September 11, 2019

The evening of...

Eighteen years ago I sat on the floor in front of the TV like the unmovable creature.  Once I left the school that morning I stopped at a sandwich shop and picked up a sub.  It took me the whole afternoon to consume the entire sandwich.  I barely tasted it, and yet it was filled with jalapeno peppers.  Every five to ten minutes I switched the channels between ABC and Fox.  

I was numb.  

I was in shock. '

It was inconceivable that the tall, proud buildings that once seen as my city compass was now in a hovel of debris.  People were trapped underneath.  I didn't have hope for anyone under the rubble.  I didn't know how they could clear the metal fast enough.  

I kept the TV on the NBC till it I was ready for bed.  I turned the TV off and said a little prayer that when I woke up the next morning that it was all a bad dream and the towers would be standing like always.

I woke at six the next morning, turned the TV on and my heart sank...

the rubble was still there.  In fact it appeared the debris got higher overnight.  

It wasn't a dream. 

It was real. 

I prayed even harder for strength and courage for the survivors of the twin tower tragedy. 

I am sorry for your heartbreak.  I am sorry for your traumatic loss. 

God bless you.  May you always find courage, strength, and hope in every day.  

September 11, 2019,

you've been asked this question before if you're over 35, "where were you that morning?"

Today is that day of reflection.  anyone who is older than ~34 -36 will have something to say about the 9/11 tragedy that befell America.  We remember what we ate, wore, where we were...who we were with...

It's crazy to remember something so vividly from so long ago when sometimes we don't remember what we ate for dinner the other night.

September 11, 2001 is that day.  Terror hit us between the arterial valves, and it still grabs us. 

It was a day of irony, too.  It started out being a gorgeous, blue sky, hot September Tuesday.  It was business as usual for many.  some still were making their way into work, still holding their hot cup of java.

some people's breakfast sat untouched, uneaten  on their desks even after the planes struck the buildings.

who would expect that?

There were passengers from other planes that left the city that morning aS a few caught a glimpse of the skyline with the proud twins standing at the South end of Manhattan.

Nine. Eleven.

September 11th.

Eighteen years ago today.

Our twins crumbled to the ground with our hearts in our throats.

Oh no...

September 10, 2019
I write this as a reflective post.  Eighteen years ago today the World Trade Center was still standing in its home - downtown Manhattan.  
The twin towers saw its last full day, the workers of the towers left their offices at the normal work time; it was the typical Monday for them all...
September 10, 2001 was a Monday.  

It was work as usual.  The start of a new week.  

Tuesday morning began just as they all knew until the 8 o'clock morning hour.

The weather was perfect.  Blue skies, mid-80s, not a cloud anywhere.  
The west coast was still sleeping (or perhaps some were just rousing from their alarm clocks).  

Some compare the 9/11 tragedies to Pearl Harbor day, but 9/11 affected the usual work day of thousands of civilians in major cities - using planes!

It wasn't just the twins that were targeted, but the Pentagon and the White House.  Thankfully the passengers of the plane flying to D.C. diverted it and crashed in Shanksville, PA.  

What was I doing that day?  I was living my first life when I was going through nursing lectures at the hospital.  The bootcamp of my health care education.  I was sitting in class, we were just given a morning break.  Our little ten minute break was becoming a twenty minute break.  I didn't care.  I was bored and I really didn't like nursing.  It was just part of my developmental life process.  

So twenty minutes out from our break and other students were getting antsy.  Finally a teacher comes in and discloses that the twin towers were struck by planes and were burning.  The faculty were just gawking at their TVs while we were sitting in the classroom unaware of it all.  
There was a girl who was immediately deployed the moment the first tower was struck, but she didn't know it yet because her phone was off (a strict and enforced rule of class). She was with the National Guard.  The moment we were told, she turned on her phone (despite the rule), heard her voice mail messages, and stormed out from the hallowed halls of nursing forever.  She never returned.  In a way I was jealous that she was deployed because she was on her way to the city to help.  I wanted adventure like that.  I wanted to be free like that.  I was anything but free at that time.  

Just Write, Right?
September 9, 2019

How do we begin to write? 

Shed the idea that you are a bad writer, if that is what you think.  Don't see yourself as a good or bad writer.

Take out a piece of paper and pen.
Write down the first word that pops into your head.   
Respond to that word.  What does it mean to you?  Why did you think of that word? 

Jot down another word or two that popped into your head.  Respond to those words.  What do those  two words mean to you?  

Write down what you're thinking right now.  
Those thoughts can be part of the inner dialogue of a character in your fictional novel.  

It doesn't matter what we write, because the words we think, scribble, and mutter are all part of the creative process that helps us to figure out our voice.  

There are three different voices:

1. Written voice
2. Inner voice
3. Outer voice (verbal voice)

 We have to share our written words (no matter how anxious we get) so that our inner voice can hear the words outside of our minds.

 Writing down our words helps to exercise our written voice so that it becomes easier to express ourselves in our writing voice.  

Just write and don't overthink anything.  
Like everything in life, practice makes perfect.  (Even though there is no such thing as perfect). 

Free-writing is a liberating form of expressing our written voice;  it can also be considered "journaling."