A story about cupcakes

 

The other day I was writing a story about a boy with diabetes.

He falls in love (because he’s seventeen) with the girl who works at the local bakery and he goes there almost every day to buy cupcakes. Just to see her smile. Except Mondays because she doesn’t work on Mondays.

He never eats the cupcakes. Even though they get prettier every week.

It’s probably going to turn out into a weird story, but it got me thinking about health. How big a deal is him having diabetes for the story? Does this boy considers himself healthy?

I believe health is not just the absence of sickness. It is possible to feel healthy even when you’re in a wheelchair or have some other difficult issue. Being healthy is to be able to face life’s challenges. And by that I don’t just mean the physical ones, but also the financial/social/mental challenges everyone has to face sooner or later.

If you’re not healthy all the other challenges are far more challenging.

This probably doesn’t make sense..

Anyway I decided that the only problem my diabetic boy has, is that he doesn’t know how to talk to a girl.

Other than that he feels perfectly healthy.

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Decorating the Box

Thinking outside the box is often considered a valuable quality. But what do people mean when they say it? Is the box your comfort zone? Is it shared with people who happen to have the same box? The same boundaries? Is it said when someone thinks of something you haven’t thought of?

And what does it mean when people live like there is no box?

I don’t get it.

Or better said: I don’t get why it’s important.

People are who they are, and become who they become. Could be because there are limits to their intelligence, or because they chose to. Could be because they’ve been listening to others all their lives. Could be because they don’t care.

If I’d had a box, it would fit me like a second skin. I could step inside, or outside. I would compare it to the boxes of others. And I would decorate it with pink flowery wallpaper and call him Sam.

Because Sam is a cool name for a box.

Sorry for the rambling.

 

Invisible Army

(The above title consists of the first words I wrote this November and I’m definitely adding them, and the rest of this post, to my NaNoWrimo total. Because I can).

A peculiar part of the World’s population is turning to blank pages armed with pens, fear of blinking cursors, or maybe even with fingers glued to an old fashioned typewriter. An army of writers pounding away time, word for word.

November is the month of novel writing, and I find it very strange that the idea of thousands of unknown people doing the same thing, is motivating. Why do I care that there are lots and lots of other people wanting to write a story? Why do I find solace in the idea I’m not the only one looking for the exact word to use, and the perfect name for a character?

It’s because it makes me feel less alone in this writing thing. And less crazy.

The idea of writing a 50.000 word story in one month is a big one, but for me it’s more about taking action. The rest of the year we can get back to overthinking and spending time waiting for circumstances to be different from what they are.

November is for action.

So thank you invisible army of international others! I salute you and wish you the best in your endeavours.

🙂

We are all so very lost

When I was feeling out of place at a party this weekend I was wondering what went on in the heads of the people attending it.

Did they really enjoy their work so much?  (They went on and on and on about it. I can’t fill three minutes talking about my job).

Is their life really as easy as it sounds? (A lot of times Sometimes I wonder what the &%#!@ I’m doing or what I’m supposed to do)

Are their kids really as well behaved as they say they are? (mine are not)

It felt like I was part of a play and a thought popped up in my mind. A thought I can’t seem to shake.

We are all so very lost. And we are all pretending.

Sipping our drinks, hearing but not listening, talking without actually saying anything worth saying.

At that moment I felt strangely connected to everyone at that party.

Because it’s better to be lost together.

I know.

I should sleep more.

Worlds Apart

Writing has always been important to me.

It’s woven into my life like a silver thread, sometimes front and centre, catching the daylight, shimmering amidst the normal.

Other times in the background, overshadowed by all other things that happen.

I know that I’m just as much a writer as I am an employee or even a mom, but those roles take place in the real world.

Writing, on the other hand, takes place in the realm of thought. It’s a part of me that’s turned inwards, looking for story elements hiding in memories, stored knowledge, strange conversations I overheard.

Normal life and writing are worlds apart, but one cannot survive without the other.

Without the lovely life I live, filled with people I love and value, music, plants, food, books & art I would have very little to write about.

Without writing there’s no silver lining.