viv

I'm sorry , guys. I will finish it, I promise. It's just very hard to write a love story while your own heart is breaking. Give me a little time to get myself together, and maybe then I can write again without it being sad and helpless. Thank you for being patient and not giving up on me... I always remember you're out there.

Once upon a time… That’s how these things start, right? The line that starts the whole story. After that, nothing else even matters but getting to the happily ever after. I used to think I could see mine, out there on the horizon, but each time I think I’ve got it in my sights, something happens that shows me differently. The settings and circumstances change, characters come and go, and there’s plenty of romance and drama to make it interesting. Even if you could predict how it ended, it’s so much fun to get there that you wouldn’t want to miss a thing, wouldn’t change a thing. And in the end, that’s what matters… that you lived and loved with your whole heart. No matter how much or how well I plan, no matter how much I might work toward it or want it, the truth is that happiness is elusive, evolving, ever-changing. It’s conditional and comprehensive and you haven’t got a chance at actually attaining it without perspective. It’s different for each person, without justification, and the same. We’re all searching for it. We pack up our hopes and dreams in our knapsacks, swing them over our shoulders, and head out into the great big world in search of it. Things happen on our quest, as they inevitably will, that make us change what we think will make us happy. Force us to examine our original plan or dream and decide if it’s still worth pursuing, if it’s still the thing that’s going to make us happy and whole. So often, people hit a wall, and instead of figuring out how to get over it or around it, they just turn around and go back the way they came. We justify it to ourselves, the giving up, by telling ourselves that we were mistaken, that we didn’t really want that after all. The truth is it was too much work to learn to climb the walls. It was easier to just walk away. That entire idea is absurd. Of course, we don’t know that then. Not only are we walking away from our dreams and our potential happiness, but we leave little pieces of ourselves behind every time we do. Living our lives as a fraction of our whole selves isn’t easy or conducive to finding the happily ever after we’ve been looking for. Worse, it’s actually more work in the long term to continually have to convince ourselves that we happily left those pieces behind. Sometimes, actually, a lot lately, I wonder how much one person can take before they give up. It’s been said that you’re only given as much as you can handle at one time. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I’ve been given an extraordinary amount. Definitely more than any one person’s fair share, then again, as I was often reminded as a child, life isn’t fair. My life has fallen apart so many times now that I’ve lost count. Not really, but I don’t like to recount them. It’s not a contest and no one knows the rules. Does the scoring work like golf or like bowling? Does the survivor of the worst situation win, or is it the person who never had to find a way to exist in spite of the worst happening? Being a party to the first group, having set aside my dreams repeatedly for the good of the cause, literally learning things the hard way, and learning to breathe with a broken heart makes a good case for the people in group number two. Still though, I wonder. In return for survival, I’ve earned an appreciation for making the most of each moment, for putting my whole heart and self into everything I do, being genuine, and the value of true happiness. That’s definitely got value, and it’s something the people in group number two will never have. Without perspective, and a heap of optimism, it’s fair to say that a lot of people who have suffered some upheaval in their lives miss the things they were supposed to learn at the time. And that’s what life is all about, isn’t it? Learning the lessons, learning from the experiences, growing as a human being, and finding happiness. Not that it’s easy to remember that in the moment. Often it comes to us in flashes, tiny pieces of clarity and knowledge that we grab on to and use to pull ourselves out of the ugly hole of despair. It’s a slippery slope, and for some, it takes years and a Sherpa to find their way out. Even with a trail of breadcrumbs and trail signs, it’s one of the most difficult journeys a person will ever make. One would think the third or fourth, or even the fifth time, you’d know the way out, but it doesn’t work that way. No one ever said life was for the faint of heart. … I rummaged through one drawer in my mom’s old, cherry wood jewelry box that sat atop my dresser before moving to another until I found it. It wasn’t in great shape when I pulled it out from amongst the old watches, the matching one I’d gotten for him a month later, and the shamrock pin I wear once a year. Tarnished and so scratched from years of wear, you could barely make out my name where it had been engraved on the front. Still, I turned it over and read the inscription on the back of the very first gift he’d ever given me. It was to celebrate my 16th birthday and our one month anniversary. An ID bracelet, simple and silver, with a message straight from a heart experiencing those first delirious moments when you fall so crazy in love for the first time. I wanted to wear it again, to remind me of what we once had, what we could have again, if he can find his way back to me. A reminder to soothe myself with hope when I’m so scared that we’ll never get it back, and because it’s the closest I’ve been to feeling his love in weeks. I squeezed a little toothpaste into my hand and rubbed it between my palms a second before cleaning the bracelet the best way I knew how in the absence of any silver polish and wondered if he’d even remember giving it to me, remember what it said. Eventually, I silently admitted to myself that I hoped it reminded him of what he’d promised me all those years ago. Forever yours. Love, Rich. Hours later, when I was serving dinner, our daughter, Annemarie, just weeks from turning sixteen herself, noticed it and asked, “What is that bracelet?” Unsure if I was relieved that she wasn’t complaining about the peas I was putting in front of her, or suddenly nervous that Rich had taken notice now also, I vaguely answered, “It’s mine. I’ve had it a while,” and handed Rich a plate of beef stroganoff that he eyed cautiously. He doesn’t like mushrooms or sour cream, but he’d have to actually speak to me to find out if it contained either. Instead, he just ate it. Like any typical teenage girl who is all wrapped up in her own life, she let it go, and in an effort not to let me down, went on to complain about the peas. It was a welcome piece of normalcy, something I could count on in the chaos that had become my life. Besides, I like peas and beef stroganoff. It’s equally horrifying and comforting to know where Rich and I were in our lives at her age, and knowing that she’s so far from that place. We were so sure at sixteen that we had it all figured out, or if not, that we’d conquer the world together. We’d show them, prove them all wrong. What the hell did we know? … There are two types of people in this world. The type who crumble in the face of a crisis, who panic and act without thinking, who let their fear and their emotions control their behavior and decisions, and then there’s the other. These remaining people are the logical type. They keep their heads when times get tough, are always thinking their way through several scenarios until they find the best one, and easily separate their emotions from their thought process. That’s not to say that these logical thinkers don’t have emotional reactions to things. They certainly do, it would be inhuman not to. They just typically don’t act on them. As it turns out, intuition and emotional responses don’t usually lead us down the smoothest or the safest path. Certainly not the smartest. Typically, it’s the outbursts of anger, the confessions of love made with such bravado, and the feeling as if you’ve just had the wind knocked out of you leaving you with a horribly painful sadness where you would normally find oxygen that can create the biggest opportunities to make the worst moves. I would have said decisions, but to be decisive requires thought, consideration, and evaluation. Being a logical mind can be both a phenomenal power and a crippling weakness. To know that you’ll always know what to do and how to go about getting it done, to take things literally and to be able to count on that as a constant, and to feel the comfort that logic is your default setting can be immensely comforting in a world that changes faster than many of us can keep up with. Consequently, it makes it a major difficulty to let that default setting go and find enjoyment in basic things. Personally, I can’t make it through most cartoons. Even if I could overlook the fact that there are talking animals who can lift anvils that weigh twenty times their own body weight or drive cars along the ocean floor, what I cannot discount is that the responses those cartoon characters have to whatever circumstances they find themselves in, become moot, ridiculous, illogical. Instead of being entertaining, it’s frustrating. Possibly as frustrating as being the person on the couch next to me watching a movie or a TV show. Perhaps it comes from my depth of life experience, or because I’m a writer and a storyteller, or because, as logical as I am, I’m more in touch with my emotions and the emotions of those around me than most people, but whatever the reason, when I can predict the ending, most people would say there’s no point in watching anymore. I disagree, for it’s there, in that moment when we’ve connected with that character enough to know what will happen in their future, that we learn about ourselves. How would we act or feel in that situation? What would we do? What would our next move be? Little lessons and explorations that can be learned and taken without consequence. A free pass. Logical people watch everything, analyzing, organizing, forming patterns. They are supervisory and certain about what they feel is right or wrong. These people are easily adaptable and energetic, have a keen eye for details, and typically, a logical person is the decision maker. They are realists. I’m not sure anyone but a logical personality could understand what it feels like to be faced with a situation that is anything but logical. To be able to do nothing to make it right or organize it so it can be dealt with. To be the one not making the decisions. There are no ‘right’ answers; there are no ways to best this dragon. The only thing there is in bountiful quantities is a frightening feeling of helplessness. … After 19 years, Rich has decided he's not in love with me anymore, started sleeping with a girl he works with, and has destroyed my dreams, my marriage, broken my heart, and crushed my children's entire existence with his selfishness. After 19 years, I've crossed more things off my 'I Never Want To Experience This' List than my bucket list. Here's one more: I'm getting divorced.

Umm, wow, you guys! Thanks so much! This was the first full length story I wrote, and I just love these guys. I had so much fun learning everything with them, from when to start a new paragraph to just how many options there actually are in a certain adult section at a store. I know I haven't been writing much lately, and I could try and justify it by telling you that my entire life is falling apart right now, but the truth is that I need writing to keep me sane, so I'm going to make a better effort. I've had characters nudging at my brain for months now that I keep putting off, and my brain could use a little peace right about now. It means everything to me that something I wrote did anybody any good, so really, thank you. PS. Steve, you better come stalk me again soon!

The NOH8 campaign will be doing a photo shoot on July 22nd in Anaheim if this is something anyone is interested in being a part of while we're considering dates. http://www.facebook.com/#!/events/165085156932714/

There's Sunset Beach, and if you get there early enough, there is free parking, but no fire pits. Lots of places all over everywhere to eat, shop, hang out, see live bands, drink, etc. Where I live, near Disneyland, seems to be the magical place (see what I did there?) where everything is about an hour away, so nothing is out of the question. If we had more specific dates in mind, we could be on the lookout for things and plan around them. Steve, you can have dibs on my couch. Mike, I have a second couch, but it's a little smaller, more of a love seat... and I definitely have floor space

Thanks, you guys! I like this new system where we automatically subtract a decade from our real age Nice plan!

I speak a little more than that, but not much more...

If you're fluent in reading and writing Spanish, good with spelling and grammar, and have a couple spare hours and would like to help me out with a project, let me know! Thanks!

You Don’t Even Need a Ticket, Just Clap It’s been said that great things come in small packages, and the moment I walked into Hotel Café in Los Angeles, I knew that truer words haven’t been spoken. The intimate venue and stage only serves to showcase just how much that applies to the man standing in the center of it. It will never stop being surprising how such a big sound and a contagious energy can come from someone so small. When you first see Patrick Stump, a few things run through your mind. Yeah, he’s pretty tiny, has honest eyes, likes his pockets, and is mostly adorable, but then he jumps on stage and opens his mouth and starts dancing, and you struggle momentarily to balance the two in your head before you’re swept away by the sound and strength and soul that comes from him and his band consisting of newcomer guitarist, Michael Day, Matt Rubano, former Taking Back Sunday member and longtime friend of Patrick’s playing bass, Casey Benjamin and his fantastic hair on keyboards, saxophone, and synthesizer, and Skoota Warner banging the drums. The show included special guest artists, Alph-a-Bit, rapping on “Porcelain”, and 'D.A.' Wallach, of Chester French, singing part of “Big Hype”. Patrick played the trumpet, and when the batteries died on his pedal, we learned that Patrick can play his guitar solo with his mouth just as well as he can with his guitar. Patrick covered “If You Think You’re Lonely Now” and “Mrs. Jones” on the keyboard while the band took a small break, and then, if you weren’t dancing yet, you couldn’t help but dance along with Patrick, Michael, and Matt when they showed off their moves during “Cryptozoology”. Patrick avoided the cliché moves most bands make, showing how genuine he and his love for what he does is, and just played a lot of songs for the second time that night, rockin’ the stage and the crowd as well as his suit, complete with bowtie, and rad boots. The show ended with ‘Explode’, a song from his upcoming album, Soul Punk, being released later this year, where Patrick sang, “Clap if you got a ticket to the end of the world”, and then more true to his nature, proclaimed to the audience, “You don’t even need a ticket, just clap”. And they did. When Patrick leaves the stage, his heart and soul remain there, a reminder to everyone just how much of himself he put into the show, and his energy is left to soak into the crowd. The band hangs out to visit with the crowd, many reuniting with friends in LA, and with the amount of collective musical talent that they have, it’s a pleasant surprise how humble and thankful they are. A while later, Patrick emerges, hands in his pockets, endearing and polite, to happily talk to fans, patiently pose for photos, and sign autographs. You can catch up with Patrick, find out upcoming tour dates, follow him on twitter, and find out where to buy his EP, Truant Wave, if you haven’t already, here at his site http://www.patrickstump.com/ .

I live in Southern California, anytime you want to come be my neighbor, and Newports are about $6.75 a pack here. Things will be what you make them, and it sounds like you have a great opportunity to do just about anything right now, so I say go for it!

I received a very nice email today from a reader about one of my stories where he thanked me for writing it, he's appreciative of the great story he got to read, grateful for the emotional connection to the characters and the story... and then he asked for more. Maybe I have more chapters written, he'd really like to know what happens next, even though it was clearly 'The End'. My question to you all is this: Is that a flaw in the writing - Was I not clear enough that it was the end? Did I not tie up the lose ends so all the reader's questions were answered? Is the story incomplete, unfinished? -OR- Is this human nature? Is it that the writing is so good that we get connected to the characters, get invested in their lives that we want more, want to know what happens next, how things turned out? Certainly it's possible either way, and I'll probably ask him, but I'm curious what you think, both as readers and as writers.

Old habits die hard, or at least, that’s what they say. Then again, given the proper motivation, it’s rather easy to decide you’d like to adopt new habits, make some changes in your life, and just the thought of being with Jesse made me want to acclimate to something new, something fuller. I didn’t hide my smile this time when I walked up to him in the courtyard at lunch today, I didn’t look around to see who was watching; it didn’t matter to me today. Today, I was Stephen Cooper, boyfriend to t

It was kind of early for Christmas music, early in the day, early in the season too, but that’s what played on the radio as we drove the few minutes to Jesse’s house. Some people don’t like to hear Christmas songs, but I do, in some sort of magical way, they make me smile. We were comfortably silent, mostly exhausted, and wishing the heater in my truck would start pushing out some warm air soon. I don't want a lot for Christmas; there is just one thing I need. I don't care about the presents

“You two,” Wilson said, pointing his rigid finger first at me, and then Jesse, as he gave us a look that left no room for argument, “with me… now,” he finished, more sternly than I wanted to admit hearing his voice. Jesse managed to roll his eyes at me when I sighed, looking unsure about complying, before he grabbed my sleeve and proceeded to drag me along behind him saying, “Come on.” I couldn’t decide if he was more upset that I was still hesitating when it came to people finding out tha

You know those mornings, the ones where you pull on your thick jacket because a regular sweatshirt just isn’t enough anymore, and your beanie in an effort to keep your head warm? You shove your hands in your pockets attempting to keep your fingertips warm, all the while your nose is chilling, but the fresh air is just… cleansing, like a new day born to fill with memories, another day to achieve some goal or make some dream a little closer to coming true. Breathing in the cool, crisp air, the

You know that smell, the one that hits you when you first walk into a house where a turkey has been cooking all morning and the stuffing is done and the smell makes your mouth water while memories wash over you, filling your mind of previous times you have been in the vicinity of that same smell? There is something so utterly comfortable about allowing that to happen and getting lost in those memories. When I walked into the Maclean house that Thursday afternoon, two steps ahead of my dad who

It was about four o’clock that afternoon when I dropped Jesse off, taking a few minutes to go inside and appropriately thank his parents for letting us use their lake house for my party, and Lily had spent all weekend making me a birthday card like no other I would ever receive. There was glitter and buttons and ribbons glued to the front and inside she had colored a picture of Jesse and me standing with her by their fish tank and she had drawn one of those comic strip bubbles where the fish was

Jesse. He was this amazing, blond, full of life, sexy as hell guy, and he was mine. Miraculously, we had managed to make it this far, even against all the odds, somehow we both had managed to put aside our fears, our comfort, even at times our egos, and make this work. From that first night at the dance, even before I knew anything about the guy behind the mask that had captivated me, I knew there was something special about him. Looking into those same eyes now, as he looked down at me, I

“Are you alright?” I asked him when he still hadn’t said anything. “Alright? So much better than that,” Jesse answered, still breathless, before echoing my own question back at me. “Are you alright baby?” Was I alright, I wondered, as I took a minute to think over what had just happened. I looked over at Jesse lying there naked and next to me, his chest still rising and falling in a way that told me he was still trying to catch his breath, and I blushed as it finally registered in my mind

I looked over at Jesse and the sun that shone brightly through the window while we drove along seemed to make the fine strands that framed his face even more golden. He smiled excitedly at me, but his mood was likely motivated by the idea that we were actually headed to his parents lake house for my birthday which was in two more days. Eighteen. Freedom. The right to vote and to serve my country. Responsibility, but I didn’t really feel much different. I was still just a high school senior w

Why are you sitting here with this faggot anyway? Those words were echoing through my head loudly and it didn’t even take me a full minute before I was on my feet, standing up so quickly, and my chair went sliding hard into the counter that Joey stood behind looking quite worried. This was going to stop… now. No more harassment, no more name calling, no more weak insults tossed around as if they were nothing or left no lasting damage. “Tim… man, you need to shut the fuck up… now,” I ordere

I had thought no ones’ face could ever get the deep shade of crimson that hers was currently, as we sat there next to each other on my bed, but I was sure mine was worse. I could feel it, like my face was on fire, and the total shock of her last question was making it difficult for me to look her in the eye. Friends talk about stuff like this all the time, especially best friends, but I think she surprised herself when the words ‘So what have you guys done then? I mean, have you seen him naked?’

Agony was almost a suitable word to describe the sharp pain that started just behind my left ear and went down to just below my shoulder blade each time I threw the ball, and if you couldn’t tell from the way I could feel my face scrunch up each time my shoulder came around to release the ball that I was in pain, the groan I couldn’t help releasing this last time probably made it clear. I was hurting, likely from the way I had fallen asleep propped precariously against the headboard at some ridi

“You know how to put one of these on, right?” my dad had just finished asking me, referring to the small square package he was holding in his hand. I was sure he didn’t mean that how it sounded. He couldn’t have. My head was still a confused mess and hearing those words echo through my head is what caused me to break every promise I had made myself in the short time it took to get from Jesse’s house to mine. I had decided that the best way to make this whole thing as painless as possible woul

I couldn’t decide which I needed more at the moment, to continue to have his protective arms tirelessly trying to give me any amount of comfort or to look into his eyes to let him know that I was trying to deal with the loss of my mom in the best way I knew how. In his arms I felt safe, loved, less alone for the first time in a long time. “I’m so sorry baby,” he whispered quietly against my neck. I heard that all the time, every time, but it sounded different this time coming from Jesse. S