Writing what you think and thinking while you write

Me and the Hobbes puppy went walking in the park this afternoon. I’m debating writing what you think and thinking while you write. Hobbes was just happy he didn’t have to do either.

I have Ramsay Hunt Syndrome which is the chicken pox virus active in my facial nerves. It’s basically shingles in those nerves. If you’ve had shingles then you know I’ve been in tremendous pain. But Neurontin and pain killers have kept me afloat. Well mostly I’ve been kept afloat with prayer. I hugely believe in prayer.

My face started feeling funny a month ago and then the whole right side went numb or paralyzed. I could not feel my tongue–no taste. Frightening really. My face drooped a lot. The er dr didn’t pick up on Ramsay Hunt but thought it might be Bells Palsy and put me on an antiviral that didn’t work but I soon saw a neurologist. The neurologist put me on Valtrex and I’m mending. I have about 3/4 of my face back. I can almost smile completely.

The difference between Ramsay Hunt Syndrome and Bells Palsy is mostly that you’ll have a rash with Ramsay Hunt and there is more pain. My rash was on the inside of my jaw. Like blisters.

My eye didn’t close for awhile and Ramsay Hunt caused the right side of my face to be paralyzed. Extreme pain was in my ear, under my jaw, and behind my eye. The pain is 50 to 75% improved. I was tired all the time and still am a bit. I’ve had loads of time to think about writing.

Hundreds of childhood stories fill my brain and I tend to write what I’m thinking and think while I’m writing. The story unfolds as the letters appear on the page.

I think it’s discipline learned through practice. I have total confidence that the story will continue as I type. I’m doing it now. Glory be! It comes from years and years of writing. Now it’s second nature. Do I ever hit a slump? Well not much cause I’ve been gifted with the ability to gab and comprehend anything from mechanical manuals to the current health care issues. I also read a lot—gobs on varied topics— and so have lots of topics to give way for rabbit trails.

I’m supposed to be writing a book called, Singing Behind the Trowel published by Make Your Mark Publishing. It’s called semi self publishing. You still have to get your manuscript approved but you pay an agreed amount to buy so many number of books. You sign a contract and they do all the work from there out. It’s a total nightmare to get your book on Amazon but they do that too.

Singing Behind the Trowel is about Ada Hopper and her daughter Hyacinth Wiles. They are wildcrafters which means they grow and harvest plants that are beneficial. In their case they treat the people who live in their community which makes them medicine women also. People come to trust them and confide all kinds of decent and indecent activities or life situations.  It’s filled with old timey recipes and just plain goodness with laughs and love filling the story. I’m just nuts about the story and have been doing so much research that it has all turned in to a series already.

Singing Behind the Trowel takes place in the Appalachian Mountains and is in a modern day timeframe. Through Hyacinth’s love for a pharmaceutical bioengineer who comes seeking ‘the old that is new again’, they discover a medicine that will do miracles. Just what miracles you’ll have to wait and see. This story is based on fact and fiction. I’m greatly familiar with the biomedical industry in my state. I incorporate the unbelievable ground breaking medical things unfolding at this very minute.

I chose Make Your Mark Publishing because I know the owner and she is pro author being on the writers side 1000%. Renea Winchester is a published author and knows the heartaches endured by authors who get used or owned by the publishers. She started her business to help good authors get the best from their talents and efforts.

So back to Writing what you think and thinking while you write—–well I don’t have much done on the book except research and an the unorganized chapters of strung out stories which were written while I was thinking and thinking while I was writing.

I’m mortified to let any of it be edited. I’m neither an editor or an educated writer. I’m just a girl telling stories that people just love to read. I know cause when I write thoughts—you guys read the heck out of it. WordPress tells me so. They even paid me $100 this month cause I’m good even when I’m not here. Imagine what I could do if I really put my mind to it.

I need to walk more with the dog. I need to lose a gang of weight from the stupid steroids prescribed the first week of this Ramsay Hunt madness. I really encourage you to get the shingles virus shot. It will lesson the degree of ill effects if you do. Did I use effects correctly. Is it affects or effects? That always frightens me.

I just write and write——-so if you like to write–just do it. You’ll get better and better. I thought you might like to read what I wrote tonight about my father and then another story about what I learned in second grade….here you go and the stories are true. These are copied and pasted from Facebook so no paragraphs and it’s off the top of my head so a few typos and word bassakwards. It’s how I think…I wonder if you’ll like it. I wonder if you’ll return to read more. I’m in this mood–so expect more….here ya go:

My Father Embezzled Money From IBM

I love my father greatly but it’s the love of God that allows me to do so. I knew I was loved as a kid but saw so many things someone my age should never have seen. I too lived on a dirt road–1,200 sq foot home. My father was penniless the year before I was born. He was employed by IBM after ww2. He was an accountant and managed the payroll. He’d been even more poor as a teenager and grew up on a dairy cause his family could not feed him. He went to work at the diary during his school years–then went to work for Bethlehem Steel just before the war. He was a brilliant man with many talents. During the war he was stationed on an island and decoded Japanese messages. He was captured—escaped all the way back to California–and then got captured again. His military recored and keen ability with computers got him a job with the new IBM. But the money he was managing was overly tempting to a poor man with a now growing family of boys. So he embezzled lots of money from IBM writing checks for folks that didn’t exist. When he was caught–he could either go to jail or pay it back—so he decided to pay it all back. I was probably 10 years old before he made that last payment. I remember him crying. When IBM fired him–daddy called on three cousins to start a furniture business in High Point, NC where I was born. Dad would do sales and design and the two cousins would manage. Dad traveled a lot getting customers all over the nation and you can still buy his stuff in some stores. He had some pretty influential customers. The company went out of business in the last 5 years I think. Dad retired in 1980 and sold his shares to his cousins. Dad also died in 1980 due to his treatment in ww2 and his affection for moonshine to drown the memory of ww2. He was a man of mechanical and intellectual ability. He was so old South but after attending a meeting of KKK he came home weeping and said he’d never treat a human being like that–but daddy still remained racist. He didn’t believe in having them over to our house but he gave of his money freely to them–paying many of their medical–and personal needs. He was kind and tortured at the same time. He brewed moonshine out the back of our house. My older brothers drove souped up cars and delivered some of the brew–and I learned to tune the motors. I worked right beside those boys and dad–other shady characters who smoked unfiltered cigarettes, cussed up a storm, and would give you the shirt off their backs. I’m sure I could tell you a lot about the deep south…but I asked God to take some of those memories away and now I’m completely losing it for better or worse. Good night and God Bless the USA

What I Learned in Second Grade

Ya’ll got me thinking about my childhood and teen years–so I’m still thinking about that–and being that I write what I’m thinking–always have–gots lots of journals somewhere in a landfill—hope it recycled already—when I don’t sleep I read or write. I read a lot…garden books, the bible, a cool series of quilt books called the The Elm Creek books, and right now I’m rereading a book on kitchen gardening. When I was 7 years old daddy told me it was time to mow the yard. We had an old push mower–powered–life threatening thing that put out toxic fumes. I looked at the yard which was over an acre–filled with rocks–and you could only tell it needed mowing when the weeds started blooming. Daddy liked nice rows in the weeds and all the trimming was done on your hands and knees with mechanical trimmers–not powered. Sow at 7 years old–I learned to mow weeds and rocks. It’s nearly 900 degrees here in the South in the summer and the humidity grows mold if on you iffen you stand in one place too long. But if you don’t want your legs to look like you been beat to death with cane sticks, then you wear long jeans, long sleeve shirt, and googles. Every part of my body was victim to the rocks. Daddy would beat the ever living crap out of me if I didn’t mow once a week both our yard and our yard at our lake house. I would not get gas money for the boat if I didn’t mow. Gas money for the boat was utmost on my agenda. I’d been driving boats all over the lake since I figured out they would go fast–jump wakes–and get me out of the dad gum way of my father. So my sweet daddy would give me boat money when I did what he said–and sometimes that included bringing him cases and bunches of Fallstaff beer each day after he got off work. He drank from the minute he got off work until he went to bed. Between his beers he’d down a 5th of Old Crow or moonshine. So I mowed….and he watched Bonanza or some such program on the boob tube. I never understood why he called it that. I inherited that tv when he got one with a clicker. I used to play sick from school cause I hated school–it was boring–and no boys liked me….cause I was so good in sports I reckon. I’d take crayons and draw all over the screen of that black and white tv. And that was what I did in second grade.

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