Meanwhile, At the Wake…

Shaking heads – um um um – such a shame. Looked so vibrant when last we saw it as if it could go on forever. I talked to it not two weeks ago. Shaking heads – no words. Well what happened to it? Ahhhh…the magic question.

It laid there in that final case looking like nothing beat it up, stomped on it, threw it around, or treated it like nothing. It was beautiful, pristine, and excellent. Who would ever know the many bumps in its history leading to its ultimate demise? I mean, it looked just fine, but the heart stopped. Just like that – ceased to beat. Doesn’t seem real to put all that loveliness in the ground. Shaking heads – tragic.

I heard it tried to stay alive, but if one heart chamber is doing all the work of the others, sooner or later, it will give out. Is THAT what happened here? I don’t know, chile.

Another heard that when the condition got critical, a part of it tried to get help. Screamed for it even, but it was too late. It was so weak, it couldn’t be heard above the loud silence of indifference. Is THAT what happened here? Could be…

Each time it appeared to have new life, a piece of the heart chamber would decide to go pumping elsewhere with the promise of return. A heart with an irregular rhythm is just as much a hindrance as the one with only one chamber working. So it skipped a beat and collapsed? Is THAT what happened here? Just specualting, but it’s possible.

Well, it’s still a terrible tragedy when one of these comes to an untimely demise for seemingly no reason that couldn’t have been avoided. The hard working chamber  could have said, “Hey, I need your help. I can’t keep this alive without you.” Then there’s a choice – help and live or give out and die.

Welp, since we’ve all gathered at this here “sitting up,” the most educated guess is that the latter choice was made. Part of the poor thing was broken; another – hardened arteries (nothing new could come in), yet another didn’t get enough quality nutrients to keep it going so it quit.

We come to mourn a friendship or any relational unit that has gone on to parts unknown. It looked so much like a friendship should; only problem is it was completely empty. How sad and unfortunate when part of it did everything it knew how to keep life going, but sooner or later, the defibrillator had to be put up. Don’t call clear. Call the time of death.410

Putting the Period on That Sentence

The Capital Letter

Once upon a time, a sentence began it’s journey. It was filled with people, places, and actions. There was nothing one word wouldn’t do for the other. They had each other’s back. All the words knew their place and cared about the place of their fellow sentence mates. No dangling participles or misplaced modifiers. There was peace in the independent clause. All the parts were valued, respected, needed. They were at a high place – Capital Peak, we’ll call it. Then some letters from new words started mixing in and the sentence became unstable. The nouns had used up the adjectives, so there was no longer a need for them, so they got ignored. The adverbs had their way with the pronouns, so the challenge was over for them – pronouns dismissed. The sentence was getting fragmented. Misspellings spelled misunderstandings and none of the words were talking – just in a state of “be.”

The Comma

The poor comma, who was capital letter’s friend (so it began), was thrown all over the place – splicing left and right. It tried to bring peace and communicate that if it could just be heard, the rest of the sentence could come together. There was room for everyone, but the capital letter didn’t want any new words in ITS sentence. The same words it started with were the ONLY words it wanted to deal with. It tried out other fabulous synonyms, but they just crowded its space and hurt the overall sentence fluency, so the capital letter was leery of any newness – proven to be superb word choices or not.

All the comma wanted was its proper place in the sentence’s life. Why was the capital letter being so stubborn? All it had to do was expand the sentence into TWO clauses and allow its friend the conjunction to bring them together. Capital letter wasn’t having it. It didn’t want to open up to any word it didn’t know from previous pages it and its sentence mates had been in. Poor comma THOUGHT it had a place, but quickly comma learned it would never have a place in the capital letter’s sentence. The core sentence was all that was needed, so again, the comma was shut down and sent away rejected and defeated.

The sentence with its grand leader, capital letter, continued to be fragmented until it kicked out all the unnecessary junk (or perceived junk). Then it was back to its original, stale, lifeless clause, and capital letter was happy – for the moment. The grand leader started to miss comma, and decided to find it but comma had moved on to a new sentence.

The Period

Every time comma would try to express itself to capital letter, it would be dismissed and ignored. Time would pass and then capital letter would need comma to separate a list or parenthetical phrase, and normally, comma would jump right to it. There was nothing comma wouldn’t have done for capital letter, but this time comma finally understood its place and had to put an end to being misused and undervalued. If capital letter wanted some assistance, it would have to seek it elsewhere. Comma had had enough of capital letter treating it like it was no more than a quick curved line and not really needed for the sentence to make sense. All capital letter had to do was care because that’s all comma tried to do for it.

While comma truly missed the good times it had with capital letter, it was moving on to better sentences who would appreciate its connective spirit. It went on joining sentences all over the world. Comma felt great about itself. Occasionally, it would see capital letter and wish it well, but it let go of the burden of trying so hard to be something to capital that it could never be – connected. Comma’s time was up and it put a period on that sentence.

The Lesson Learned

In the above story, the comma got to a point where it could no longer allow capital letter to use it yet not give its presence any respect or value. Capital took comma for granted because anytime capital wanted something, comma ALWAYS did it. However, comma moved on, albeit hard, it’s what had to be done.

Not that everything you do for others needs to have massive recognition and fanfare, but it is nice when some appreciation is shown. We aren’t entitled to anyone’s benevolence, so be very careful that what was once genuine appreciation doesn’t turn into selfish expectation.

What is your misplaced modifier? Who are your dangling participles? What’s the run-on sentence in your life? PUT A PERIOD ON THAT SENTENCE!5e3112de99430c38321d92eb603506df

Bricks, Concrete, Stucco, Wood Paneling – What Did You Build YOUR Wall With?

imageI approached a fortress one day. It was strong, sturdy, unmovable, and unbreakable. It was magnificently and meticulously put together – NOTHING could penetrate it or put so much as a chip to it. The architecture was to be admired, but yet upon reaching this mighty dwelling, a great deal of sadness and concern fell on me.

I heard someone, albeit barely. He or she appeared to be sniffling like crying. I called to them, but they didn’t answer. I knew they could hear me, but still – no answer. I walked around to a different side of the wall and called out again – no answer. One more time, I tried, “Are you OK?”

Finally, I realized. A person wasn’t behind the wall. The person WAS the wall. After many moments of being hurt, disappointed, betrayed, and devalued by others, the person became hard, stubborn, distrusting, angry, defeated. With every hit to their heart, a brick formed. As time lingered on, more bricks, more cement that would not give easily to the process of erosion.

Fear of the same disastrous, heart breaking cycle prevented the wall from being scratched. You may approach, even brace yourself on it, but it wasn’t moving. Whomever the wall trusted was inside and there would be no vacancies.

No matter if there was no impending danger to the wall’s well put together structure, no one was coming in. The wall couldn’t risk it. The wall may not have seen previous attacks coming, but it was ready for a fight – even if no war was waged. How to get inside this wall?

Brick dust may fly into the wind, but the edges were still rigid. If one was to brush against it, a scraping of the skin was in their future. The wall takes care of itself. It seemingly stands alone. Come and see this massive structure because it is a sight to behold architecturally but it also blocks some majestic scenery behind it. Scenery like a colorful, brilliant, array of talent. Growing, budding, blossoming gifts… Palaces built on faith in action stand tall and command attention, but who can see them to be awed by them? Who can see the beautiful heart hidden in the masonry? The wall is blocking the view.

The wall is blocking. The wall is blocking. The. wall. is. blocking. Will the wall ever allow anything to chip away at the hardness? Every wallflower isn’t leaning on the wall in hopes it’ll knock it down. Every jackhammer isn’t turned on to forcibly get it down. Every wrecking ball isn’t swinging in it’s direction. So again, HOW to get inside this wall? Sometimes accept that it will take more love, prayer, patience, and love, prayer, and patience (yea, said it twice for a reason) to slowly chip away at the wall. OR wall accept the fact that even with all the above, sooner or later the visitors will become less and wall will be…well…just an ordinary, lonely, unnoticed and unbothered – wall. That’s the life of every wall, right? #shrugs

Welcome to put a PEN in it!

rsz_why-i-writeWelcome to “put a PEN in it!” I’m over the moon excited to share my thoughts, ponderings and revelations with you! I’m a constant comedy show full of sarcasm and quirky humor, but I have a serious love for creative writing in its many forms. I write when I have something to say and most of the time from a place of great reflection, observation, pain or joy (hence the blog title “put a PEN in it”). One would call it inspiration. I write when I’ve been inspired whether good, bad or indifferent. There may be times when the ink in my pen is dry. Then I’ll go through something or begin to think hard on a certain situation, and it gives the pen new life. Then there are times when none of the above are the case, and I just write from whatever thought popped into my mind like some random nothing.

I don’t have one particular genre I write in because I could feel moved to write a poem, but then in another situation – a full-length play, and yet in another – a short story. You never know what my mind will concoct but it always tends to flow just right.

I hope through this blog, you gain some revelations as I have. Maybe your thoughts will be provoked on a subject. You’ll step into my world and my feelings on real situations I went through and writing was my ONLY escape. My writing brings me out of dark places, and I’m extremely thankful for the gift.