I'm reading 45 pounds (more or less) by K. A. Barson, and I'm loving it. I've struggled with my weight at different times in my life, much like the MC, and I identify closely with her. (I haven't finished yet, so no spoilers in the comments, please!!!)
I've also had a recent experience (which isn't mine to share, so I won't go into it here) that reminded me of the long months after I had my first baby, when I was lost in the depths of PPD with a colicky infant. The best part of that experience (which sucked as bad as it sounds, I assure you) was when I had a friend go through the same thing after her first child. Because of what I'd experienced, I could understand her and help her in a way that other people couldn't.
Writing a MC who struggles with a certain problem may appeal to a niche crowd (I wonder how many girls who consider themselves skinny have picked up 45 pounds ... but then again, we are talking about teenage girls, who all seem to think themselves huge ...) but it allowes a deep, emotional connection between the reader and the character. These are the books that we buy just so we can read them over and over again.
So, this week's prompt:
Write about something you struggle with.
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My response:
She came soaring down the hill towards me. Technically, she was running, but to my eyes, she'd sprouted wings. Her face was calm. Her eyes gazed contentedly into the void. I don't think she saw me at all. Her soft footfalls barely registered in my ears as she passed and followed the curving slope of the hill.
My own feet were bass drums in comparrison. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Every step slammed into the ground and jarred my body. My legs ached with each step. Where was my pair of wings? Admittedly, I was heading up the hill, not down, but I was sure the goddess of running had fought her way up the hilll with more grace than I could muster.
I sucked air, doing my best to breathe with my diaphram and fill my gut with air, and not just my chest. In all honesty, I was doing well. A few weeks ago, my chest burned during every run, and I felt constantly like I was about to die. Thank goodness for a short lesson on breathing from my best friend, even if she did like to take off and lap me as we ran around the track at the gym.
Three miles. That was the benchmark I'd heard from everyone ... seriously, from the running books on my self to my friends at the track. "Once you can run three miles, you can run anything ..." Really? I ran three miles. I thought I was going to die. Then I ran three miles again. I still thought I was going to die.
I pant as I turn at the top of the hill. Well, I ran for two months before anyone taught me how to breathe properly. There must be another puzzle piece I'm still missing. Something about my stride or my arms, maybe? I start jogging back down the hill.
I may not be flying, but I am running.
One a.m. The blue numbers mock me from the screen of my phone. I’ve been in bed for three hours, and have yet to fall asleep. My heart pounds, my body can’t seem to find a comfortable position on the bed, and my brain is on overload. I have what I think of as: “hummingbird thoughts.” These are thoughts that flit through my mind faster than the tiny birds that whir by with blurry wings. The thoughts usually include minor worries: kids’ homework; violin lessons for Taylor; I didn’t exercise this morning; my kindergartner cried in class on her first day; why did I drink a Dr. Pepper at noon? the caffeine is probably still in my system; I should have taken melatonin; the Sprint bill is due tomorrow; I still have to order anniversary invitations and send them all out before the end of the week…
ReplyDeleteThen, my thoughts turn a bit darker. These hummingbirds have tiny, sharp teeth: I want to look into that online job but our computer keeps crashing and probably won’t cut it for online work; I don’t want to work anyway, I still want to be Mom full-time; it drives me crazy when I post a short, accessible and easy-to-read article on Facebook about the Savior hoping some of my non-LDS friends and family will read it, and an LDS friend has to comment and recommend the long book the article came from, which I didn’t bother to mention because I knew my non-LDS friends were not about to go out and buy an LDS book; I still really hate that racist jerk who mocked me in front of a group a few years ago when I toured the Mesa Verde ruins; my wheelchair-bound mother needs to move from her two-level house but my parents can’t find a single-level home in their price range; Miley Cyrus’s dad needs to slap her into the next century; I’ll never be published, so why even try? Did I shortchange my daughter by not letting her do the GT program? What exactly is in the Common Core curriculum and what do I do if I disagree with it?
I’m pestered by these speeding thoughts until I’m annoyed, then I’m angry, then I’m really upset and even more awake.
My husband is blessed to be able to fall asleep in two seconds flat. He also snores.
Someday I hope to figure out what keeps me from falling asleep. It needs to be soon, because after three nights in a row of insomnia, I’m barely able to pull myself together just enough to get the kindergartner to school on time.
Did I mention her class is in the afternoon?