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| - A girl who knows where she's a go'n - May 2009 |
As I sit here feeling the sun on my face through my office building window, I am reminded of a day around this time four years ago – seeing sun shining through my living room bay window onto the ragged remains of cotton pages in the middle of my writing journal. Frayed, because – 60 (2-sided) pages were GONE! Ripped out by my then husband, ripping nearly my guts and hopes with them. But “nearly” was enough to...get me HERE. Where is here? Here is…a few writing sessions away from putting the soul rushing “FADE OUT” at the end of my third, yes THIRD, screenplay (as well as re-write and edits to a friend’s book).
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| ~ Stories to be told. Me age 4 ~ |
To some maybe that doesn’t seem a lot, but when you are a full-time working, commuting, single mom, trust me, it’s more than a lot! And so “here”? Here...is the evidence of my unbreakable spirit. Here…is belief in dreams, those that wake me in the night screaming to be heard and those whispered in the silence as I feel the lake trail under my feet and the breeze on my face telling me “believe”. That day of discovery of the secretive heist by my now ex-husband -- removing the pages in a sneaked moment when I got into the shower, he went into the guest room (of our “up for sale” house) that I’d moved into while we finalized our end, and he...destroyed with cruel intention, shredding a year’s worth of work. Irreplaceable words and thoughts – lost. FOREVER. Four screenplays of notes and 48 out of 56 lines of a stage play…GONE! I was vomitish, literally, for weeks. Could barely eat or sleep. And it evoked in me a feeling that I didn’t even know existed. It. Was. The ultimate act of selfishness. I moved out that very day and never looked back.
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| - Couldn't FADE me OUT! - January 2013 |
It took me four months before I could even touch my writing journal again. And it took me another few to find the strength within me to even attempt to put my stories down on paper again. But my stories -- thank you stories! -- they gave me the courage to write again. I bought a new writing journal, with new energy and a fresh start. That was four years ago, and three screenplays just about behind me, there aren’t words for the elation that comes from that kind of victory. He destroyed my never to be recovered words. He tore pieces of my soul with each paper shred. And cut me deeper than any of his other elicit shenanigans. But I got up, stood taller and looked defeat in the eye – I won that staring contest! I run my fingers every now and then over the pages of pain on my old journal. I kept it, retrieving it actually from the trash that I tossed it into (a few times), knowing that I needed to keep it. IT needed me to keep it.
And so HERE? Here, is...HOPE. COURAGE. WILL. PASSION. And BELIEF. It is also HONORING my inner voice who was always loud enough even in its stillness to be heard through the chaos. Grateful. Here…is GRATEFUL. And it is also FIFTEEN original Ryan Roxley stories in the works.
I do hope to be privileged with the gift of time at some point, so that I can crank them out sooner than one a year. For now, my office will continue to be…at the lake, on the bus, in the waiting room, on the beach, in my bed, in my oval tub, on my back patio, or my front porch, at the tree swing, at the airport, at Tanner's football practices and at coffee shops any(every)where…in my stolen moments of “free” (ha) time ‘tween 11 ¾ hour work/commute days and trying to write only when my son is active in something other than our time or when he’s at his dad’s house.
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| ~ {peace} ~ |
Speaking of, there may come a time where I can’t lie anymore when my son asks me, “Mom, did you ever find out who that evil man was who stole your writing?” For now, I will keep walk on the high road and just enjoy the sun on my face in a moment of breathed in peace at {HERE}. - RyRox
