WITH ARMS WIDE OPEN

It would feel better to say I’d often wondered how a man knows when he is ready to become a father, or when he is “grown up” enough to be called ‘Daddy’. Unfortunately, nothing could be further from accurate.

The truth is, I’d never even considered those questions before the day my girlfriend called to announce that she was pregnant. Unplanned was an enormous understatement – this was an event that hadn’t even been dreamt of. I was 24 years old, but barely a “responsible adult” by my own estimation, and now I was potentially going to be responsible for a brand new life. I was terrified, excited, overwhelmed, proud and depressed all at the same time……but more than anything, I was confused.

How did this happen? You know what, forget how – why did this happen? Out of all the couples in the world, someone thought it was a good idea to put this new life in our hands? We were barely a couple, and certainly not “in love’ or planning a future together. There just didn’t seem to be a right solution to this “problem”.

What were my options?

Leave her hanging? No – despite the fact that we weren’t much of a couple, she WAS one of my best friends in the world. I couldn’t possibly do that to her. And abortion wasn’t a consideration in either of our minds – so we were definitely having a baby. I suppose we could have elected to put the child up for adoption, but despite the unplanned nature of this damned and blessed event, she truly wanted a child; as such, the adoption possibility never really got off the ground.

Indeed, we were having a baby – together.

We decided the best course of action was to marry. We felt like the stability would be in the child’s best interests – and there are certainly worse things than being married to your best friend, right?

However, that only solved one of my dilemmas. I still didn’t feel like I was ready to be a father. If I was going to do this, then I wanted to be a good dad – just like my own father had been for me. But I wasn’t sure I knew how. Around this time, the rock band Creed released a song entitled “With Arms Wide Open”. The song details the singer’s fears and struggles upon discovering that he was about to be a father, and I immediately identified with the song – in fact, tears flowed freely the first few times I heard the song……..it said exactly what I was feeling at the time.

We had decided on a simple wedding ceremony with just a few family members in attendance at a local restaurant, because it was all we could afford or emotionally handle at that point – after all, she was 5 months pregnant by this time. As the day approached, my fear grew despite the fact that I would soon have an official partner in this endeavor.

But the wedding day proved to be a relief when it finally arrived - it felt like a tremendous release of pressure, and quite a large step forward toward the creation of a strong family unit. We couldn’t afford a honeymoon, so our celebration was a simple night out with a few friends at a local bar that was holding its weekly karaoke night, which we had regularly attended for several years. Despite some initial reservations, I finally gave in to my new wife’s request to perform “With Arms Wide Open” – a song she’d not yet heard – at the end of the night. I began the song, gazing into my wife’s beautiful eyes as I sang.

Suddenly a look of shock overcame those eyes, and she hurriedly approached the makeshift stage. She grasped my hand and placed it on her belly, whispering into my ear, “He started as soon as you began singing!” Our son was kicking and moving around like crazy in the womb – it was as if he knew I was singing for him. It seemed as though he was trying to tell me that everything was going to be fine – for the first time, I felt like I was going to be a good “daddy”………and I could feel tears of joy welling as I sang to my unborn son.

Capture

These few lines have taken on a life of their own since I wrote them nearly two years ago for a writing group I belong to, and are the first lines - and the driving idea - of the novel I am currently working on.  Maybe it will even be finished some day.

Beautiful is far too cliche for a girl like her - and not terribly accurate either.

Entrancing, or maybe captivating?

Yes, captivating - that's the right word. I was definitely a captive from the first moment I looked into that girl's intoxicating deep brown eyes.

Listen to me, calling her a 'girl' like I'm some pubescent teen chasing the head cheerleader - no, she was all woman.

And she turned my world inside out like a tidal wave - completely fascinating, yet utterly devastating.

Cafeteria

He found it funny how similar the men are to pubescent youngsters - and frankly, the same was true of the women; very much like middle-schoolers.  The men group together and talk 'trash', bragging about sexual escapades and sporting exploits that probably never really happened, just like a collection of thirteen year old boys.  Meanwhile, the women sit in one corner, trying to appear proper and reserved while spreading gossip faster than cheap tabloids - in hushed voices, of course - in much the same way one might see a gaggle of giggly pre-teen girls..........

Nose Tackle

The mud caked on the bottom of his cleats made his feet feel heavy as he walked from the huddle to the line of scrimmage and took a knee, waiting for the Blue offense to break huddle.  His rain-soaked jersey clung to him as if it were painted on, and his teeth chattered against his mouthguard as a stiff wind battered the young lineman.  Cold was an understatement - until the offense approached the line.  As he took his three-point stance, he shot a steely gaze at the opposing center and emotion boiled over, warming him to the core.  The ball was snapped; he let out a fierce roar and attacked the Blue line as if trying to defeat the source of the cold itself......

Damage

She exited my life in the same manner she entered, turning it inside out like the tornado that devastates a town and the sunrise that brings a new day all in one glorious, tragic package. I fell hard and instantly the first moment I spent with her; every moment thereafter drove my love and desire to new heights until the instant, unforeseen end ruined my faith and my present.

Our lives burned with passion in all aspects, whether we were making fiery, animalistic lust-driven love or battling over the latest wedge-driving political issue. And she was the embodiment of intensity and energy – whether she was bright yellow sunshine or deep blue midnight, there was no middle – she would push to the furthest end of the spectrum…..and then break even that barrier.

And in the end, she broke me, too.

Coincidence? Or grasping at straws?

I was having a discussion via text with a friend about my recent lack of success in submitting writing pieces to various publications.  I generally text using the "T9" predictor method - much faster than standard typing.

During this discussion, I attempted to type the word "rejected".  Typed quickly and moved on, catching a moment too late that the first word the predictor chose for that combination was not, in fact, "rejected".

Instead it pulled up "selected".

At first, I found it amusing that the same combination of keys created two very opposite words.  Then I began thinking.......is it some sort of sign?  A coincidence that holds more significance than a simple coincidence should hold?

Or am I simply grasping at straws, trying to find a positive in the giant pile of negative that recent times have become for me?

Stuck in a rut......

I'm plugging away with seemingly little production to show for it.  I refuse to stop writing, but so little of what I'm putting to paper lately has any real value that I'm having a difficult time staying the course.  I desperately need some inspiration.......

Help Me!!

No, it's not an S.O.S. - I just need readers.

I've entered a piece of my writing in a contest at a site called AuthorStand.  A portion of the contest factors in the ratings given to the story by those who read it.  The voting period runs through December 8th, and my story has had very few readers so far.

It's a piece entitled "Learning The Hard Way".  I can't say I've had an objective opinion on it so far, so it's entirely possible that it sucks.  But it's only a few pages long, so it won't waste too much time even if you hate it.  :-)

Here is the link - you have to click on "Download story" and it will bring it to you as a PDF file.
Learning The Hard Way

Lost

About two years ago I wrote a short piece as I was approaching my birthday, reflecting on the state of affairs in my life at that time.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * 


Thirty-four.

It hit harder than I expected it to - I've never been one to worry about the passing of birthdays. It's just another year, I told myself, just like I always do - it happens every October, and it never so much as registers a blip on my personal radar screen.

But thirty-four is different.

This year, I'm a failure - on the way down instead of struggling to move forward. I'm not getting closer to success; in fact, I'm not even standing still anymore - the ground beneath me is unsteady, and I'm slipping backwards as my plan for the future fades into yet another unattained dream.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Another birthday approaches (thirty-SIX for those who care.....LOL ), and I am struck and saddened by exactly how similar things are two years later. 

And I'm still just as lost for answers..........

It's a little bit funny.......

As I write this post, I find myself thinking of Pedro Cerrano.

Pedro Cerrano was the home-run hitter for the Indians in the hilarious movie "Major League".  But he had one major problem:

He couldn't hit a curveball if you gave him a sniper rifle and stopped the ball mid-pitch.  Which led to many very humorous moments throughout the movie, until at the end of course, where in cliche Hollywood style he finds a way to hit the curveball to be one of the big heroes.

What exactly does any of this have to do with writing?

Well, I find myself facing curveballs lately.  For example, the pieces I mentioned for the Safety Pin Review (see previous post) were all rejected.  Not fun, right?  But the email I received from the site's owners was not only personal (rather than a cheesy form letter), but it contained positive comments about my writing.

And those positive comments are the only non-familial positive feedback I've received in a long time.  In a freaking rejection letter.

Another example: my book(s).  Several years ago, I began work on a novel.  A novel that has sat dormant for months because I kind of lost my way on the story and haven't had the energy or inspiration to try to drag it back on course.

Meanwhile, the only real productive work I've accomplished lately is on what I think is becoming a novel.  A piece that started out as a six sentence short, but somehow took on a life of its own.  A book that I didn't set out to write has far and away eclipsed the book that I've struggled toward for the last few years.

Which of course, isn't productive at all in the short run, leading to curveball number three - the only writing that seems to be flowing out of me lately is work that isn't suitable to submit to paying markets or contests, while I'm so blocked on those type of pieces that I've missed deadlines on well over half of the contests and markets I've targeted.

I need a bigger bat.