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The Witch of November
As titled, this is my big blog of stuff, which means I can add any little random bits I wish. And today’s post is definitely random. By night I am a wannabe fiction writer but, by day, I work in the world of international container shipping. It’s an industry I’ve been in for over 14 years now. Being in this industry has definitely given me a brighter insight to how global a community we live in. It’s also given me a greater appreciation for all the bobbles and do-dads that end up on our store shelves. Early on in my career we had a vessel hit by a particularly vicious storm – something not too uncommon in the shipping world. Pictures that came back to us showed giant 40′ containers smashed in at the center to nothing. Some containers were damaged, some were destroyed, and some were washed right overboard. It was losses in the thousands of thousands. But the entire crew made it to port.
Where is she going with this, you might be asking yourself. Well, being in the industry has made me more aware of the difficulties of international shipping. But it was a song from my childhood that has always stood as the most haunting reminder of the dangers of being on the water. Of course I’m talking about The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot. On the right day the song will make me cry, and the haunting retelling of the story is one that stays in your head for days after you hear it. Or is that just me? Either way, I didn’t realize until today that the fateful night was only 40 years ago today, only a few months before I was born. I humbly admit I put this wreck near the time of the Titanic, or even before. In reality it sunk November 10, 1975. The wreckage was found May 20, 1976, 535 feet below the surface, and in August of that year Gordon Lightfoot released his song.
I’ve never dealt with containers on the great lakes but reading up on what they face when winter rolls in was more than I originally imagined. In 300 years of shipping on the great lakes there have been 10,000 shipwrecks with 30,000 crewmen lost. And that’s just our great lakes area. The Edmond Fitzgerald is still the largest vessel lost on the lakes. To this day – although it’s easy to assume that weather played a major factor in the sinking of “The Fitz” – the exact cause is unknown. The vessel dropped off radar and broke up before they could even send a distress signal. All after the other vessel on the lake that night, the Arthur M. Anderson, had made radio contact with the captain who confirmed they were alright and holding their own against the storm.
The captain of the Anderson bravely but hesitantly went back into the storm they were trying to escape from to search for, if not survivors, at least debris that would confirm the Fitzgerald had been lost. The downing of the vessel happened so quick that there was very little signs remaining on the water when he was able to make it back to the last known location of the missing ship. The storm was fierce enough to take the monster vessel down completely, and in no time. It’s probably a miracle that both vessels weren’t lost once he returned to look for his missing sea-mates. I listened to the recording here between the captain of the Anderson and the coast guard tonight for the first time. It’s heartbreaking but eerily fascinating to watch the video attached.
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A Letter to a Friend
Dear Lori –It’s been almost 14 years since you left us now, and I can hardly believe it’s been that long. You would have been 39 today. Good god, we’re old! Little things have come up as this day approached, making it pretty clear that it was time to get over the emotions writing this letter creates, and get it out there.Days and days and days will go by and I’ll not think about the hurt that losing you caused. Then things come back and bring the sadness I still have for everything we didn’t get to do in your short time. Every time I see a Facebook post about the Golden Girls a little part of me remembers that we won’t get that. It was supposed to be the 3 of us, and old age is never going to be the same with just Blanche and Dorothy. And, by the way, you would have loved Facebook, Lor! Anonymous stalking from the comfort of your own home, no gas money required!It amazes me sometimes how much it still hurts. I will think that it’s gotten easier, that the hole in my life is a little bit smaller. Then a few weeks ago, going through boxes, I found an almost-empty journal and I’m reminded all over again how wrong I am to think that. I hadn’t even remembered the journal until I opened the first page and saw my crazy handwriting and a Valentine’s Day note to you, hoping you would find things to fill the journal with, dated 1999. The rest of the pages remained blank. Two years later I brought that journal home after we’d all sat in your room trying to comprehend the fact that, as of that day, you were gone. That little spiral notebook, with the 1990’s black and white photo of a little boy presenting a rose to a little girl, had me in tears in seconds. That’s when I realized that it isn’t any easier at all. I’ve just gotten better at moving the hurt to the side on most days.The hardest part is that, in a way I can’t explain, I knew I was going to lose you. It happened after we’d spent a day together spending money neither of us really had. We were shopping for dress clothes, so there had to have been new jobs involved. I can’t place it correctly in our time line though. I know it was before your surgery, maybe before the seizure episode? Maybe you were just starting at the library? I know for sure I had Alexandre. It ended up being a hard day with tears.You were carrying the weight of your world on your shoulders and we talked about getting out, renting an apartment together. You were going to help me with Alexandre, and we were going to make it work on our own. We both knew we couldn’t really do it but it cheered us up a bit to dream. Through that day together I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t going to be able to do these girl’s days with you for very long. When I got home I told my mom we’d lose you before we were 30. I don’t know what made me say it but I hate that I was right. And I hate that I didn’t try to cram more of those days in than what we got.It wasn’t enough, but we did get to cram some good days in. I can’t drive past the collection of orange flags at the crosswalks downtown without thinking of the night you convinced people you were their crossing guard after our dinner at the Olive Garden. I stood on the sidewalk, stone-faced as I could, while you ushered people back and forth, gushing with over-the-top Lori Charm. I think you made three trips. And of course, our night at the bar, your first night at a bar, will be with me forever. We laughed so hard on the way home I thought I was going to pee after you screamed “I think I have a hicky!”. It would have made a perfect entry in that journal.I can’t dwell on all that we missed together, or all that you missed out on for your own. I would drown in it if I did. But on days like today I can be a little sad. Sad that you didn’t get to find The One, or meet My One. Sad that you didn’t get to be a mom. Sad that you didn’t get to find yourself in our 20’s, or share more stories of the crazy lady at the library. “Bring me a block of cheese!” And sad that you’re not here to go out with tonight to lament the end of our 30’s, maybe over a cotton candy martini and some cheese sticks. And for all of those reasons, tonight I will be sad.I love you Pingon, and I miss you every day.Your Little Mouse Friend -
Writing Challenge #2 FanFiction – Three Wishes
Alrighty! Next up in the writing challenge list is – drum roll please – fan fiction! Love it or hate it, I’m going to write some. Like the first challenge, these first drafts are the final drafts. Just keep that in mind. 😉
THREE WISHES
The melody of the rain on the car windows was melding with the tunes on the radio in a perfect rhythm; making it hard for Sam to keep his eyes open. They’d been on the same stretch of dark highway for three hours without a word between them. The week’s case had been chasing down what they thought was a run of the mill ghost. Only when they’d caught up to the creature did they realized they were actually dealing with a powerful possession. A rogue demon from Team Abaddon hiding from his king in Small Town USA. They’d dug up a grave, burned some bones, and then went ten rounds with the six foot four poet-turned-mixed-martial-artist the demon had taken control of. Sam hadn’t lasted long, and even with the extra fury The Mark provided, Dean had taken plenty of licks before subduing the demon to be exorcised. It’d made for a long four days. They’d left town as soon as they dropped the guy off at a hospital drive through – a poet once again.
“You know what I’m thinking about?” Dean asked, his voice full of gravel thanks to the exhaustion.
“Porn?” Sam answered with a grin.
“Not since the last exit,” his brother said with a shot to his arm. “Really though, I’ve been thinking about something. We have run into pretty much every monster anyone has ever written about. Hell, we even saw a guy killed by an imaginary unicorn. We’ve seen a lot of shit.”
“Yeah?”
“So, why haven’t any of us ever seen a genie?
“Because genies don’t exist.”
“That’s your answer? We’ve gone up against everything from vamps to naked little fairies, and your answer to genies is they don’t exist?”
“Not all folklore is real, Dean. Genies are a friendly version of things we have gone up against. A Crossroad demon, a Djinn, they’re both like genies. They grant wishes for a price.”
“No. I’m not talking about the monster versions. I want to know why we haven’t ever found a lamp with a little guy wearing Hammer Pants inside, ready to grant wishes. Not in all of the stuff dad stashed away, not in all of the artifacts the Men of Letters collected; no one has a magic lamp. I want to find a lamp.”
Sam laughed as the headlights from a passing car lit up the interior of the impala, highlighting the shiner and split lip his brother was sporting. He knew he didn’t look much better. “Are you saying that finding a lamp is the next case?”
“Why not? None of us are having any luck finding anything to help erase this stupid mark I’m stuck with. Let’s move on to something that could be fun.”
“What would you wish for?”
“Easy,” Dean answered without missing a beat. “A bank account that was never empty, for Baby to run forever, and the power to teleport.”
“Seriously?”
“Absolutely.”
“You want to find a genie so you can make sure the Impala doesn’t need any maintenance?”
Dean shrugged. “And to be able to teleport. What’s wrong with that?”
“What about all the stuff we could make go away? What about wishing for the mark to be removed, or for Cass to get his grace back? Or, maybe getting mom and dad back? Or actually closing the gates of hell like we’ve almost died trying to do?” Sam couldn’t pull the frustration out of his voice. Even though the game was only a What If, that Dean wouldn’t even list anything to change their course was something he couldn’t handle.
“We did all that, Sammy. All of us got ourselves to where we are, and we don’t get to use magic to poof ourselves out of it.”
“We did it to ourselves? Even mom? She did it to herself?”
“Yeah, she did. I was there. She made that deal with Yellow Eyes to save dad, and when it came time for him to collect, she fought to protect us. Would I love to have had that be different? Hell yes. But it was the course she put into play that got us to where we are, and I don’t think she’d want us to take that back. She knows why we’re hunters. Same thing with Cass. Cass followed Metatron even though he questioned it. He took him at his word, and because of that he lost his grace. He will be the one that fights to get that back.”
“And you?”
“Me?” Dean laughed hollow. “I followed the friggin’ king of hell to a cabin in the woods and accepted Cain’s mark without a single question. I’m going to figure out how to deal with it, but it’s my mess to deal with. If I’m going to get three wishes I’m going to wish for something I can’t do myself.”
Sam pushed his bruised body into the seat and turned to watch the droplets race each other down the window. He knew his brother’s train of thought shouldn’t surprise him – and considering it was all a game it definitely shouldn’t piss him off – but it had all the same.
“What about you? What would you do if we found a magic lamp, Sammy?”
He could tell Dean was trying to bring the mood back to the light side but he couldn’t get there. “I’d make sure you didn’t get to make the wishes.”
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Writing Challenge #1 – A Short Autobiography
Well – It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted anything on here. To kick-start things I’m tackling a writer’s challenge. First up: a short autobiography. Where does one start with an autobiography? I had a high school teacher once ask us to start with “time of conception” and go to age 12. I thought that was a little much, and came up with a great story about being conceived on the back of a purple and black Harley, instead of asking my parents for details to share with my teacher. I got an A- even though none of it was true. We’ll go the honest route on this one.
I grew up in the suburbs of Salt Lake, Utah, the oldest of two children. My little brother and I were pretty much opposites growing up. My mom called us each an only child. I was mellow; he was mile-a-minute. He was the comedian; I’ve been accused of being born without a sense of humor. Like a lot of siblings we fought like cats and dogs at times, but we did have a lot of fun together when we were getting along. One thing we didn’t realize until we were adults was the fact that we were also spoiled rotten. Our parents – high school sweethearts – gave everything they could to make sure our childhood was amazing. And it was.
I was part of a close-knit family. There was always an occasion to get together. If there wasn’t an official occasion, just the fact that it was a Saturday would be good enough. In between the normal holidays, there were birthdays and summer parties, family baseball games, pre-holiday parties, and storybook Christmas tree “hunts” at my Uncle Johnny’s family’s cabin. And in between all of that were countless sleepovers at grandma’s house. My cousins and I were all loved but being the first born always gave me confidence that I was the favorite at grandma’s. Both of my grandma’s.
I started high school in in 1991 at the same high school my mom and many other relatives on both sides of my family had attended. By the time I started I had made up my mind on what I would be doing after graduation. I was going to be a cop. And I let everyone know it. I was also pretty sure if that didn’t work out I wanted to be a writer. Or a pastry chef. I wrote poems and short stories in elementary school, wrote the advice column for the school paper in 9th grade, and fell back in love with poetry by high school. Being that I was well into my angsty teen years, most of my poetry was “deep”, which meant a lot of it had to do with social issues and death. 😉
In 1994 I graduated high school knowing that I would be heading off to college. I’d won a vocational law enforcement scholarship that covered a year’s tuition. The competition involved an essay and an interview. I’ve always been pretty sure it was my kickass essay that did it for me. College started and the next ten years were a whole lot of adventure, excitement, complication, accomplishment, and luck. I became a single mom and we both survived it with a ton of help from that crazy-close family I mentioned. I worked as a police dispatcher, an insurance claims rep, and then moved into the massive world of import/export shipping that I knew nothing about. I bought my first home for me and my son, all by myself, at 27, went through a few halfhearted relationships and then met The One (and his two) in 2004. It was a wild ten years.
Just after I met The One I started writing again. I started with my own version of a vampire tale that didn’t include anyone that glittered. I gave that story all my focus, and one day it will be finished, but my brain kept wandering to a different story. It was a little story I’d started in 1997 about a female detective named Kat that kept coming back to me. Eventually other characters wound their way into the story and I decided to run with it. That story has become my first completed novel and the first thing I’ve ever risked submitting to an agent for consideration. And while I wait (And wait. And wait) I will continue to be me. So, do you know me yet? I’m a daughter and a sister and a wife and a mom and a step-mom. A cousin, a friend, a Neil Gaiman fan, an ice cream junkie, a live music lover, and a writer. That’s me.
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Edits!
Line, by line, by line, by line….
