At the Therapist’s Office

“Dr. Smith, he just doesn’t understand me.” Sheila dabbed a tissue to the corner of an eye and sniffed.

“Ah, honey, that’s just not true,” said Johnny-Earl. “If anything, it’s the other way around.” Johnny-Earl slouched in the office chair with a sour look on his face.  He twisted and untwisted the ball-cap he held.

“Let’s unpack this a little, shall we?” replied Dr. Smith. “So tell me when things started to get unsettled for you both?”

“We were just fine until he started to bring all his friends around,” Sheila wailed.

“Oh, here we go again… what is wrong with my friends? I have a right to have friends come to my own house, don’t I?”

“It’s my house too!” Sheila turned to Dr. Smith. “He lets them come over, doesn’t tell me until they’re walking in the door, expects me to drop what I’m doing and put in an appearance. They’re noisy and obnoxious, and they leave their crap all over the house. And —”

“Let’s give Johnny-Earl a chance to respond to this. Johnny?”

“They don’t mean to be loud, honey. It’s just the way they are. You knew all about them when I moved in.” Johnny-Earl straightened up in his chair and pointed a finger at Sheila. “And by the way, if you think my friends are so awful, why did go home with Lenny, huh? Care to explain that?”

“It’s not what you think! It’s just that….”

“Go on, Sheila. Finish what you were about to say,” coaxed Dr. Smith.

“It’s just that he’s so nice to me.”

“What?” Johnny-Earl sank back into the chair.

“Yes, the rest of you are always shouting about me, poking fun at the things I say and do. Lenny, is such, such,…. a gentleman.”

“Oh for the love of Pete…..I am so tired of your wailing and moaning about us.”

“Johnny-Earl, we’ve talked about your being more respectful, haven’t we.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled. Johnny-Earl took a deep breath. “Honey, I am very sorry that I have been so thoughtless. I’ll try to keep your feelings in mind when I bring the boys around. You know I… I…. I love you.” Johnny-Earl lowered his head and blushed.

“Oh…… sweetie…..” Sheila reached out and touched Johnny-Earl’s arm. “I love you too.” Sheila paused and then said, “If you love me, then would you do something for me?”

Johnny-Earl looked at her and then Dr. Smith. “She doesn’t mean….”

Dr. Smith responded. “We’ve been over this before. You have to do it.”

Johnny-Earl was silent and stared down at the ball-cap he was holding in his lap. Finally, he leaned to one side and reach a hand into his back pocket. He heaved a loud sigh as he laid first one device and then another on the doctor’s desk. “What good is a ghost-hunter without his EMF detector and voice recorder.”

Sheila smiled at him and then faded away.

 

Happy Halloween, one and all!

ljgloyd (c) 2014

Hard Hats

“Palms at Dawn”

 

I went on a my pre-dawn walk and decided to go in a different direction.  I took my camera with me in case I found something cool to shoot.

I walked by a construction site and observed several men standing in front of a small tent dressed in hard hats, plaid flannel shirts, reflective vests, heavy  stomping work boots…

and doing yoga stretches……

I did not laugh.  And I sure as heck did not take a picture of them (I do have some common sense.)

Instead, I rejoiced that I had been blessed to see a shattered stereotype.

 

ljgloyd (c) 2014

 

 

 

 

 

Thoughts on Self-Doubt

I have spent the last couple of weeks writing a short story. I enjoyed writing it,  I conveyed through the characters what I wanted to communicate, and I found myself thinking of sequels I could derive from it.  Additionally, in my less-than-humble opinion, I thought it was a well-crafted story.

Now I’m not so sure.   The wretched beast of self-doubt is rearing its massive head and showing its snapping teeth. It is saying to me in a voice dripping with scorn, “Who are you trying to kid? You’re no writer.. At least not one that anyone wants to read.  Did anyone actually read your last story? Your work is laughable, embarrassing,trivial….”  The descriptors vary according to the depth of my of my self-doubt.

You can do a web search for tips on how to overcome self-doubts as a writer.  I am not going to add anything to those suggestions except to say that for me to overcome my doubts and resulting self-abuse, I need to return to the same question that I ask myself from time-to-time:  Why do I write?     I have several answers to this question, and I change it each time I ask it.  Today’s answer comes from a meme I recently read on my Facebook page:

“I write because if I didn’t, then I would have to kidnap people and force them to act out the stories in my head.  You would get arrested for that, I think.”

An amusing hyperbole, but one with a seed of truth.  See, the bottom line for me is this:   I have all these ideas floating around inside me.  They have to come out.  If not — well, I don’t know what would happen except it won’t be pretty.    And if my work stinks, so let it stink.

And that monster that messes with my self-esteem can just go pound sand.

ljgloyd 2014.

Blood Phases

Yeah, I was crazy enough to get up at 2 a.m. (and stay up) to watch the Blood Moon.

ljgloyd 2014