Destiny

 

Have you ever had something happen to you, heard a particular phrase, or had a scene in your life play out in a way that makes you stop and think, “There’s something familiar about this”? The popular term is Deja-vu, French for ‘already seen’.

Are we predestined to follow a certain path in life? If you’re a spiritual person, it is said that God knows all of what we will do, yet we have free will. What if the path is already laid out for us? Is it possible we are just doing exactly what we are supposed to do? I think there was a movie a few years back on the subject, with Matt Damon as the star. If someone knows of it, please post. If I remember the premise correctly, he goes against the path of his life, maybe falling in love with someone he wasn’t supposed to? We’re not talking about ‘The Matrix’, where life is an illusion. What we’re talking about is destiny; our path is already laid out. We just live to fulfill it.

I have to be honest. I’ve had many instances of Deja’ Vu. Maybe it’s just my super-intelligent mind, (Yeah, right!) or my overactive imagination. (could be) Whatever it is, it makes me wonder.

Are we pre-destined for God’s plan as a whole, but can fill in the gaps with our free will? In other words, the beginning and the end are the same—no matter what—but the middle can be manipulated?  

For many years, I have refuted the concept of time travel. My philosophy was that the past is like a never ending fuse on a stick of dynamite; when the seconds tick off they burn up, gone forever. We cannot go back. And the past is like the fuse yet to be burned. Which, if you follow my logic here, is pre-destined—yet just hasn’t happened yet. Think of a straight line. Point A and point B. That is our life. Is point B pre-determined, or can we put an S-curve in it with one decision? What about a winding road with a series of decisions—good or bad? That’s where the Deja-vu comes in. Maybe our subconscious knows where we’re going. Do we really have any control over what happens in our lives? We think we are making decisions, or choices, but ‘WHAT IF’ those choices are our destiny?

Why are some people destined to be janitors, or public servants, or athletes making mega-bucks? What would the world be like if we all had the same intelligence, the same driving force to succeed, the same DESTINY? Who would clean the windows?  

For a few years now, I have felt the constant pull of a powerful force. My heart is telling me I want to be a writer. I’ve looked into writing articles, or magazine pieces, or any number of non-fiction markets—anything to get published, but my HEART keeps pulling me back to novels. Maybe I’m destined to tell a story I’m not aware of yet. My brain says I have to keep paying the bills, contributing to the future my wife and I have worked blood, sweat, and tears for. Lately, it seems as though every decision I make fights against my destiny. I’m making decisions with my mind, not my heart. I think the heart is linked to our TRUE destiny. People always say, “Go with your heart.” I’m here to tell you, the brain LIES! Go with what’s in your heart. I’ve been put here to write a story. And someday soon, I will know that story.  

Find a way to fulfill your destiny on your own terms.     

C is for Caught

 

 

Caught

 

“I don’t love you anymore, Paul. Can’t you just accept that?” My wife of fifteen years threw a handful of clothes into the open suitcase on the bed. I couldn’t imagine her not folding them into neat little stacks, each shirt or pair of jeans categorically paired with its match. She tossed in a cluster of undergarments; all the really sexy stuff, I noticed. Where had she been hiding that?

“Come on, Jane.” I reached for her hand but she pulled away. “Can’t we talk about this?”

She stopped packing just long enough to glare at me. “What about last week? I wanted to talk then, but you just couldn’t get away from the office.”

“I was here all day Sunday. Why didn’t we talk then?” I said, feeling control slipping away.

She rolled her eyes. “Your body might have been here but your mind darn sure wasn’t. Who was she? The girl on your laptop?” Her nose crinkled up in that way I always found so cute.

“She was just. . . “ I felt my face burning.

“Paul. You’re blushing. How does it feel to be caught in your little lie? I certainly hope she’s worth it.” She sat on the corner of the bed, a lacy bra dangling from her slender fingers, the C-cups pointing up at me. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

With my finger, I touched her cheek and wiped at the tear. She closed her eyes and pressed against my palm. I felt her shaking.

“It’s not what you think,” I said. “Tina, the lady on my laptop, is with the adoption agency. I wanted to surprise you. They found us a baby. A little baby . . .”

Jane nearly knocked me over when she jumped into my arms, pulling me so tight I thought I might strangle, kissing every square inch of my face, yelling over and over, “I love you! I love you! I love you, Paul!”

 

 

  

 

B for BOLD

B for BOLD              

Since my theme for this year’s challenge is about fulfilling your dream (mine is to become a full time writer) the word ‘BOLD’ is very fitting.

But maybe not in the way you’re thinking.

As writers, or painters, or musicians, or whatever—we have to be bold. But is there such a thing as being too bold? Can we push too hard?

One of my current hobbies is checking out free or at least inexpensive e-books I see posted on twitter, facebook, Amazon, or anywhere else where these little “gems” might show up. It doesn’t matter what genre. I’m very curious to know what other newbees are putting out there. So far, it’s been a lesson in futility. Look at the following example:

After reading the first ten pages of a fantasy novel with a good premise and attractive cover, here is my evaluation.

Repetition—The author repeated a LOT of things in the first few pages. For one, he makes it a point to mention that one character is chilled as she walks down the street. Two pages later, He points out that “late fall cold had begun to set in”, and then explains how his character is trying to keep out the chill again. ALL IN THE SAME SCENE

The bad guys in the book are larger than humans. The author uses every word imaginable—several times—to describe this size difference. Mention it once or twice and let it GO, or use your action to convey the point. Speaking of action, several characters “Stopped dead in their tracks” in the first ten pages. And one guy whined several times. I don’t know about you, but my brain latches on to these things. Then I’m backtracking to confirm I just saw the same phrase a page or two back.

Tag lines—Oh my! Here is a list of tag lines on ONE page: he informed, she repeated, he whined, he sputtered, he demanded, he warned. ON ONE PAGE! Not once does the author say; he said. Lesson—Lose the tag lines or keep it simple.

Dialogue MUST fit the character speaking. In one scene, the author is describing a confrontation between the good guy and the bad guy. This bad guy (huge in size compared to the good guy, as we’ve already been told over and over) is supposed to be one mean dude. Here is a line in the book. “Stop!” he bellowed at Kale. “Or I’ll skewer your sister. I’m not kidding.”

REALLY? Skewer? Why not gut or amputate something? But he’s not KIDDING! What? Is he twelve?

My point is this: sometimes the time to be bold is not when we’ve completed our first manuscript and had our reading group critique it. Someone should have pointed these flaws out to the author. Now he/she has a book published that a knowledgeable reader will give up on after just a few pages.

Be BOLD in learning the craft and be willing to accept critique from those who know what they’re talking about. Put your absolute best out there.

If anyone would like a seasoned reader to read and review their book, I’m all ears.

Now Boldly Go!

 

ALL IN                           

To kick of the 2113 A-Z Blog challenge, I’m going to start from the beginning—or I should say, beginning for me. For some of you, this point of revelation may already have occurred.

Okay, let me clarify. I’m speaking of a moment of clarity in my pursuit of being happy with who I am. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m married to a wonderful woman (fifteen years come May), I have three great children, and have had a respectable career in the woodworking business. What I haven’t achieved is my life’s passion. Can such a thing ever be achieved? I pray that it can. For the sake of my sanity.

For the past ten years I have dreamed of being a writer. Little did I know, when I took that evening class in creative writing ten years ago, that my fun hobby would turn into an obsession. And that my obsession would lead to so much frustration.

How many excuses can be made not to fulfill a dream? Working a ‘real’ job?—that’s the worst. Not enough time?—just say no to Facebook and computer games. I have too many obligations?—funny how we make time for other things we want. Am I good enough?—this one is the true killer; self-doubt—lack of confidence—an unwillingness to have faith in what I can achieve.

So today, my writing brethren, I proclaim that I am ALL IN. From this day forward, I will not back down, will not give self-doubt a perch upon my shoulder, will not make one more excuse for why not!

I will write, and write some more, and write even more. And then I will submit to the keepers of the gate, but will NOT be held captive by those with the key.

I AM a writer and I will make my own key if I have to!     

Easter Message

I wrote this about 6 years ago and it never found a home. I guess today's the day.
It's a new perspective on a familiar story. Hope you enjoy!
Happy Christ is Risen Day!

 

It is an ordinary day.  People with sandal clad feet and cloaks covering their backs and shoulders scurry about on my weathered cobblestones.  Children toss polished rocks toward mud stucco walls; their bare feet patter and swish across the loose sand sifting around the alleyways.  An occasional laugh or giggle echoes through my narrow street.

I am the Via Dolorosa, the avenue to Golgotha. 

Off in the distance, shouts of discontent and agitation begin to swell.  Soon the sound fills my now quiet street.

“Crucify!  Crucify!  The voices shout.  “Take him away!  Crucify him!”  A tremendous roar of agreement erupts like the thunder of a thousand chariots. 

Distant and faint, mixed with the cheering and adulation, a woman wails in agony. 

What is going on?  My street is bare of human feet, devoid of whispers and chatter of the normal business bustle.  But wait!  Someone is coming, and with him they follow, the onlookers, the weepers, and the doubters.  He carries a cross made of timber on his back.  As his bare feet pad along on my irregular stone, he stumbles.  His cheek is mere inches from my surface now.  His breathing is labored and shallow.  A stream of sweat and crimson blood trickles down his taught cheek and drips like teardrops onto my blistering surface.   I see the crown of thorns on his head dig deeper into his scalp with every agonizing twist or turn.  I can feel his breath against me.  I wonder how man can be so cruel.   

Now I hear the whispers of the crowd that surrounds him.  “Jesus.  King of Kings,” they say.  “He claims he is the son of God.”  Disbelieving laughter and grunts of indignation now rain down on the man known as Jesus.  Behind the soldiers and the nonbelievers, many shed tears of sorrow.

Just as I become convinced this “Jesus” would not rise to walk again, would instead collapse in a lifeless heap upon my dampened facade, a man emerges from the crowd and raises the wooden cross.  I see compassion in the man’s sorrowful eyes as the Good Samaritan helps Jesus to his feet.  As they pass, I see the jagged, crisscross lines of blood streaking the back of Jesus’ robe.  Behind him, a mother sobs for her son.

The procession moves on.  The curious follow close, unable to pull away from the spectacle.  Blood and teardrops mark their path toward Golgotha. 

I hear the sound of hammers now mixed with cries of agony.  My street is bare again, with the multitude now on the distant hillside.  A murmur of activity drifts in my direction.  Soldiers agitate and call out in ridicule to the man known as “Jesus”. 

“If you are truly the son of God, save yourself,” they scoff, then laugh and slap each other on the back. 

People in the crowd cry out and begin to pray for God’s forgiveness, for themselves and for those about to commit the ultimate sin; the murder of God’s child.  Why doesn’t he protest?  His words rise above the others but I can only make out a scattering gibberish.  “Father… forsake…know not…It is done.”  Across the swaying treetops, I see his head sag in death.  The wailing begins again.

Mourning and sorrow fills the city.  Men, women, and children amble along my cobblestone path with heads hung low.  After the third sunrise, I begin to wonder if things will ever be the same.  There is no joy in the air, no hope in their hearts.  My desolate street is dirty with shame.

But then I here raised voices.  A growing chant rises from the darkness.

“He is risen!”  A crying women with hands raised to the sky yells, “He is risen!  He is risen!”  And the believers rejoice.

I am the Via Dolorosa.  I am the Street of Sorrows. 

          

 

           

For Love of the Child

A few days ago I experienced my 48^th birthday. I think when you get to be my age, birthdays tend to be more like a necessary nuisance, not a thing of partying and merriment. And given that my sacred day fell on a Monday, life went on without much fanfare; just as I would have hoped. Nobody wants to be reminded that they are nearing half a century like an inbound asteroid dooming the earth. By the way, Monday is the perfect day to experience a birthday you’d sooner forget. Nobody likes a Monday. Perfection in the natural order of things, I’m thinking. Until today.

Today I received a birthday card from my oldest son (he’s 28). He’s a junior, but I’ve always called him Robert; his middle name. I knew the card would be a little late because he had contacted me about getting my address so he could send it, said he had misplaced where he wrote it down before. But then I forgot—until today when I checked the mail. And as fate would have it, the mail had not been checked for several days and was stuffed with parcel, but buried in the pile of slush mail was a birthday card, and here’s what it said, and what brought me face to face with my unconditional love for my child, my son, a man above his years.

 

Dad,

There’s no training manual

for being a dad.

No hard fast rules,

no one sure way

to be a perfect father.

 

All any man can ever do

is give it the best he has.

That’s what you did

for me, Dad,

And I want you to know

I know it.

 

I can’t say with certainty that my son knew the impact of these words when he bought the card, but as with anything worth believing in, I will cherish these words more than he may ever know. For me, these words tell the story of my love for him, and how being a father is perhaps the toughest job in the world. You see, I’ve always wondered whether I was the father I should—or could have been when he was growing up. Did I give him everything he needed from me? The answer, of course, is no. And the guilt of that lies heavily. But we do the best we can and move on.  

I am a believer in things happening for a reason. My son picked this particular card for a reason—whether realized or not. And it made my WORLD today.

I love you beyond words James Robert Tate Jr!

 

   

MOVIES-MINDLESS OR THOUGHT PROVOKING

I heard an interesting comment several days ago that started the wheels turning in my overactive brain. The person said that if they were to sit down and watch a movie, it needed to provide them with something. Essentially they were saying the movie needed to educate or at least stimulate the brain. Now I consider myself a pretty deep thinker sometimes, and am often drawn to movies that are “thicker” in content, but sometimes I just like to be entertained. The trick is to understand what you’re getting before you drive to the theatre, before you drop a twenty on a pair of tickets (going alone is a last resort) and before you vaporize another twenty on popcorn and goodies.

 

Being a fan of Kevin James from King of Queens, I recently went to see his latest movie, BRING ON THE BOOM. If I had to evaluate this film based on its intellectual merits, I’d have to give it a 2 out of 5 stars. Maybe 1 ½. But that’s not why I went to see it. I went to this show to give my mind a break, to escape in mindless entertainment. And I have to say, Mission Accomplished! If I were grading strictly on whether it was a fun movie that lived up to my expectations, I’d give it 4 ½ out of 5. It wasn’t GOOD WILL HUNTING because I didn’t expect it to be. Kevin James made me laugh—and sometimes that’s all I need.

 

(FYI—Bas Rutten, an actual retired UFC fighter was hysterical as Kevin’s trainer)

 

I’ve included a list of my top ten “mindless” movies. Let me know your thoughts about what you like to see at the theatre, or your opinion on my list.

1)    Dumb and Dumber  (the name says it all but it’s a guilty pleasure)

2)    Ace Ventura (“three darts is too many!”)

3)    Armageddon (any movie that leads out with a ZZ-Top song is good by me)

4)    Liar Liar (Can you tell I like Jim Carrey?)

5)    Independence Day (Will Smith and Aliens? Bring on the jujube’s)

6)    Bring on the Boom (this one’s new on the list)

7)    The Pirate’s of the Caribbean series (Captain Jack Sparrow—what a great movie name played by an equally unique actor)

8)    The Avengers (The Hulk was the BOMB!)

9)    John Carter in 3-D (Sci-Fi from way back)

10)                       The STAR TREK movies from the original series (Okay, it’s out. I’m a Trekky)

All I need now is a tub of buttered popcorn. (Don’t  tell my cardiologist)