Putting it Out There

So, as per my usual habit, I have stayed away from writing here largely because I am afraid. Afraid of what? You might be wondering. 

Afraid of not saying the right things?

Afraid I will say too much? Too little?

Afraid of being mocked, heckled or shamed like no one has ever been shamed in the history of all mankind?

Or maybe I'm afraid that - once I type it and hit 'publish' - it will all be out there in black and white, permanently etched upon the slippery insides of the elusive, darting cloud we call the Internet, from whence it can never be fully retrieved.

...Perhaps I'm afraid of all of the above, but actually, mostly none. 

What I'm really afraid of more than anything else, is the intensity of what I feel when I write. It is an emotion - no, a pile of emotions - that are altogether too close to what you feel in your most dramatic of real-life moments; the kind you wish you could remember forever... 

...As well as the ones you wish you could just forget.

All through my early twenties I was SO proud because I had this ridiculous running tally of how long I had gone without crying. As if that were some sort of super-human accomplishment. I would raise my chin just a little too high and say, "I haven't cried in (x amount of) years..." and look around peripherally to see whether I'd stricken my intended chord of awe and inspiration.

What's funny is, I don't remember ever noticing that anyone was impressed. Rather, to the eye of my recollection they all appear bored and a little annoyed maybe. Hm.

The fact is, in my mid-twenties I turned my entire life around and with it, I discovered that it was a good thing to cry. At first I released it all in a torrential flood and thought I would never, ever stop. I cried over my soon-to-be ex-husband, what I thought we could have, would have, should have had... I cried over how devastated my daughter was destined to be her entire life because of the changes I was making (while realizing that if I didn't make those changes she would be just as traumatized if not all the more.)

I cried because I hadn't cried for so long, I had half a lifetime of tumultuous, riotous, and ultimately horrifying memories that NEEDED to be cried over. Those memories are too bad to forget, though. They have to be written about. 

And I know this and that is why I have to tackle this fear thing that rears up each time I near a keyboard.

Today, my life is wonderful in all its day-to-day glory. I have an amazing husband and all my children - including said daughter - have turned out more beautifully than I could ever imagine or even come close to taking credit for (I give the credit all to them and God.) 

And I get on my knees every morning and every night and I thank Him that I get to have this life; the kind where you get to be annoyed because your husband leaves hair all over the bathroom sink when he shaves, where you get to yell at your kids because they just walked on your newly cleaned floors after traipsing all over the newly fertilized front lawn.

But in all its normalcy and regular-ness, today's life of mine is not complete. No, not at all. Because I've become a procrastinator in the worst way. 

Tell me something. If you had experienced the equivalent of 300 years in your short 30-something life, wouldn't you think it fair that you share what you'd learned with those out there who are born into similar circumstances? So that they might make it out of the pain earlier than you did? 

So that they'd be armed with the knowledge that "someone else in the world gets me; she's been there."

Maybe I'm just being cocky and thinking I've got so much to offer and people will read my stories and say, "Pfft. That didn't happen/can't happen/couldn't have happened to someone like her, at least." And so they will walk away without hitting 'share' and sending it to their friends so that some girl, somewhere out there, who is going through abuse, torture, being held against her will, whatever atrocity has got her... So she won't ever get to learn that she's not alone and she can save herself.

Well it's not being cocky. At least, I don't see it that way. The Lord was the One who was there with me through it all and I give all the credit to Him. Maybe a teensy bit to myself. But I'm not doing Him or my experience, my stories any justice, not doing anyone any good in return, if I don't tell them out loud.

My stories cry to be heard. They beg and plead with me each night as I toss and turn, shock me awake in cold sweats of panic. If I don't tell them, I stand responsible if someone out there feels like she should just give her situation one more chance. One more try. 

And what if it's her last?

If she could have stumbled across a story on Pinterest or Twitter, about a girl in a similar situation who GOT STRONG and TOOK CHARGE of her life? But she didn't stumble across it and now she's just another statistic?

Uh-uh. I don't give a shizzle what ANYBODY thinks. I'm doing it.

I WILL write my stories and publish them and get them out there, far and wide, the best I can. And there it is.

credit

FelloWords: Brought to You by Your Favorite EditoWriter

There's something fresh goin' on over here at the ol' Evergreen E.

And no, it's not room spray, clean diapers, or even fruit.

six apparently fresh diapers

You see, I am a writer who is also an editor. I loooove to name things. And believe it or not? I also enjoy the occasional play on words. (And if you actually didn't laugh out loud at that one because it's more than obvious... you must not know me very well yet. Keep reading. You will.)

So I decided to go ahead and name myself and what I do. Why not? And it was actually very, very easy. Because I am a writer and an editor and if you just combine the two words a little, you get:

EditoWriter. 

Mmhmm. That's right. And then that thought kind of blossomed into something altogether AWESOME. (I've put this page up before and gotten a unanimously positive response, so I know it's awesome.)

So you saw it here on Evergreen Eden, first:

the FelloWord.

You're going to see a lot of these here from now on. It's the act of combining TWO words (i.e., fellow + words) into totally trendy and oh-so-repeatable NEW words (i.e., Fellowords.)

And I thought: Hey. Shouldn't there be a combined word to express the very concept of combining words?

Why, yes, said I. I think there should.

And thus, the unprecedented, historically profound concept of "Fellowords" was born. 

Yes, I know. Please hold your applause. Because first you should know the (blessedly for you) short story about how I came up with the term Fellowords:

I looked up the word mate  on the Merriam-Webster Online Thesaurus, and from there, I came up with the following possibilities:

• TerMate (term + mate) - Yup, no-brainer on that one. Gross!

• wordmate - Totally sterile. The Felloword equivalent of ...the color beige.

• loveword - ...I don't even know what to say about that one?

• and (last but not least,) bosom words - Kind of funny, but obviously a fail. I mean, wouldn't two separate words sort of defeat the whole purpose, entirely?

And then I saw it. Fellow. (A synonym for the word mate.)

Voila, dear people! You may clap now...

WOW, thank you! You're too kind. :)

So here, in all their lovechildish, bosom-friendy glory, are Eden E's super-dooper and someday-famous.... Fellowords:

• drogging (verb):  drowsy + blogging

• blowsy (adj):  blogging + drowsy

• Froggers (noun):  friends who are also bloggers

• Motech (noun):  modern + technology

• Internext-Door Neighbor (noun):  Internet + Next-Door Neighbor (which is just a fancier way of saying good buddy on the 'net.)

• funlightening (adj): fun and enlightening

• EditoWriter (noun): Editor + Writer (What I am!)

And there you have it. So far, anyway. 

I will continue to add more FellowordsTM as I think them up/throw them into a post, in order to a) attempt to express myself, b) attempt to be funny, c) fail miserably at both, or of course d) all of the above.

disclaimer: This page is copyrighted material, one day to be semi-famous, and comes straight from the deep recesses of Eden's brain. 

...And for that, I apologize.

7 Life Lessons I Learned from an Evergreen (2nd MAJOR Guest Post I Promised You)

OK remember a few days ago when I posted my big, unbelievably huge news that I'd had not one but TWO major guest posts published last week? And then I promised you that I would get this second guest post out to you? 

Yeah. Well this is as close to "tomorrow" as I got. Heheh. Should I apologize, or have you already chalked it off to "that's just how Eden rolls"? ...Hopefully the latter. 

Many of you may have already heard a version of the list itself because I have had it all over this blog at any given point in time, but it's worth it to read it again. Plus it's short; really unusual for many things I do. (Yep. I have edited that thing until it can be edited no more.) 

Plus? I honestly mean every, single, word. It's like my life's credo; very important stuff here, guys!! So without further ado... Hope you enjoy both the list and the story behind it:

Yup, I took this. :) Kind of nice not to have to credit the photo OR the editing to anyone but  little old moi.

I grew up in the stunningly beautiful San Bernardino Mountains of Southern California.

Yes they were real mountains. And yes, it snowed there! :) A lot.

(Usually the first question people ask me, now that I live in wintry cold Northern Utah, is: Um, did you ever even see snow, in Southern California? And the answer to that is always, much to my stifled humor: Yes.)

Yes, they were – are, rather – actually real mountains. And the trees are actually green and the snow, when it does snow, is actually very white, and very deep. Not much powder there due to the more Mediterranean-type climate, and from what I understand there’s not nearly as much snow these days anymore, anyway… I guess due to global warming.

But growing up, we got lots of great big fluffy snowflakes. We even had snow days where school was called out of session! It wasn’t because we weren’t used to the snow, mind you. No, it was because there were so many unbelievably steep and narrow roads, bridges, and cliffs to navigate… It made the task of plowing an absolute logistical nightmare.

But I digress. I would love to paint you a picture of what my childhood mountains were like, but really that’s not what this post is about. My purpose here is actually to let you in on some interesting things I learned from the San Bernardino Mountain’s beautiful, massive evergreen trees.

There were trees everywhere. You could drive down any given road, reach your hand out the window, and cry out with laughter as the soft fronds of a Douglas fir brushed against your palm. You had to be careful, of course. And sap was a much more common thing to clean from your fingers at the end of a long day than, say, germs and flu bugs that require loads of hand sanitizer.

Playing in your “yard” was really the endless exploration of forest, streams, and ponds. I was “queen” of a large rock outcropping that overlooked the stream. We would hide Ding-Dongs, bags of candy and various other prizes, in amongst the rocks to keep them safe until our next “club meeting.”  

The Ponderosa, sugar, and the Jeffrey pines. The white fir and the juniper. The big-cone blue spruce. Mmm, and the smell of the lovely incense cedar.

And then, there was that most respected of all the evergreens: The giant Redwood. The entire north face of our mountain was one massive, heart-stopping grove of Sequoias.

The evergreens were my life. They were so tall, and the forest so dense, that whenever the wind blew, and it frequently did, there were a couple of Ponderosas that would bump gently into the side of our house, causing the whole thing to shake a little. And strangest of all, was that it was somehow comforting. (Especially when you consider the fact that we were right down an earthquake fault line.) Our home, several decades old, had been built on a steep downhill slope… That kind of thing should probably go against your natural instincts but there in those mountains, it’s really the only place there is to build a house.

But, fault lines aside, I considered it – and still do – my true home. No matter where we’ve lived since. Every time we go back to visit, I roll down my window and just breathe in, breathe in. I feel alive for those few precious days, like I’m recharging my batteries and my soul. I can sometimes even convince myself that I’m finally back home again, for good.

Well, at this point you may be wondering how any human being could love trees and mountains this much. Sigh… ;) I hope there are a lot of people out there who share my love of nature in your own way. I thought maybe it would help bridge the gap, if I share with you a few things I learned from living there amongst those trees, for as long as I did…

Seven Life Lessons I Learned from an Evergreen

1.   The evergreen tree lives up to its name every day of its life, staying true to its colors, even when the world is grey.

2.   It shares its peace and beauty with all who come near it, no matter what they look like or what they believe.

3.   It sways and dances, whispering strength to all its neighbors and its fuzzy little tenants, when the harsh Santa Ana winds come whipping up the face of the mountain.

4.   It makes a safe, warm haven for those it harbors in its care, giving them shelter and comfort from the cold.

Also, moi. :)

5.   It bows gracefully when the heavy snows come down.

6.   It stays firmly rooted to the ground through it all.

7.   And last but not least, it grows just a little bit every day, as it strives to reach toward Heaven...