Try Writing

I know, I know. I keep reblogging when I should be writing. Is it my fault there are so many wonderful writers to be found on WordPress? 🙂

This one, from Stuart M. Perkins on his blog “storyshuckers,” is a priceless response to a non-WordPress blogger who apparently wrote a post on his blog, putting down the rest of talentless bloggers, who apparently annoy him by posting our drivel on the internet!

Storyshucker

“Thousands of people who write believe they are better than thousands of others. They believe they will pen the next great American novel but their writing is dull and full of grammatical errors. Why do they write anything intended to be read by the public? Why do they write?”

I read those lines and was impelled to respond. The blogger’s entire post was arrogant and sarcastic, but those lines were the cherries on top. After I acknowledged that he can post what he likes on his own blog, I then asked if rather than squelch ambitions with a negative message about imperfection, he could instead applaud people for their attempts, for our attempts because I am one of the imperfect. But, we still try.

I don’t necessarily like being serious because, well, it’s not funny. I love a little arrogance and sarcasm as much as anyone, maybe more than…

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Enough Of This Shit

And here’s another reblog that comes out of the latest gun massacre. This was written by the amazing Gretchen Kelly, a much needed voice in today’s feminist movement. And one of my new, personal heroes!

Drifting Through

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“Where you born to resist, or be abused?

Is someone getting the best, the best, the best, the best of you?”

-Foo Fighters, Best of You

Saturday was a fun day. We spent the evening at friend’s house. The kids laughing and playing in the pool while we enjoyed good food, great conversation and more than a few drinks. We all came pouring in the door full of energy and laughter. We shuffled the kids upstairs to get ready for bed. I paused for a minute to soak up the moment. My family. All of us smiling, happy. I was still reflecting on the fun evening whenI grabbed my phone. I popped on to Twitter for a quick peek to see if there was anything of interest happening.

#YesAllWomen. That’s what was happening.

I stopped my distracted cleaning that I had been doing while reading tweets. I had to…

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What If Our Dead Kids *DO* Trump Your Gun Rights?

I can’t think of anything to add. This pretty much says it all.

The End

In the farce that was the 2008 campaign of John McCain and Sarah Palin, one of the main fools was played by Joe the Plumber. Well, his name wasn’t Joe. And he wasn’t a plumber. But that was the stage name of Samuel Wurzelbacher of Ohio. He was the hood ornament on the Fox-sponsored GOP clown car that year.

Last Friday, a deranged man went on a slashing and shooting rampage, killing six young people near the UC Santa Barbara campus. He then committed suicide, leaving behind a video and a 140-page manifesto that expresses a shockingly demented hatred of women.

Just days later, the country is still reeling from the savagery of this crime, the killer’s unhinged misogyny and the soul-numbing reality of yet another mass shooting of young people in America. But today is the day that ‘Joe the Plumber’ published an “open letter to the parents of the victims” of the Santa Barbara spree…

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Multiple Sclerosis: The First Two Years.

Valariamsouza hits the ball clear out of the park describing her first two years after an MS diagnosis. She very clearly states what it feels like when your own body attacks itself…when it eats you from the inside out. And what it feels like to be utterly abandoned in your time of the most need.
I’ve already thanked her, but I’m going to say it again…THANK YOU, Valenciamsouza, for giving us and this horrible f***ing disease a voice!!!!

It's complicated.

What I remember most about the first two years of MS is the hunger. I remember lying flat on my mattress, hungry. Close your eyes, go back to sleep.

I’m hungry.

I’m tired. No: I’m decimated. In this game of rock-paper-scissors, tired always wins out over hungry. I close my eyes. I drift in and out of sleep. Four hours pass. I wake up and think: I’m so hungry. Sleep. Eight hours. Still hungry. More sleep. Twelve hours. So fucking hungry. Knocked out again. Sixteen hours. Twenty hours. Sometimes twenty-four or more. Still hungry. Still fucking hungry.

Each time I awake I briefly contemplate getting up, foraging for something to eat. But the walk through the living room, past the bathroom, into the kitchen is long, and I am weak. The thought of opening the fridge or a cabinet, of microwaving something, is beyond me…

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“Someone else on the earth who is like me”

WOW!!! This world needs more parents like Gendermom. The post I’m re-blogging was just featured on Freshly Pressed, but it’s such a powerful message I asked if she would mind my doing so here. One amazing family with one very special little girl. 🙂