A Drop of Brandy

Heaven has Gained a New Angel

2012-02-29T19:38:00.003-05:00

I am deeply saddened to say that this morning a beautiful life left the world and was taken up to heaven.

The one and only Mrs. MW, lost her battle with cancer this morning. She was a fighter and fought the disease with every fiber of her being for much longer than I can imagine.

Although we were not related by blood, I considered, and will always consider her one of my grandmothers. She had an uncanny ability to change the temperature of a room, just by walking into it. Her smile was always bright and her laugh was utterly infectious. I will honestly miss it.

MW was a woman that I consider to be true, genuine and real. She was herself, and there was no pretending about it. She was a passionate woman who loved her husband, three children, children in law, grandchildren and even "pseudo" family members, like myself, completely. She would have done anything for them.

She was a wonderful cook, a classy hostess and a brilliant mind.

Never during her battle with cancer did I see her stop thinking of others. She still cared for everyone around her;
Even during rough patches, and after chemo, she would show her support for her family.

I will be eternally grateful for everything she did for me, all the bright words of wisdom she passed on, and every moment we were able to share.

Right now, as my hands slip over my tear filled keyboard, I can only imagine how her loss is being felt by those who knew her better than I.
To her family, and friends I say,
We will miss her always, she was eternally bright and kind, and that sort of warmth never leaves us. Although her spirit has left this world, her laughter will stay with us.

Mary, I love you. You are terribly missed.

Heaven has gained a beautiful Angel.

-Brandolyn

How I Start Writing a Novel

2012-02-29T02:02:00.000-05:00

I have been told for as long I can can remember, by teachers, co-workers, friends and family that my writing style is backwards. I cannot wait until I publish a book, so that I can prove to my elementary teachers, that my style for creating stories actually works.

I am not outlining my creative process as an instructive tool, this style will likely only work for me, and a select few others whos' brains are wired differently than the rest of society's, instead I am illustrating my creative process as an insight to how I work, to illustrate the differences and similarities between everyone's individual road to creating a piece of art.

Whenever I sit down to write, the first thing I do is not to come up with a moral, or challenge, or even a character. Instead I turn to my music, and hit shuffle.
My music is purely instrumental, primarily comprised of movies scores, and I close my eyes and wait for a title to reveal itself to me.

Most people find the title the hardest part of writing a story and save it for last. I need it to be the first stepping stone. After I have an attention grabbing title, everything else starts to fit into place.

Generic characters come next. First I decide if my main character will be female, or male, then I decide how many secondary characters I want. Creating characters is tedious work, so I start with the basics; name, age, height, defining characteristics (physical and mental). Every one of my characters, even minor ones, are unique. From there I will go on to sketch each character.

I have two characters that I have recently noticed have a few similarities in their character designs; both exotic females in their own worlds, both with black hair, who wield a bow and arrow, but that's as far as the similarities go. Their body type, their apparel, unique abilities, religious beliefs, up bringing, allies, enemies, negative attributes, to name a few are completely different, as are the journeys they are on.
After creating so many characters, I realise I am bound to repeat a few physical attributes, like hair colour.

After the characters are roughed out, and sometimes during the process I create the world they come from. Creating a world demands races, religions, counties, provinces, continents, a governing structure, jobs, some sort of struggling force; whether it is a race, a class, two provinces, or a group. The map of the world must be completed with forests, bodies of water, mountain ranges and other types of terrain.
During this part of my process I have usually come up with a general idea of the sort of story I want my characters to tell, whether it is an adventure and all I need to do is connect the dots across my map, or if I will have a certain plot point that will ask the reader to consider a certain question or moral standing.

Then it's off to the Library for Research!
I look into the clothing, housing, ornamentation, architecture, and geography that I want to portray in the story. I take notes, redraw items, and copy pages to keep for reference.

**Please note: Everything I draw, write, research, or reference stays both as a hard copy and a soft copy, for easy reference. **
My "Novel Binder" has all of the information that pertains to the story;
Character sketches
Life Models
Actors and look-a-likes
Maps
Geographic drawings
Architectural references
Races
Jobs
Names
Places
Costume renderings
Creatures

and the story itself

One of my current novels, TToA has an entire section dedicated to the various steeds and mounts each of the characters ride, complete with breeds, colour guide and accessories.

After the research I simply put a pen to paper and see where it takes me.

I prefer to write on paper for a few very simple reasons:
1- I have horrible hand writing and I want it to improve
2- I like the feel of a ballpoint pen as it rolls across a piece of paper
3- I like the smell of paper

Eventually when I have a significant chunk of story to input into the computer, I tend to gravitate to writing on the computer simply for the convenience of not having to write it twice. I find it important to start off writing on paper, as it gets me invested in the work. Pen and paper seems to hold my attention far better than my computer with it's distracting windows and easy access to Internet distractions. I am very sorry to say that I have lost many a good writing hour to the simple distractions of websites like YouTube and Texts From Last Night.

Once I have started writing the story and know a very general idea of where the story is going I will revisit my characters and develop them by writing short stories about their history. Generally these short stories are never referenced but they help me understand the characters' complexities and decisions making process.

Many of my characters are based on people I know, or at least have some of the characteristics of real people, whether the characters are good or bad is not defined by the person from whom I have borrowed likeness'. Rarely is anyone ever able to identify the character I have based on them, with the exception of the character I named after my sister.

The story outline often reveals certain challenges and moral outcomes that the novel will present and surround. These I try to highlight and refer to often. These must be re-occurring themes, and will resurface periodically. <-- This is really the only part I need to remind myself to write about.

From there I just follow my fingers. I let my brain take control, zone out for a bit, and read what I have produced afterwards.

It's difficult to explain but my stories just flow from me, like the river being fed by the ocean. On occasion I have sat down and asked for logistical assistance with an issue or particularily difficult manuever performed in the story that I need help visualizing, but otherwise, my fingers seem to know what I am trying to say before my brain realizes it. I think that is why I have a hard time focussign on one novel, because once you open the floodgates to the ocean, you cannot control what water gets in.

This is not the style I reccomend for anyone. I rarely use an outline, something most writers highly suggest (maybe one day I will too) but for now I will literally go with the flow.

-Brandolyn

G-7,278
TToA-64,492
TDotRQ-37,276

Writer's Block

2012-02-29T00:37:00.003-05:00

Most people know the definition of Writer's Block.
For the masses, Writer's Block is conceived as two ideas;
The general public visualises a mental barricade, which separates ideas from the brain, resulting in a lack of creativity.
My more "creatively inclined" friends, will visualise the Gamecube (from ReBoot) coming down and physically separating them from the tangible world, in which their writing utensils reside, preventing them from putting words on a paper.

For myself, Writer's Block is an entirely different matter. I very rarely have a drought of imagination, instead, my sessions of Writer's Block happen when my creativity is at its highest. I see Writer's Block as a sort of Sensory Overload where I have too many ideas to write down, and not enough time, or patience to sort through them.

I have several novels that I am working on at the moment for exactly that reason. Every time I put one story aside to focus on another, I get more ideas for new stories and ways to improve old ones. It is incredibly difficult to make significant leaps toward the completion of a manuscript when I am constantly working in short bursts. I have several partially completed works, and none that are finished and ready to send off to an editor.

I am constantly flipping from story to story, it's a wonder I can keep them straight in my head.
However, I get a lot of joy in re-reading old stories, or ones I haven't visited in a while. I have even been known to surprise myself!
Believe it or not, I have actually been reading my own work and wondered "How did I get them out of this mess?" Historically speaking, I have been very impressed with the outcome. I like being surprised in everything I read, and I get a twisted sense of pleasure from surprising myself. This may come from the many versions of my stories. Every chapter has been re-written hundreds of times, each with a different sequence of events and outcome, or it could be caused by my spotty memory, honestly I cannot remember.

At present I am working on a few other blog posts- I had to get this one out of the way first. I'm desperately hoping that this will help me focus my creativity.
I am also working on two of my novels: G and TToA (although I pick up DotRQ and TB quite frequently), as well as a short story about the effects of MS on Mental Health, a few more of my pen pal letters (I have written many copies, and Ladies and Gents, I may just send you several different letters and let you pick one to reply to, I cannot pick a favourite). I also have the beginning ideas for a graphic novel, which would surround some of my first novel's main characters in small "novellas" that never appear in the actual novel, but are very exciting and although not necessary for the character's development, the stories are nice to know.

As I write this I realize it has had the opposite effect I had desired, and has made me more susceptible to ideas. My next blog, which will likely be uploaded within the next few hours, will detail my unique writing style. How I write, create, sort my ideas into stories, and how I build up characters.

-Brandolyn

G-7,278
TToA-64,492
TDotRQ-37,276

Life is Like a Box of Chocolates

2012-02-16T02:00:00.005-05:00

I never quite understood the saying, "life is like a box of chocolates" until I really started thinking about it.
The more I pondered the similarities and differences between the complexities of life and a colourful, fun shaped box of assorted treats, the more I realised that Forest Gump's Momma had it right.

Initially I found the saying ridiculous. I figured that life isn't like a box of chocolates at all. A box of chocolates comes with a picture guided legend of all the assorted chocolates held within. Therefore you always knew what you were going to get, and you could separate the chocolates easily.

-Separate the chocolates you cannot eat because of any dietary restrictions and the ones you simply find disgusting, or are not willing to risk trying and put rejected chocolates in a pile
-Eat the rest

You now have a choice of what to do with the rejected chocolates:
A) Throw rejected chocolates in the trash
B) Leave the rejected chocolates for your siblings; feigning thoughtfulness
C) Leave the rejected chocolates in a dish until you have company and let your guests take their chances

Now, however, after a few hours sitting awake in the middle of the night while my cats play never ending rounds of tag across my bed, I have realised that the initial statement "life is like a box of chocolates"couldn't be more accurate.

It occurred to me first while I mentally dissected a box of chocolates.
Take the chocolate that has the widely spread reputation of "worst chocolate ever": The chocolate covered Maraschino cherry.
For me, this chocolate represents- School.
Don't get me wrong, i didn't always hate school, in fact for years I loved it, and looked forward to it. As I aged however, and found all the cracks and issues with my current education system, that love has turned to repulsion. Just like the Maraschino Cherry.
As a child I delighted in getting the chocolate covered cherry. Cherries are delicacies, a treat, everyone loves them, and I felt very fortunate to always be given what I perceived as the best chocolate. I see now that I was given that chocolate because I was the only one who didn't know better than to love it. Now, even the thought of biting into one makes me cringe and gag- Just like the thought of school.

The Coconut filled chocolate represents - Environmental factors.
Coconut filled smells great, looks good, even tastes pretty good most of the time, but it's the texture and the lasting after taste that makes your teeth feel fuzzy that makes most people throw this particular chocolate away. This chocolate is everything that looks nice, and turns out to bite us in the end. Things like weather, or roommates, independence and materialism. Take getting a car, it's great, you're free to go wherever you want, whenever you want but you have to pay insurance, and buy gas and pay for maintenance and repairs etc.

The Chocolate covered wafer represents- Your job/ work or career.
For me this chocolate is the most deceiving. Looks amazing, like solid chocolate, then you bite into it to discover it's not what you thought.
I go in to work in the mornings loving my job, but when I take a bite out of my day, I realise my love for this job is an illusion and end up wishing I could just keep the sweet sugary part of my day and toss out the rest.

Then there are the nut filled chocolates- the untouchables.
That is, for someone with an allergy or restriction to eating nuts.
This is the chocolate that represents friends, family and acquaintances. You can't do anything about them, they're always there and will always in the box or at the party. Get used to it, just learn to keep you distance.
Unfortunately "I'm allergic to you" doesn't work when trying to keep ones' distance from another person.

Finally there's the pure chocolate piece. Dark chocolate, white chocolate, milk chocolate or swirl, either way it's pure and there are no surprises. This one piece (it's rare and everyone fights over the same chocolate) represents -the moments we never want to give up.
These moments are more valuable than gold, and the way people fight over this lone chocolate it might as well be made of gold.
This chocolate is the moments that we will remember forever, the ones that don't come by everyday. These are moments we want to share with our friends or keep to ourselves as a private secret from the world.
Moments like the first time you got butterflies looking at your crush, your first tentative kiss with your partner, a time when you told a joke that made an entire room fall to their knees crying with laughter, the moment you realised a dream had come true or even an unorthodox valentines date.
Remember forever. That's why people save this chocolate for last. They want to remember it, everything about it.

Life IS like a box of chocolates because as much as I wish I could throw out all the undesirable bits like homework and credit card payments, and leave only the best parts of life like dates nights and family time, it's the moments where you gag at the thought of school work or at the chalky taste of realisation when you discover your job is not what you thought it was, that makes the rare, special moments taste so good!

-Brandolyn

G-7,278
TToA-66,757
TDotRQ-37,276

Fictitious Fragments of Fancy

2011-12-31T00:20:00.000-05:00

Tonight after completing the perilous journey through freezing rain and across slippery sidewalks I arrived at my destination: the Mailbox.
I ventured out into the stormy weather seeking a warm bit of comfort; a late posted Holiday card. Unfortunately, all I found after my trip across the street was a small metal cubby hole filled with bills and coupons.
Please do not mistake me for a millionaire- I appreciate the coupons, like any student, but the bills I could live without. On the side of the street, reading by the light of my phone I searched all the envelopes for the source of my quest- a letter, a card, any piece of hand written information intended for me and not addressed too Mr or Mrs Brandolyn. I found none. Nothing! Not even a personalized stamp on any of the envelopes.

Doesn't anyone write letters anymore?
I haven't sent one in a while, I even missed the opportunity to send Christmas cards this year (sorry).
I had a pen pal in high school. We wrote to each other every month, but since we discovered the joys of Facebook and Instant Messaging, all form of formal communication has stopped. Now our communications are simply, "what's up?" and "that's kool." It can hardly pass for real communication.

I have a challenge for myself, one that I think would interest some of my friends, and anyone else unable to satisfy the nag of a creative itch.

I would like to start writing. Writing real letters, as a fictitious person to a fictitious person. I find my personal life FAR too boring, and thus would like to create personas, or characters to tell stories via letters to similar characters. I want these to be real letters, so that when I trek through the ankle deep slush in my slippers I will actually find something worthwhile when I open my mailbox.

Obviously the letters should be addressed to me originally, then the content can be to a character of my choosing, from a character of your choosing. For example, it could be a letter from Wonder Woman to Batman about the plans to throw Superman a surprise party, OR it could be a letter from Elharlien of Lokriahl Temple to the Warrior Priestess Ardina about the futile nature of the raid on the farming town of Grah-nill. Even better I could be writing as a past student at famous wart-riddled school of wizardry, writing to a struggling student who's intimidated by their upcoming examinations, or who is writing to a student having issues with a certain cantankerous professor in need of a nice long shampoo.

If you are interested in joining my mailing list, please notify me personally. Then we can exchange contact information, and figure out our characters.
All you will require for this task is;
-a stamp
-an envelope
-an imagination
and a little piece of paper
(if you want to write back and forth please be prepared with multiple stamps, envelopes, paper and ample imagination)

I am going to collect these letters. I really think with some of the brilliant minds I know, we will be able to come up with some fantastic pieces of writing.

For anyone following my posts I have recently cleaned out the workspace in my basement and have created myself an office. I would love some side projects to write in between sprints of novel related writings. If you do want to be part of this, but don't feel you have time to respond, let me know, and I'll send one sided updates, with characters of my choice!

I look forward to the written literary journey my characters are about to begin and I hope you will share in the adventure with me.

-Brandolyn

G-7,278
TToA-54,632
TDotRQ-37,276

A Round Table of My Own

2011-12-08T01:25:00.001-05:00

I envy King Arthur and his round table.

As I contemplate another place to sit and attempt to accomplish some writing I cannot help but envision what it would be like if I had a round table.

If I had a round table at my disposal I like to think that I would surround it with creative minds, instead of battle ready warriors. Although I sympathise with wanting to keep a guard around you at all times whilst living in a realm plagued by giant, man eating reptiles, my life has a serious lack of dragons. Besides, Knights seem to be in short supply.

At my round table, we would sit in our high backed chairs and we would share. We would pass around our work; whether it is a character profile, a chapter of a book, a journal or a poem and share our views, impressions and give each other creative and constructive feedback; instead of the ever helpful "it's great" or the "no really, I like it."

Can you imagine? Imagine having a group you trust so completely that you can share your craft without fear. Imagine a supportive group that would have no intention in stealing your work, but every intention in helping you achieve your goals, and whose help you want to reciprocate. It would be a table based around our collective desire to learn, to develop as artists and our uncontrollable urge to create.

Even if all my dreams don't come true and I don't end up living in a huge house, with stables in the backyard, and hidden passages throughout the house, I think I would still like to have a round table. A round table, or any shaped table, where my friends and I can gather, once a week or once a month and come together to gather our thoughts and help each other out of plot holes, writer's block and plain old creative fatigue.

Some people host book clubs, whereas I will host the Writer's club; a group of my friends whom I consider to be an elite society of Literary Enthusiasts and Creative Thinkers. As a result, hopefully I will not be the chairman of the Struggling Artist's Association, sitting on the curb waiving a sign saying "Really world!? You choose sparkles over continuity?"(I love that series for reasons even I cannot comprehend, but come on, you know I'm right)

Members of the WC will be required to bring tokens to each session. These tokens do not have to be tangible, but in the event that they are, they will be presented in a spill free environment, in a room covered wall to wall in books with a decorative fireplace in the corner for radiant heat and to add to the atmosphere without the fire hazard of candles or open flames.

Also, for hopeful future applicants to the WC please be aware, that while liquids not contained in a spill resistant cup are banned, all dogs will be welcome as foot warmers and will be sought after for their silent, vigilant and unwavering support.

To put forth your candidacy for the WC please prepare a package containing the following;
-1 bag of skittles
-1 Dr. Pepper (or chocolate milk)
-the most colourful leaf you can find
-a picture of a cat with a funny caption
-a drawing/ illustration/ character sketch or inspiration board of your writing persona
-and a written statement of your desires as a writer, your dreams, your strengths, your weaknesses and how you feel you can contribute to the WC

You may also include a submission of a kick ass (and/ or) witty name for the group. King Arthur had the Knight's of the Round Table and as catchy as the name is, it's a bit obvious. Being creative minds, we should be able to come up with something a little more exiting for the Writer's Club's title.

I sincerely hope that someday this will become a reality. When that day comes, I hope to see you there.

-B

G-6,619
TToA-52,431
TDotRQ-37,276

A Glimpse into the Brain of an Overworked Student

2011-12-06T00:43:00.001-05:00

Everyone can relate to the nagging pain of a headache. Most people can even relate to the pressure of Tension Headaches; felt building up in the temples and behind the eyes like a very out of place volcano.But, very few people I know can relate to the pressure felt behind the eyes as faulty T-Cells attack the optic nerve.

This is a whole different kind of headache. Specifically, a stressed induced one.

Around this time of year, while people are busy running over each other in shopping centres and covering the house in lights and tinsel, other people worry about the year end budget at work, cramming for their final exams, getting frazzled over prolonged transit strikes (YRT, I mean you) or simply worrying how the snow will affect their morning commute, I am seriously studying my brain activity. Oddly enough I can do this without the use of diodes, and computer monitors.

With impending exams and patrons flooding through the doors at work like Black Friday shoppers my stress levels are at their highest, but that is not what keeps me up at night. Work, school and the weather are minor concerns for me at the moment.The winter months are hardest on most people with Multiple Sclerosis, and I am no exception. As the Sun starts to hibernate with the first frosts of winter, so does my major source of Vitamin D. Forced indoors by inclement weather, it is difficult for me to get enough vitamins, even with the assistance of supplements. As a result (and frankly, I'm not sure exactly how) my Vitamin deficiency grows, and my health starts to deteriorate.

This is not to say I am unhealthy, or that the moment the Sun goes down I turn into an infirm version of a werewolf; healthy by day, sickly by night. No. Everything is circumstantial, and the only reason I have noticed a trend is because all the major stresses of adolescence seem to culminate at the same time; snowy, cold, dark weather co-insides with exams, works' busy season AND with the increased pressure to impress; plan parties, shop for the perfect gifts and bake delicacies you only attempt once a year.

I try to let all that go. I will stress about exams, assignment due dates and appointments, but the moment I feel a twitch, or a shock; exactly like the one you feel every time you reach out to touch a doorknob after a dry day spent in stocking feet, or the ever threatening burning pain behind the eyes, I re-assess my priorities. I said I study my brain activity, and truthfully it's more studying the activity in my brain. I can feel when meylin sheaths are being worn away by T-cells mistaking them for viruses.

When the meylin sheaths that coat every nerve in my body get worn away it causes a "gap" in the smooth pathway used to transmit signals across my body. Think of it as insulated wires with cut and slashes in the insulation. Obviously there will be problems around the uninsulated parts of the wire, sometimes a spark. Well, it is the same with nerves. I can feel the spark, or shock when a message in sent over faulty wiring in my brain and these are my signals to SLOW DOWN.

I wish I could say I was smart enough to know when to slow down on my own, but I'm not. I'm determined and stubborn and literally need a pinch to force me to relax. Actually, truth be told, I'm quite glad for it, otherwise I'm sure I would never stop working or studying and my poor boyfriend would never see me.

So sorry school! Sorry work! Sorry holiday shoppers. Today is a "me" day. It is a day needed to forget the stresses of the outside world, to forget how many more words are left to be written in an assignment and a day to forget to check my emails.

Today I will sleep in, I will shower, prepare a delicious cheese omelet for breakfast (with chocolate milk) and I will write. Sorry again to my parents, family members, bosses and teachers but I will not be writing the last 100 words of my essay, instead I will follow the theme of the day and I will be writing for me. I may write another blog, perhaps about the serious lack of polar bears in the Arctic, or perhaps about why cats seem to always sit on the one person in the room who is not desperate for feline affection, or I could finish another 10,000 words of my manuscript, whatever I feel like writing.

Only in the world of rhetoric and prose can I pull myself far enough away from the winter stresses to relax and give my body time to heal. Now, it doesn't always help but I "think" it does, and really, a placebo can't hurt. Through my writing I leave my rebelling body and enter a world where every foe can be vanquished with a sword, bow or magical incantation. In my stories I enter worlds where perseverance always comes through and where any goal you set for yourself is attainable; even if it it as far fetched as playing Quidditch on Mars, in space suits, riding dragons instead of brooms. When I write I have no limitations either in character or creatively- it is a most liberating feeling, and that feeling lives on after I put down my pen.

Tomorrow I will return to my studies (a day behind in my predetermined study plan) and the stresses of the world, but for today I will be happy knowing I am doing what I need to in order to keep going at the prescribed pace of the holiday season. I can do it, and will continue forward, I just need to take a few extra steps to get me to the finish line.

This is not a sprint, and as everyone runs past me to the beat of Jingle Bells; the pompoms of their holiday hats bouncing and their sequined scarves billowing behind them, I cannot help thinking that you do not have to have MS to take a day, or even just an hour for yourself. Sit back, relax and refresh. Read a book, draw a doodle, or make a call to someone you've been meaning to call for ages, and can never find the time.

It's alright. The world won't implode on itself if you pamper of yourself for a bit, otherwise there would be a natural disaster everytime someone eats a Kit Kat bar. On the contrary, in most cases you'll return to work happier and more productive, and maybe you will even discover a way to save the world from Global Warming.

Take it from me. Save the planet. Take a break.

-B

G-6,619
TToA-52,285
TDotRQ-37,276

Selfishness: The Short Cut to Extinction

2011-12-02T01:54:00.001-05:00

What gives people the idea that they are more important than another person?

I have worked in customer service for the past 4 years. In those years I have seen moments that have moved me to tears and moments that have made me think that Natural Selection, should be more picky.

Today I met a woman who should have been taken out by Natural Selection a long time ago.
If she were a pack animal she would not be the smallest, or the slowest, or the weakest. On the contrary, if she was a lioness living in the tall grasses of the Savannah she would be a very strong and very proud cat. She would be the one who hunted the big kill on her own but devoured it herself, leaving nothing for the rest of the pack. This woman would be the beautiful, strong lioness that was shunned from the pride for not contributing anything to the community.
Please understand that in the real world I wish this woman no harm and no bad luck, but I do wish I could have shown her how rude her actions today were.

I work at a theatre. It is a lovely building with 631 seats.
The floor plan is very similar to that of most other playhouses, movie theatres and lecture halls. 3 sections of seating separated by two aisles with all the seats pointed toward a stage, screen or podium.

Seating / aisle/ Seating / aisle/ Seating

As a person living in Ontario, working in Customer Service, myself and the rest of my co-workers have undergone Accessibility for Ontarians with Disabilities Act training.AODA training is, simply put: training about how to assist patrons with disabilities.

Tonight my theatre hosted a charity event. CHARITY EVENT. <- this is important

This evening a patron, a regular visitor to our facility, walked into the building tonight. Knowing his limitations I assisted him into the auditorium and left him to happily enjoy the performance.The patron is a delightful senior citizen, who is unsteady on his feet and uses two canes to support himself.

At the end of the show I waited for the theatre to clear significantly and then made my way to his seat to assist him out.

Being unsteady on his feet it took him a great deal of time to move significant distances, but he manages well without assistance; my presence is more of a security blanket than anything.

As we slowly make our way up the aisle, a woman sitting in the centre of the theatre stands up and approaches the aisle we are currently occupying.

Politely I asked her "If you want to use this aisle I need you to wait a moment for this gentleman to pass, but feel free to use the other aisle to exit the theatre."

The response she gave me drained the blood from my face.

"I can't my jacket is at the back of the theatre." and then proceeds to push past the gentleman I am assisting, nearly knocking him over as she raced away up the aisle.

I must explain the the rest of her row was empty as was the rest of the theatre- she would have disturbed no one had she walked the 5 meters to the other aisle.

She could have also waited the 30 seconds we needed to pass her row- but instead she barrels past like a bat out of hell to retrieve her `jacket`. Believe me, it would have been there 30 seconds later.

Fortunately the patron I was guiding managed to keep his balance and we exited the theatre together without further disruptions.

At the front doors he thanked me for my assistance and we parted ways for the night.

How can people be so selfish? Or is it purely ignorance that makes people look down or ignore on anyone with a limitation or disability?

If this man had fallen, he would have left the theatre in an ambulance. Obviously that thought did not occur to the woman who almost knocked him over.

I also know she knew he needed assistance because I explained the situation and she saw both the canes he was using. Did she think they were for show?

Disabilities are everywhere and have many different effects. Most of them are practically invisible. Mental disabilities, physical disabilities, psychological disabilities, from hearing loss to being bound to a wheel chair, blindness to any mental illness we have no idea what has affected the people around us; either directly or indirectly.

Today a woman disrespected a man with a very visible physical limitation that could have sent him to the hospital. Tomorrow someone else may accidentally disrespect someone with depression that has the potential to have lethal repercussions.

We do not have the right to say that we are better than another human being, or that our goals are any more important than anothers'.

I understand the sentiment "Feed your own mouth before you feed anothers'" but I am glad to say that I do not sympathise.

-B

G-6,619
TToA-52,285
TDotRQ-37,276

Working Conditions

2011-12-01T01:56:00.001-05:00

I have read that artists can write anywhere; J.K wrote in coffee shops, others on subway trains and a few lucky ones are fortunate enough to have a study to themselves dedicated to the task of writing.
I can not.
An aspiring writer myself, I am struggling to find a place to park bum and let the melting pot of my creativity sit and eventually flow into coherent ideas and themes necessary for story writing.

I find coffee shops too noisy. As much as I enjoy the occasional French Vanilla Cappuccino, the overwhelming scent of caffeine in a coffee shop threatens to dissolve my resolve to avoid becoming addicted to coffee.

I have enjoyed riding subway trains for as long as I can remember. I enjoy the ride so much, I have been known to wake up several stations after my intended stop. Subway trains are great if I need to catch up on an hours' sleep, but they would be inefficient if I wanted to complete some writing. Unfortunately if I were to try to write on the subway I would probably wake up (several stops late) to find my journal or laptop computer missing.

An office or study would be ideal for me. Ideally a room with a lot of wall space to cover with inspirational images, character sketches, maps and more. I would need bookshelves reference texts and shelves for my journals and drafts. A desk would be nice too, with a cushioned chair that could roll around the room and spin on a dime.

Alas, I do not have a study at my disposal or an extra room to convert into a study. At the moment I have two choices;

First- My bedroom; a modestly small room. When I say small I mean- I have seen bathrooms (not en suites) larger than my bedroom- small. I have a cubby hole in the wall that can barely be classified as a closet, and a filing (sp?) cabinet in the middle of my room. As for inspiration, between the 20 year old floral wallpaper and posters of the latest teen sensations covering the walls, I have no room for that either.

My second choice in writing locations is my living room. In many respects this room is ideal;
-steps away from the kitchen and washroom
-lots of natural lighting
-lots of floor space for my inspirational pieces and my reference books
-lots of leg room
-diverse seating implements
-CD player

Like every good thing the living room also comes with disadvantages;
-it is a communal space- ie I have to clean it up
-it is a communal space- ie I often have visitors come in unannounced to distract me
-my two cats think I am here entertain them and do everything they can (including deleting excerpts of my stories, and ordering lamps from ebay) to keep me from being productive
-my fish tank is just out of arms reach, and when I ignore the kitten long enough she jumps up and torments the fish until I get up and forcefully remove her

As I look at my options I wonder how all the great writers before me managed it. How did they work tirelessly and diligently through the distractions and interruptions in each of their own personal writing havens?
I realize now I must be a true writer.
I have been sitting in the same position- without moving- in my living room, writing for the past 5 hours. In the grand view of writing, 5 hours is not a lot of time. It is a significant amount of time however, not to move.

One day I will join to ranks of published authors. Perhaps after I have published a few books, purchased a house of my own and built myself a study dedicated to my craft I will be asked where I began writing. When I am asked, I will tell them of nights like tonight when I lounged on my parents' living room couch, draped in my leopard print snuggie, with a cat pinning down each of my hands as I wrote tirelessly into the early hours of the morning, while the sound of my slumbering family's snores echoed down the staircase to me.

-B

G-6,619
TToA-51,765
TDotRQ-37,276