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Teresa Renee Bain

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Writing Words – Steps

TERESA’S THOUGHTS: Writing is a series of steps. The first step is getting the idea from my brain onto my laptop. My brain can’t be too tired or distracted. Often my fingers are unable to type fast enough for the floodgate of words spilling out. It feels like my brain is vomiting. My only goal…

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Today is my sister Carolyn’s birthday. She would be a 40 year old middle-aged woman were it not for the car accident over twenty years ago. 💕Love you baby sister 💕

Our area is all abuzz with whether there will be snow or not in a few days. This picture is my pots on my patio a few years back. We shall see what mother nature brings this year.

More about the journey of writing a book. “Writing is a series of steps. The first step is getting the idea from my brain onto my laptop. My brain can’t be too tired or distracted. Often my fingers are unable to type fast enough for the floodgate of words spilling out. It feels like my brain is vomiting. My only goal is for words to land somewhere on the page. Sometimes this takes several writing sessions for like any good purging of the gut, the brain belly must be fully emptied. Side roads needing exploration pop up, “Oh, that’s interesting. I’m glad you thought of that,” I say to myself as I follow each lead as far as I can. This step is complete when I have nothing left to add.” Read the full entry and excerpt from the book draft by following the link in my bio. Sign up there to receive notifications of more written words from me.

Snow is on the forecast!

I have celebrated many New Years with him. Nobody tells you even though you have been together over 30 years, there are still new things to learn about each other and yourself. Some sweet, some hard. Loving yourself and another is not for the faint of heart.

Annie is the dog I thought I would never have. It seemed disloyal to love again after losing my sweet boy, Chocolate. Time softened my heartache and eventually Annie and I found our way to each other. Annie is not a perfect dog but she is perfectly mine and I am perfectly hers. With that we are content. When my morning alarm goes off telling me it is time to write, Annie and I have a familiar routine. Getting up from bed, I head into the calm stillness of the living room. I turn on one light near the couch leaving the rest of the house dark and undisturbed. Light brings distractions which pull me away from words which have patiently waited all night to be heard. I’ve tried sitting in a chair at a table, but the coziness of the couch is well suited for quiet morning writing. Settling into the far side of the couch, I cover myself with a blanket, making sure my toes are warmly tucked in. About this time Annie has made her way out of bed. She waits by the couch for me to lift one end of the blanket before jumping up. She curls up as close to me as she can get. Covering her with our shared blanket, she returns to slumber. For such a small dog, her snuggling presence against my thigh is substantial. Usually Jemima, the cat, comes over and lies as close to my laptop as she can get. She stretches her paws over the keyboard, for whether I write or not is of no concern to her. Fickle as a feline, she comes and goes as she pleases. But Annie is steady. Sometimes after writing for a couple of hours Annie wakes. Looking at me, she asks if we are done. Before being taken to the shelter, she lived on the streets. This means her curiosity about when food will be available is deeply rooted. After a reassuring pat on her head, she stretches and returns to sleep. This is how I write, anchored in place by her furry body. When the book is complete, should I give Annie credit as a co-writer? Of course, she did not write the book. But would it be ridiculous to suggest she did? To read more about the journey of writing and an excerpt from the book I am writing you can follow the link in my bio.

The Gift of Time “I learned at age ten no one is guaranteed time. My father was thirty-five when he died, leaving my mother to care for eight children. I've come to believe we are all broken in unique ways. Unfortunately, my dad wasn't given time to heal his broken parts. Carved into his gravestone are the words, “Greatness in Disguise.” My smart and sassy nineteen-year-old sister, Carolyn, lived comatose for almost two years after a horrific car accident irrevocably damaged her beautiful brain. A brain so full of possibility. Stopping for gas on her way to community college, she pulled out into traffic, colliding with a semi-truck. I myself brushed against death’s door with a pulmonary embolism. Blood clots deadly and silent. I don’t know if these experiences made me more fearful of dying before completing all I want to do or if it made me more willing to make the most of whatever time I am given.” This is a snippet of my journey towards writing a book. You can sign up with your email on the blog linked in my bio to receive notices about new writing selections.

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