well, the "cure" is coming, right?). I'd pop as much as I could get away with without overdosing so I wouldn't waste a minute of the remaining time in sleep.
I would not be able to stop myself from listening to the clock. Even though we have no actual ticking clocks in the house, if I only had six weeks to live they would all start madly tick-tocking and I would be driven as crazy by the sound as ol' Cap'n Hook was.
I hope I never know how much time I have left. I can handle the idea of dying. At least in the abstract. But to know it's coming and know how long I have, that would be a cruel knowledge. I would hope not to waste the time I have left wallowing in self-pity, but I know me better than that. If I knew I only had six weeks to live, my heart would die immediately and I'd be a dead man walking, desperately clinging to the things I love with a terrified abandonment of all semblance of sanity.
Copyright © 2011 Denise Duggan
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