I’m afraid of my own success. What if achieving my dreams means changing everything I know about my life?
I am my own worst enemy. I love stability of structure and I’m not one to shed the security blanket easily.
But often, blank pages hold just as much accusations as they do promise.
I play the “What If” game too often because, in the past, the “What If’s” happened. The bad ones. The oh-my-God-this-could-only-happen-to-me and the I’m-one-in-a-million-and-not-in-a-good-way ones. The I’m-being-sabotaged-and-no-one-will-stand-up-for-me ones. The life-will-never-be-the-same-again ones.
And I really love stability.
So when anything comes along that can upset the apple cart, … read the rest. . .
Every now and then I have some off-the-wall dreams.
Years ago, I dreamt (several times) that my friend Cynthia and I knew the people from The West Wing. Sometimes we were characters and sometimes we were actors and sometimes we were just part of the group.
Last summer I dreamt I was with the television writing crew for Flashpoint when one of the actors came up and instead of me being awestruck by him (although secretly I really was!), he just complimented me on my butter recipe and said, “You make great toast.”
There’s the one where I was a … read the rest. . .
Some of you saw the post title and are already nodding in agreement. And that’s exactly why I don’t care. Because you already know who I’m talking about. Because the world is so much more important than the Kardashians and their money-making publicity.
I think mainstream media does us a huge disservice by placing such stories in the “News” category. Since when is how high-maintenance a person is, news? Since when is someone’s paycheck (or lack there of), high priority knowledge for me and my family?
I want news to be news: What is the government doing to protect and … read the rest. . .
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
This is my response to a writing prompt from Writer’s Digest Community last year.
BENDING THE RULES: The sign said “No shirt, no shoes, no service”—but that didn’t matter. He had to get inside.
The sign said “No shirt, no shoes, no service” – but that didn’t matter. He had to get inside. He laughed at the thought of what he must look like to passers-by. No doubt, a down-on-his-luck replica of that famous you-know-who celebrity. If they only knew. Nothing is ever as it appears.
“Get a job!” someone scowled, causing him to … read the rest. . .