Author Archives: Regina Clarke

Letting Go of the Past

We hear and read the idea often, that letting go of the past is good for us. It is true. We know how thoughts of what was and what used to be can trap us and steal us away from the life we are living now. Most of the time we assume this refers to negative experiences in our past, for they can consume our thoughts far too much. Shaking off the effects of bad memories that include betrayals and emotional trauma is essential for us to feel good about ourselves. There are libraries of books on this one subject. It is a human experience, this matter of finding a way out of whatever has given us pain, grief, and sadness.

An entire industry of self-improvement and personal development has emerged since the late eighties and flourishes now. It has transformed our perspective about what can be done to make life more authentic and to help us get back our own power, which we very often give away by focusing on negative memories and feelings. I mention this is my post on The Vampire Effect of Negative Emotions. The people involved in this industry have, without exception, emerged out of immense personal crisis with revelations about how it can be done more easily, and they give away many free seminars, webinars, and tools to help others do this, too. You can visit some of these people at these links: Margaret Lynch, Nick Ortner, Louise Hay, the late Wayne Dyer, Mary Morrissey, Pema Chodron, Ilchi Lee, Andrew Harvey, Arianna Huffington, Dr. Hew Len, Eckhart Tolle, Rikka Zimmerman, Jeff Gignac, Marianne Williamson, and Derek Rydall. And there is the one-man powerhouse of personal development and change–Tony Robbins.

What comes across in reading and listening to these leaders are two things especially: one, they each came out of a past experience that was either life-threatening in some way or so debilitating that they could readily and willingly have succumbed to defeat. They didn’t. They found a way not only to survive, but to thrive. Then they paid it forward, developing methods and programs others could use and benefit from by engaging in life in the present moment. In every case, that is the core of their philosophy and teaching: letting go of the effect and influence and far too heavy weight of the past on our minds and hearts–the things that prevent us from living our true life purpose and destiny.

What makes this matter most of all, though, is that each of these leaders offer not a solution they possess for other people, but a way for others to find the answers within themselves. The best of these leaders see themselves as facilitators and guides, but insist that the way to true and positive release from the past is something the rest of us already know, deep inside. We already have the solutions to our problems and fears, so often derived from past memories and experiences. We already have the ability to let go of the past, to experience revelations for ourselves, to trust what lies within us for the answers. These leaders and movers and shakers in this industry–the good ones–can be identified by this fact: they do not have the answers for us–they have the methods they have developed to help us find the answers for ourselves, even if we have blocked this before because of our inability to let go of a past we have held too close.

Doing that is how we get to live our life NOW.

7 Amazing Ways to Write a Mystery Short Story

Have you ever started to write a mystery short story and have it stall on you? Have you gotten to the middle chapter and realized you have no idea how to end the story, much less how to keep the pacing, momentum, and dialogue enthralling for your potential readers?

Unless you manage to sort that out, two things are likely: either you give up writing the story altogether, or you finish it somehow and hope the magazines you send it to won’t notice the problems. Of course, they will notice, and you will receive a rejection slip you’d rather live without.

You want to keep readers (and magazine editors) turning the pages until the end, preferably in one sitting. The thing is, many of us create good characters, have a great setting, and know who our villain is, BUT . . . if our plot is in limbo?

Here are 7 ways to write a mystery short story that just might help you pull that plot together, discover its inner logic, find its core purpose, and speed forward to a timely–and satisfying–conclusion:

Write the plot backwards. Seriously. Write the ending. Write down what happens just before the ending. Write down what happens just before that. Do this for ten steps back. You’ll be amazed at what you discover. Sometimes this process can reveal hidden elements of a character’s behavior, or even lead you to change who the villain is!
Read what you have written so far out loud to yourself. When you get to the point where you’ve stalled, put down the pages, look steadily into the space in front of you, and keep telling the story. Don’t worry if it sounds ridiculous, just keep talking for at least three minutes–nonstop talking and no thinking is the key. (This can be done in a train station or a grocery line, safely–pretend to be one of those people who wear Bluetooth devices and constantly look like they’re talking to themselves.)
Sometimes the stall in your writing is because you don’t relate to one or more of the characters. This is a good time to write up some back story–information you’ll never put into the story but that makes the character more real to you. You aren’t likely to include in the story the fact the female detective has a hobby making bead earrings to relax, but it adds a dimension to her character that makes her more accessible to you. The villain could have a back story that includes a violent temper that is never shown (until the end). Every character benefits from a bit of back story, and so does your writing.
Read the first line of your story as it would be spoken by each character. This will change your perception of your opening line, and help you decide if it is a good hook, but it will also help you see if you have set up the story well. A stall in the writing can occur if we’re not sure about how (or why) everything starts.
Turn the pages you’ve written upside down and skim through them one after the other. Of course you can’t read them (unless you’re a typesetter, and few of those are left anymore) but you will get the feeling of how much you have done. Looking at the pages upside down, you can’t distract yourself by editing anything, so you get instead a feeling-tone, the weight of what you are doing, and it holds power.
Write six titles for the story that do not resemble each other. Throw them in a box and pick out one at random. Type it on the computer (or write it on the yellow legal pad) as the title of your mystery short story. Imagine adding it to the “Subject” line in emails you send to magazine editors. Then discard it. Do the same for two more you pick at random. Discard them. Leave the story title space blank. Amazingly, the plot begins to surface with a clarity that wasn’t there before.
Listen to the characters you have created. They always have something to say, and often they can reveal (or become) the solution you need to whatever plot point is stopping you from finishing the story.

Writing a mystery short story is a wonderful thing to do. Give it your patience, and trust. Keep in mind it’s a willing collaboration between imagination and heart.

Why Do English Words Have So Many Meanings?

In actual numbers, consider this–the word “run” in English (according to the Oxford English Dictionary) has over 170 meanings, the word “set” has over 400, and the word “turn” has over 200! At Dictionary.com you can see at least 119 definitions for the word “set” along with origin of the word before 900 A.D. and other variations!

Why indeed do English words have so many meanings? The richness–and confusion–of the English language has arisen out of twenty centuries of adjustment to invaders of the British Isles since before the Romans stepped on shore, and a subsequent willingness to incorporate and integrate new words from the cultures of those same invaders. To make the words belong…

The influences that shaped the words we now use have come from Latin, German, French, and Scandinavian (those ravaging Vikings!) sources, among others, and those sources were constantly in flux, changed, and altered. Each one overlaid another and was woven as well into local dialects. As a result, the language we use now evolved out of a vast kaleidoscope of multiple definitions for the same word, words that sound the same but have different meanings, words that lend themselves to double meanings, and words that mean the opposite of what they seem to be. Those are just some of the aspects that have created this complex and fantastic language.

The outcome of all this for English has been the development of a deep and creative and omnipresent subtext, the subtle meaning that underlies the intention of words, so that what is said, says more. Take, for example, the phrase from Shakespeare’s Macbeth: “Light thickens, and the crow/Makes wing to th’ rooky wood.” It appears at a point when day is turning into night, when sleep should come. It implies the darkness of the woods, made even deeper by the use of “rooky”–for rook is another name for crow, but also for a piece in a game of chess. There is an anticipation implied in the words “makes wing”–some event is in transit. A few short words hint and summarize the import of the play–the impending darkness of the choices Macbeth will make in the terrible game he has chosen to play that flies in the face of reason.

If that seems like interpretation, it is–but the intention comes through the words themselves, even without explanation. The very sound of the words creates the sense of impending doom.

In the next post I’ll explore a few more of these. They really are intriguing in other contexts, as well.

Letting Go of Judgment

A friend told me that he tried every day to last the whole day without having a single judgment of anyone. Just one day. He couldn’t do it. There would be success for a while but then he would have a fleeting thought like “I don’t like that person’s accent” or “That woman is too heavy” or “Their house is run down” or “He’s still conceited after all these years” or “This line at the post office is too slow.” He had a whole list. The thoughts would be so brief that to catch them he had to be very aware. Some days there might be only two or three, but it was difficult. He would criticize someone on television or someone richer than he was or complain about his daughter or his wife. There would always be something. They were minor, but they affected him. He said he knew his constant state of judgment hurt him more than anyone. So he keeps working to diminish the impulse to judge anyone, for any reason.

If we cannot stop our fleeting, short-lived judgments day-to-day, what happens when we are faced with dilemmas much greater in scope? How often do we think that our values and way of life are challenged by “outsiders”? How quickly are we willing to condemn them and exclude them from participation in our world? What do we do first when we encounter these people who are not like us—do we smile in welcome, or do we frown in disapproval and turn away, if not literally, then in our hearts?

Judgment of others is a defensive measure, just as prejudice is, and gossip, too. They all are used to express negative opinions of others or circumstances at some level. Usually we try to feel justified in doing this, but in the end, of course, that’s not how it really feels. It never feels good, though it lends itself to some short-lived satisfaction born out of our own fearfulness. We are often afraid we are not all we can be, and it takes the pressure off us if we criticize others. We think it balances the scales–at least we think that at an unconscious level.

In truth, such a judgmental outlook is the antithesis of cooperation and compassion and balance. It encourages isolation of mind and heart. Why does that matter? We live in a world that needs healing. We have to begin with ourselves. Letting go of judgment is how we begin–at least being aware of doing that, every day, like my friend. It’s got me interested.

The Vampire Effect of Negative Emotions

The vampire effect of negative emotions occurs when we give away our personal power repeatedly to what does not serve us and let those emotions feed on our spirit.

So many emotions run through us every day, and far too often these are negative, directed toward ourselves or to others and external events. It can be difficult to extricate from this pattern. The thoughts repeat.

We yield to emotions–they are the core of what makes us human. You can’t shut them out—we are meant to acknowledge whatever feelings show up for us in life. But we aren’t meant to keep acknowledging again and again anything that brings pain and suffering or remorse and grief and self-doubt. There is another way, always available to us.

Emotions Last 90 Seconds

The physiological truth, verified by science, is that emotions reach every cell and have a duration of 90 seconds. That’s it. Whatever you feel, it lasts in the body for no more than 90 seconds. The ONLY way any emotion lasts longer is because we remember it and play it over and over again in our minds. It is a human tendency to replay whatever bothers us, saddens us, or confuses us, like our minds are on our very own CNN channel.

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More Than Memory

Some images we recall from our childhood experience that are more than memory. They seem imprinted on us, so that they do not change over time, the way many other memories will. It is these fixed images that have shaped us most of all, have reached us in some deep place and when we call them to mind, what we experience is certain recognition of who we are.

It is a good practice to do this when we are beset by any of the trials and tribulations we encounter in everyday life. We can get distracted, and worry about events, choices, and even what path we are on.

Yet in that deep place, we are the same. We know that person, our inner self, by those images, and in that place is utter calm.

Why Readers of Genre Fiction Rock

P.D. James once said that she wrote mysteries because it was a way to bring order to a chaotic world, to restore what had come apart into balance again.

Ray Bradbury said that “Fantasy is a depiction of the unreal. So Martian Chronicles is not science fiction, it’s fantasy. It couldn’t happen, you see? That’s the reason it’s going to be around a long time– because it’s a Greek myth, and myths have staying power.”

Josh Vogt wrote that “Hope gives us strength, and fantasy and science fiction—to me, at least—embody that virtue in many ways… Even if there’s danger or even death along the way, we have the ability to be brave and persevere in the hope of reaching a better existence.”

These three writers describe the quintessential element of genre fiction— the mysteries and explorations and world building give a feeling of what is possible and hopeful in a world that often seems hesitant to embrace either. This is unlike literary fiction—contemporary literary fiction, at least—where there seems a consistent and continuous need to create grim plots, characters who cannot prevail, and bleak settings.

Why else does genre fiction appeal to us so much? Because it is real storytelling, and readers of genre fiction know this. It draws us in and engages us and we find that we are the better for it. When we close the book we feel that something is right with the world and that this is a good thing to know. If some message is in those stories, it is likely disguised, and we do not need to dissect it to appreciate the experience of receiving whatever it is.

All good writing brings escape of some sort, makes time disappear and the characters live for a while in our minds or hearts or both. The marvelous aspect of the detective story, the science fiction journey, or the shimmering fantastic world is that we want to be there, and for a time, we are.

It could be said that all great storytellers write in genres, be they the ancient myths of the gods to Shakespeare’s dramas to all ventures into inner and outer space. The readers know this, too.

Blessed Journey

Life is a blessed journey that appears in a series of moments, for the NOW is all there is. We dwell on the past, but in truth, there is only the present moment that is lived, and it is our point of power. Try to hold time for an instant, feel and experience all sight and sound and nuance of sensation and perception for one moment, consciously, by giving it your complete and utter attention—focus, concentrate on this—and the act of doing so sings you into the present fully, and for a fleeting fraction of your experience you know you are eternal in manifestation. Poets call it epiphany. It is what Wordsworth is describing in his poem “Intimations of Immortality.”

The Garden of Gethsemane

Matthew 26:40

On the night Jesus entered the garden of Gethsemane he fell to the ground and prayed to God to be free of the terrible events that were about to take place. His fear was great, and the burden immense. Yet in the same breath he also said “Thy will be done.” His was not a passive acceptance of fate. He did not want to die. His own agony was overwhelming. Yet in the same breath he accepted what was to come if it was God’s will, saying “if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.”

Three times Jesus went further into the darkness of Gethsemane alone to pray, asking three of his disciples to wait and pray for him, too. Each time he returned, he found them all asleep. And he said to Peter,

What, could ye not watch with me one hour?

He knew he would be betrayed, not only by Judas Iscariot, but by Peter and the others. They would deny knowing him, afraid of the consequences. Yet he showed them no bitterness, and no judgment.

I wonder what I would have done—stayed awake for that hour, or slept? Would I have denied knowing Jesus if asked, to save myself, denied his vision of love and peace as one I shared? The question is not only whether I would have had enough courage to speak the truth. More, the question is whether I would have had enough love in my heart to know it was the only way.

Before the White Man

Depiction of the Algonquin God Gitchie Manitou

I was exploring the origin of town and village names in the area where I live in upstate New York, and discovered many of them had Native American Indian names adopted by colonists in the 1600s. An image suddenly came to mind, unbidden, of what life had been like in this area before the white man arrived. For a thousand years people had lived here in much the same way, and surely imagined it would be so forever.

Into this came the white man and it was not just an arrival, it was an Armageddon. In a few generations the thousand-year-old way of life was utterly altered—forever. That is an old story now, one that everyone knows. Within those few generations, over 90 % of the Native American Indian population was gone. The Europeans brought smallpox with them, against which native populations had no defense and which decimated millions. The rest of the terror came from acts of violence in one form or another by colonists toward the native populations, including those in the region where I live. That is what invaders do, for reasons I cannot fathom.

In the Declaration of Independence Thomas Jefferson did not see the Native American Indians as equal but as “merciless savages.” None of the signers challenged the words.

I still have that image in my mind now, a visual so clear, as if I were watching it in real life. There is sunlight and men and women are carrying out chores and tasks. Children are playing. These people are not farmers, but used the land as needed. It was not an idyllic life for all, but it belonged to them. It was known territory, predictable and they were free to be utterly who they were. I can see the tall grass in summer, and hear the rains come, and watch snow falling over the land in winter. I see smoke from fires and hear voices talking, one to the other. It feels so real.

There are no guns, and no swords, and no white men racing down hillsides ready and willing to slaughter them and claim the land as their own. The image I have is like a thin edge, precarious but holding, of a time before the white man.

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