I have the best intentions, like really, I do! I have the highest aspirations, the loftiest goals, and by far, the greatest intentions. However, what happens when the intentions never take flight, the aspirations spiral downward, and the lofty goals soar beyond imagination? I’m not sure. I’m figuring it out one minute at a time. After quitting my full time job to go back to school full time, I made some intriguing selections in my courses. For some reason, I decided to complete a five credit Biology course fully online in eight weeks. I decided to throw another eight week online course into the mix along with two sixteen week in person courses. Now, why did I do that? Well, it’s back to those pesky intentions– I really do have the greatest. Because of my undesirable choices, everything I’ve wanted to do has been pushed back until my life is totally consumed with college. Every hobby, every goal, every relationship has been set to simmer. Then, life decides it’s not enough. How am I making time to write now with two weeks left of my eight week courses? Oh, that’s right, I’m in the hospital. I don’t want to bore you with all the details regarding my stay, but it’s been a week and looks like two are in my future. When you can’t escape your reality, you fall back to your comfort zone–so here I am. Writing. 

I feel I often circle back here to escape reality, and in full disclosure, that is what writing is for me! It’s an escape, a quick jaunt down comfort lane that doesn’t change when circumstances do. Writing is therapy. It’s a way to drift from the hospital and allow my mind to think and reflect. It allows memories of a much younger me sitting in my room escaping reality in the same way. I don’t always claim to be good at writing, but what is good writing? I believe writing is so much more than the ability to shape a story, make characters come alive, and bring a resounding resolution that will get people talking. Don’t write for others all the time. Write for yourself. For a writer, writing becomes a part of who you are. You may form essays well, be the best short story teller, and always be a hit with the kids, but for a true writer, there is so much more. When you write for you, you write whatever you want. You aren’t held to a plot, you aren’t held to a standard, you are only held to what your mind wants to create. Allow it! Not every piece has to be a masterfully crafted story. Some writing material can just be your thoughts. Life is big. Life has many responsibilities and rules, so why take those with you into your creativity? Let it flow. There is no right way to write. If your writing frees you from your circumstances and allows your mind to lighten, you’re doing it right! You can always have the best intentions, but when those don’t work out, don’t sweat it. Life isn’t all about rigid routine and structure, but focus on the little things. Allow your mind to relax and creativity to flow!

Now that I’ve ranted for a while and cleared my muddled thoughts, let me escape my reality once again and place the next excerpt of my novel, Rescue Me. 

Six hundred miles away, retired Special Agent Jim Ball hunched over his desk in Lee’s Summit, Missouri reviewing his latest lead. Since retiring eight years ago, he had taken it upon himself to find as many kidnapped children as possible. He longed to bring closure to open cases across the board. He studied the grainy picture of the man gripping the arm of a young girl. The airport security feed was mediocre at best, and the man and girl both wore hats low on their foreheads. However, his instinct said something was to come of this. He skipped a few seconds on the security feed, and saw the pair heading towards a private gate. He groaned. At this small airport private flights were rarely logged with a destination, much less an accurate one. Clinging to an ounce of hope, Jim entered the flight log with a few clicks of his keyboard. The flight was labeled to land in Quebec, Canada. Fat chance. Jim rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. Back to the drawing board. He remembered the distraught face of the mother who had come to him, pleading for him to bring her child home in one of his first cases after retiring. He had given his word to bring Stacy home, but after a few years, other children with more recent disappearances became a more pressing matter. He still aimed to find the girl. Was there any possible chance the mystery girl was Stacy? God help him, he was going to find out–but not tonight. He had to get to bed. If he wanted to truly be alert so as not to miss the smallest detail, he needed sleep. He stood and stretched his arms over his head while yawning. Jim moved into the hall and stepped into the adjoining doorway. 

“Trevor, I’m headed out, and so should you. Ya need sleep.” His ex-navy seal partner looked up and quirked an eyebrow. 

“If I look anything like you, I guess I do.” He didn’t hide his smirk, and neither did Jim as he responded, 

“Ya look worse, buddy. Did you find anything we can work with today?” Trevor turned instantly serious, his dark eyebrows knitting together. 

“No. It’s not fair that kids can just disappear, Jim. Those kids had full lives ahead of them. They could become doctors or lawyers or discover the cure for cancer! There are answers out there and I intend to find them.”

“Let me know if you need anything. We’re gonna look into Kayla Danferth tomorrow. She was seen last year and I just got the report.” 

“First thing tomorrow morning, and thanks, buddy. Now go hit the sack and I’ll see you at 0’600.” Jim bid his partner goodbye and left. He couldn’t help but think, is Stacy still alive? If it took his last breath, he was going to find out. 

*****

Rosita rolled over and tried to get comfortable. She knew she would eventually be so exhausted she wouldn’t have trouble sleeping, but new places always frightened her. 

“Rosita? Are you alright?” The seventeen year old girl, Maya, had become very friendly and tried to help Rosita during her short time there. 

“Yes, I’m sorry if I’m keeping you awake. I’ll try to be more still.” 

“Tell me your story. How did you end up here?” 

“I don’t know, really. This is all I’ve ever known; though sometimes I dream of a sweet face I once knew. It’s a lady, and she looks pretty, and kind. I know I remember her from something. What about you?” 

“I did not grow up in this, Rosita. When I was fourteen, I became very close to an older man. He spoke of loving me and said he wanted to marry me. I was very lonely and I let myself think I loved him too, so I went on a trip with him. It was supposed to be one day and overnight, but it has turned into my life. I know there is a world out there. A world I desperately want to reach once again, but somehow, I can only brush it with my fingertips at times.” 

“If there really is a world where you don’t live like this, Maya, I will find it. That is a promise, my friend. And when I find it, I’ll come back to bring you too!” 

“Then dream of that, Rosita, and hold onto that hope. Forever.”