Posts Tagged ‘Life’

Hello again dear readers.

It has come to my attention that it is crunch time for this college prep student. Only seven classes left before the re-assessment and Criminal Justice starts on the fourth of November.

Of course this is awesome, and slightly intimidating.

If only this was the only thing to worry about. I have fee’s coming out of my behind for seat holdings with the college, and I have to look at moving for the day after my final exam!

What a time I have ahead of me! At least my muses picked a good time (for once) to abandon my writings. Maybe they where wise enough to know this was coming!

What ever the reason, I hope I’ll be able to keep you all informed on my writing endeavors and how I will (possibly) balance this blog (And Psychotic November: To be opened November first this year), and school life as a full time college student. I have a lot on my plate, but what is a psychotic journey with out at least a little chaos?

(Trying to) Always Write,
Trisha Ellen

It isn't the destination, it's how you get there...

It isn’t the destination, it’s how you get there…



Hey everyone,

Now I haven’t fallen off the face of the planet… far from it, it would seem. Life as the title of the post states–just keeps on rolling. Since the last time you checked in with me, life decided to throw a fit.

I started my prep course for Criminal Justice, and it was going perfectly– so perfectly in fact i just knew deep down something was going to go wrong. Sure enough it did, and it came with a phone call from my mother who lives three-thousand-kilometers away from me. (that’s about 1864 Miles for you american readers…)

I was diligently doing my homework (a phrase I hadn’t thought i’d use again since i walked out of highschool) when the phone rang. My mom dropped a bomb on me that I didn’t think was possible.

My grandfather was in the hospital.

Of course I knew it could happen, it happens to everyone (unless you’re very lucky) at least once. Heck I’ve been there for life threatening condition… twice. However when you idolize someone, especially when they have never seemed to get sick, or have any real flaws ever, you think they are indestructible. As I am sure you have surmised so far, that was how I looked at my grandfather… needless to say I was devastated, and we still didn’t know what the diagnosis was.

Later that evening I called my mother back to check in, and my Aunt told me the news that utterly shattered me like I have never been shattered before.

My grandfather had stage four Colon cancer.

The next morning at 6:30, I was boarding a plane headed back to Ontario. I spent the next three weeks in a perpetual state of unknowing. Would he survive today, would he not? Was he getting better? Did anyone get better from cancer that far progressed?

Grief is a strange emotion, but even stranger when you’re not even aware you’re grieving.

He got better, at least his pain was under manageable control, and he was allowed to go home. I spent another week at his side, and then I had to fly home. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, saying goodbye and actually meaning I’ll never see you again.

Twenty Four hours later he was back in the hospital, and less than seventy two hours later he was gone.

Since I’ve been back home I’ve been living in a state of numbness. As if the grief was all grieved out, and I couldn’t cry anymore. My writing has gone nowhere and I have restarted my Prep Course. Live is rolling onward, but I feel as if I have been barely moving anywhere.

It’s a disorienting feeling, and rather odd for me. I am a person who stows the metaphorical crap, yet even still this numbness isn’t something I am used to. So while working through my own emotional Stability(?) I have been trying to keep my eye on the prize of my criminal justice prep course– however I have had to restart and that is defeating in and of itself.

Yet, as the nights grow colder, and the September summer in Calgary is coming to a close, I feel the refreshing air on my face, and pulled all of my winter clothes out of the storage (early is best I learned last year). I slowly feel as if I am waking up.

Maybe with this course and moving forward with my plans, the season will pick me up and deliver me into the hands of the ever fickle muses– and maybe just maybe you’ll get a Nanowrimo post update every week. (That is the Nanowrimo Novel!Whatever that may be… )

Anyway, Thank you for understanding my lack of posting for the last while, and thank you even further for listening (or rather reading) my little venting blurb.

I am sure there will be more venting occurring as I shift my focus to Nano, and then again to first year Criminal Justice. Oh and lets not forget to mention the psychotic nature of my own writing endeavours.

Trying to continue writing,

Trisha Ellen

It isn't the destination, it's how you get there...

It isn’t the destination, it’s how you get there…

That feeling of your head hitting the pillow after a long day of playing and fixing your writing…. “

So, while talking with a fellow author friend of mine I have come to the mildly irritating conclusion that sleep and authors don’t tend to get along.

This explains A LOT (Seriously).

I have always had trouble sleeping, because I had some thought pop into my mind at the very last minute demanding attention– which then demands expansion… which by the end of all the demands turns into a list of To-Do’s for the ever fickle and slave-masterly Muses. This is particularly annoying/obnoxious/frustrating when you as an author have just spent the better part of the day working on something; feeling the stubborn mule of inspiration digging its heels into the ground saying. Well F*@&# that.

As an author of any genre/style it’s exhausting trying and failing in pulling that wanted chapter [revision/article/cover art/comic panel] out of your mind: all we generally want is a good night’s sleep that lasts for 36 hours instead of the measly 7 we’re Lucky to get.

Of course what we want as our day has shown us quite bluntly isn’t a factor in what is going to happen… it’s a general rule somewhere.

We shut down our computers; put our pens and paperwork away. Stand up, shuffle zombie like to the coffee maker set it for morning then crawl our way into our bedrooms, flopping heavily on the bed. It’s a painstaking process to gather up our worn down energy reserves (in my case it’s usually running on fumes by then) to climb under those heavy blankets; tug them up to our chins and roll onto our sides to try our hands at this mysterious sleep– thing.

As I am sure you have been following by my implications, as sledge-hammer blunt as they have been. “Try” is the operative word here. Sleep may touch the mind for a split of a second but by then it’s already a long time far too late. Our eyes suddenly snap open, a glare being aimed to the heavens.

……only to find inspiration smacking you in the face as you look up at the ceiling. Next thing you know it’s after 4 am and sleep was only a fleeting whim…….

Authors by nature are lazy creatures. We don’t want to have to go fetch our bags, binders, pencils especially once we have gotten it into our heads that it’s BED TIME. It’s now our turns to dig in our heels and say ‘No, I’ll remember it in the morning.’

Have you ever tried digging your heels in when a mule or donkey decides it’s time to run? Good luck with that.

The muses are no different, once they decide to bestow their blessing of inspiration, an author’s mind has no choice but to follow it. Much like a fisherman who runs across the deadly sirens song; All ideas of sleep crash and burn. So we get up, jot down some chicken scratch hoping to appease the muses long enough to go back to bed. That chicken scratch becomes a novel of thought that thread between one another.

If there is no paper readily available, or exhaustion is too close (as tends to be the case more often than not) we plot and plan till our heavy eyes close, That sand papery feel of them scratching our peepers  reminds us that we need to blink more often while writing. That mild distraction that catches the muses off guard, much like the magpie the muses chase that shiny into oblivion of sleep.

When we wake once more: Drag ourselves to the coffee maker knowing we had something to remember, something jotted down somewhere. The winds of sleep and shiny distractions erase every word, every thought leaving only a vague impression of what once was. It reminds me of looking backwards on a beach as the tides come in. You have a vague impression as to the distance travelled by the evaporating footsteps but don’t really remember walking so far.

……Of course only frustration remains the next morning as the cycle begins again.

Welcome to the Authors life.

So, if anyone ever tells you the life of an author is simple. Kindly remind them that as my friend so eloquently put it…. “Writers = society’s acceptable insane” and we don’t generally begin our journey that way… it’s a trait that comes from dealing with the muses, and you are so not alone on this journey!

Always Writing,


 P.S. My many and vast apologies to you all out there in reader paradise, I have had a family emergency and haven’t really been active on the computer, never mind writing world. So far things look to be looking up and hopefully when I jump back into classes and play catch-up, I’ll have some time left over to get some serious writing done–[and that dastardly signature i said I’d so a while ago….]

Originally posted on [Link] My previous and lacking blog, What is posted here today is an edited version of the same post– that still stands today. Date posted [Saturday, December 10, 2011]