writing

My Writing Story

This week I’ve been really hitting the book tags on my blog so I thought today, I’d share a little of my writing journey and how I came to the realization that I wanted to be a novelist.

I’ve seen a lot of videos titled, how to know if you’re a writer but I’ve never clicked on them. It’s because deep inside myself, I feel it. Writing has been a strength for me, to express things that I couldn’t communicate. When I was younger, I had many trust issues concerning peers and I’ve never reached to that point where I feel fully able to confide in someone. I am now thankful for those lonely periods where I experienced a lot of pain, rejection. It’s what gave me my voice.

Here’s how it all started.

I’ve been writing my thoughts and feelings in journals for as long as I can imagine. The way I express myself isn’t very direct to a reader. There are parables, emphasis and much elaboration in how I feel. As I got older I lent bits of fiction to my feelings. At this point I didn’t think I could write a story,  I didn’t even know I was carving something out of nothing.

Like many readers and writers, I too lived within my imagination as a coping mechanism when my will to smile faded. I was a child who felt so deeply, and hurt so easily and I was disconnected from everyone around me. I felt misunderstood, and I still do.

From an early age, I’d look at a lot of movies. Sometimes I believe they thwarted the reality of love and relationships for me, but nevertheless, I became so engrossed with those movies, based mostly on love and also my books that stories began to take fruition in my mind.

I used to dream that one day I’d write a story like that and see it on a screen so I had this unrealistic dream of becoming a screenwriter. This is entirely different from being a novelist. Being a novelist is more of a struggle to me as I do better with dialogue and conversations.

During my teenage years, I started outlining stories… I even wrote a full story in a notebook in my last year of high school which I let one friend read, and she actually enjoyed it. If being a writer wasn’t such a world away from where I was at, I would’ve continued with my stories there.

After I left high school, I wrote books of poetry. I went through heartache, more rejection, I was emotionally disconnected from my family. I felt unsupported and pressured into studying things I didn’t want to study. Nevertheless I did it, because I had to follow norms, I eventually had to pay bills. I couldn’t just survive on a silly childhood dream.

There was a period of just work and university, I barely found time to read, the one thing that helped me throughout my life. I hadn’t even turned on the TV in two years. It was a horrible period in my life but the stories never left me. The worlds I’d build a decade before, the characters I’d molded, the lives they lived…it never left me.

Fast forward some years, where I’d now migrated, gotten married to a man who I believe could be my only true friend, and a kid later, I was better grounded in my life but still trying to figure out what I want to do personally with my life. I was searching for that part of myself that I never found. Did it mean going back to college? Did it mean settling again to do something I didn’t want to do?

It was through my daughter’s physical therapist that I learned about the world of self-publishing and it took me two years to even sit down in front of my computer and write. It’s been a year since I’ve started writing and outlining my story ideas, and it’s brought me self-fulfillment if anything. It’s my hobby, it’s my stress reliever. Do I wish I could do it as a career? Of course but the most important thing for me is, to read the very stories that took birth in my own head.

What roll does writing play in your life?

xo Kat

Start by Writing Simple Stories

Recently I have been so engrossed with writing techniques and listening to other people on Youtube share their writing journey or publishing journey. My eyes have opened quite a bit since I have started pursing writing full on. I have all of these stories in my head and the need to get them out is sometimes, painful. I go through these period where I feel like a failure because all of these ideas mean something but it’s hard to choose which one is the most epic. In the middle of writing something, I feel it mundane compared to what I know I can do. Deep down we know our potential, and we can only get there through hard work and diligence.

Last year when I started writing my first book-like piece, I was under the impression that to write something good one had to be over-the-moon smart but after hearing some of my most admired authors’ stories, I’ve started seeing writing from a different perspective.

I’d like to share something I’ve noticed, and also experienced to people who are pursuing writing, as a hobby or as a career. This is for beginners like myself and comments/tips are always appreciated on this blog!

There’s a Youtuber that I look at from time to time who shares writing tips. Said Youtuber has a self-published book out and I thought to myself, “Wow, her book must be something great if her tips are that great.” So I went over to amazon and downloaded a sample of her book and do you know what I found? Within the first few paragraphs I saw that she broke the very rules she was telling people not to break. Over usage of metaphoric descriptions, too much telling.

I’m not here to bash on another writer’s book, it simply wasn’t for me. But that’s not the issue. From what I gathered, this author had to build an entire world and characters in them, and it was quite a lengthy task. I myself, as a novice writer have many epic story ideas but I won’t pursue them quite yet.

Building worlds, and writing about other worldly elements is quite a difficult feat. So if you’re just starting off like I am, go simpler. Learn your craft before you tackle anything too hard. I think it was JK Rowling that said you have to get out all of that bad writing out before you find your voice. It’s like that saying, practice makes perfect. And no piece of writing is bad writing. Never delete your work. It came from a genuine place and it would project in your story. Anything you don’t like, can be fixed but never delete it.

Happy Writing! Leave me a comment to let me know how your writing process has been thus far 🙂

xo Coffee Doll

The Choice|A Vampire Short Story

She couldn’t be like her father. No, she wouldn’t be like her father.

She stared at the man who had stolen her heart from afar. She couldn’t bear the thought of Garth dying an old man, alone in his bed. Perhaps he’d have a family who’d look over his dying body with sorrow and regret as they prayed their last goodbyes.

Alva turned her face with disgust, at the thought of her love dying, at herself for becoming like the one person she loathed. Her father.

He created the monstrosity that she had become. The scent of blood drove her wild, the taste of it intoxicating and empowering. For centuries she hadn’t felt what it was like to be human, until Garth. He filled her with possessiveness and longing. It was a maddening feeling to have a mere human ignite woes of passion and fulfillment in a heart that was dead for three hundred years.

Balder Carr was cursed on the mountains of Eravar three hundred years ago. An abusive husband that eventually drove her mother to suicide, leaving her sweet babe in the arms of a ruthless man. Alva had thought it a gift from the gods when she was eighteen years old and he was dragged off by vicious animals in the night, leaving her cold and alone in the structure she knew as heimisgarðar.

But Balder returned a few days later to claim what was his. Her.

He had changed, but not by so much. He returned alive and stood robustly in the doorway. On his face a hunger she had never seen before. He was coming for her. Her body froze on the straw bed she had slept in since she was a child.

He pounced on her like the animals that had dragged him out of his bed in the night. Animals that stood like men with long teeth and cold hard faces.

He smelled of wet earth, of death when he pinned her down with the burliness of his body.

When her own flesh and blood sunk his teeth into her swollen veins, the heavens opened up in the sky and Alva saw all of creation. She barely gave a fight. Her pupils whitened and her body lay limp and she couldn’t move.

As she lay in a confused state of mind, she heard the voice of Balder loud and clear as if it were inside her own head.

“I will not live all of eternity without the only thing I love.”

Love? Balder Carr was a madman if he thought he loved her, if he thought he had a trace of fatherhood in him. Balder always believed he rightfully took whatever he took from her. Her laughter, her peace, her innocence. And now he drained the last drop of blood from her body as he waited for her rebirth.

Love. She never believed she meant anything to Balder Carr but now she wasn’t so sure as she stared at Garth from a distance.

His laughter reverberated in her ear. She was so connected to him that she felt his every movement with her heightened senses. And then she knew in her heart that Garth Collins had to become like her. She couldn’t bear eternity without him.

© Coffee Doll. All rights reserved.

 

Blind Date Gone Wrong|Short Story

I’m currently working on something in the romance genre and I’m slowly starting to feel disconnected from this story. There was an adrenaline rush when I outlined this book and I couldn’t wait to get started, now that I’m a few chapters in, I feel mehhh. Here’s a little excerpt from what I’ve done so far. And please leave some feedback, whether it’s positive or negative…I’d love to hear it. 

It came as no surprise to Nate that this little hole in the wall pub was crowded with everyone, from college students to married men looking for a quick hookup. But no one knew him here so he sat and nursed his beer in peace, occasionally peeping at his phone to see if Jimmy had messaged.

He cursed himself. Jimmy was eighteen, a man now, but Nate would never see him as that. He’d always be Nate’s innocent baby brother that needed him…his little Jimbo.

Ian?”

A velvety voice spoke near him and he craned his neck to the side. She had a face shaped like a heart and her green eyes searched him as if they knew him. She said something again as she hiked her short ample legs over the bar stool next to him.

He leaned in to her and caught a whiff of whatever fruity perfume she was wearing, coupled with also a comforting scent that Nate suspected was her own bodily fragrance. It was enticing.

“Sorry?” he asked.

“Ian…Ian Gable from the blind date app?”

She bit her lip, a nervous gesture causing Nate’s jaw to clench. Who was this girl and where did she come from? She certainly lacked the demeanor of the other women present at Sal’s Pub tonight.

He jerked his thumb upward and waved it. “The music’s loud, I didn’t get that.”

She leaned in this time, her round eyes sporting a hint of worry. And there was that unique fragrance again. He willed himself not to inhale so apparent. 

“I’m Shelby. We met on the blind date app. You said to look for a green scarf?”

His eyes dropped to the scarf draped around his neck then moved in on her again.

“Right. Shelby.”

Her work dress told Nate that she probably worked at some law firm, something nine to five that had extensive overtime hours. Nate couldn’t fathom a job like that.

He continued to stare and caught her unease. With a flick of his wrist, the bartender moved towards them and Shelby ordered a drink. Nate half grinned. She ordered a club soda with a slice of lemon.

“You know you’re at a bar right?”

Her head whipped to the side but she didn’t make eye contact. Nate found he didn’t like that at all. Normally women were vying for his attention. Such an arrogant prick, he knew.

“I uh — don’t drink that much.”

“What do you mean by that much?”

She turned sideways by an inch to answer him and he mirrored her move.

“I drink a little champagne here and there.”

She shrugged.

Nate deciphered as much. Miss Shelby to his right was probably raised in a strict Catholic home, who probably attended an all girl boarding school, whose parents were probably filthy rich and she probably didn’t have to work hard a day in her life for anything.
Suddenly his mood soured yet he couldn’t fault the girl for her upbringing.

“I’m sorry but I have to ask,” she carried on, searching his face with her lovely emerald green eyes. “How it is that a guy like you uses a blind date app to find a date….I mean somebody would have to be blind not to date you.”

She sheepishly averted her eyes then giggled nervously. She came of as a bit of a goof that Nate had to laugh as well.

What’d she call him? Ian. He was not Ian. He was just bored, and entertained by the blind date app user.

“Why’d you use it? I’m sure you have no problem getting dates yourself?” he goaded, curious to know why Miss Shelby here thought she needed to use a silly app to get a date.

He swallowed the rest of  the bitter liquid from his glass and flicked his wrist at Franco, the bartender who nodded.

“Hey Franco,” he called. “Do you have any champagne in this shit hole?”

Franco looked from him to Shelby then nodded again. 

“My co-worker Kelly actually accepted your friend request.”

“Ah so it’s Kelly that should’ve been here tonight,” he joked noting that she deflected his question.

She frowned for a brief moment then a false smile spread it’s way on her lips.

“Perhaps,” she murmured.

Perched on the bar stool, she stared at her palms waiting for him to say something. Of course he should say something. This was a date–for her.

“So Shelby, what is it that you do when you’re not using this blind app thing?”

“I thought I told you that in our chat. I work down at the Sandgate City Youth Center, I’m a substance abuse counselor.”

Interesting, he thought.

“How has teaching been going for you?” she asked.

Nate choked. If only she knew what he did for a living.

He could just envision the appalled look on this naĂŻve substance abuse counselor’s face. Who in the world accepts a date with a man she’s never seen on a freaking app of all places? Something told Nate that her intelligence stopped where her payed for education stopped.

Yet he couldn’t help himself tonight. Well, at least until she figured he wasn’t Ian and poured her drink in his face.

“Teaching,” he sighed. “You know how it is with kids…tiring.”

“Kids? But you teach university…you barely look thirty yourself.”

“I’m an old soul…what can I say?”

He flashed his winning grin and felt a slight victory when her thighs clenched. His lie was a good save. Naive. That’s what she was.

Elena Stark © All rights reserved.

Outlining Your Story Helps You Write Better

Last year, I’d managed to finish two novellas without a particular process or schedule and since then I have been struggling with planning and completing stories. Every time I’d sit down and try to write complete mayhem broke out. In between normal life and daily duties, I could not utilize whatever spare time I had to write something of significance. I’m still struggling but I took time out to really study the writing process before jumping back into writing. So far, it’s been effective. I’m happy for myself, that I’ve recently started writing again, something that I just need to do.

I was under the impression that to be an author you had to be beyond intelligent and just know everything, that one can just sit down and write a perfect novel in one shot. When I started experiencing writer’s block despite knowing where I wanted my stories to go I realized that I needed to halt and revamp the way I approached writing. Dialogues are easy for me as I’ve always wanted to be a screenwriter since my tween days but it’s the details, descriptions and making my characters emote that I have the most trouble with. As my research progressed I learned that extensive research and planning goes into a story. At least for me, it was a new and different approach and one I decided to try out.

I did plan before but there were always holes in my story. I had the core idea, knew who my characters were and what was going to happen but it’s the how that hindered my progress. After trying to outline my story, I realized why I should’ve done this a long time ago. I consider myself very novice at writing but it’s something I love and I want to pursue so I had to get it right. I am still trying to get it right. So instead of just writing based on small notes I’ve made, I outlined an entire story from beginning to end and it felt almost as satisfying as completing a book. Bear in mind this is just the beginning. After completing a first draft, there’s lots of edits, formatting and modifying that needs to be done but I’ll elaborate on that more in another post.

Here’s how I outlined the story that I’m currently working on…

  1. OneNote. I came across this program, that’s free on all platforms by the way, called OneNote. It doesn’t save like a word document, it syncs and you’ll be able to access your work on multiple devices. Sometimes a thought might hit you and all you have is your phone on hand so I find this very useful if I quickly need to make a note or addition to anything. (I will create an entire post how I use OneNote for outlining and writing with pictures.)
  2. Writing Chapter Summaries. I used to write one entire synopsis and a few details here and there about scenes and dialogues that I already know I want in my story. I’ve started writing one liners about each chapter and it didn’t start in order. By the time I kept adding paragraphs to the one liners, I noticed my story tying together to make sense. (Note: If at this point your story sounds chaotic, worry not. It will tie together. Remember that this is just the beginning of it and your work will always be tweaked as fast as your ideas come along.) This is one thing I like about chapter summaries, if you feel like adding something different, it gives you room to work. Unlike just writing your book and half way through you realize that you need to redo the entire thing. So outlining your sub plots save you all of that. Once you’re satisfied with the outline, you can then begin to write.
  3. Character Profiles. Previously I would make a brief description of my characters such as dark hair, green eyes, tall, short…whatever their job was, who their family was. Sometimes I’d add new characters as I wrote and sometimes I’d want to take out a character that wasn’t making sense anymore but I couldn’t. So planning out my characters well and outlining the entire story, helps me know from the beginning which characters should be omitted as well as if I need to add a character somewhere down the line. I also ran into problems when I called my characters doctor or accountant and in the middle of the story I had to research details of their job descriptions. My advice is to research these details and any information about their jobs…note their likes, dislikes, behavior, families previous to writing. It has helped me in a big way so far.
  4. General Research. As much as us fiction writers make up a lot of details we still need extensive knowledge on how things in our stories function. For example a hospital…if a lot of our story is set in a hospital revolving around the people that work there, we’d have to know what goes there, who is in charge, their responsibilities, what equipment is placed in what department…things like that. You get the idea.
  5. Don’t leave holes. One of my biggest mistakes when planning a story, I’d leave out a lot of details thinking I’d polish it during the editing process. This causes more chaos that you’d think. Plan your scenes, and elaborate as much as you can before even beginning to write. It helps you write with a flow as you have noted exactly what you want to convey in that chapter.
  6. Sketch your Plot and Climax well. All stories have some sort of issue that needs to be dealt with which can either break or make your story. Make sure it’s a convincing and sensible one as well as your climax. I’ve read many books where the entire build up was brilliant only to have a rushed ending with an unconvincing plot. I’ve also written stories like this, sadly. So that’s why I feel it’s important to pay attention to your plots and sub plots along with the climax.

Thanks for reading! xo Coffee Doll

Introducing Super Short Story Sundays

If you’ve read a thing or two on my blog before you’ll see that I love to write. I try to write as much as I can but it doesn’t always work out the way I want it to. My family is first and foremost so sometimes my schedule doesn’t get to squeeze in writing. I am aspiring to write small books and self publish them, however I know I’m a novice and there is need for much improvement. Because most of my books are underway it’s hard to gather feedback for uncompleted work.

I had a thought a few weeks back about scheduling a super short story on my blog every Sunday to garner feedback from my blog readers and hopefully attract readers from social media sites. I am open to positive and negative criticism, advice, tips. Your comments will be much appreciated and met with a positive outlook. I will most likely be starting Super Short Story Sundays from next Sunday as I need time to plan what content I’m going to be working on. In the meantime, check out the stories tab on my homepage and look at what I’ve done for fun so far on my blog.

Thanks for reading! xo Coffee Doll

The Challenges of Writing Romance

I enjoy both reading, and writing in the romantic genre. I think my obsessions with a good romance started at an early age. The first trigger was Indian movies which I looked at quite a bit because of my mother and most of them were centered around romances. For some reason the library at my high school carried Mills and Boon novels and I fell into that very quickly. My fifteen year-old mind went places, if you know what I mean. For those of you who aren’t familiar with Mills and Boons, they are a set of romantic books published by it’s parent company, Harlequin Enterprises. Most of what I read was set in a historical period and till date I enjoy reading romances set in the far past. Not everyone enjoys romances or its sub genres but I do. I love a happy ending, flawed characters that grow, the essence of drama and love. I love it all. One of my favorite authors as an adult is actually Nora Roberts. She’s my hero when it comes to reading romance. Her books usually have strong characters and suspense or a little mystery so it dramatizes very well.

And because I enjoy this genre so much, a lot of ideas or plots that take birth in my head end up materializing into a romantic story. I have plotted and outlined so many of these romantic story lines and even though I can almost always see the ending, it’s hard to complete. It may seem like an easier genre to write compared to sci-fi, fantasy or crime fiction but it comes with it’s own challenges. If you run into similar problems or have any input, please feel free to drop me a line in the comments.

  1. Creating subplots. The template for most romance stories are similar. Boy meets girl or girl meets boy and they instantly click or click over time. The thing that would separate your story from another writer’s story is your subplots. Both or one of the main characters will need an issue to resolve.
  2. Repetition. Romances are a difficult genre to write because much of what we fantasize or dream about has already been written. It’s unnerving when you question every dialogue, every scene.
  3. Creating Interesting Characters. The earlier romances that I read had weaker female characters who suddenly came into thier own after finding love. In more recent times we see stronger female characters. I often find I write bland characters and need to make them do something drastic or have an annoying quality to appear more engaging to a reader.
  4. The Problem & Climax. Every book, romance or not needs a problem in order to reach the climax. The problem needs to be engaging and convincing enough for readers to want to get to the climax. I’m left doubting my work more than I would like to. The climax also has to be a suiting one. For example, not all love stories have a happily ever after ending. It all comes down to the fear I have of disappointing readers. I’ll talk more about that in a separate post why that’s not a great idea.
  5. Simple love or sexy love. When it comes to writing erotica, I’m still having a hard time. I am uncomfortable with writing intimate details, for the fact that I won’t allow my parents to read something with adult content. I’m also a sucker for back in the day romances…you know the kind with love letters and chivalry. It’s difficult when I sit down to write and all that’s playing in my head is “Clean or dirty.” I wish so many stories didn’t call for it, unfortunately it does.

Thank you for reading! xo Coffee Doll

Where Do You Get Your Writing Ideas?

Where do you get your ideas?

Not very often I might be engaged in a conversation with another human, and I might reveal the fact that I write stories. Mostly it won’t be an interesting topic for them and they’ll likely move on but sometimes I get asked, “What do you write about?” My tongue gets caught for a moment because, while I do have a lot of ideas, I have been writing romance for the past year and people react strange when I say this. I’m focused on romance currently because it’s easier to navigate through the story and less research goes into it compared to my fantasy and thriller ideas. Those take quite a bit more planning and may take years to complete.

The question that follows the first one is, “Where do you get your ideas?” or “How do you come up with these ideas?” It seems unnatural to people who don’t see a story in every feature of their day, and sometimes it surprises me. What do non-writers even think about? I don’t know anymore. The moment I made the commitment to become a storyteller, most of my spare thoughts are focused on my characters or plot.

By the time I brush my teeth in the morning I have three or four things to write down that I may or may not use in a story. By the time I drop my kid of to school, I’ve made about ten mental notes to explore with an idea.

My ideas come from everywhere, and everyone. I’ve always been observant about people and the way they are, fascinated by the things they do and what drives them. I don’t judge people based on anything whether it be race, religion, choices…and that’s a plus if you’re a writer because you can explore a character in a non-biased way. I don’t exactly copy anyone’s physical attributes or their demeanor but closely paying attention can help you shape your characters in a relatable way.

Story ideas are always brewing in my head. No process or major thinking goes into the core idea of a story. The hard work comes when the writing starts but plotting the story just happens and it can be triggered by anything. Any thought or action can bear fruit into an idea for a story. It’s how story telling works. If someone pisses you off write about them. If you feel an emotion deeply, use that also in your writing. Anything and everything is part of a story. I have this book that I literally label book idea #1, book idea #2 etc. I’m sure I won’t use all of it, but brainstorming for ideas and plots is one of the best things you can do to let your ideas run freely.

xo

A Day in the Life of a Diabetic Part 2

It’s seven a.m. and I’m faced with a dilemma. To eat or not to eat. I roll of the bed and start moving around. I look at the clock and it’s suddenly 7:18 a.m. I accomplish nothing important in eighteen minutes.

I’m thinking again, do I have a cup of coffee or do I risk a dizzy spell and get my preschooler to school early. I could never be one of those sprightly morning people, yet I do love getting things done early. My day seems to fit better.

I decide against the coffee before school drop off, and wake my four year old. I duck into the kitchen to warm milk for the baby before I wake her up. It saves me some wailing if it’s ready and waiting when she wakes up. I walk back into the kids’ bedroom and my firstborn is still fast asleep, ignoring my soft voice telling her it’s time to get ready for school.

I’m astonished that I’m not yet falling apart as I’ve had about three hours rest the night before. The younger child is totally unpredictable and it often weighs on my sanity. My body is moving around briskly and efficiently this morning, and I don’t want to think too hard of it in fear I jinx myself.

Twenty minutes until we leave the house and one child is half ready. My stomach isn’t churning which I’m grateful for and I have the energy of someone two hours before bedtime.

I’m usually perspiring at this time and tend to under-dress even though it’s below zero outside. It’s a windy morning and I don’t wear any extra clothing underneath my coat. I load everyone up in the double stroller and proceed to the preschool which stands a couple blocks from our house. I skid quite a bit this morning. Four days ago we had a snow day and as per usual, the lackadaisical residents of my city don’t shovel snow the way it’s suppose to be shoveled.

My hand is both numb and burning from the iciness in the air. The baby starts crying as the icy wind cuts into her delicate face and hands. I’ve tried to keep gloves on her but to no avail, she keeps ripping them off. Most days I don’t realize because I’m focused on the journey to and from school.

There’s four flights of stairs to climb, with a twenty-five pound toddler on one arm. I sigh and curse the day I signed my child up for this school. There is an elevator, which is only used for kitchen services. Humans with their own free will still take it, as do I on days that I physically can’t make the stairs. But there’s a woman at the school, a villain in my day. I dread running into her because I sometimes wish to use the elevator but she flies into my face and it reminds me of a bat opening it’s wings. Then she spews her venom and accuse me of not understanding a basic sign in English.

I want to retaliate in my best vocabulary and irritated tone but I decide against arguing with fools in a children’s environment. She isn’t worth my effort, especially when it’s taking me all of my will power and physicality to stay standing at this point. I hurriedly lead my child to her classroom and want to shout, “Yay!” Half of the hassle is over with. Now to descend those vicious stairs in which I fear my toddler will catapult into the air.

I huff and I puff and make my way down the stairs with my wriggling toddler sitting on my burning forearm. I can feel the heat emanating from my body and being trapped beneath my jacket. My hairline is slightly drenched and I wish to be out in the open where it’s cold. The heat of my body makes me want to pass out.

When I open the door to exit the school, the biting coldness makes it’s way through my skull and my brain stops for a split second. My eyes can’t focus on any one thing for too long. I tell myself, one way home, no detours. Coffee, breakfast and medicines.

xo

© Coffee Doll All Rights Reserved

 

 

Day in the Life of a Diabetic Part 1

The alarm goes off and I groan softly, dreading the energy that my body needs to muster in order to lift myself off the bed. I swipe my phone screen to check the time and I realize I have fifteen more minutes before actual wake time.

“Ah,” my inner voice sounds pleased, “The Universe is on my side today.”

I let my head fall to the pillow once more and fifteen minutes feels like fifteen seconds.

“Oh alright,” I groan, swinging my half-sleeping legs across the edge of the bed. Eyes burning and heavy, I move my feet around and slip them into my fuzzy slippers. It’s a cold morning, just like the morning before and the one before that. And I wonder the same thing that I do everyday. Is the heat even on?

I hear a soft whimper coming from the baby’s crib. I want to go and check on her, and bring a hot cup of milk to her. Morning milk is a baby’s coffee, truly. The little creatures scream frantically until it’s brought to them. There is a small window in which I walk past her bed to get her cup of milk where her soft whimpers transitions into a wail.

I’m fatigued, after a night’s rest. My stomach is lurching in all directions and I feel something that resembles a dizzy spell. I take two steps in the direction of the baby then stop myself. I need to relieve my bladder of the painful pressure, for if I don’t, I might have an accident.

After relieving myself, I want to quickly rush into the kitchen for that cup of milk for my crying lamb but I need my eyes. No, not the ones in my head. The ones that help the ones in my head see. A piece of plastic, worth more than a month’s grocery and also worth my vision. I need it to show me a definition of what I hold in my hand, of where I’m going. Every morning when I put it on, I decide this piece of plastic brings more value to me than any piece of jewelry ever can.

Note: I originally planned to do a post on a diabetic’s struggles from day to day, somehow it ended up like this….to be continued…

xo Coffee Doll