Another of Jessica Galbreth’s fairies. And yet another that I love.

Good morning my gothlings.  I know it’s early.  Some of you may just be going to sleep and some of you may suffer from insomnia like I do, but I’ve been waiting since yesterday to write this post when the inspirational Louise Caiola helped me think up while I was replying to a post. This picture, although it’s called Gothic Fairy, makes me think of a fairy of death.  She’s someone who might come and receive your soul, or mine, when the time comes I think.  At least for people like me who are different than others.  My husband just this moment told me how it’s definitely noticeable that I’m strange and I may be making my son strange because he’s developed a love of horror movies, one of which he’s been watching already this morning since 4:30.  🙂  I don’t care.  Who wants to be like everyone else anyway?  And I’ve been this way my whole life without any problems fitting in.  You’ve just got to find kindred souls to admit this kind of stuff too.  It’s easy  play normal. lol Anyway, enough rambling and I’ll get to the point of the blog.  I almost wrote story there. lol  Writer’s are different than other people.  As much as it may seem that we participate in life, there are about three of us in our heads while we’re doing that.  There’s the part that really is interacting, a part that’s trapped in our books and stories still writing and then there’s the part of us that is watching.  We watch how people interact with each other so we can write about interaction, whatever kind, later and genuinely. I wrote in my reply comment to my good fried Carrie, who also has a great blog called A Wren’s Life (you should read it, she’s a sweetie), that on a good day, when I’m into my book writing or even reading a book that I’ve gotten and love, that the time I’m pulled away from it feels like half of me is still back with whichever book.  In my reply comment to Louise, I admitted that I’ve gone so far watching how people act as to do it even at a funeral viewing.  Yes, I guess I’m morbid but I guess you all know by now how I feel about death and morticians and the such.  But besides that, I’m watching grief or lack of it.  Naturally, if it’s someone that I cared about, I feel my own pain but I still take the time to take mental notes on others. Recently I went with my mother to a viewing of her aunt.  My mother’s family is huge so I’d never met the woman, I was only there for my mom and to be a tension easer.  My family is very German and grudges last literally until death and those people avoided each other like the plague but respect is still given to those who have passed.  So not knowing the woman, I had to chance to be totally disconnected from it.  I saw how mourners came for her but still managed to avoid those living that they still didn’t like.  And I got to play both sides.  My grandfather was her little brother and they all loved him so me being his granddaughter made me kind of a show piece that they all accepted.  I got gossip from everyone.  I wheeled the one woman who was truly upset up to the coffin, not selfishly, she needed the help and was ready to face what was lying in the coffin, and I stayed with her.  She was upset.  They’re all Catholic and she couldn’t kneel to pray for her.  I also took it what my great-aunt in the coffin looked like.  Never have I seen a body look that way.  I’m sure the funeral parlor did their best, but the woman was gray.  You could see how the make-up couldn’t cover it and just laid on her gray skin. So, I may be particularly morbid but it was really a learning experience to see those Germans mutter German things to each other about people they were feuding with.  But we, as writers, really are different.  We learn from what you show us with life so we can turn it into fiction.  And I may have taken it too far writing the “we” like it in the title, but I do.  I love it.  I’m shy anyway so I get very good chances at watching other’s gestures and feelings and words.  I watch eyes and mouths.  And I have to say thank you to the world at large, I think, for giving me these chances when they don’t know I’m doing it.  You’re making me a better writer.  And better is, well, better.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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