Giving and Living

“Every man gives his life for what he believes; every woman gives her life for what she believes. Sometimes people believe in little or nothing, [and yet] they give up their lives to that little or nothing. One life is all we have, and we live it as we believe in living it, and then it’s gone. But to surrender what you are, and live without belief—that’s more terrible than dying—more terrible than dying young” Maxwell Anderson (Joan of Lorraine, act 2, interlude 3)

I was born late in my parents’ lives- the sixth child of a seventh and fifth child. I married a sixth child, who also happened to be born to parents who were babies in their families. What this means is that my siblings, my husband’s siblings, my cousins and my husbands extended family are older than me. And I’m no longer young.

It’s interesting to get to this stage when the effects of hard living become painfully obvious. Many people I know won’t live to age 60.

According to a “real age” test, I should live to be 102, but if I lost 15 pounds, I could prolong my life by 8 years. My children, who are always interested in my homemade desserts, assure me that it’s not worth it. (Is this because they are worried about their cookie supply drying up—or because no one wants to care for me at age 110?) I do know that I want to live a long and healthy life, but I have to wonder—if someday my life flashes before my eyes, won’t all the hours I’ve spent writing be a terrible bore to watch?

I’m writing a companion novel to Stealing Mercy. I’m telling the story of Rita, Trent’s missing cousin, tentatively titled Rescuing Rita. This started out as more of a business decision than a “what a great story” decision. I’ve never done this before—written something because I thought it a good marketing plan. I’m about 20,000 words in. Originally, I thought it would be a novella—and maybe it will be—but I could call a novella quits after 20,000 words, and the ending is still very far away.

I thought I was writing something fast, furious and fun, a lot of action, some kissing, and a sweet ending but today everything changed. The story that I thought would not have much to say suddenly became heavier. Rita has a message after all.

If, as the bible tells us, angels are above us are silent notes taking of our every action, my angels must certainly be bored watching me weave stories onto a computer screen and play countless games of spider solitaire. My apologies, angels. Please don’t give up on me. There is an important story here somewhere. Sometimes it just takes me a while to discover it.

(I love this video of a young Janice Ian and I love the pictures of the "more mature" Janice Ian. She's beautiful, not just because of her appearance, but because of what she has to say.)

I don't want to ride the milk train anymore
I'll go to bed at nine and waken with the dawn
And lunch at half past noon and dinner prompt at five
The comfort of a few old friends long past their prime
Pass the tea and sympathy for the good old days long gone
We'll drink a toast to those who most believe in what they've won
It's a long, long time 'til morning plays wasted on the dawn
And I'll not write another line, for my true love is gone
When the guests have gone, I'll tidy up the rooms
And turn the covers down, and gazing at the moon
Will pray to go quite mad and live in long ago
When you and I were one, so very long ago
Pass the tea and sympathy for the good old days long gone
We'll drink a toast to those who most believe in what they've won
It's a long, long time 'til morning plays wasted on the dawn
And I'll not write another line, for my true love is gone
When I have no dreams to give you anymore
I'll light a blazing fire and wait within the door
And throw my life away, "I wonder why?" they all will say
And now I lay me down to sleep, forever and a day
Pass the tea and sympathy, for the good old days are dead
Let's drink a toast to those who best survived the life they've led
It's a long, long time 'til morning, so build your fires high
Now I lay me down to sleep, forever by your side.

Janice Ian—Tea and Sympathy