Sally Fairchild's Journal

And the big things . . .

2007-07-26T20:00:00.000-07:00

Last February, my son's two dogs came to stay. Although it was to be a temporary stay until my son settled into a new area, they've been with me for six months now. In the beginning, my husband was not in favor of the "two lummoxes" staying with us. Mainly because we have a seven pound poodle who rules the house and he worried that the two bigger dogs would take attention away from the little dog. Both my husband and the little dog were unfriendly and aloof the first few weeks.

Austin, 2 years old, weighs around 75 pounds and Vegas, a year old, is smaller at about 55 pounds. Both are pit mixes, although I'm not saying this anymore. I've shortened it to "a mix" which it truly seems to be. Austin is a beautiful rust colored dog and most resembles a Rhodesian Ridgback. Vegas is thin and wiry, and he has so many folds in his neck that my niece nicknamed him "Sharpea." Austin came from a shelter and my son found Vegas abandoned at a dog park at about 3 months old. He intended to drop him at a shelter but Austin seemed more settled with another dog around and the two now seem to complement one another beautifully. So Vegas stayed.

As the weeks passed, my husband grew to love both dogs and their antics often had us laughing and joking and playing together with them. The dogs enhanced the quality of the last weeks I shared with my husband.

And since my husband's death, I've come to feel that there was a reason why the dogs came to us when they did. They helped me cope with my husband's sudden death.

The dogs have me on a schedule. When I wake up, so do all three dogs. They stretch and begin following me around the house as I wash, dress, put on the coffee and collect their leashes. Then I walk each one individually. First Austin, then Vegas and, finally, the little poodle. It's not exactly as their dog heirarchy stipulates as the littliest dog is really the boss, but all seem content with this arrangement.

I read somewhere recently that early morning sunlight is wonderful for counteracting depression and I thought, so that's it! I have to make sure I wear a good SPF sunscreen and I'm more tan now than I have been for years. That's nine individual dog walks a day averaging 10-15 minutes each and then one group walk at midnight lasting only minutes.

The big dog loves to take what I call sunbaths. He drops and rolls in the grass nearly every afternoon and his pleasure and delight in rolling in the sun baked earth and scented green grass gives me as much pleasure as it does him. Then he sits and looks around, his big nose twitching as he simply enjoys the moment.

Vegas, the youngest and still like a puppy, trots along eagerly with a cute bounce to each step, and exhibits the innocence of a small child. Especially in the morning, his interest is captured by anything that moves: a bird, bug, butterfly or just a simple feather resting in the grass. Although feathers he views as if a cobra snake about to strike and he hops forwards and backwards trying to decide how close he can get. His antics every morning always chase away my sadness and bring a smile to my face.

And then they're immensely curious about everything I do and follow me everywhere. I can't open a cabinet, drawer or, especially, the refrigerator without two heads appearing beside me. I suspect they're more aware of what's in the house than I am.

I work at my desk for long hours each day. All three dogs have beds in my office and they take turns shifting and moving around in them, but all remain with me throughout the day. Vegas likes to be under my desk and prefers to rest, if possible, on my feet. If I move to the couch in the living room, Austin immediately puts his head in my lap and loves being stroked and petted. For him, it's a necessity. When I'm feeling sad or begin to cry, the dogs seem sensitive to my moods and all collect around me.

Austin, who craves a hug, is such a comfort. I love to wrap my arms around his muscular body and rest my head on his strong shoulder. He stands quietly when I do so, as if he knows how much it means to me, too.

Although I feel my husband's absence, the dogs have helped fill the void. They're always around me, touching me whenever possible even if it's just a head on my foot. Walking them has put me on a daily schedule so I'm always aware of the time and the necessity to make the most of it. I feel this has curtailed the amount of time I would have spent simply grieving. Instead, I've had to move forward each day, if only for the sake of the dogs who look to me a "pack leader" even though I've felt rudderless on the inside.

They've banished my tears and brought forth smiles with their joyful innocence in the world around us and the simply beauty of each day. In February, I was a bit afraid of both dogs because they're much bigger and stronger than any dog I've ever owned. But walking each one over the months and spending my days with them has helped me to bond with them in a way I'd never envisioned. They mind me so well now that a neighbor said she thought I was a dog trainer! Although, truthfully, I'm not sure who trained who. Certainly I've spoiled them with lots of attention but they've given me so much more.

I think they were sent to me as a way to help me through one of the most trying times of my life. And I'm so grateful for the comfort and love they've given me.

Next week, they'll be leaving, although I'll still see them a few times a month. My husband used to joke that the dogs would have "tears in their eyes when they left." Maybe, as I've certainly spoiled them with lots of time and attention, but they've rewarded me with so much more.

The tears when they leave will be mine..

It's the little things . . .

2007-07-25T22:40:00.000-07:00

Some might say I'm in recovery. It's been a little over three months since I knelt in the hot Florida sun and watched someone I loved die, so quickly that there was no time to say goodbye or any of the other things I've since wished I'd said more often in the preceding months.

As the EMT's arrived,one pulled me away and ordered,"I need you stay calm and tell me what I need to know."

Perhaps that was when it started. The ability to move through that day and the next and the weeks since doing all the necessary things that were required of me. Masking the heartache, an internal anquish that I'm most aware of in the first moments of awakening. His things are still in the house,the telephone rings with callers asking for him, mail addressed to him arrives with regularity and, if I don't pickup the phone, I'll hear his voice on the answering machine. But with each passing day I'm becoming more accepting that his chair is empty and that I won't hear his footsteps on the stairs or his key opening the front door.

My work has stretched to include doing the chores and tasks that my husband had done--banking, paying bills, post office and grocery shopping--along with the addition of death-related business matters. So when my son suggested planting some flowers in the empty beds outside, I discouraged him saying, "Watering them would just be one more thing to do. I don't have the time." Or the inclination I wanted to say. Planting and watering flowers seemed far outside my reality.

But my son ignored my wishes and bought plants. Purslane. A favorite of mine. He planted them, watered them and, before his visit ended, presented me with a watering can and then followed up with daily emails asking if I'd watered the plants that day.

It's been several weeks now and the plants are thriving...growing lush and healthy. When I open the blinds each morning, the pretty pink and yellow blooms bring a lift to my heart. The simple pleasure of looking at them throughout the day as I go in and out of the house gladdens my spirit. I'm surprised that I enjoy the morning task of watering them and, today, even found myself wondering what I'd replace them with in the fall or early winter.

I'm remembering, too, that I gave away my orchid plants on this last move. I'm looking at my bare outdoor porch and wondering now if I could place a few orchids there. Maybe this weekend--or sometime in the coming weeks--I might visit a local nursery and see what's in stock.

I'm also thinking it's the little things like watching a new plant take root, grow and bloom with a little care that will ease the transition into this new life of mine.

Deja Vu

2007-07-25T22:27:00.000-07:00

As I reactivate this blog--started so long ago, then abandoned as the hectic demands of work and life interferred with all my best intentions as well as a major move from Boca Raton to Apollo Beach--I've just reposted below what I'd written in what now seems another lifetime. And the last conversation between two Sun City widows overheard in a Borders coffeeshop is now coming back to haunt me.

Because thirteen weeks ago, I, too, became a widow.

So this blog is now about more than just my efforts to complete a novel; it's also about my struggle to make it through each day and each week without my husband. Something I hadn't expected to happen for many years, if at all. And, more than ever, I'm determined to finish my novel, already partially complete. And another one that is so clear to me that I wake up with the characters carrying on conversations. So bear with me as I filter through the changes and anguish of my life through the posts in this blog.

Slice of Life

2007-07-25T22:23:00.000-07:00

“It isn’t as if she’s in love with him.”

I paused, fingers poised on my laptop keyboard and mentally rewound the words I’d just heard spoken at a nearby table. I couldn’t possibly have heard correctly, could I?

I’d settled in so nicely at the café in my neighborhood Borders store for some concentrated writing. Just seconds before, I’d been dismayed when two very elderly women had shuffled past me with cups of coffee and painstakingly seated themselves at the table next to mine. I’d had an impression of white hair and physical infirmities and--slightly annoyed at having my space invaded, not to mention concentration interrupted--wondered why they’d chosen to sit so close to me when there were so many other empty tables to choose from. Especially when I was obviously working, not relaxing with my own coffee or a book.

If I’d created two eighty plus year-old-characters in a novel, I don’t think I’d ever think of having one of them--once they’d both settled, taking time to stir cream and sugar into their coffee--speak that first piece of opening dialogue.

“It isn’t as if she’s in love with him.”

Love the line, but the speaker doesn’t fit. Or does she?

Intrigued, I listened, although frankly hard not to unless I’d had earplugs as the woman’s voice was loud and rusty with age.

“Since he went into the hospital, she’s just worried what will happen to her now. She claims she won’t be able to cope alone. Says she’s not strong. Like us.” A sip of coffee, and the speaker continued, “Well, we did it. We learned. And so can she.”

I reached for paper and pen and began to scribble notes. The ladies went on their way, off perhaps to catch a bus back to Century Village, but leaving me to ponder about their lives. About their friend whose husband is so sick. But primarily I thought about the glimpse I’d been given into the world of a widow; the difficulties and adjustments of this transition and the sisterhood that binds them all together.

In the space of time that it takes to drink a small cup of coffee, my conscious awareness of widows altered.

It’s yet another reason why I’m enjoying my new writing environment.

Who knew life at the cafe would prove so interesting. And so much better than anything I could ever imagine.

State of Mind

2007-07-25T22:18:00.000-07:00

After a hectic week, I ducked into my local bookstore, collected books and magazines and ordered my favorite breve with a shot of hazelnut in the coffee shop. (I've spent a lot of time lately in the Seattle area where I picked up this coffee addiction!) This past week I accomplished a lot and it taught me that if I push myself I can do much more than I thought possible. I also learned that sticking to a strict schedule is really essential. It's now 2 a.m. and I'm about ready to quit for the day. It's a bit early to pat myself on the back but my alarm is still again set for 7a.m....

I enjoyed my late Sunday afternoon at Books-A-Million. It was a treat to sip my breve and decide which book or magazine in my stack I'd reach for first. I'm careful about book and magazine buying because I'm a pack rat. Once I bring it home, it stays and, frankly, I'm running out of room. But couldn't resist purchasing the February issue of Writer's Digest. I especially enjoyed the article by author and literary agent Laurie Fox titled Double Identity. It's about "how one agent applies her on-the-job training to her own fiction writing career." Okay, I'm not an agent but I, too, lead a double life so totally identified with much of what she wrote. I was also surprised that she, too, felt that a laptop was a wonderful solution for helping her to get away from all the demands of her regular work. It's portablity makes escape to a less demanding space possible and so much easier to focus on just one task.

Also the article writer is a believer in writing the draft and spending time on revision. This is rather a new concept to me as I tend to write and then polish a section before I move forward. So I have a really good draft when I've finished. That's been my habit but one I'm changing. Right now I'm strictly concentrating on getting the draft written and then I'll go back and rewrite, filling in all the details I've glossed over and doing any necessary research.

I'm challenged to do this for several reasons. Avon author Elizabeth Boyle has a tip on her website regarding her own success at making this transition. She's become more prolific since she began quickly writing a first draft. Also I read The Guardian by Nicholas Sparks and absolutely loved the book. In the author note at the back of the book, he says it took eight drafts to get just the right balance between the two major plot lines. I enjoyed the book so much that the fact that he spent this extra time to get it just right appeals to my own Virgo mindset. Although I'm not sure I'd like to do eight re-writes!

I spent one day last week with author Heather Graham. It was one of those really rare fun days spent at a luxury hotel catching up on each other's lives. We both thought it was something we should do more often. One of the subjects we discussed was my own recent interest in an Elvis impersonator in the Seattle area. I've seen Steve Sogura perform four times in the last six months and I was trying to explain to Heather why I find sitting in his audience so enjoyable. Besides the fact that he's handsome, talented and has a voice very similar to Elvis, the whole experience makes me feel like I'm young again. Rather like re-capturing a slice of my life. My sister, Shirley, got me hooked on Steve (not to mention low fat breves!) and we've had a lot of fun this past year re-connecting via Steve. As I write this, I'm listening to a TV show called "Elvis: The Men Who Would Be King" and wishing Steve was on instead as he's so much better than the impersonators featured on the program. I was surprised to learn there were only 150 Elvis impersonators in 1977 and today there are about 35,000!

Then I learned why. One impersonator explained that he's "keeping the magic alive."

I suppose Steve helps me to remember the magic when I was much younger, single and, later, newly married. I'm recapturing the same pleasure now with writing. Trying a new method and routine. Writing a quick draft with the intention of filling in more specific details in the second draft. Embracing the challenge of revising and rewriting.

My own way of keeping the magic of the writing process alive.

A new state of mind.

Daily Habits

2007-07-25T22:13:00.000-07:00

Keeping on a writing schedule, like a diet, is doubly difficult during the holidays, especially when part of the time you're on vacation in another part of the country. I'm told that on average people gain about 10 pounds between Thanksgiving and New Years. Normal stringent eating habits erode when confronted by so many temptations like fruit cake, homemade fudge and, in my case, family favorites cooked especially for me during a recent visit to Seattle. Not to mention visiting restaurants like the Space Needle, Chinook's and Thirteen Coins. So it's no wonder that now at the beginning of a new year, I'm re-dedicating myself not only to a better eating program, but also the writing process.

I'm currently reading two very helpful and motivational books. The first is GOALS! How to Get Everything You Want--Faster Than You Ever Thought Possible by Brian Tracy. The second is How Good Do You Want to Be? A Champion's Tips on How to Lead and Succeed at Work and in Life by Nick Saban (new head coach for the Miami Dolphins.) I'm reading, making notes and thinking daily about some of the information in both books, especially the qualities necessary to achieve goals. One thing that seems very important--and there are documented studies to support this--is to actually write down one's goals, not simply to know what they are. And, secondly, not to necessarily tell them to anyone, a practice I've implemented already.

Reading, digesting and implementing the ideas from the above books may help to encourage and motivate writing discipline, to keep me on track in terms of completing my book but, as one friend recently suggested, the solution may be even simplier.

While in Seattle, I had dinner with two special girlfriends. Catherine, Mary and I met in high school and went on to attend the University of Washington together, so our friendship predates husbands and children, making it even more precious. In our late teens and early twenties, the three of us loved to get together and play pinochle and, over the years, Cathy and I have teased Mary that she was always the first to look at her watch and say, "Oops, time to wash my hair." She has gone on the achieve a great deal in her life since that time, including becoming a professor herself at the University of Washington. After enjoying a delicious dinner at Catherine's condo overlooking the Seattle harbor, we sat around having coffee and discussing our present lives and eventually the conversation turned to my current book, long overdue and one I've struggled to write. I spoke about the many things that occupy my time each day and Mary listened quietly. When I finished, she asked me, "Do you brush your teeth every day?"

A simple question. But one so direct, thought provoking and ultimately hitting at the core truth of the matter. Now it's the question--and answer--that is at the forefront of my thinking each day. My commitment to writing each day is the same as all the daily tasks I routinely perform without angsting over, making excuses for, putting off, or not accomplishing. I just do them. Without question.

Now, I confess, there are some hectic days when I actually don't get to brush my teeth until later than usual. But eventually I find a minute to do so. And, this January, I'm making writing another daily habit, done without fail. If it works for me, check the book dedication for Mary's name!

Sunday Paper

2007-07-25T22:10:00.000-07:00

The best part of Sunday is getting up and grabbing my coffee along with the Sunday paper. I used to read two papers a day but it just got to be too much so these days I limit myself to the Sunday edition of the Fort Lauderdale Sun Sentinel. Besides the ads for sales at my favorite stores and entertainment section with book reviews and bestseller lists, I enjoy the sports section. At this time of year, I can catch up on winning and losing football teams, especially at the college level. I've been a University of Miami Hurricane fan for the past twenty years. And sometimes--but certainly not at the moment--I'm interested in the Miami Dolphins.

So even though I'm sipping coffee--all relaxed and simply in the moment, I invariably reach for a pair of scissors and start clipping. It's amazing how many ideas for novels or characters come from reading this thick paper once a week. In particular, this week I found a terrific article titled, "Polo clubs changing to win more fans." Several of the polo clubs in my area are undergoing extensive renovation and at least one will now offer evening polo in a lighted playing field. Since one of my main characters is the captain of a polo team, this info was invaluable. I have several boxes of such clippings that I frequently sort through when I'm looking for inspiration. You can be sure I'll attend at least one of these evening matches this winter. (The polo season in Palm Beach county runs from about late November through April.)

This week I spotted an interesting website review for a site that translates English into other languages. It's www.freetranslation.com and will be a resource I'll use often. I usually have at least one character who speaks another language and so often need short phrases or sentences in Italian, Greek or German. I checked out the site and had fun plugging in some of my more normal responses and quickly had the translation. A real time saver for me.

Also, last week several of the boards I'm active on discussed a writer's fears and anxieties with much back-and-forth input for both unpublished and published writers with solutions and accounts of personal experiences. One member today summed up the past weeks posts with this observation, "The bottom line I'm hearing is to just do it and not stress out over things; to trust your inner creativity and talents."

Ditto.

Wedding Dress Draft

2007-07-25T22:06:00.000-07:00

Caught an interesting segment on TV this morning. One of the hosts designed a wedding dress for a friend. She sketched two dresses, and showed the bride-to-be the designs along with swatches of fabric choices. Based on feedback from the bride-to-be, one design was modified and then this dress was sewn as a preliminary sample for fittings and more alterations.

This sample was sewn in muslin.

The cheapest and most economical fabric possible.

This muslin sample was then used as a prelimnary model for adjustments and modifications before being sewn in luxurious and costly fabric.

I determined to trick my Virgo mindset into thinking of my current novel as the muslin version. It doesn't have to be perfect. I have time to tweak and fiddle and delete and add. Just later. No more polishing and re-reading and fretting before moving on to the next scene/chapter. I'll do this when the muslin draft is completed.

Now as I write, I picture in my mind the image of that beautiful wedding dress made first in muslin.

Finding Emotion

2007-07-25T22:00:00.000-07:00

Spotted a nice, quiet nook at my local library today. Plan to keep it in mind as a possible creative escape spot for myself.

Great article in the new Writers Digest about putting emotion into your writing. Lots of good tips including writing your heart out in the inital draft and then going back and doing editing and polishing. I need to keep this in mind as I have the tendancy to dwell on making each page "perfect" before continuing on.

"If there are no tears in the writer, there will be no tears in the reader."

Getting Started

2007-07-25T21:57:00.000-07:00

SALLY FAIRCHILD is my maiden name. It's been many years since I've used it but that all changed when I published a novel and chose to use it once again. Now publishing associates use this name when giving me a public acknowlegement in a book or web letter. It always takes awhile for me to make the connection, Hey, that's me! It's almost like being a split personality...but I'm getting used to it.

What I've got to develop is getting used to maintaining this blog. I'd like to use it to journal my attempt (successful, I sincerely hope and pray) to finish a novel I conceived of about five years ago. I did the synopsis and about a quarter of the book and then life happened. Not sure why finishing this novel suddenly became a huge mountain in front of me, and one I was expected to climb.

And quickly.

It didn't happen, although I'm not sure why. Lots of friends and family have their theories but I've never really settled on a reason. Empty nest syndrome is the easiest explanation, although perhaps not the true one even though my children all left home and moved far away about this time. But lots of other things were happening along with this so maybe a combination. It's sort of like that odd smell that you can't identify or figure out where it's coming from.

You just know you want to get rid of it.

Right now, I've a page goal for each day and a weekly goal, in case I'm over or under my daily page quota. In addition, next week I've decided to find a local coffee shop to go to for my morning coffee and use this as my writing time. I keep busy doing many other things so carving out time for myself is almost as great an accomplishment as actually writing the novel!

And speaking of writing...it's time.

Back later,Sally