WHEN WRITERS AID WRITERS, coming through their wry ~ By Absolutely*Kate for all sparks

YOU'VE HAD YOUR FIRST LESSON IN LEARNIN' THE BLUES   ~ photo ala rudolfo elias

WHEN WRITERS AID WRITERS,

coming through their wry

By ~ Absolutely*Kate for all sparks

Hey. Straight out. Our next showcased writer under spotlights AT THE BIJOU has style, talent and after she wrote and sent the following story, "TOYS" through a dark night, she discovered she has a cancer fight. We won't give that crappy c-word any more power over her, as she's fighting cool and she's going to conquer, classy.  The spark in so many writers I know and you know have known it too ~ that when troubles come'round, having it tough is certainly having too much a share of enough. 

By day, Ryn Cricket is a wise teacher. She taught me what she taught this day:

RYN: "I thought about saying the C-word, or never addressing like Voldmort, but I'm taking the Harry Potter path on that. I'm comfortable talking about this.  I've had to tell six classes today, and I don't feel like crying about it anymore.  --Not saying the feeling won't come back. I think work must have been good for me, because i feel a lot more chipper than yesterday! Thank you so much Kate!"

Absolutely*Kate:  Ryn ~ What's going on? The prognosis? Your spirit? The goodness around you? Treatment options? Your inner core? Feel my energies swirl across Rte 80 into our Ohio'lands and then N to that place by Lake Erie. OK to run your story and let folks know to likewise pour the strength of good/great/grand energies your way? It's what I figgered I could do . . . for now. But I'm there, bolstering you to do Everything You Can Which Makes You Feel SuperGood About You.

RYN: "Kate! Thanks, I look forward to it. The prognosis is that I have a long road ahead of me.  I haven't been able to eat much for a week.  The cancer was in my tonsils, throat and neck, so I had a tonsillectomy. --That sucks at 41!  Well pretty much all of this sucks right now, doesn't it?  My doctor suggested milkshakes today.  That works.  On the 8th, we set-up my chemo/radiation plan. I'll know more after that.  My parents have been extremely helpful.  We're being taken care of by them well.  I guess my inner core is somewhere between angry and desperate.  I hadn't thought about it, but that's about where I am. The story "TOYS" was the first thing I had written in a long while, and it was before the whole cancer surprise.  I am going to get a flowering plant to show I believe in myself though.  Thanks for the idea."


By all sparks, Ryn Cricket is a wise writer. She taught me what she thought this day:

Absolutely*Kate:  Ryn thanks for filling us in ... I've been concerned. We'll rally 'round each step of going forward ... There's nothing like a warm rush of positives for kickin' back the crap/crud which comes at you. Fellow writers know sparks and have several helpings of wry before breakfast and coffee. They can dish it out to keep cheer in high gear. But first ... tell me will you, of WHY TO YOU, writing in the writing*world we've stepped into matters the more at times of aggravation in life's churnings? Thanks dear lady ... and may there be parts of each day that embrace you. Open your eyes to who is helping and showing up and you may very well come through this with a slew of new meaningful people who are lifelong keepers. Surprisingly, I did.

 
RYN: "I think writing for me is like an ache -- in a good way.  Maybe like a runner aches to run.  Usually, a character starts talking to me, name first, and gives me an inkling of direction.  And usually, it's at an inopportune time like when I'm driving or in the bathtub.  But they stay with me until I have a enough time to sit down and let them talk.  My favorite part, I have to admit, is that I'm always surprised by the ending.  It always ends in a way never expected.  I think right now, with all this chaos going on on my life, it grounds me." 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

FOLLOWING ~ IS ~ "TOYS", 

RYN'S LATEST TALE. 

RYN MISHA CRICKET CAN BE FURTHER ESSENCED AT HER BLOG, Katherynpeace, FURTHER CHEERED ON FACEBOOK OR  FURTHER INSPIRED THROUGH HER E'MAIL.

LET'S SPARK AS WRITERS DO

AND HELP HER WRY ~ SMILE 

THROUGH HER FEAR AND SORROW, 

WRITER SPARKS ARE EVERYTHING  ~ photo by cecl

S H A L L   W E ?

TOYS ~ By Ryn Cricket

TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE  ... dynamic photo ~ ala ART&SOL

 T O Y S

By ~ Ryn Cricket

Halfway home from work, I looked at the clock in my car.  It screamed “4:45!”  I was never going to make it in time.  Was he going to be pissed?  Maybe he wouldn’t even wait.  Fuck!  I tried to get out of the office faster, but all these new employees decided that was the time to bombard me with questions.

            “I really have to go!”  I finally told them.  “I have an important appointment.”  To which they all apologized as I literally ran out the door.  Of course I wasn’t going to tell them it was an appointment with “Jack.”  But then I never divulged my social life outside at work.  That only caused problems.  You tell them one bad thing, and it’s the only thing people remember, and then dwell on.  Anyway, Jack was different.  He held on to his own mysteries and only divulged small pieces of them like little pieces of chocolate that I was always honored to receive. 

            He was a writer.  So amazing with words.  And even though I’m well-read, and well-educated, Jack would often use words I would have to look up when he wasn’t looking.  He always picked the most precise words.  I loved waking up to his little gift of words to start my morning, and talking to all hours of the night.  Even on a work night, I didn’t want to stop or tell him I should sleep.

            My job was so full of pressure, and asserting myself at home was just tiring.  There was no reason to exude confidence, when I could just let the power be usurped.  It felt good to not have all that responsibility and just relax into a complete lack of power struggle.  I certainly couldn’t do that with someone I didn’t trust.  But he loves me.  He shows me all the time.  I could feel a smile coming over my face just thinking about his words, telling me how beautiful and perfect I am, telling me how much he loved and desired me.  Maybe he had told other women that in the past, but he told me I was the one who was everything he had been waiting for.

            I am not going to make it!  DAMN!  I really will be the one he is waiting for if I don’t get home in time.  I hate letting anyone down.  And I will be so disappointed if he’s not there.  Nights without him seem so dark and quiet.  I wonder around looking for something to occupy me and sleep early waiting for the next day that he will enter.

            He sent me all this obscure music that I fell in love with, I don’t know if because I felt it was such a beautiful gift or if it was because I actually really like it.  I made a CD collection and put it on my iPod, just so that it would provide me the soundtrack of my days.

            Finally!  Pulled into the driveway, a little faster than anyone really should, left my bag –I’ll get it later.  Ran in the house, went to the bathroom so I wouldn't have to pee when I was with him, checked my hair and face, ran a brush through my hair, put on some lipstick.  Ok, just the way he likes me.  Went back into the living room, opened my laptop.

            “There you are, Alyssa!”  he said.

            “I know.  I was late.  Work was crazy!”  I began to apologize.

            “It’s alright.  You’re here now.”  He smiled.

            “Yeah but I hate missing any minute with you!”  I said.  He smiled at me again.

            Then he laughed.  “We have our whole future together.  What’s a few little minutes?”

            “That’s true.”  I smiled and laughed back.

            “I know what you need, you understand my needs.  We have quite a future, don’t we?”  He said.  “You’re blushing!”  He caught me.

“When can we actually meet?”  I asked him.  “I want to feel you so bad!”

“Hold on a second, please…Ok, I’m back.  A train ticket from me to you is just $69.  I can be there anytime you purchase one.  I see an interesting irony in that number.”  He laughed.

As we continued talking, I secretly worked on booking the seat.

“You know, I could wait all day to talk to someone who is intelligent, beautiful and knows herself the way you do.”  He said.  I blushed again.  I tried to look normal on the cam, so he couldn’t see what I was doing, or how happy I was about it. 

“I think, my lovely dear, you have charmed me into loving you!”  I blushed again.  I had the two screens open at the same time.  I even got out my credit card, without him seeing.

“It’s done.  I bought it.  You’ll be here Thursday at 8:30 pm.  You’ll be here!  WOW!  In just a few days.  That’s….78 hours, and 42 minutes!  WOW!  I’m so excited!”

“You never cease to surprise me!”  He laughed again, at what I thought was my over zealousness, but really, it was because he had had this exact conversation.  This was the eighth time he was able to convince someone to send for him this summer.  Not only would he get laid, he’d win that $500 bet with Mark.  Hell, maybe he’d even get to see that movie everyone’s been talking about.

 (c) 2010 ~ Author Ryn Cricket

         

How 'bout that? When a writer meets a writer ~ comin' through the wry? Ryn Cricket can chirp wry and encompass 'why?' ... yet you'll never catch this writer'gal being high and dry. As the old tune warbles, "She's got highhhh hopes" < and she knows how to use 'em!

I've been glad to come across her gutsy writing style in the worlds she reaches and to feel a glimpse of that resilient spirit at each passing smile or smirk or "Atta Girl" that her words evoke. They go personal, they go passionate and perennially they hold her up and bolster past where any storm may enter.

You keep chirpin' Cricket.

We're listenin' ... Write ... write ... write. 

BIJOU BOUQUET ~ pic ala GeraldBrazell

Absolutely*Kate
and our fine staff of renown

AT THE BIJOU,

  sending best of good good good vibrations to conquer those damnation critters ~

"Lady be a Champ!"