The Muse, Some Moxie and a Side of Sass

Normally this morning I’d be scurrying around the house putting the final touches together for our annual Faber Family Christmas get together. As we all know, this year is vastly different, and while I’m sad I won’t be seeing my family, and haven’t seen them since last year’s gathering, I know it’s for the greater good and the safety of us all. Still, it sucks but I’m thankful that so far, we’ve all been healthy, and I look forward to the day when we can all get together again and rehash the same old family stories that make us cry with laugher. As our family grows, and new babies and new fiancés get added (we have one of each this year), I look forward to showering them with the crazy love that our family exudes.

So, instead of pacing in front of my living room window watching for familiar cars to turn the corner and speed down the street, I’m snuggled on the couch with a second cup of coffee watching not the cars but the rain. I really am a young child when it comes to company coming, especially when it’s my family. I get so excited and it’s almost impossible to calm me down. It used to drive my Dad nuts (in a very good way), but he was one to talk because as soon as someone arrived, his face would light up brighter than the North Star. He’d immediately sweep the grandkids into his arms and all attention would be on them. They knew the routine and I think they looked forward to it as much as he did. There would be the inevitable “Claw” game and the kids knew what Grandpa was up to, but it didn’t matter, they still fell for it every time, especially the boys. Their laughter alone was reward for getting their fingers caught in “The Claw”. Now that my Dad has passed away, my brother Steve has been tasked with carrying on the tradition of “The Claw” and he does so with the great pleasure of inflicting pain on his nephews.

Rain in December is bullshit. With two weeks until Christmas, the ground is supposed to be covered in snow. That’s just the way it’s supposed to be. There are no exceptions to this Christmas rule. The song is “White Christmas” not “Muddy Christmas”. Still, I’ll hold out hope that Mother Nature will come through and there will be Christmas snow. Christmas snow is just the most magical thing, especially when you’re little and you go to bed on Christmas Eve and the ground is green. How on earth are the reindeer supposed to pull Santa’s sleigh in this muck? My parents had to answer this question for several years – trust me on that.

The minute my little feet hit the floor on Christmas morning, I was at my bedroom window checking to see whether or not my Christmas Eve prayers had come through. Even today, at fifty-years-old, I still do the same thing. And if my prayers had come true, then look out, I was an uncontrollable ball of excitable matter bursting into my parent’s bedroom screaming, “It snowed! It snowed! It snowed!” I still do, but nowadays, I just jump on my own bed. Or, if I’m staying at my sister’s place, I like to jump on my nephew’s. They are in their twenties now and let’s just say, they don’t appreciate my enthusiasm as much as I would like them to.

And wouldn’t you know that as I’m writing this, the rain has stopped, and the sun has come out. This has to be the metaphor for this entire year, I know it’s mine, particularly this past week. As I’ve written in my past few blogs, I’d been struggling a little lately but this week it stopped raining and my sunshine came out with a vengeance. I think really, it started a couple of weeks ago. Writing my initial post about feeling down was so therapeutic and it made me pause for a bit to understand what was going on and try to figure out beyond the obvious reasons, why I was feeling the way I was.

I came up with a few reasons. One, I was tired, like so incredibly tired, and when I’m tired everything goes to shit, and I just can’t seem to make anything work, let alone fight off any negative type emotions. So, the first, and most important thing I had to do was make myself rest, like really rest. I’m still working on that part because my job will still be a bit crazy for another week or so, but after that, it’s rest and more rest. I’m okay with that. In fact, I’m looking forward to it. In the meantime, I’ve done my best to try and slow down, turn off my screens, and just relax, not putting any pressure on myself to get things done.

I took that to heart last Saturday. Writing last week’s post about the anniversary of my Mom’s death took a lot out of me, and emotionally I was done (and I had a headache from crying). I don’t watch a tonne of television or movies, not because I don’t like them, I just seem to always being doing something else or most often, I’d rather just sit and listen to music to relax. Last Saturday I just had this urge to snuggle on the couch in the rec room and watch a movie. The fireplace was on and the big Christmas tree perfectly accented the ten candles I had lit on the coffee table.

It took me a good fifteen minutes to find a movie I wanted to watch. I don’t have Netflix, but I do have Amazon Prime, so I searched on there. I’m a sucker for a period piece and if it’s based on a book, then even better. I’d read “Little Women” when I was younger, but I’d completely forgotten the gist of the plot. I put on my jammies, poured myself a gigantic glass of wine – what? I’d had a tough day! – and settled in. If you haven’t seen the 2019 adaption of the Louisa May Alcott semi-autobiographical novel, I highly recommend it, especially if you yourself are a writer who’s seemingly lost her way a little with her craft.

I have never identified more with a principle character in a movie than I did with Jo March. In this film version, she is me, and I am her. Her wild, carefree and independent spirit tempered by other obligations. She desperately wants to write the stories she wants to write but there always seems to be something in the way or something holding her back in that moment. She pushes her own aspirations into the background as life chugs along and begins to doubt that she has the chops to make her dreams happen. Dreams aren’t just something that come true, they take work and effort, and a whole lot of gumption.

Like Jo, I’d lost my gumption. I’d lost my moxie. I desperately still wanted the dream, but I had let myself entertain the idea that maybe I just didn’t have it in me anymore. That maybe my writing would just consist of these once-a-week stories, totally discounting the fact that I’ve already written four books – one a novel and three true life memoirs – and created my own little publishing label. I seem to have forgotten that every month royalties from the sale of these books are deposited into my bank account. It’s not much more than a couple cups of coffee, but it’s something.

As I watched Jo on her journey over the two hours of the film, I could feel that little spark inside my belly again. The one I’d been waiting for. The one that truly sets my wild, creative spirit on fire. At the end of the movie, when Jo hugged her finished, printed novel in her arms with tears in her eyes, I cried right along with her. It made me remember that intense feeling when I’d held my own books. It’s a feeling that’s so hard to describe. It’s a feeling that I am hell-bent determined to feel again. I hardly slept that night, there was just this electric pulse surging through my body. I didn’t know yet how it was quite going to manifest itself, but I knew something was coming.

The next morning was spent just thinking about my Mom, reminiscing, and sharing a few quiet tears and quite a few laughs. I loved that woman with every bit of my soul, and all I’ve ever wanted to do in my life was to make her and my Dad proud, even more so now that they’re both gone. They left such a great legacy and as I looked at my own life, I wasn’t really sure what my legacy would be? I don’t have any children, so what can I leave behind to make my mark?  As I sat on the couch looking at her Little Tree, I could feel her presence all around me, and it was comforting, but there was also this weird dynamic in the air, and I wasn’t feeling the normal sadness and loss I’ve typically felt on the anniversary of her passing. I had a nervous energy about me, a real sense of peace and joy that I honestly couldn’t explain.

“What Mom? What are you trying to tell me?”

I knew she was trying to lead me somewhere, but my distracted brain wasn’t picking up the signals. I wasted away the rest of the day doing nothing all that productive, which was fine because I’d committed to resting, but my mind could not stop thinking about Jo, and my stomach would not stop fluttering. After dinner, I lit my candles, turned on the Fireplace Channel, and sat down again in the living room, her Little Tree sparkling and dancing against the darkness of outside. My laptop had powered down and the room just had the ambiance of flicker and flame. I stared at her Tree.

“What? I know you’re talking to me, Mom. Please, what is it?”

I looked over at the clipboard resting on the arm of the other couch, full of blank lined paper, my mechanical pencil stuck in the side. As a writer, it’s a daunting task to look at a blank sheet of paper, and I’ve been staring at that clipboard for a very long time now, wondering if I’d ever find the spark to fill it up with words. Or maybe it was courage, maybe it was finding the courage again. I needed to find the courage. I needed to believe that I did have it in me, and I could do it. In the old days, I’d talk to my Dad about it, and he would give me that push. My “go to guy” was gone. I’d have to find another way.

That was my second revelation. I’d have to find another way. If I really wanted to get back to writing in earnest, I’d have to find a way to make it work. I would have to dedicate myself and understand that where I was now in my life was not going to be where I ended up – not if I could help it. If I couldn’t find the courage to write for myself at the moment, then I would write for them. Because they would want me to. That would be my legacy. My words.

“Ohhh! Now I get it Mom!”

I swear to God that Little Tree shone a little brighter as I reached over and picked up that clipboard. Just like Jo, I pulled the candle close and I put the pencil tip to the paper. Then, my mind exploded. I wrote and wrote and wrote deep into the night. Then I got up the next day, went to work, then came home and wrote and wrote and wrote some more. It was like someone pressed play and a movie started in my head, and it didn’t stop until the end. I saw everything. The setting, the characters, the dialogue. I felt how the tempo was going to go, I understood the pacing and how all my little nuggets and plot teasers were going to fit together.

When I finally went to bed in the late hours of Monday night, I had a stack of papers containing an incredibly detailed outline and plot for the sequel to my first novel, “Songs About Life”. My hand was sore, but my heart was happy. Writing that second book was something I’ve been wanting to do for almost a decade, but I wasn’t quite sure how I wanted the story to go, and of course, I’d let life get in the way. Now in the matter of about twenty-fours hours, the whole thing had laid itself out in front of me. I take credit for none of it, really. Ideas just appeared in my head out of nowhere, faster than I could even get them down.

As I’ve mentioned, I’m not a religious girl but I am a spiritual one and I definitely felt the muse was guiding me. And it hasn’t stopped. I haven’t had a chance to sit down and start to write that book yet, but I will later this week. In the meantime, my head is exploding with the plot to another book, this one is a chapter book geared for the younger set, and it’s been percolating in my head for almost thirty years. When my Mom was sick, she spent a lot of time resting on the living room couch and I would sit in one of the big green chairs across from her, doing my schoolwork (I was in university at the time) or just chilling and keeping her company. This story is one of hope, and as I go back and re-read what I’d already written, it’s amazing to see just where my twenty-three-year-old head was at during that extremely tough time. I was thinking about hope and courage and perseverance. Funny, that seems to be where my head is at these days as well.

My heart is truly happy right now. I am excited about life again. The gates to my path forward have flung wide open and I’m so ready to get trucking. I don’t know if what I write will be any good or if people will like it. I can’t worry about those sorts of things. The minute you do, all momentum is lost, and you’re just playing a game that really isn’t any fun. I want to have fun again, and truth be told, I have the most fun when I am writing, especially a novel. It just sort of transcends me to this other place where I am free to create at will.

I know there will be challenges ahead. I know it’s going to be tough finding the time to write as much as I want to and I’m going to have to temper my expectations if my work life gets crazy again, which I anticipate it will. That’s okay. I’ll deal with it. My largest hurdle has already been conquered. I’ve begun and I’m feeling confident again. I got this. The rest is easy. I’ll just let my imagination run, and I do what I can to keep up.

So, look out world, this girl has got her mojo back. I’m feeling a whole lot of moxie with a heaping helping of sass. Sometimes it rains. Sometimes it even storms like a son of bitch. But somewhere along the way, the sun will come out, I promise it will, and when it does, do everything you can to soak up those rays and fill your bucket to the brim.

My sister just texted me that “The Sound of Music” is on television, so I have to go now. This is quite certainly another message from my Mother, and I will sit my butt down and watch it, just like we always used to do as a family. And yes, I will sing and dance because I know all the words to every song. And funny, as I watch it this minute, Maria is singing “I Have Confidence”. The universe has spoken. Time to get at it.

Peace and love,

Trish