Writing Off the Grid

When Love Falls

January 5, 2018 by Marcus Leave a Comment

“I know it sounds crazy,” Sam said, his gaze locked on the duck confit he’d barely touched.

“Sounds crazy?” Nancy asked, the contempt rippling through her usually silvery voice. “It is crazy. And stupid.”

“But what am I supposed to do? I mean, I don’t want —”

“Don’t say it,” Nancy broke in. “Don’t you dare say you don’t want to lose him.”

“I don’t…” Sam looked up, tears banking in his round brown eyes. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“Give me strength, Lord … give me strength.” Nancy turned to her right and swatted at the dark-haired man seated next to her. “Isaac, please … a little help here.”

“Look, Sam…” Isaac rolled his muscular shoulders and didn’t look right at Sam but in his direction. “It’s not that you’ll lose Mark. You’ve already lost him. Deep down, you know it’s true.”

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but the words clung to the back of his throat. As much as he wanted to protest, he couldn’t. Isaac and Nancy, his friends since university, had always been honest with him … even when it hurt. But he wasn’t ready to give up, to walk out on the man who’d shown him the pathway to love.

“Maybe I should just … give it a try,” Sam said weakly.

“It’s not love,” Nancy said with disgust.

“I’m with Nancy on this.” Isaac finally looked Sam square in the eyes. “It can’t possibly work. And you won’t be happy.”

“If Ron came home,” Nancy said after draining her gin and tonic, “and said he wanted his mistress to move in with us…” She sat back in her chair and threw Sam a knowing look. “He’d be out on his fine ass like that.” She snapped her fingers.

Sam rubbed his eye. “Mark says —”

“He’ll say anything to get you on his side,” Nancy said bluntly. “He’s playing you.”

“He’s not playing me,” Sam spat.

“He’s not…” Nancy’s voice pitched high and, with disbelief blazing in her azure blue eyes, she stood. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.” She slapped Isaac’s arm. “You better have talked some sense into him by the time I get back.”

When Nancy was gone, Isaac shifted into the chair she’d vacated to sit directly across from Sam. “We’re your friends, Sam, and we care about you. We can’t tell you want to do, but…” He reached across the table and briefly held his hand to Sam’s. “Mark cheated on you, and as much as you try to pretend like you’re not fazed by it, you are. I see it. I see the dead in your eyes. And the solution isn’t to let the other man move in.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Sam said, unable to stop the tears streaking down his face.

“Take a stand,” Isaac said. “Put yourself first because you deserve better.”

Nancy, back at the table, slid onto the bench next to Sam and held his hand. Then she trained her gaze at Isaac. “He’d never be in this mess if you had —”

“Don’t go there, Nancy,” Isaac cut in.

“I’m just saying that the two of you…” She pointed to the two men. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Isaac … just tell him.”

Sam pulled his hand out of Nancy’s loose grasp and rubbed his forehead. “What’s she talking about now?”

“Nothing,” Isaac grunted.

“No, no, this has to stop.” Nancy leaned back, her eyes locked on Sam as she pointed at Isaac. “He loves you. He’s always been in love with you.”

“Fuck you, Nancy. Fuck you!” Isaac pushed back his chair and bolted from the table.

Sam turned to Nancy. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“Whenever something goes wrong, who do you call first?” Nancy raised an eyebrow. “When your car broke down last month, you called Isaac. When you broke your leg last year, you called Isaac to pick you up from the hospital. When your mother died, who did you call to drive you to the airport?” She made a play for his hand and held it tightly. “And he came … every time to support you. No matter what, no matter, no questions asked. Why didn’t you ever call Mark?”

Sam dropped his head.

Nancy squeezed Sam’s hand, let go and stood. “When you wake up from this nightmare, you’ll see that you deserve better. And you won’t get any better than Isaac. I’m going to find him and sweet-talk my way back into his good graces.” She winked and moved off.

Sam sat there, still, as Nancy’s words reverberated through his thoughts. He loves you. He’s always been in love with you. But that’s crazy. Isaac and me, we’re just… Sam’s body went rigid. Nancy was right. Every time he was in trouble, Isaac had bailed him out. Always. An acidic taste edged its way up his throat. That was a sign of a shift and he knew it. God, I’m such a fool! He leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table and hid his face in his hands. His world had just imploded, and he wasn’t sure — when the dust had settled and all the shrapnel had been removed — if he’d survive.

“Sam…”

Sam, slow to uncover his face, recognized that husky voice. He levelled his gaze on the black-haired beauty standing on the other side of the table. “Mark … what are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” Mark said, pulled out a chair and sat down.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Sam said, surprised by the confidence surging in his voice.

“I love —”

“You don’t love me. If you did, I’d be enough. And your kind of love I can do without.” Sam stood and started to walk away.

“Sam, don’t —”

Sam surprisingly found himself flipping Mark the bird.

Maybe he’d survive this after all.

Don’t Be Discouraged

January 3, 2018 by Marcus Leave a Comment

Happy New Year!

I woke up on 1 January to the cruelest of jokes. At least I wanted to think it was a joke. The scratchy feeling in the back of my throat, and the pain swallowing. The throbbing between my eyes. The nasal pressure and congestion. This was how 2018 was starting out for me? It had to be a joke, right?

Nope. No joke. My body was, one more time, telling me to slow down and smell the roses, to let myself rest. Did I do that? Of course not. I still got on my flight to Vancouver and carried on as if nothing was wrong.

I’m back home now and feeling better. There’s just one thing. When I woke up this morning (Wednesday, 3 January 2018), I didn’t have a voice. Something happened between the time I went to bed and got up. As an introvert, I’m not much of a talker anyway. But at the moment, I can’t even say, “Hello,” into the phone.

This is not how I imagined starting off the New Year. I don’t like being sick because I don’t like to rest, be sidelined. I like to think — despite all evidence to the contrary — that I can keep going and going … like the Energizer Bunny. Sick, I’ve done a minimum amount of writing each day. Sick, I can’t seem to focus and feel like I’m spinning. Sick, I feel like everything comes screeching to a halt. I panic. I can’t breathe.

Why is that, bon gré mal gré, I’m so eager to look to the future and where I hope to be? All I end up doing is stressing myself out about things that I want (need) to get done and chastising myself even though I don’t have the energy to get them done. Am I being too hard on myself? Maybe.

I’m not particularly proud of the current state of my desk, but I seem to thrive on organized chaos. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

So I’m stepping back and trying to be in the present moment, the now. I’m taking the time, sort of, to let my body heal. (It felt really odd to just lay on the sofa and chill for a couple of hours this afternoon, but I did it!) I can still be productive, but I just have to slow down my pace. Maybe I can’t write for long swaths of time, so maybe I organize my desk instead (it’s a disaster and has been for the past three months). I can catch up on my reading (I’m really enjoying Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita). I can check in with my writer friends on social media (I still struggle trying to balance writing and social media).

Falling sick at the beginning of 2018 reminds me that there are things beyond my control. Getting sick is one of them. It reminds me, too, that I am on a journey. And that I don’t need to rush. I’ll get to my destination in my own time, in my own way.

So as 2018 begins, I will try to simply savour each day, each moment along the way. I’m not going to worry too much about what I have or haven’t accomplished in the past three days. I’m going to begin, now, where I am, and the rest will follow.

I can, and will, follow the counsel of Corita Kent: “Love the moment, and the energy of that moment will spread beyond all boundaries.”

What are your goals for 2018? Have you started working to achieve them? Let me know in the comments section below.

Looking Back, Looking Forward

December 28, 2017 by Marcus 2 Comments

Whether it’s at Christmas or at any other time in the year, when I tell people I’m going to Port Colborne, the immediate question that follows is: where’s that? I tell them it’s not far from Niagara Falls and, unless they’re familiar with the area, they nod accordingly. It’s clear, though, by the stunned look still twisted into their faces that they really have no idea where it is. And that’s okay.

If I hadn’t met my partner, I wouldn’t have known where Port Colborne was on a map or that it even existed. It’s a city where, usually around major holidays like Christmas and schedule permitting, I get to escape the hustle and bustle of life in Toronto. It’d be unfair to say that there’s not a lot to do there. There are various events and activities throughout the year, and I’ve discovered Lucy’s Café — a wonderful Italian restaurant where the likes of Pierre Elliot Trudeau dined. But I don’t do much when I’m in Port Colborne. Not because I don’t want to, but because my partner and his family love routine. And heaven forbid anyone dares to break it.

So when I’m in Port Colborne (like I was over Christmas), it’s a time when I can disconnect from the world. My body decides to almost conk out. While I can never manage to nap in Toronto, there I spend the days trying to keep my eyes open. I’m convinced that, away from city life, my body tries to get me to slow down. And I resist at every turn.

But while I was in Port Colborne this last time, my body went into slow-mode. And I found myself thinking about the year that was.

The Year in Review

2017 was a big year for me. The journey was long, and at times uncertain, but a good year overall.

Actually, it’s been a phenomenal year as I ventured into the self-publishing world with the launch of The Flowers Need Watering back in February. Becoming an indie author, I’ve learned a lot about the self-publishing industry and myself. I know the journey is far from over. In fact, it’s only just begun.

With The Flowers Need Watering published, I then turned my attention to the rewrite of another novel-length manuscript, Freestyle Love (more on that below).

In the kitchen earlier this year. The braised duck leg was delicious!

I tried hard in 2017 to do the things I love because, as Lauren Vanderkam reminded us, “When we focus on what matters, we can build the lives we want, in the time we’ve got.” So I spent a lot of time honing my culinary skills, creating mouth-watering dishes for me and my partner to enjoy. Admittedly, my partner wasn’t too keen on everything I prepared, so I just started telling him it was chicken or beef. (Imagine, now, his unknown love for venison and bison!)

Recovering after the MEC 10K Series Race on October 29, 2017.

I also upped my running game — increasing my distance, improving my pace and running my first 10k race since 2010. While I didn’t achieve a personal best (I came close), I felt energized. I stayed active this year, running at least two times a week (often more). I kept pushing myself, and it paid off.

Yes, 2017 was a big year for me because I kept writing — despite the jet lag, despite the doubt that tried to silence me, despite when life interrupted. I wrote. Every day. And that proves that I’m still heeding the call of what it is I feel compelled to do.

2018: Looking Ahead to an Exciting Year

A ‘New’ Book: I’m gearing up for the rerelease of Freestyle Love, which was originally published in 2011. I learned a hard lesson with Freestyle Love, one that, thankfully, I wouldn’t repeat with The Flowers Need Watering: the importance of a professional editor. In reviewing the manuscript for The Flowers Need Watering, my editor hit on all the big-ticket items — character and plot development, structure, continuity, story arc, theme development, repetition and plot holes. He didn’t only point out what wasn’t working, but also what worked well. Through that process I realized something else. Maybe Freestyle Love, despite what I thought at the time, wasn’t my best effort. Now I knew I could do better. So I decided to try.

The release date for Freestyle Love has yet to be finalized, but I’ll keep you posted.

Twitter Fiction Tuesdays (#TwitFicTues): I’ll be continuing my popular Twitter Fiction Tuesdays series that explore the short story in 280 characters (or less). Join me Tuesdays at 12:00 pm (EST) by following me (@MMarcusALopes) on Twitter or by searching the hashtag #TwitFicTues.

Flash Fiction: In November, I began publishing short fiction pieces on my website. Appearing at least twice a month, these short fiction pieces make for a quick, intriguing read in 1,000 words or less. This series will relaunch in January. Stop by my website – www.marcuslopes.ca – to check them out.

A Final Note

As 2017 draws to a close, I want to thank you all for being a part of my creative journey. The road has not been easy, but I am grateful to you — everyone — who has supported and encouraged me along the way. I am where I am because of you, and I am eternally grateful.

Once again, thank you for being a part of my journey. From my house to yours, I wish you a Happy New Year filled with peace, joy, love and happiness!

Marcus

Brothers

December 13, 2017 by Marcus Leave a Comment

“Get off my back,” Todd barked, reaching for his beer stein.

“Do you know what you even want to do with your life?” Jeremy asked.

“Damned if I know!” Todd’s words reflected the fiery rage gleaming in his brown eyes.

“‘Damned if I know,’” Jeremy repeated, then sucked his teeth. “So the game plan is to just sit here, sulk, and drink your life away?”

Here was the Lighthouse, an Irish pub popular with the Georgetown locals. But for Todd, it was more than a pub. It was the place where he could, drunk, chase away his demons. The place where, drunk, he could look himself in the mirror and not feel repulsed. The place where, drunk, he felt safe against a world crushing him.

Todd tapped the bar counter twice and, when the bald bartender looked at him, signalled for another beer.

“Really?” Jeremy shook his head. “Do you really think you need another?”

Todd drained his drink and set the beer stein to the side. “Why the fuck do you care if I have another?”

“Because you’re my brother and I care about you,” Jeremy said, turning slightly to his right on the bar stool. “I want to help you, Todd. I really do. But this…” He pointed at the beer the bartender had just placed in front of his brother. “You need to do something besides … drink.”

“If you’re not going to help…” Todd bit down on his lip. “Why are you here?”

Jeremy bristled. “Why am I here?” He pulled a folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and held it out to Todd. “Here.”

“What’s that?”

“Why I’m here,” Jeremy spat. “Take it, Todd.”

Todd, holding his brother’s gaze, eventually took the paper and unfolded it. “Is this a joke?”

“You said you needed money for your rent, so I made the cheque out to your landlord.” Jeremy cupped his hand to Todd’s shoulder. “I’m not paying for you to drink your life away.”

Todd crumpled the cheque into a ball and hurled it behind the bar.

“Fuck, you’re an ass.” Jeremy polished off the last bit of scotch in his glass, then flagged down the server and settled the tab. He slid off his stool and looked down at his brother. “I’m not doing this again. Don’t you … remember what drinking did to Dad?”

“Don’t!” Todd took a large swig of his beer. He didn’t like talking about their father, or being compared to him. Drunk, his father beat him with whatever had been in arm’s reach — a belt, a frying pan, a beer bottle. Drunk, his father couldn’t stay sober long enough to work, and lost his job and his home. Drunk, his father passed out while driving and crashed into a concrete utility pole. No, Todd wasn’t his father and wouldn’t become him. He had his drinking under control. That was what he told himself.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Jeremy said.

Todd set his beer down on the bar with a hard clunk and locked his gaze on Jeremy. “You have no idea what it’s like … always living in the shadow of the great Jeremy Miller. Author. Professor. Person extraordinaire.” Tears banked in his eyes. “I was fifteen, and you left me there … in that house … with him. Every day after you left Dad used me as his punching bag. Every day for three years, until the accident, I suffered. Where were you? Where was my big brother?”

“I got out,” Jeremy shot back. “I told you to get out, too. Did you listen?”

“Where was I supposed to go?”

There was a silence.

“I’m sorry.” Jeremy ran his hand over his mouth. “I stayed as long as I could. And I tried to protect you…”

Todd looked down. That was true. When their father started beating on him, Jeremy always threw himself between them. Jeremy took the blows without crying until their father got bored and walked away.

“It can be different now,” Jeremy said cautiously. “If you want it to be.”

“Really?” Todd raised his head. “How?”

“Come live with me.”

“Me … live with … you?” Todd, rubbing his eye, laughed. “What would Aiden think?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re my family. Back then…” Jeremy slipped his hands into his pockets. “I let you down once. I won’t do that again.” He paused. “But I have two conditions.”

Todd sucked his teeth. “There’s always conditions with you.”

“You stop drinking and see a therapist.”

“Can I finish this beer at least?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Todd picked up his beer, chugged until it was gone and then let out a loud belch.

“Classy.”

“This is so fucked up.” Todd leaned forward, rested his elbows on the bar and hid his face in his hands. He’d been crashing on his friend Dylan’s sofa after being evicted six weeks ago, and testing the limits of their friendship. He’d lost his job, too, because he never showed up on time, if at all. He uncovered his face and winced at the acidic taste in his mouth. Christ, maybe I’m exactly like my father.

“So?” Jeremy shook his head. “I know you were evicted, Todd. Dylan called me last week.”

“Then why…” Todd stood. “Dylan’s a good guy and I’m driving him crazy. So I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“Maybe this is the moment when you figure out what you want to do with your life,” Jeremy said, throwing his arm around Todd’s shoulders. “And I’ll be there to help.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

They started for the exit, and for the first time in his life Todd felt the misery cloaked around him starting to fall away. Could things really be different?

Maybe … if he could stay sober.

Sober, he stood a chance of remaking himself and his life.

Driven to Distraction

December 2, 2017 by Marcus 4 Comments

It’s Saturday morning. I open my eyes and squint at the clock. It’s 4:22. I roll out of bed, mix up my Essential Amino Energy and Burn Cycle, then sit down to write my Morning Pages. Less than an hour later, I’m out the door for my morning run and feeling pumped for the day ahead.

That’s how most days begin. Most, not all. It’s a routine I rely on to stay the course, to stay focused and achieve the goals I’ve set for the day. Sometimes, though, life throws me a curveball. Well, not exactly a curveball. Sometimes I’m just thrown off course by too many distractions — television, social media … the laundry. And then I don’t end up following through on the things I’ve set out to do. (Read James Clear’s “The Akrasia Effect: Why We Don’t Follow Through on What We Set Out to Do.”)

I’m driven to distraction.

When that happens, resistance has dominion. I sit down to write but end up spending a lot of time staring at the page. If I do write, I’m never satisfied with it. I forget that it’s the first draft and that it can be improved upon later. Suddenly, I’m too busy worrying about the road ahead — where I am and where I’m hoping to go. I’m worried that no one will buy or like my book, which can unearth a lingering doubt (always smouldering under the surface) about my talent as a writer. It’s a slippery slope and I’m sliding … sliding into that abyss where I’m constantly asking myself, “What’s the point?”

The point is this: I’m doing what I love to do, with all the glory offered and the challenges thrown at me. I’m still chasing my dreams, working to make them come true. And that’s a good thing!

I used to think that being distracted, or procrastinating, was a sign that I wasn’t a real writer, that I wasn’t committed to the cause. So I’d scan the internet for articles that offered “solutions” on how to overcome procrastination and get back to work. A lot of the advice out there tells us to eliminate the distractions: Schedule focused blocks of time for creative projects. Schedule time, and stick to it, to check social media. Cancel your cable subscription (extreme, I know). I’ve tried many strategies over the years, from keeping the TV off between 8:00 am and 6:00 pm, to using the Google Chrome Extension Stayfocusd, to going to a coffee shop to write. And they’ve all worked, to varying degrees, to improve my productivity and focus.

Lately, I’ve come to see these distractions (or my willingness to embrace procrastination) not as the demons I thought they were, but as something else. Maybe they’re a sign that I’m not letting myself “play” enough. The demanding schedule of my day job makes it so I want to use my time off as efficiently as possible. It becomes all about the work and doing what’s necessary in the pursuit of my writing dreams.

I am forever learning the art of work and play. Life is rich with all its beauty and with so many things to discover. Writing is very important to me, to my life, and each day I write I am inching closer to realizing my dreams. But life isn’t, and shouldn’t be, all about writing. When I open myself up to other experiences, when I let myself do other activities — cooking, visits to art museums, dinner and drinks with friends, running — I am gathering material for my creative stores.

So I’m learning, too, to love the moment. As Corita Kent advised, “Love the moment, and the energy of that moment will spread beyond all boundaries.”

Are you loving the moment? What activities do you enjoy outside of your artistic endeavours? How do you deal with procrastination? Let me know in the comments section below.