Running:
There's one thing I've learned about running: it's about the body and mind. The body is incredible and can keep on running and running and running (as long as my heart, lungs and muscles are in shape). But if my mind halts before my body is tired or worn out, my body basically quits and it's a huge challenge getting it going again. Once, and only once I literally walked 3 miles home on a very chilly day because no matter how much mind work I did as I took each step, the overwhelming discouraging thought that hit me at the 3 mile mark couldn't be overcome. At home I kept on countering that thought--for many hours--to get myself past it.
Writing:
Writer's block is a myth, I believe. Yep, I've sat in front of a monitor and rested my fingers on computer keys and wondered what I could possibly write. And I've sat there like a statue and haven't written anything. But in reality, not having anything important to add to one of my manuscripts or anything new to write was a heart and soul problem, not a mind one. My soul was napping, or worse, rebelling. (That's the same as sitting in a little corner feeling dark and lonely, in case you were wondering.) Writing tip: There are tons of ways to get over writer's block, and one of them is to run. Another: don't read. Heaven knows that makes it worse. Another: get out and exercise, work up a sweat pulling weeds or cleaning out a closet or vacuuming out the car or swimming. Just move. Suggestion 3: do something for someone else. Do a good deed. Suggestion 4: get out of yourself and into the life of others: your kids, your spouse, with friends. The point is, don't zone in on your needs, but focus on someone else, even if they aren't needy. None of these ideas are better than the others, really, because they all work to one degree or another. Another good tip: Drink lots of water. Water, pure water, not something else.
Hiking to the Timpanogos Cave entrance in the fall with my honey
Fresh air and a good hike--a good workout--can get the heart pumping and the brain moving again. Go for a "feel good" service activity or a dose of endorphins through exercise when your brain feels sluggish.
Secrets at Midnight
Leona Palmer Haag
Chapter 28
Fangs, claws and Matt—Jenn contemplated her fears as she
wrung out sopping wet laundry after Matt disappeared. Seconds later she grabbed
her daughter and raced inside the filthy cabin. She deposited Katie on the
kitchen floor and raced back for the buckets. She bolted the door behind her
before resuming washing—cabin dish towels now. When the water turned gray she dumped
it over the back railing into the ravine, wondering if it would make its way to
the dark blur in the distance—a lake.
Peeking through the front window, Jenn studied the forest
before she stepped outside for fresh water. She sloshed it through the cabin to
the back deck. Multiple trips created a muddy trail, but she didn’t care. This
wasn't her cabin and she didn't plan on staying long—and fevered scrubbing kept
her mind off unpleasant topics.
Giving a towel a firm snap, a shower of sparkling water crystals
flew everywhere and danced as they fell into the ravine. Katie giggled. “Pity.”
Jenn laughed. “If you said, ‘pretty,’ I agree—clean looks
good. And if you said, ‘pity,’ I still agree—we’re in a terrible situation.”
She hung the soggy towel over the railing and took a break, pulling Katie into
her arms and feasting her eyes on the incredible beauty surrounding them.
“Pity,” Katie repeated.
Jenn wasn’t sure what Katie meant. Maybe she felt sorry for
them not knowing whether Matt was friend or foe. Katie pointed and Jenn focused
on pretty sights—the sunny-blue sky, dozens of green hues, wildflowers, a
red-breasted bird fluttering nearby.
Back indoors, Jenn found a broom, dustpan, mop and bottle of
floor polish and started working, hoping to abolish the pig sty atmosphere.
Next came dusting, then dragging a ladder around knocking down cobwebs—then
sweeping the floors again and damp mopping—the order mixed up due to the
overwhelming volume. By lunchtime the cabin felt somewhat sanitary.
While Katie napped on a sweater on the clean kitchen floor,
Jenn ventured upstairs. Thankfully it wasn't mouse infested—not a dropping. She
stripped one bed and filled the buckets with icy water, and with one eye
watching for vicious creatures, washed sheets and blankets and hung the array
of faded colors on railings to dry. When Katie awoke they cleaned the kitchen,
scrubbing inside cupboards and washing mismatched dishes not once, but twice.
As they worked, shadows stretched, creeping across the
meadow. Jenn closed the front curtains and leaned against the heavy front door
and slipped the lock into place. She felt like a caged bird awaiting doom.
“Katie, story time,” Jenn whispered across the room. Her
daughter scampered over. As they read, loneliness retreated. After Katie tired
or books and pointing at pictures, Jenn pulled out her cell phone. It had been
disabled except for Matt’s number. Temptation to call him surged. She resisted,
shoving it into her pocket. Katie crawled over and around her a dozen times,
and Jenn’s mind moved as restlessly. Katie tumbled off the couch and tottered
away, and she followed, turning her daughter’s steps toward the kitchen table
for crackers and juice.
As the natural light dimmed, fears grew. When Katie knocked
her empty sippy cup to the floor it thundered like a gunshot, making her jump.
To banish the spook-alley atmosphere she snatched Katie up. “Exploring time. We
need to know what's surrounding us so we don't assume there's an ax murderer
lurking in every shadow. Where shall we begin?”
Katie squirmed for release.
“Maybe there are treasures buried behind the closed doors.” Hoping
for a better distraction than investigating junk piles—Jenn studied the
expansive main level. Two old couches angled toward the towering rock fireplace
along with a rocker. Crowded by several over-stuffed bookcases, a pool table
occupied the space behind the seating area near the stairway leading to the
loft. Half of the remaining space served as a kitchen with a table long enough
to serve at least twelve. The final quarter of the cabin had been subdivided
into multiple closets and a bathroom, and except for the bathroom, that portion
held secrets—none she wished to discover.
Opening the first door, Jenn surveyed the contents and shut
it. The piles behind door two looked just as uninviting, but she dug past the
first visible layer to see what might follow. “Junk. Totally useless stuff,”
she told Katie. As she continued, potentially useful items emerged—a, shovel,
hammer, ax, rope, and a vacuum—but no power for the vacuum. She shoved it back
inside, slammed the door shut and heard junk tumble from the shelves. “Crazy
people own this place. It should be burned down. We need matches.”
“Qwazzy!” Katie repeated.
“Except the floor is nice. Let’s pull it up and take it home
with us. It beats our vinyl.”
Katie danced with glee, agreeing to theft.
Jenn opened the third closet. Shoe polish—but who cared what
their shoes looked like here? Candles. They’d come in handy if she could find
something to light them with—they'd forgotten to buy matches. A checker board
without pieces. A deflated beach ball. A tire pump with a bag of needles taped
to the handle. Finally a treasure.
“Hey, we’re winning,” Jenn called over her shoulder. She
washed the ball and pumped it up and bounced it to her daughter. Katie chased
after it. Jenn joined in—loving the sound of bouncing rubber and laughter echoing
from the vaulted ceiling.
After several minutes of play time, exploring resumed with a
purpose—find matches before total darkness set in. Jenn unearthed a toy wagon
loaded with blocks and paused to clean them before turning them over to Katie.
In near darkness, Jenn hastened the search with her heart
pounding. She found a dry cigarette lighter, an empty matchbox and a barbecue
lighter without a clicker. Finally she hit the jackpot—a book of matches from a
Nevada casino. Candle in hand, she went through each match, but they were
useless—too stale to light. She hurried to the fireplace hoping for a coal. No
luck. She'd dusted the mantle and hadn't stumbled upon matches there either,
and wondered how Matt had started the breakfast fire. She searched but found
nothing useful.
Plopping down on a sofa with Katie in her arms she said,
“Sorry, but we're not dinning by candlelight unless Matt shows up soon.” She
stared around, finding darkness closing in and nothing to prevent it. She
hugged Katie and silently pep-talked herself into not spooking her daughter.
She finally got up and opened a can of tuna and made sandwiches.
Never had Jenn gone to bed without washing dinner dishes
first, but there was no clean water in the cabin and she was too scared to
fetch any—which reminded her, the bedding still hung on the front railings—far
from safety on the other side of the bolted door. Before blackness completely
descended she summoned more courage than she’d ever possessed before and crept
outdoors to gather up sheets and blankets. She paused only long enough to shake
out critters that may have begun nesting inside. She rushed inside and bolted
the door and leaned on it to make sure it held.
“Tory,” Katie begged.
Too dark to read, Jenn began narrating a gingerbread man
story.
“No.” Katie crawled into her lap. “Bear tory.”
Shivers ran up Jenn’s arms. “Not tonight.”
Katie threw her head back and wailed. Her cries echoed in
the dark cabin and that made her cry harder. Jenn held her tight. “Okay, shh.”
Katie calmed and Jenn sat down and cuddled her daughter. “Once upon a time,
there was a pretty little girl with long golden curls the color of sunshine.
She lived in a cozy cabin on the edge of the dark woods, much like this....”
She hushed and listened to the night sounds—wind softly moaning through pines.
“Bear,” Katie repeated, growing impatient.
Jenn shivered. “One sunny day the little girl ventured into
the forest to pick strawberries. She walked farther than ever before. What did
she find?”
“Bear bed!” Katie squealed.
“Shh! Shh. You're right.” Jenn spoke even softer. “She found
the bear's house. She crept inside as quiet as a mouse and....” An enormous
thump rocked the cabin. Jenn clutched her baby. The sound had come from
outside—reverberating on the front porch. Her eyes pierced the darkness, seeing
nothing, but she could feel eyes watching her—the eyes of a killer—animal or
human?
“Papa bear?” Katie whimpered.
Jenn pressed her fingers over Katie’s lips and slowly rose,
begging the springs to not recoil and the floorboards to not squeak. She
tip-toed to the stairway and paused, listening. No sounds came downward, so she
crept up, pausing halfway and turning back to the kitchen to snatch her purse
from the counter. She inched her way back to the stairs and ascended, only to
remember when she reached the loft that she’d stashed her bullets in the Jeep.
Huddling with Katie, Jenn crouched against the far wall, her
back pressed against the window curtains and only her eyes peering above the
bare mattress toward the loft opening. Nothing moved inside the cabin but her
and Katie’s hearts. Nothing stirred outside except pine boughs brushing the
window behind her.
“Tory,” Katie begged after several minutes, trying to wiggle
free.
Thinking she had no voice left, and certainly no desire to
use it if an intruder had entered the cabin and was listening for her, she
resisted, but Katie grew more insistent so in a whisper Jenn invented a story
about sunshine and flowers and everything else innocent and pleasant that she
could think of. Katie allowed the diversion. While she wove puppies into the
tale, Jenn’s ears searched for creaking door hinges and footsteps.
Katie fell asleep. Jenn hushed and silence deeper than anything
she’d ever known filled the cabin. But a new story poured through her thoughts:
murdered bodies never found—a mother and daughter. She clutched Katie tighter,
her shoulders aching with tension and tear drops dotting her arms and dampening
Katie’s forehead.
Taps vibrated below. Jenn’s heart stopped. The sounds
repeated. She exhaled and sucked in a fresh breath. It was Matt, not the end of
life. She uncurled her legs and with Katie clutched to her heart, she scrambled
down the stairs and tip-toed across the room—and hesitated. If Matt didn’t
stand behind the door....
Her fingers grasped the cold metal bolt. For a heart-stopping moment she paused, and then she jerked the bolt free.
End Chapter 28
By now you've probably caught on that my blog is about 2 things in my life, basically: the running part and the writing part. If you're focusing on this novel feel free to skip my comments about those areas and enjoy the novel because the truth is, I've written it for you. ~~ Leona
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