Heart of Stone

Heart of Stone… I am procrastinating to keep editing this story. It is available for free on Wattpad. The response has been quite nice. Here are a couple of comments from the last chapter:

So far, I added one chapter and edited more or less 80% of the existing story, adding paragraphs and taking other unimportant stuff out. I believe that I have something good on my hands. And although I am sparse with praise for myself, I think that this novel is worth every reader’s time (even in its unedited state).

Here is a link: https://my.w.tt/mahOoc4VpZ

If you are inclined to read, please do. I am grateful for every comment and encouragement I can get. Sometimes, comments help in the editing process; asking questions and clarifications make me see where the story is not clear or where more words are necessary. There are parts that seem logical to me, but that’s because my mind fills the gaps that exist. I know the characters and their flaws because they are in my head and in my imagination – it is not the same for a reader who has a healthier distance to these characters.

As always, thank you for your support.

Have a nice weekend.

Cathy

Reading list

Next on my reading list are two independent authors. River Dixon and Harrison Kavanaugh. Which books are on your bedside table? Do you even still read paperbacks? By the way, after a long dry spell, I sold 4 copies of my book “Unquiet Minds” in July. Enjoy your weekend.

xx

Cathy

Too hot to keep cool

I am clueless. Very often. What is happening?

And what the hell will happen to humanity if we keep going on like this?

The answer is: I don’t know. (Quote from one of my favourite movies: Reality Bites, I need to watch it again soon)

Fucking hell… I am speechless when I see the megalomaniac people, the egocentric ones, the selfish ones. Hate seems to be more valued than love, negativity is praised and “cool”, while positivity is weak and spiritual hippie crap. On the other side, being frail is accepted, flaws are welcome. Mental health issues are en vogue and everywhere and almost worn as a badge, as well as negated and diminished in the same conversation.

The world is full of complexities and opposites, and I am clueless about how to navigate them and about what will happen to us in these times of turmoil.

We will all go down. Fuck me… No one gets out of here alive.

But I am realizing more and more that serenity helps us get past any obstacles.

Most things are in our head, and reacting negatively makes everything worse instead of better. But positivity is so scarce these days, and, I, for one, have not learnt and experienced a lot of positivity in my formative years.

My mind is all over the place. And I am clueless. I often am. How can we sit back and watch as the world turns itself to dust?

What are you doing to make a change?

Me? I watch what I consume, recycle all my waste, take care of the environment, reduce the use of plastic… And, I work at a nursery where I try to educate the kids and share my values.

I also share my liberal values with my kids. I have discussions with them, explaining why I do the things in my own special way.

Yes, I am odd, but I am unique, and no matter how low my self-esteem can be, I also know that my presence enriches the life of everyone who is invited to walk on a part of their journey next to me.

It is too hot to keep cool…

Cathy

Tbt photo

I was actually trying to find a picture of me when I was pregnant; I mean, I have three kids, how hard can it be? Very hard! I found exactly three photos, and in only one you can actually see my belly – but that picture is blurry.

The idea for this post came from the many pregnant women in my life right now. Four of my friends are pregnant. And they will all give birth between November and December. There is my colleague at work, my neighbour, my sister-in-law, and an old friend from school. Try as I might, I cannot really remember my pregnancies. I mean, I do, yet I don’t. When your life and body are turned upside down for almost a year, and after that, you are sleep-deprived and suffering from breastfeeding dementia, I think it encourages memory loss.

The picture I shared was taken 12 days after my son’s birth. I was a couple of weeks shy of my 22nd birthday.

I love that picture. It’s very serene and peaceful, filled with love; protective too. That little guy on the picture is 14 years old and tall and handsome. He is an amazing human being who does his thing, never following any trends or pressures. I admire him. I want to be like that too. But I am an attention seeker, and I need to be validated all the time. Funnily enough, the only thing that I am very sure of is my parenting skills. I am sure that I am messing up all the time, but those three little people who grew from me and within me, are the best I ever created.

I want them to be fearless and kind and grateful. I want them to be considerate and never sell themselves short. At the same time, I want them to be modest. I want my kids to be good-hearted and tolerant. I want them to be open-minded and accepting of things and people that are different. I want them to be curious and thirsty with lust to learn and to live. Above all, I want them to know that whenever they fail, they are loved, and their mom – their parents, are there to consolidate them and help to resolve any issue that might arise. So far… I think we are on the right track.

When I feel down or bad, when depression devours me, then I talk to my kids, hug them, or just watch them, and I am reminded that I am needed, that I am not here in vain. I have a purpose.

This is all rambling just to say: I love my children. I love my family. I cannot for the life of me, imagine to be without them. They make me whole.

My husband plays a big part in this too. We have been a couple for almost 20 years now. Mind you; I am 36 – I know, I know, I am bragging, but I am allowed to do that here on my blog. I would never trade my husband for another man. He is handsome, intelligent, makes me laugh, doesn’t judge, and even after all these years, we are still talking – about everything. There are no secrets, no lies – everything is out in the open. Sometimes, we say things and grow silent because we don’t know how to react. We tend to ignore those elephants and keep living our peaceful lives. Once in a while, I am afraid that these things come back to bite us in the ass, but in the end – we are a strong couple. And we are this strong and weird and odd and unconventional because it is us.

My husband is the love of my life. So very different from me, but I don’t care. He is the most amazing man, and I want to grow old and fat with him. I want to make mistakes and cry and laugh and forgive. So far, I did all of it, and he never ran. Try finding a gem like that!

This turned out to be a stream of consciousness-y post.

Time to say goodnight.

I hope you all find someone to love, to have, and to hold.

*hugs*

One of those nights…

My last nights have been bad. I had nightmares, almost every night. Completely out of the blue and in no relation at all with my life. Most times, the nightmares are about my kids or my mom. And I reached a point where I prefer not to sleep at all out of fear to have a nightmare again. But, to be honest, no sleep is not an option either… It makes me even moodier than I usually am. But hey… The kids think that I am easy-going these days. That’s something, isn’t it?

I am spending my nights differently… Taking selfies and putting one million filters on them. (Or only two: vignette and b/w)

PhotoEditor_20190511_232336659.jpg

Reading stories on the mighty internet, or reading books; watching movie after movie; playing stupid games on my phone… Whatever kills time.

Tonight’s movie:

Fear

Released in 1996 and directed by James Foley. Awesome thriller with Mark Wahlberg and Reese Witherspoon and many other known faces. A love that turns into an obsession… One of those movies I have seen too many times. And also one of the first times that I got in touch with the music of Bush.

Seeing that the film is 23 years old, it is charmingly outdated too

Good night…

Milestone

Dear reader,

As you know, I am pretty hard on myself all the time. I am not very nice to myself. But, you are. You never hold it against me. You are never pressuring me to write more poetry again. You never tell me to stop whining. And I thank you for that. This blog is my safe haven. And yet, I censor my posts all the time. Not too sure why though. It is what it is. I feel safe to ramble here and to let my mind wander. This is where reality and fiction merge; which means that a lot of what you can read here is fiction. A lot is reality. Which is which will never be known. Or maybe it is easy to identify, once you get to know me.

A milestone is in reach for me. Two hundred ninety-nine (299!) amazing people are following this blog — peanuts for some, mind-blowing for me. I am just a no one in this world really, and yet you all mean the world to me.

I am not obsessed with stats (anymore), but I see you see me. And I thank you. I appreciate it a lot.

I intend to keep going with the flow and write whatever wants to be written.

Again, thank you

You matter. Remember that. You matter.

Cathy

#tbt what a difference 17 years make

This is an old picture of me. I like it quite a bit. In a time without photoshop or filters, I looked like this when the sun was about to go to sleep and the first half of the bottle of wine was empty, lol

There are not many pictures of me as a young woman; here I was 19. (My husband took the photo in 2002)

I was in Brittany with my husband, my sister, and three German guys whose lack of knowledge of the French language made for a couple of running gags that are still existing 17 years later. My sister married one of the guys and ran off with him. She never came back home again. (Well, she did, but only about a handful of times in all these years…)

The woman on this picture is not the same woman I am today. And that is good. Physically, I stayed the same height, just a little wider – more to love?! Emotionally, I am a different person.

Writing these sentences is quite trying. I am not my best friend and focusing on nice things to say about myself is hard. I wrote a lot that put me down but erased all the negativity again.

The woman on the picture is a strong one. She achieved every goal without any emotional support. In fact, she was often told that she was stupid and not good enough for anything at all. A lot of my emotional damage comes from this time and the years before that. Caring for my mom as a child was challenging, but I was naive and didn’t know it any other way. It became a burden when I was a teenager. I believe that if I had been treated with more love and care from my family, a lot of my mental issues would not exist. Maybe that is a bold statement. Maybe I was born this way. Maybe I was born with a predisposition… I don’t know.

But yeah, this woman on that picture, that version of myself had a goal in life. And I achieved it. And despite everything (and the mental health…) I became a successful woman. And I did it all without any help from my family. Granted, I often wonder why no one was ever there for me in times of need, why did I have to fight alone; but in the end, it doesn’t matter. Because I got shit done. It would have been easy to find excuses, drop out of school and do nothing – but that was not how I was wired. And so, I got my driving license, I got my professional degree from a university of applied sciences, I have a family with loving children (and they are loved and supported unconditionally) and I was told often enough that I would never become a good mom when I was pregnant with my first child… No matter what I did and no matter how many successes I had to celebrate, my family always found something negative to say about it, and I was always a failure for them.

But what can we do? We all fight battles and we all have a past. I am not trying to belittle mine, but my own experiences aren’t better or worse than yours. The only difference is that they are mine…

Below is a picture of me with my two angels. They didn’t want to let me go to work so they decided to pin me down to the bed by climbing on top of me.

What a difference 17 years make!

The lost stories…

Sometimes I wish there was something in my head to record and store thoughts and ideas for later use. (A brain maybe?!) For instance, I was brushing my teeth, and I had a vision of a first scene for a novel. I formulated sentences and all. When I spat the toothpaste out and rinsed my mouth, I took my phone to write it down, but my mind was blank. It happened before, and it will happen again, I know. But I wonder if I will forget the next bestseller this way.

It was something like this…

He closed the door with the heel of his foot and took off his mask. He shuffled a few steps to the fridge, took out a can of beer and made his way to the couch. It had seen better days; he had too. With a sigh and a groan he fell down and closed his eyes, assessing his body after today’s job. One of his ribs hurt, his left eye was swollen, and his feet hurt. He bent over to take off the tight boots and let them fall down on the floor. He wiggled his toes; freedom. His cape got stuck when he sat back again. Cursing, he got rid of the piece of cloth. He tried to throw it across the room to his boots, but it refused to fly. Just his luck. He was tired of his job, and it dawned on him – it was time to retire as a superhero. After two decades of saving humans from their own stupidity and not once facing an evil counterpart, it was time to stop. Being a superhero was annoying, but what else was he supposed to do?

There was a knock at his door; he didn’t get up. He had earned a couple of hours of rest. But the slip of paper being pushed under his door spiked his curiosity. It was an odd thing to happen. Mysterious.

(…)

Does this happen to you too? Do you imagine a story but before you can write it down, it has faded from your memory? I call them lost stories. 🙂

Have a great Sunday and an amazing new week.

Cathy

Et le temps court…

My bed is empty. My mind is full. I am tired, fighting a headache. Lying in the dark, I am listening to the rain. The window is open, and I feel the breeze on my skin. I know I should be asleep, it would ease the headache and maybe prevent the bad mood I am sure I will suffer in the morning. But I can’t fall asleep. I had troubles letting go the last few nights — dreams; not a nightmare, just unsettling dreams.

I have so many things to say and to share, and yet, they don’t matter, and so I keep them to myself.

There are times when I share most everything on my mind. I let my fingers write, and my mind think, and I just float on that wave that jumps from one thought to the next. I can’t seem to do that right now. (Although I am doing it) It just feels like stealing your time and attention. I know that you give it freely or else you wouldn’t be here, but my mind is trying to tell me that no one cares and that I don’t matter?

Why am I sabotaging myself this much? After all, I am an okay person. Ordinary, but okay.

I ordered new music today (her name is Calla – animal choir). And I watched two movies (untamed heart and pump up the volume) with my favourite actor (Christian Slater). I also listened to music by Coastlands (postrock from Oregon/USA), burnt down an incense stick (sandalwood) and ate pizza (prosciutto). I read a couple of pages in my book (the I undiscovered gyrl by Allison Burnett)…

Who cares?! I want you to care, to be honest, because I want you to care about me. But again, who cares about this narcissistic vanity.

Do you dream about specific colours? I am used to having dreams that repeat themselves. They used to be in a green hue. Like a green veil or fog in front of my eyes… Nowadays that fog or veil is blue, but the images I see – the pictures in my dream are still the same.

Maybe the breeze and the rain will let me fall asleep eventually anyway… Who knows?

The title of this post is French and could be translated to “the time keeps running”

*hugs*

Cathy

Unforgettable

One of my biggest and most irrational fears is to be forgotten. Rationally, I know that we don’t forget the people we like. We don’t forget the people who we invite in our lives or hearts. And yet, I am afraid to be forgotten. Once in a while, I ask people not to forget me. It must sound strange to them; maybe even annoying. Just, at that moment, my mind needs a reminder that I am unforgettable.

I am a piece of work.