A to Z Challenge

#AtoZ Challenge — R is for Resilient

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 13 Comments

#AtoZChallenge Letter R

We all know them. The immortals who get knocked down but refuse to quit. No matter how far down they are, no matter the odds, they fight back and often succeed. We call them resilient. What is it that makes them different from the rest of us mere mortals? If you ask them, they will look at you as if you’re crazy. To them its life. Resiliency is part of who they are. I admire those who make lemonade in grand style, brush off dust and consider it a part of a normal day.

Resiliency is a matter of mental toughness. They have confidence in themselves. They will take on a task although the odds are against them. The quote attributed to Winston Churchill, “If you are going through hell, keep going,” is their motto.

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The Great One, Wayne Gretzky said, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” Resilient people take the shot every time. They adopt the dandelion trait. Have you noticed no matter how hard you work you can never get rid of all the dandelions in your yard? Dandelions are not afraid to fail. Sure, you might kill a few of them, (a dandelion fail) but they will just try again. You can’t keep a dandelion down.

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Consider another sports analogy. Barry Bonds leads the all-time home run record with 762 home runs. He also had 1,539 strike outs. Hank Aaron comes in second place with 755 home runs and 1,383 strike outs. If you take away all of Hank Aaron’s home runs, he still logs 3,000 career hits. Those are great numbers. Gretzky, Bonds, Aaron, these guys were not afraid to let a few failures interfere with their success. The numbers suggest the more you fail the more likely you are to succeed.

Resilient people know how to eat elephants. It’s easy, one bite at a time. They break a huge goal into manageable, bite-sized pieces. They dissect the task, pulling it into segments and focus on one step at a time. If you consider the whole elephant, the goal appears impossible. But resilient people believe everything is possible. Barry Bonds wasn’t worried about the home run record. He was concentrating on the pitch and visualizing a home run.

Photo via Visualhunt.com

Visualization is another trait. They can see themselves succeeding in graphic, vivid detail. The elephant will be eaten and they will throw a party. They know what they will serve (not elephant) and who will high-five them. In fact, they will celebrate any small victory. Have you ever seen a baseball player booed because he only got a hit? Resiliency means you find one or two good things and pat yourself on the back.

The final thing about resilient people? They have fan clubs. They surround themselves with others who celebrate, offer advice, and make them feel like they matter. We are social creatures and earning the approval of others is a big motivator.

Are you ready to fail your way to success? Come on, I’m rooting for you.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

#AtoZ Challenge — Q is for Qualified

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 7 Comments

#AtoZChallenge Letter Q

Note: Another short one. This story is 125 words.

Photo credit: Michael Elleray via Visual Hunt / CC BY

Pistons pumping, concentration set everything rests upon this race. Staged at the starting line, poised for the signal, seconds seem like hours. Amber. Amber. Amber. Green. Churning and burning leaping across the line, gasoline evaporates in record time. Dashed lines appear solid and the world becomes a blur. Pouring on the power easing into the turn, tires slide on this wild ride. No room for error no turning back only bumping and jumping and flying round the track. Miniscule adjustments never sacrificing speed articulating precise maneuvers testament to driving prowess. The finish line in sight the lap almost complete full focus fixed upon the goal. Flashing past the finish checkered flags go down. The only word that matters is the only one you hear: Qualified.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

#AtoZ Challenge — P is for Persistent

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 3 Comments

#AtoZChallenge Letter P

“I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”

— Thomas A. Edison

Photo credit: danielfoster437 via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC-SA

When we think of persistence, we often think of Thomas Edison and his light bulb. We admire it. We try to emulate it. How does it feel to fail day after day year after year? How do you continue and maintain hope? Thomas Edison started work on his illuminating idea in 1878 and on January 27, 1880 he got his patent for the electric lamp. It is impressive that those 10,000 attempts resulted in a patent in two years.

Could you persist for twenty-five years to reach your goal? Maxcy D. Filer did. He sat for the California State Bar exam 48 times before he earned the right to add “Esquire” to his name. Tenacious, persistent, unrelenting in his pursuit, sixty-year-old Maxcy persevered.

How about sticking it out with a group of losers? Could you show up to support them in their efforts, pay for tickets while they lost year after year? Chicago Cubs fans did. They stuck with the team on a 108-year losing streak, the longest such streak in any major North American sport. Through thick and thin, and dismal times, fans attended games and cheered the team saying, “there’s always next year”.

The last story of perseverance had its start back in the early 1900s. For thousands of years the American Chestnut tree grew in the eastern United States covering an area from Main to Northern Florida and west to Pennsylvania, Ohio, Tennessee and Georgia. They said a squirrel could climb a Chestnut tree in Main and travel through the canopy to Georgia without touching the ground. The trees were monsters, growing ten to fourteen feet in diameter and over 100 feet tall, they dominated the Eastern forests.

American Chestnuts

Chestnuts were the cornerstone of the ecosystem. The nut of the tree was a high-energy food source for both wildlife and humans, high in starch and sugar and low in fat. The wood was rot resistant, lightweight, easy to split and did not wrap or shrink. Those factors made in an excellent choice for buildings, barns, furniture, fences, telegraph poles and railroad ties. High in tannins the bark and was used to tan leather.

Harvesting the American Chestnut

In 1904, chief forester at the New York Zoological Garden (the “Bronx Zoo”) Hermann Merkel discovered the Chestnut blight fungus. The American tree had no resistance to the blight. The fungus was catastrophic. By 1940 the Chestnut blight had spread over 200 million acres and killed four billion trees. The American Chestnut tree was functionally extinct. Efforts began in 1930 to conserve American Chestnut root stock and develop a hybrid resistant to the blight while preserving the qualities of the original tree.

Chestnut Leaves and Nuts

Work continues today. The hope is to eventually re-introduce the American Chestnut into the wild. Several organizations including the American Chestnut Foundation are working on backcross breeding, traditional breeding and biotechnical methods to save this tree.

I hope their persistence pays off and future generations of Americans will once again know this great tree.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

#AtoZ Challenge — O is for Optimistic

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 12 Comments

#AtoZChallenge Letter O

“The basis of optimism is sheer terror.” — Oscar Wilde

“One of the things I learned the hard way was that it doesn’t pay to get discouraged. Keeping busy and making optimism a way of life can restore your faith in yourself.” — Lucille Ball

“We would accomplish many more things if we did not think of them as impossible.” — Vince Lombard

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” — Victor Hugo

“Nothing is impossible, the word itself says ‘I’m possible.” — Audrey Hepburn

“It’s not that optimism solves all of life’s problems; it is just that it can sometimes make the difference between coping and collapsing.” — Lucy Macdonald

My crystal ball reflects the world around me. It allows me to consider the future, to glimpse a world of possibilities.

Holding it in the darkness reproduces the terrors walking among us. I tremble with fear that this might be my life. Deep in a sea of despair, misery consumes me. This future I don’t deserve. There must be more of life. I see no way forward, no clear path. Building something different, creating an alternate reality, it’s an insurmountable task.

I raise my crystal ball to the horizon, to a crack of light offering a glimmer of hope. The desperation is my past. To leave the life I have always known, is bittersweet. How can I believe? My wounds still drip with blood. I taste my broken dreams and leave them lying on the ground. My life is around the corner. No longer content to live with my eyes cast down.

Photo credit: Pensiero via Visual hunt / CC BY-NC-ND

The crystal ball shimmers and shines as I lift it high above my head. A cloudy day reflected, hides the sun and the moon and the stars. I fix my eyes upon the sun.

The choice is mine.

Optimism is the choice I make.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

#AtoZ Challenge — N is for Noble

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 8 Comments

#AtoZChallenge Letter N

The Noble Lady

“This is how you see me?” Lisa asked peeking over the artist shoulder.

“This is how the world will see you,” he replied.

“I don’t understand.”

“You are a virtuous woman, noble and wealthy.”

“Noble?” she flipped her skirts as she turned to gaze out of the window.

“Yes, noble.”

“I am no more noble than the woman in the street selling cakes.”

“You are more noble than any queen or duchess I have ever met. The world will come to see you as I do.”

“And how many queens have you met? The world will not see me. They do not see me now. I am a daughter, a mother, a wife. Nothing more. The portrait you paint is for my husband, not the world.”

“Noble is not a title my lady. It is something that shines from your soul.”

Lisa looked at him and smirked. She shook her head and returned to her pose for the portrait.

“Do that again,” he commanded.

Photo credit: Mia Feigelson Gallery via Visual hunt / CC BY-NC-SA

“Do what?”

“The look you gave me.”

She complied and he worked quickly, his brush dipping into the paints and touching the canvas. When he was finished, he dropped his brushes, covered the canvas and began packing his supplies.

“You are done?” she asked.

“Not yet, but done for today.”

“May I see?”

“You have seen enough.”

“Is it any good?”

“I think we shall leave that for the world to decide.”

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

#AtoZ Challenge — M is for Masterful

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 6 Comments

#AtoZChallenge Letter M

The True Master

They called him the master. He shook his head in denial. The masters selected him, trusted him with their secrets, their knowledge and their tools. His studies had consumed most of his life, the work became his love, his passion, his escape. Long hours transported him, released from the nightmares of a world he could not control. A true master controlled the worlds. He often called on the magic from the ones who came before him but it did not bend to his will. No matter how much he tried, the work of his hands was merely beautiful. His work would never exude the qualities of a masterpiece.

Photo via VisualHunt.com

It was not his destiny to be a master. It was his destiny to find the next true master to fulfill the prophesy. His task was to pass everything he knew to the first new master after the old masters died. At first, he did not believe the stories, but time proved the stories true. The teachers he revered, were now dead and gone. Only he remained.

Years passed and still he searched for the new master. He accepted any man interested hoping he would fulfill the prophesy. He trusted the stories, but he was getting old and he feared he would fail his teachers, that their craft would one day die with him. The first time she came on a day when dark clouds filled the sky, promising rain. He told her to hurry home and bolted the door to block the rain.

Many months later she came again. This time she pleaded with him and as she spoke dark clouds formed in the sky and hail pounded the earth surrounding her. He told her she could not be the master the stories foretold. The masters were men. She tried to persuade him, but he would not listen and once more barred the door against her. He soon forgot her.

Photo credit: cobalt123 via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC-SA

One day as he made his way outdoors a small figure near the door caught his attention. It was like the ones destroyed years ago with the masters. He questioned everyone, but no one confessed to knowing where it came from or to having created it. When he clutched it in his hand it pulsed with the magic.

Several days later storm clouds gathered on the horizon and she stood once more at his door. She asked if he received her gift. He didn’t understand. She pulled a second figure, a perfect match to the one he found, from her pocket. He demanded to know where she had gotten them. Her response was that she made them, and he laughed as the rain fell. She pleaded, and he agreed let her create a third figure to prove herself. She worked for three days while the storm raged and he watched. When she finished, she placed the triplet in his hand. The new master had found her teacher.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

#AtoZ Challenge — L is for Lazy

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 16 Comments

#AtoZChallenge Letter L

There are virtues and benefits to feeling lazy.

Photo credit: Scott Ableman via Visualhunt / CC BY-NC-ND

Photo via Visualhunt

Feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.

Photo via Visual hunt

This concludes today’s post.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

#AtoZ Challenge — K is for Keen

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 15 Comments

#AtoZChallenge Letter K

Note: I’m keen on fast little sports cars and while I don’t drive this one, I know how the test drive would go.

 

Is It My Turn Yet?

“Vroom.”

“Vroom.”

Mic revved the engine of his new Laser Blue Lotus Exige. His right hand brushed the knob of the gear shifter between us. The needle on the tach surged to 3,200 RPM each time his foot depressed the accelerator. Zero to sixty in 4.7 seconds, 250 horsepower with 174 lb-ft of torque.

Photo credit: CallMeJag via VisualHunt.com / CC BY-NC-ND

“Are you going to put her into gear anytime soon?” I asked.

Mic glared at me and revved the engine again.

“Vroom.”

“I am enjoying the feel of the engine.”

“I bet it would ‘feel’ even better if she was accelerating.”

He sighed and slid her into drive. We eased down the road, slowly approaching 30 MPH. I pressed my foot hard on the floorboard willing the car faster, imagining shifting into second gear and then third. Mic and I toured the road for fifteen minutes. My foot twitched from the lack of speed.

“Is it my turn yet?”

He pulled over, and we switched seats. I settled into the cockpit and closed my eyes. Mic was right about one thing, just feeling the power of the idling motor was intoxicating. I took a deep breath, then opened my eyes as I jammed the drive shifter into first and pushed the accelerator to the floor. Tires chirped as they spun on the gravel, seeking traction. The car leapt forward slamming my body hard against the seat. The tach instantaneously hit 3200 RPM, and I slipped her into second. She ran through third and moved into fourth as the speedometer zoomed to 120 mph. My heart pounded in time with the firing pistons and the grin I wore threatened to break my face in two.

I think Mic was yelling something, but I didn’t really hear. Moving my foot from the accelerator to the break, I hit the pedal hard, down shifting, my body jerked forward as the sudden decrease in speed. The tires squealed in protest and I let my eyes flickered to the rear view to see smoke billowing behind us. As we came to a complete stop, the black smoke drifted past the cockpit window.

Mic was still yelling. The only things that registered were the throbbing of the engine and the voice in my head saying ‘Let’s do that again’.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

#AtoZ Challenger — J is for Joyous

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 16 Comments

#AtoZChallenge Letter J

Schools Out

“Edyth! Get up girl or you’re gonna be late!”

Mother’s voice penetrated my brain dislodging me from the warm dark haze I didn’t want to leave. I opened one eye to see what she was doing in my room.

“Edyth, if you don’t get moving I’m gonna yank those covers off you.”

“I don’t wanna.”

“I don’t care what you want.”

“Mm, do I have to?” I closed my eyes and dug myself deeper under the covers.

“Edyth, I swear!”

The nest I snuggled in flew away as Mother stripped the sheets back, exposing me and my pink pajamas to the light of day.

“Mother!” I heard myself screech.

“Get up. You’re not going back to sleep.”

“Why do I have to go? It’s the last day of school.”

“No arguing. Get up. Get dressed. Make your bed and get downstairs for breakfast.”

I groaned as I swung my feet to the floor. School clothes lay on the chair next to my bed. Mother had put them there. She stood in the doorway, determining if I was awake.

“I’m up.” I assured her.

Mother gave me a hard look, daring me to go back to sleep. I was awake, and I glared at her until she left. Ack, I couldn’t understand why I had to go to school today. The only thing happening was silly teachers telling us to enjoy our summer and making sure we had all our papers. I’d rather start summer break right now. I guess it was only one more day. But it was gonna be torture.

Dressed, my bed made, I headed downstairs for breakfast. I chased colored loops of cold cereal around in the bowl of milk until the milk turned a sickly gray color. Mother grabbed it out of my hands and shooed me out the door. The walk to school took forever, but at last I sat at my desk and watched the minute hand on the clock behind my teacher. It jumped and stuttered before creeping ahead.

She droned on and on and the clock stopped for long minutes before the hand clicked forward. One minute closer to my release. I counted every second until the hand moved again. I gazed out the window at the blue sky and green trees. A soft wind tickled through their leaves. Birds sang, and a squirrel tiptoed across the power lines. They got to go exploring. They didn’t go to boring old school like I did. I squirmed in my seat wishing I could go climb a tree like the squirrel.

My friends were getting anxious too. Bobby was thumb wrestling with Joe while the girls whispered about Sally’s sleep over birthday party in a few days. The teacher kept shushing us. I kept monitoring the clock. The bell was gonna ring. I eased my bag out from under my desk and slipped it over my shoulder. Five, four, three, two, one. The buzzer sounded and I raced to the door. Free! It would be ages before school started again.

“Yippee!”

“No more school.” My friends and I chanted and sang as we spilled through the doors to the promise of great adventures.

I skipped, I danced, I twirled. Summer break was here!

Photo credit: Paucal via Visual hunt / CC BY-NC-ND

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer

#AtoZ Challenge — I is for Inspired

/ JoHawkTheWriter / 12 Comments

#AtoZChallenge Letter I

Note: When I first selected this word, I had a totally different story in mind. I may still write that story, someday. However, after writing the story “Inspiration” for Friday Fictioneers this idea popped into my head. I hope you enjoy it.

 

The Path to Inspiration

Wendell’s story didn’t work. He asked his friends, his mother and his father. He asked anyone who would listen to him. No one could help him fix his story. At last he took the mess to his teacher and begged him for a solution. The answer he received startled him.

“Wendell, the solution lies within you. You must seek inspiration.”

“How do I seek inspiration?” he asked.

“The way is never the same. The way is different for everyone and it often changes.”

“So how do I find the way?”

“You do not find the way Wendell. The way must happen to you.”

“Can you be any more vague? Can’t you give me a clue?”

His teacher thought for a long time. Eyes closed. Wendell wondered if he had forgotten about him and fallen asleep.

“Nietzsche climbed mountains. I think Crowley was a mountaineer too,” he finally said.

Confused Wendell wondered how climbing a mountain could fix his story. He sighed and decided he had little to lose. If climbing mountains inspired Nietzsche and Crowley, perhaps it would work for him. Wendell started on his journey. After days of climbing his stood at the top of the summit and surveyed the vistas laid out before him.

Photo via Visualhunt

“Ok, where are you inspiration? How do I fix my story?” he demanded.

The mountains were silent, the sky shifted from shades of blue to pink banded in rings of silver. Wendell waited. His teacher had promised him his answer was in the mountains. He stared at the vast distance separating him from every other spot in the world. He screamed his question once again into the void.

“Teacher there were no answers in the mountains,” Wendell said.

“Do you dream?”

“Dream?”

“Never mind,” he waved his hand, dismissing the idea.

“Have you paid attention to the details?”

“What details?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The details of spring flowers?”

Wendell couldn’t tell if he was asking or telling. But he set off to contemplate the details of the spring flowers.

Photo via Visual Hunt

“Where are you?” Wendell asked. The flowers were as silent as the mountains. They faded as the weather warmed and so did Wendell’s hopes of fixing his story.

“Teacher there were no answers in the flowers,” Wendell said.

“Did you not find the Flow? The Flow is your discipline.”

“What is the Flow?” Wendell asked.

“The Flow is like a river.”

Discouraged, but willing to try once more, Wendell watched the flow of a river. He stood on the banks as the water surged in front of him, racing towards its destination.

Photo via Visualhunt

“Inspiration! Where are you? Are you in there somewhere?” Wendell yelled. But the roar of the racing water consumed Wendell’s words. If the flow of the river answered, Wendell could not hear.

“Teacher there were no answers in the Flow,” Wendell said.

“There is one last thing,” he sighed.

“What now?”

“The Abyss. Gaze into the Abyss until it gazes back at you.”

“This is crazy,” Wendell yelled. He shredded the story and threw the tattered pieces at his teacher. His teacher bowed his head, turned and walked away.

Wendell stooped and gathered the broken pieces of his failed story. Kneeling he collected the shards that remained. In those shards, he saw the story in its entirety. He remembered the details of the scenes and the characters. He felt the flow his story wash over him. It filled him with the answer. The answer lay inside of him. It had always been there.

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Keep on writing.

Jo Hawk The Writer