Suck it Up

chinny

So, as per usual, it’s been a while. I am hoping to get back into the thick of things with my writing, but since Padfoot has been gone, I feel I’ve lost my voice. He was my inspiration as well as my voice. I’ve lost so much since he’s been gone.

I’m still in school, but I should be finished up by the end of summer. Right now, I’m actually taking a graduate level course that is, well, going to test me in all sorts of new ways. This week’s class was an interesting one. We wrote about our writing “voice,” and I ended up in tears as I wrote. When I had to read mine to the class, well, I broke down again. It’s a small, intimate class, and everyone was very supportive. However… well, it’s embarrassing to cry like that in front of a bunch of people you’ve only just met. But what can you do? Honesty is the best policy, especially when you’re a writer.

My piece:

“My Voice: Who Am I as the Speaker?”

There was a time when I was Padfoot, my greyhound. Somehow I channeled his voice to the page (screen?). He was funny, sharp-witted, and he just had this “voice.” There was something about him that almost screamed at me.

Now that he’s gone, I am not sure who I am. I am still discovering. I suppose there is a great deal of me to be found in the anthropomorphizing of my dog. I am a smart-ass. I thrive on the comic relief in stressful situations. I am snarky, sarcastic, and sometimes just mean.

There are, however, moments of clarity, intelligence, and introspection that dig deep into my psyche to blot the page. Why am I angry and bitter? The abuse? My mother? The losses I have experienced?

My voice is alone now that Padfoot is gone. His blog is retired. I seldom write on my own. Was he my true voice? Can I find him again?

I can type it up and read it now without losing it. If I stop and think, well, the tears well up in my eyes and my throat gets tight. I feel lost, helpless, alone. There is more work to be done, so I must fight the darkness and move forward. Not “on,” necessarily, but forward. I need to come to terms with his physical loss and find that spirituality he has left behind to feed my soul. I feel his presence with increasing frequency. Perhaps that is him nudging me, scolding me, urging me to get back to it, to finish what he started with my voice. To let it grow and become what it is meant to be.

Suck it up, girl, and get back to work.

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