Chirp!

When I said the house was too quiet to work this weekend - I think someone got the wrong idea. I was praying for the pitter-patter of tiny paws to find their way to me.

I see now I needed to be specific. Sure, the house was far from quiet today, but not in the way I hoped. Ten minutes after hubby left this morning I heard a load chirp.

"What was that?"

"Chirp!"

"Is that inside the house?"

"Chirp!"

"Seriously, what is that?"

"Chirp!'

At this point I could no longer ignore my new companion. Upon investigation, I discovered it was the shrill voice of the smoke alarm in the bedroom. Apparently, just wanting to let me know it's battery needed changing.

"Chirp!"

"Okay. I got it. But you are 13 feet in the air and I can't carry the ladder in here myself. So you're just gonna need to keep it down till hubby gets home tonight."

"Chirp!"

"Seriously? You're gonna keep this up all day?"

"Chirp!"

Open

It has been a week friends. Losing my kitty has been so hard, and I know many of you have had the same experiences with ones you've loved. I knew she was going to leave us for awhile. I think it did help me in some ways to prepare myself for her loss. I had prepared my mind and my heart as much as I could. I see now, how depressed I was over the last few months, knowing the loss was coming.

I expected to be sad, but then there are all the moments I didn't plan for. The first time my husband left the house and there was no singing. The first time I came home without a floofy belly to greet me. Realizing I could leave a glass of water by my bedside without fear of cat saliva. Brushing my teeth and being able to spit without worrying about hitting a cat head. Closing a door in my house, any door other than the hall closet where the Evil Dyson lives, without an angry serenade.

As sad as this week has been it has also been filled with very touching moments. Reading all the comments from all over the world has touched our hearts. Animal people are great people.

When I think about writing, I ask for the inspiration to write things that make others feel something, or think about something in a new way. Often it is through laughter, but what ever the tone in the end I want my words to mean something to my reader. As we read all those beautiful words sent by others, I realized I have touched people with my words. Sure they were spoken as my beloved cat, but they spoke to our  humanity.

I remember a literary agent read our book and her critique was that the book was just about my cat. She asked what was special about my cat - did she do anything special?

"Like cure cancer? No, she's just a housecat... She doesn't get out too much." I said, knowing that I would probably need to self-publish.

I didn't have the right answer then, but I do now... Of course she was special, but she was also no more special than the kitties in the lives of my readers. If you love them, all cats are special. All cats are perfectly imperfect when you love them.

I have had a few people ask me if I will get another pet - knowing how sad these moments are - and the answer is yes, of course. I would never trade all the joy and love that came before to avoid this pain. Pain is fleeting and it too has its lessons to teach me. My heart is still broken, but it's also open.

Passing

It is with the heaviest heart that I report that our beloved Finny De Floof has left this world.

I think all of you who know me here know of my beloved kitty Fin. For those of you who don't know she was diagnosed with gastrointestinal lymphoma back in November.She was so sick at the time I never dreamed she would live this long, but my girl was a tiger.

She lived comfortably for the most part, with a few bad spells that she had always managed to pull out of. Each bad spell took it's toll though, and she grew progressively thinner and weaker. When she stopped eating on Sunday, even with the appetite enhancing pills, we knew the time was coming.

We waited till yesterday afternoon, just in case she was able to rally again. When I carried her out onto her beloved porch and she tucked her head into my chest - we knew the time had come. She was helped to the bridge by the kind vet who diagnosed her and her Dad beside her.

I knew my hysterical sobbing would only cause all of us more pain. I stayed behind so her spirit could find her way back to me. I'm sure it did too. I feel her all around me - oddly enough hovering around my water cup.

She was a perfectly imperfect cat that we couldn't have loved more.

Fin

Block Three

Perfection is a hard thing to achieve. To expect it of yourself in a first draft is just mean.

As a trainer I would never expect my trainees to be perfect, or anywhere close to perfection on the first try. I would never sit in judgement and assume they would never be good enough to do the job based on those first tentative steps.

I would encourage them. I would ease their fears. I would tell them that competence would come in time and perfection had no place in the process. If they were scared I would make them do it anyway - knowing that they would be successful and gain confidence.

So why am I so hard on myself? Why do I expect perfection on the first try and consider anything less as - unworthy of attempt? My creative endeavors often begin ugly and unformed. Words tumble out of my brain rambling and unfocused - not yet ready for sharp scrutiny. Perfection shouldn't be expected.

At the end of the day - words just need to be written - one at a time. Sometimes they flow easily and sometimes they need to be dragged into the light of day kicking and screaming. My job is just to listen and write them down.

Perfection is a long way off. Enjoy the journey.

Block Two

My next block was a worry that I had about dedication.

I have always been a person who is very driven at working for someone else. I have also been a person who is un-motivated when it comes to working for myself.

I worried that if I was allowed to work at home writing that I would be unable to work and accomplish things. I am in month three of my new job of working from home. I am happy to report I am just as dedicated to my work when I am home.

So I've proved to myself that I can be dedicated and get a full days work done on a daily basis. Would I be that dedicated if I was writing the things I want to write - rather than the things I am getting paid to write? Well it's still a question, but I see it for what it is now.

It's fear. It's another block in the wall of things that hold me back. I now know that I am capable of great dedication to work even at home. So would I rather write about worky stuff or about my screenplay, or novel, or this blog, or my new cat book? I think the answer is clear.

Since writing the things I feel passionate about doesn't pay the bills yet, I will be filling my off-hours with the same dedication to my own ideas. Don't I deserve to have the same level of dedication for myself that I give so freely to others?

Yes I do. Block broken and slowly being removed.

Block One

My first block came down recently in the most unexpected way. I did an exercise awhile back where I had to complete this sentence:

A writer is....

I was surprised by my answers. A writer was - lots of things I am not. Snooty, full of themselves, condescending, and pompous. I think those must have come from watching too much TV because it's not the case in any writers I actually know.

A writer was also some things I was more familiar with like unemployed, poor and frustrated. Why did I want to be a writer?

My answers weren't all bad. Writers were also well-educated, famous, and great with grammar.

I can't deny that there are some writers who are probably are some or all of those things. None of that really matters though because I am none of those things (okay maybe frustrated). Was I afraid I would be become someone totally different if I reached the elusive title of Writer? At some level yes I was. It's like Being a Writer was some magic wand that would totally transform me. Or if I couldn't be those things that I would be denied access to some secret club.

That block was broken by all things the Internal Revenue Service. On this year's taxes I finally made enough money to have to declare myself a Writer.

I am still me - minus one block of fear. I know it seems silly but it has been incredibly freeing. So friends is there something you want to be but are afraid to be? Try to answer your sentence and see if there might be some deep dark thoughts holding you back.

Unblocking

It's funny how the oddest things sometimes can cause you to move forward.

Maybe I'm not alone, but I admit I have a few blocks that keep me from being what I most want to be. Blocks for me come down to one thing, fear. Fear that stands between me and the destiny I feel has been laid out for me. Destiny that I seem to fight for reasons I do not always understand.

I spent so many years floundering down different creative paths trying to find where I fit. My family is filled with talented artists and I tried to follow their footsteps, but nothing ever felt right. Painting was hard. Drawing was impossible. Sculpture was laughable.

Writing was easy. I thought that it must be easy for everyone.  

When I realized that writing was the path for me I was thrilled. What had always been easy would certainly continue to be so right? Wrong. Suddenly what had been easy - also became hard. I started to get hung up on the same things I did before - just dressed in a new form. Fear was back - not as paralyzing - but everything became difficult again.

I plan on busting down those blocks one at a time because I am tired of them being in my way. Maybe my sharing those blocks with you will help you to clear out blocks of your own, or at least it will help me to really get past them myself. I think that once fear sees the light of day it's going to be harder to go back to being a block. Let's get ready to rumble!