The story of my green eyes tabbies started about two weeks ago when Don’s elderly friend, Mary, decided she wanted a cat after the death of her dog. In fact, Don had accompanied her to the feed store where she picked out the little peach and white tabby. A few days later, Mary decided the overactive kitty was a little too much for her.

When Don told me about her second doubts, I said, “If she can’t keep him, I’ll be glad to give him a home.” Since Arby’s death last May, my other cat, Buddy, has been lonely and a little bored. Not that he and Arby got along because, frankly, she hated him. However, he continued trying to win her affections, and he seemed entertained by her antics to keep him at bay.

I met my little friend for the first time last Wednesday. The first time I looked into those sweet little green eyes, I knew Oliver was destined to become part of our household. Buddy is a sweet loyal cat, but he also has a bit of a temper, especially when he doesn’t get his way. I think this goes back to his days on the street where he learned to charm humans and fight other cats until he got a nibble or a good meal. Thus, when I brought Oliver home, I didn’t know what to expect.

First thing, I set up Oliver’s space in my office area- his own food, water, kitty box, bed and toys. For the first 24 hours I didn’t let my green eyed boys near each other, but allowed them to both roam the house freely at different times so that they would become accustomed to each other’s smells. The next day, I came home from work, put Buddy in my room, and let Oliver roam free. That evening, I finally decided to allow them into the main living area at the same time.

At first, Oliver became too friendly and Buddy hissed a lot. Now, after four days of roaming the house together under supervised conditions, my two green eyed boys seem like they’re getting along better. Buddy still hisses to let Oliver know he is top cat (and I make sure Buddy gets a whole lot more affection for being so tolerant of another baby), and Oliver is learning to just sit back and wait for a better moment to use his kitty-friendly skills. I thought I was home today when they walked past each other in the hallway….and their noses moved toward each other….but, just when their noses started to touch, Buddy let out a warning, “hsssss.”

Okay, maybe that’s almost home.

As for my writing: because Oliver needed rest time in his own space, and the office is where I write, I temporarily moved my laptop out to the dining room table. I didn’t want to give Buddy any ideas that I was giving our new little guy extra petting. Now I am back in the office and writing chapter 17 of my novel, and I allow Oliver to roam freely (but supervised) when I am home.

The writing is coming along well. I can see all of the changes that will need to go into the second draft. As a writer, I know it’s important to keep plugging forward until I have completed the piece, and then I am free to go back and do the second rewrite. I continually fight the urge to go back and edit right now, to start over and make it “right” this time. A little too much self-judgment I would say.

In writing this novel, I can learn from my little green-eyes tabbies; they are always in the moment, live from their deepest intuitions and make constant forward movement. If I stick to their three principles, I cannot go wrong.

I have often wondered what it would be like to be a full-time writer. In my dream, I already have it all worked out. The alarm would go off around 6:15 each morning, as it has been doing for several years now. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I would jump out of bed and take my 3.5 mile run, just as I do now. Nothing would change on Tuesday and Thursday either; I would hit that snooze button and sleep in until 6:50. Of course, before I run or hit the snooze button, my cat, Buddy, would demand his precious Science Diet, just like he does now!

After getting ready for my day- breakfast, coffee, etc.- I would go straight to my office at the end of the hall and sit down at the laptop and write for the next four hours. Sure, I would take breaks, just as I do at my job as a full-time paralegal, where I also spend a good day of my job on legal writing. Just as I do at my work now, I might even take a moment to make small talk with someone or get a Mocha from the coffee shop own the street. However, my focus would be on getting those words out of my head onto paper, where those characters can breathe new life and become more real.

I would spend anywhere from two to four hours each afernoon on research. As any writer knows, getting the facts correct, even in fiction, is essential. Recently, I had the honor of hearing Jean Hegland, author of Into the Forest and Windfalls, speak on the importance of setting and learning every detail down to the names of the bushes and the types of trees. I couldn’t agree more.

For example, if I am writing a story set in Cape Ann, I need to know every detail about the setting, culture, type of people, indigenous speech/sayings. Even though Don and I visited Cape Ann for one week last fall, I know that experience would not be enough to make the story realistic. I would need to ask questions of people who live there, as well as conduct book and online research.

As a part-time freelance writer with a few publications under her belt, every weekday I set aside at least one hour per day, and sometimes more, to write my novel. I do research after I have written an hour, or on my lunch break at work, or sometimes when I need a detail while writing. On the weekends, I can get anywhere from one hour to three or four hours writing time in. The way I see it, my discipline now is the foundation of becoming a full time writer in the future.

I can’t wait to be creating stories full-time….

A lot has been going on lately, some of it challenging my sanity. I live in a lovely condominium with trees all around, beautiful green lawns and where neighbors are nice but generally keep to themselves. A condo next door to me (I live upstairs in a flat that comprises all 950 square feet with two two-story condominiums connected to my back wall) was vacant for months while the owner tried to sell. With the housing market as it is, a sale didn’t happen and the owner rented it out.

They rented it out to two young men, probably in their early 20’s. I’ve had to ask that their visitors stop blocking my car, that they turn down their car stereo when in the carport, stop blasting their music and to get off my stairs. They sit there on my stairs below one of my living room windows and choke away on their cancer sticks, the smoke moving straight up into my home. The last two nights, I’ve had to burn incense and candles to get rid of the smoke smell. Worse yet, they leave their windows open while smoking pot, thus that disgusting smell wafts outside into my airspace.

A quiet little area has turned into traffic central since the first of the month! If they don’t respect my boundaries, I will need to complain to the homeowners association. Maybe there is another way, though-

I saw Freedom Writers where young people were encouraged to write their experiences and what life was like for them. In this vein, I realize I have no idea what their lives were like growing up, what their lives are like right now, why they act the way they do. Maybe I can go buy them some notebooks and encourage them to write about their goals in life and what they want to do other than irritate their quiet straight-laced neighbor.

So much for that…

As for writing. My novel is starting to come together quite nicely. I am on Chapter 8 now, page 83, 17,270 words. I am really enjoying this process of allowing my characters to tell their story. It’s fun writing without knowing what will happen next, allowing the characters to be people too. Yes, I know- if you are a non-writer reading this, I must sound like I belong in the loony bin. But, the truth is that characters are people too!

I find that I am most creative when I make myself sit down and write, when I don’t wait for inspiration, when I have a schedule and I stick to it. No matter what happens, I write at least one hour six days a week, more if I can. Writing to me is as essential as breathing, sleeping and eating….

So much for that….

Looking forward to when Don and I visit Grandpa on Saturday. I’ll have some more to write.

So much for now….this moment, this breath….

This weekend, Don and I drove five hours from his home in Clearlake up to Northern California. We left a little after 6:30 a.m. on Saturday. The main focus of this vacation was a 50th wedding anniversary party for my Uncle George and Aunt Bertha. Even though I have not seen much of them over the years, and had not seen some of my cousins since I was a kid, I have fond memories.

When I was around six years old, my parents bought their first house in Fortuna, a small Northern California town about 2 hours from Trinidad, where my Aunt and Uncle still live. During the move, my older brother, Tommy, and I were sent off to stay with George and Bertha. Uncle George taught me how to milk cows; Aunt Bertha showed me how a chicken runs around with its head cut off. As we sat around the dinner table eating fried chicken and drinking fresh milk, there was plenty of chatter and laughter. At night, we all huddled in the bunk beds that Uncle George had built for his six children.

At the party, I realized what a gift it is that George and Bertha made it to their 50th anniversary. Uncle George battled leukemia for several years, and has been in remission for awhile now. Both he and Bertha are strong, loving human beings. It was such a joy to be there and share in the love they have for one another and their family.

After the party, we headed on up to Crescent City to stay the night with Don’s brother and sister-in-law, Ed and Tori. On our way up, we came upon a large grassy area to the side of the road where a herd of elk grazed, their presence so magnificent and statuesque. I counted 25 cows and one buck, all within about 20 feet from us. Several tourists stopped along side of the road and got out of their cars to take photographs or to just observe. The elk seemed unbothered by the human presence, even though the buck scratched his huge antlers on a tree and watched us, as if protecting his family.

That night at Ed and Tori’s house, I wanted to do some longhand writing in a spiral notebook I had bought along the way. But, by the time dinner was done and we were settled in, I was so tired that I couldn’t bring myself to write a single word. Instead, I fell asleep on the sofa while everyone else watched a program about wildlife! Sometimes I can beat myself up for not writing. However, I also know that it’s okay to take a short break as I do with anything else, just as long as I get back to it after vacation. Saturday and Sunday were my break from writing.

Sunday morning after breakfast, Don and I headed back home. On the way, we noticed a sign directing us to another place to view elk. We found ourselves at a park with hiking trails shaded with towering redwoods. We decided on a hike, and on the way back the herd of elk grazed in a meadow with a swamp/marsh area. After eating her fill, one of the cows led the rest of the herd into the swamp. Soon, the buck came along and chased the female elk across the swamp away from the herd and out of the water! Once the cow got on land, the buck lingered in the water, as if keeping guard. After about fifteen or twenty minutes, the buck headed the other way back to the herd, dipped his antlers into the swamp and then, in quick succession, tossed water and moss all over his back. Before we knew it, the entire herd started running as a unit through the meadow, shaking the very ground we stood on.

Today, as soon as I got home and completed some essential tasks, I sat down and wrote on my novel. I have come to realize that I need to make time for writing whether or not other stuff gets done. In my two days of adventure, I can pull out many story ideas. I think I want to write a short story about an elk- how about writing it from the elk’s point of view? Okay, maybe that is a little far-fetched. But, the point is that story ideas are everywhere and it is up to me to sit down and write.

© 2007 Susan Littlefield

When I was growing up, I spent a lot of time writing in my journal, a thick spiraled notebook I had bought at Woolworths. I wrote about whatever came to mind- fears that I was forever stuck in small town Fortuna, the hope that something better and more exciting would come along. I wrote sacred things, secrets I could not share with anyone but God and myself. I wrote verses of abstract, experimental poetry, then flowery heart-wrenching lyrics, filling notebook after notebook until I had a stack hiding in my closet.

Within those pages, I also wrote about my dream of becoming a writer. My dreams of becoming a writer grew big, so big that one day I fond the nerve to tell my mother. I showed her some of the poetry I had written. She discouraged me and said, “You need a real job, a career. And, don’t marry the first man who comes along either. You need to be able to make it on your own.”

When I was in high school, I wrote some essays and short stories for English class. I turned in the essays, but I kept the short story to myself. I thought I would be laughed at, ridiculed. After all, they were not as good as the stories I read in books. They were not even as good as my classmate’s stories!

Many times throughout high school, I would bring up being a writer to my mother. The scenario was always the same- I’d share my passion of writing, she’d tell me writing was fine but I needed to set my sights on a job that would bring me money. Finally, one day, after I’d graduated high school but had not yet decided on college, she told me I was just jealous of my aunt who also enjoyed writing. I was devastated at my mother’s words!! She wanted me to set my sights on college, on a career, so that I did not have to depend on a man to bring in my money for me. She would do whatever she could to make sure I saw value in myself as a self-sufficient woman. But, I wanted to be a writer and make my living putting words on paper!

About a week later, mother asked me to sit down. “I’m sorry I said those things to you. You’re out of high school now. Why don’t you go to college and you can also write.” With that, she handed me two books: Short Stories that Sell by Louise Boggess and Make Every Word Count by Gary Provost.

That day was life changing for me because I realized that my mother’s intentions were good. At 17, she chose to marry after taking her GED and decided her career was as a stay-at-home mom and raising three children (three wonderful children, I might add). She never had the resources to make a living outside of the home. She wanted for me what she did not have for herself.

Today I saw the film Freedom Writers and was inspired and reminded about how freeing it is to transport one’s truth onto paper. I cannot imagine what some of those kids lived through, the terror they endured every day. Sometimes it seems that verbal expression is not enough. My teenage journals contained truths that I cold not verbalize. I believe that writing is the one true avenue toward feeling freedom within, whether it’s journaling, writing a novel, or writing an essay.

Many years ago, I gave up my dream of becoming that famous writer, or of making a living off of words. Today, I still write but I write because I love it. I’ve had some poetry and a short story published, and I am currently working on a novel. However, my motivation has changed. I write because I love the feeling of freedom when I put words onto paper.

My mother had been gone since 1985. But, if she could see me now, she would be proud. I listened to her when she told me to go to school and learn how to take care of myself. I didn’t marry the first man who came along. I listened to her when she told me to write for fun. Mothers know what they are talking about.

Every time I look through those two books, I am reminded of my mother’s wisdom.

© 2007 Susan Littlefield