No More Hump Day Hmming for a While

The muse of hmming, Julie, is recovering and regrouping after Ike and so it may be some time before I inflict introduce another Hump Day Hmm for consideration. However, it has been a day or two since I put up a fresh blog piece and my life has not been that static, so I have decided to provide a bit of an update.

I am still working on the short story known as Kumari. It has garnered 4 reviews on the critiquing site and although not a single one of them had any idea what the story was really about (my bad totally, I know, and I am working on clarification), I did get some advice that was useful and have employed it to the betterment of the story.

The main complaint I received about Kumari is that the character isn’t likable. Not even a little bit. And hurray! That is what I wanted them to think but apparently the main character has to be likable or at least redeemable in order for the reader to want to read at all. I discussed it with my writing group last night and was reminded that I am the author and I need to stay true to my character. She is not likable but how could she be? She was raised to be indifferent and callous. Further, the point of the story is to do more than entertain but to make a reader think.

Thinking is asking a lot of readers these days. We are a society that expects to be entertained as passively as possible. No deep thoughts allowed. But I don’t think that sci-fi/fantasy should be mindless. It is a genre that was meant to allow authors to explore bigger issues and moral questions. 

So I am focusing on clarifying and beefing up existing content and we’ll see what happens next. One reviewer thought there was potential for a very dark story. Perhaps this is my Apex submission after all, eh?

Speaking of Apex, they are having their annual Halloween flash fiction contest and I am entering. The theme is “election horror” and I have a nice little piece that I tried out on the writing group last night which they liked. Of course, they are Canadians and it isn’t hard for anyone native to here to imagine the U.S. as a den of evil and conspiracy.

I have also been occupied with monitoring the condition of the family down south these last two weeks. And if we had a color code system we would be orange-ish.

CB had another mini-meltdown and I spent numerous hours on the phone trying to talk him off the paranoia ledges he sometimes talks himself up onto. He apparently spent a few days harassing our folks to the point that Dad had a breathing episode and Mom was in tears. I think I may have put a spot to that for the time being.

DNOS has informed me that when Dad dies, CB and Mom are my responsibility. She will handle the arrangements and BabySis. In other words she will take the easy stuff and I will be left to deal with crazy and exploding. It’s a good thing I used to teach public school. That was a typical day for me once.

That was a while ago and Dad has failed quite a bit even since we last saw him in June. He can barely exert himself physically without bringing on severe shortness of breath due to the demands movement place on his body. 

And I can hear the disinterest in life now in his voice. He told DNOS recently that he is “tired of making decisions”. 

My Dad, the ultimate Virgo, is tired of being the boss? That is so not good.

Rob has asked if I need to go down there now. I am playing a wait and see on a daily basis. If you had asked me even last year if I wanted to be there for the end, I would have said no – thank you  – but no. Deathbed vigils are hellish in an out of body experience way. The days or weeks leading up are torture because it seems like every fiber of your being is on red alert with sirens blaring.

But now, I feel a bit differently. Mom and DNOS are ostriches. They will not see or ask or do unless someone points it out to them. The truth is that I am the only one in my family who morphs into Action Girl when it is crunch time. I was born with the crisis management gene. I might fall apart but not in the middle and not when it counts. I always come through when it counts.

Now here is the kicker, the evil selfish daughter in me doesn’t want to put my life on hold to go down. I have things falling into routine now. I am starting my first writing course at University in two weeks. I just got elected to the board of directors of one of my writing groups. I am auditioning for another contributing writer gig at a women’s group blog I read. I have a couple of firm writing deadlines coming up – one for a workshop with real publishers who are reading and giving mini-interviews and critiques.

It’s not a convenient time for my Dad to decide to die in other words.

I am such an awful person for even thinking it, let alone writing it down. But my Dad would get it. When he was traveling back and forth from Des Moines every week to help me take care of my late husband, he confided to me that he would help as long as he was needed but he felt he was missing out on his life and the things that were important to him as a person. Not dad or a father in law. A person.

I talked with Dad this morning. It was the kind of distracted conversation I used to have with my late husband when the dementia was starting to set in for real. The voice was weak and breathy and gurgled with phlegm. My late husband finally succumbed to pneumonia. There are more painful ways to die but suffocating has to be one of the most terrifying and I am speaking from my experience watching my late husband and from my own dealings with asthma.

Once you’ve watched someone die, you can’t undo it. Erase the images. Ignore the truth. Pretend that it isn’t coming and there are things that need to be done in advance.

I took a long walk today. About 4 miles down and back from J-berg to the gymkana fields. No one was burning trash or leaves today and I didn’t encounter dogs. I have come to the sad conclusion that I can no longer run. Having just recovered from a painful bout of achilles tendonitis in both ankles, I just can’t risk damage. Power walking with the occasional jog and yoga it is. I don’t experience the same sense of freedom though and I will miss that.

And that’s all folks.

5 thoughts on “No More Hump Day Hmming for a While

  1. We are part of a generation that is trying to figure out how to keep our lives on track while we do best help our aging parents. Like you, I seem to be the one who knows what needs to be done and how to do it. What has helped me the most in recent years is to recognize where I can help, what I need to do for myself to stay healthy, and that I can love someone without agreeing with them or doing what they want me to do. In the past week I said to myself at least a hundred times, “This is all part of the process.”

  2. I’m sorry about your dad. You have to do what you have to do; it’s not like you don’t know exactly what you may be missing. You’re making an informed (unfortunately) choice.

    Regarding writing, I guess the question is how important is it to you to be read, vs. how important is i that you realize your precise artistic vision? They are not mutually exclusive, of course, but the answer will guide you. For me, I need to like a character. That is the reason I hated The Great Gatsby; not one redeemable, human character I could care about. I only finished the book because I was required to teach it; had it been up to me, I would’ve tossed it and said “hey kids, let’s read something good!”

    Hmm, good example. I hate Gatsby but more because everyone in the story is getting what they deserve and there is still a sense I as a the reader should feel sorry for them. Good point.

  3. 500 miles away, my mother, 73, had to quit her telemarketing job because she’s on oxygen 24-7 and is too weak to walk from the parking lot to her desk. The solution for her loss of income and increased incapacitation is that my brother, divorced, 50, is moving in with her. Do you know what? I’m glad it’s not me. I have my gold ticket to the shithead hall of fame.

    It was supposed to be me though – to do all the heavy lifting, but I kept mucking up my younger sis and mom’s plans with not staying a spinster (35 when I married) and then after I was widowed I refused to move back to our home town. To top it off I met a guy from Canadian and move up here to be his wife. Bad daughter/sister! Except I was the go to always when I was growing up and into my adulthood. It’s really only been the last ten years of my life that I can really start to call my own. Does it really make us shits to expect our other siblings to suck it up and hold the load? I don’t buy into the idea that I truly owe my parents so much that I would give up dreams or short my own family. I pitch in and help where I can. To me it’s as crazy as people who wait until their kids are grown and out of the house before they follow their own hearts. What a crappy example to set.

  4. I know the feeling. I’m watching my Dad in much the same way. And I don’t have the money to go back there, so I just watch and listen. He’s older than either of his parents, now, so…It’s just a matter of time. He also has breathing problems, and his oxygen sats have been dropping. But he still gets out, so I cross my fingers.

    Dropping oxygen stats seem to be a running theme of old age. I hope I don’t go that way. Crossing fingers, I get that.

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