Friday, April 19, 2013


In Vicki Ableson's second 30 Day Writing Challenge, we are supposed to write about what scares us.  This is going to be an interesting 30 days.  Dr. Kay is back on speed-dial.
Day 9 of Vicki's WC2...
Woke up at 3 a.m.... no words... tried to go back to sleep but couldn't... Tina is in Seattle... bedroom is dark and silent... miss the sound of her breathing... close my eyes.
The words come.... reaching for pen and notebook...
** to post or not to post? **
Man lived in darkness.
Man discovered fire... man learned to fear fire.
Man discovered religion... man learned to fear religion.
Man discovered different tribes... man learned to fear difference.
Man learned to reason... reason took away much of man's fears.
The universe blinked.
Man began to fear the loss of fear... fear kept man alive.
Man began to forsake reason for fear.
Man returned to darkness.
Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
19 April 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

Thursday, April 18, 2013


In Vicki Ableson's second 30 Day Writing Challenge, we are supposed to write about what scares us.  This is going to be an interesting 30 days.  Dr. Kay is back on speed-dial.
Day 7 of Vicki’s WC2…
Still talking about what scares us, are we? Want to make sure I didn’t miss a memo…
Is “Christianity” the new totalitarianism?
Now, there’s a scary thought!  The pseudo-Christian.
So-called “Christians” have either forsaken or perverted the teachings of Christ to their own will, ‘boot-heeling’ their way through modern, enlightened society in their headlong rush to bring their own brand of “Christianity” to the world.  The current movement is reminiscent of the fascist movements in Italy and Germany in the 1920s and ‘30s.
I’ll take some heat for saying this, I know.  But, I won’t apologize for it.  Does this mean I am ‘anti-Christian’, for saying such a thing?  Absolutely not!  I am… I try to be… a good Christian.  I consider myself a Christian… not a “Christian”.  There is a huge difference between the two, which I’m not going to go into here in great depth because that is not what this post is about.  Suffice it to say this –
A Christian accepts God’s word and follows Christ’s commandments, of which there are only two.  “Love your God with all your heart, soul, body and strength.”  And the second one… “Love your neighbor as you love your God.”
Simple… straight forward… kind of hard to screw up, right?
Apparently not… which is where the “Christian” rears his ugly head.
The “Christian”, for whatever reason, can’t get rid of their own fears, hate and narrow-mindedness and perverts the Word of God to ‘fit in’ with their own prejudices, desires and ‘beliefs’.
The “Christian” believes more in religion than spirituality.   But, aren’t they one and the same, Veronica?
In a word?
No.  To put it very simply; in 25 words or less…
Religion is man’s law… man trying to make God’s word suit man’s purpose.  Spirituality, on the other hand, is more than simply believing in God; but accepting God and desiring a closer relationship with Him.  Having that closer relationship with God… walking with God.
Yes, I know… that is more than 25 words.
The “Christian” says he believes in God.  This is “talking the talk.”
The Christian shows he believes in God.  This is “walking the walk.”
Whether you believe in God or not, do you really want a “Christian” leading you.  Leading your country?
The thought of “Christians” setting national policy, telling me what I can or can’t do… who I can or can’t love… scares me.  I have even had them tell me that God does not love me, because I am a lesbian.  Apparently, God 'told' them that.  But, wait just a minute...
I'm not a biblical scholar, but I am pretty sure that when God says He loves all of His children the same, he means ALL!  I mean, does anyone really believe that God is looking down and says... "love him... love him... love her.  Him?  Eh, not so much.  Her?  Oh, no... not her... uh-uh."
“Christians” are testing my faith.  But I'm not judging them; that's not my place.  It's not the "Christian's" place either, but I'll let God give them the news.
Yes... “Christians” are testing my faith.
My faith though… is stronger than their ‘beliefs’.
Don’t mess with a lesbian who has God on her side!
Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
17 April 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

Wednesday, April 17, 2013


In Vicki Ableson's second 30 Day Writing Challenge, we are supposed to write about what scares us.  This is going to be an interesting 30 days.  Dr. Kay is back on speed-dial.
Day 6 of Vicki's WC2...
What scares me?
I love to scare myself with a nice horror flick… Psycho, Disturbia, The Hitcher, Nosferatu, Night of The Living Dead, Bram Stoker’s Dracula (okay, I only watch that one for Winona Ryder *wink*) and The Shining come to mind.  And, I confess a certain guilty pleasure in watching such schlock as Army of Darkness and Evil Dead (not the recent remake... that one sucks like a Dyson!) as well.
When it comes to horror, ‘high-brow’ and ‘low-brow’ don’t come into the mix.  I will watch, as my lovely and cinematically-sophisticated wife so eloquently puts it, “… sheer crap!  Really, Roni… that stuff will rot your brain!”
I do however, draw the line at Scream and it’s dozen or so ‘puke-quels’, I Know What You Did Last Summer and the completely forgettable I STILL Know What You Did Last Summer.  And all the other ‘teen-squealers’ of similar ilk.
Cheesy horror, with its bad acting and dreadful ‘special effects’ is one thing… I will watch that.  I recognize it for what it is… mindless, low-budget entertainment.  And if I have to sleep with a night light - who am I kidding, "if"? - and I am wrapped around my inamorata tighter than a hooker's mini-skirt... well, that is a price I am willing to pay.
What I can’t take though is blatant stupidity. Premise this…
Scene – upper middle-class home.  Six murders in the last two weeks and mummy and daddy leave little Tiffany (can you say ‘future porn-star' in the making?) all alone in that big old house while a murderer roams the countryside.  A storm brews outside.  The lights flicker.  Telephone rings.
“I’m going to kill you, Sydney!”
“What? Who is this? Is that you, Phoebe?”
“I’m going to slice you up and eat your guts, Sydney… just like all those other sluts! I’m at the door, Sydney… let me in!”
At this point, Tiffany is having a total meltdown… the girl is freaked to the max. So scared, she just wet her panties.  So scared, she completely misses that the killer is calling her Sydney.  Oh, and did I mention, while all this is going on, poor little Tiffany is running around the house in only her bra and panty… something that looks like it came from Frederick’s of Hollywood, not the Junior Miss section at H & M.
But, I digress…
The doorbell rings.  What does poor little freaked out Tiffany/Sydney do?  She goes and hides behind the curtains over the sliding glass door that leads out to the patio, where… lo and behold… our crazed murderer makes his appearance… with a great big kitchen knife… with blood and sinew dripping from its razor-sharp blade.
Oh my, whatever shall Tiffany do?  Wait… there’s the phone again.
“He… hello…?”
Really, honey?  Why are you not calling 911?  Oh, because then the killer wouldn't be able to call back?
“It’s me, Sydney.  I’m in the house... I'm gonna gut you, you bitch!!”
Tiffany screams… drops the phone... shreds a couple of nails trying to get the sliding glass door open… and runs right into the killer’s arms.
The killer, caught by surprise, falls to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.  Tiffany runs back in the house, leaving the slider open.
What the fu…?, you say?  Why, so the killer can chase Tiffany through the house for ten minutes before slicing her throat, where the spray of blood coats the walls of three rooms and the hall before Tiffany falls to the floor one last time.
You know what?  The bitch deserved to die!  Stupidity such as that displayed by these over-sexed teens cannot be allowed to breed.  I mean, come on... give me a f....
Hmmm?  What?
Yes, I do seem to have gotten off point here.
What were we talking about?
Things that scare me, right?
That frickin’ little monkey with the cymbals in the toy store!  Is that supposed to be a grin stitched on his stuffed little face?  Looks more like he is ready to eat some tender little, dark-haired girl.
“Mama… I want to go now!”
Whoa… talk about a flashback!
Okay… all this writing has made me hungry.  I think I will walk over to River’s Edge Deli and get a roast beef sandwich… perfectly cooked… bright pink center… little pool of red on the plate… yum!
Oh!  Was that the phone?
I should probably get that…..
Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
15 April 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

Tuesday, April 16, 2013


In Vicki Ableson's second 30 Day Writing Challenge, we are supposed to write about what scares us.  This is going to be an interesting 30 days.  Dr. Kay is back on speed-dial.

Day 5 of Vicki's WC2...

There are three kinds of secrets.

The kind you tell no one... the kind you tell only your closest friend... and the ones that you don't even know yourself that you carry.

While working on my memoir recently, I had a revelation... breakthrough... epiphany, whatever you want to call it.  That revelation didn't scare me so much - I think deep down inside, beyond where even my demons could dredge it up, I was aware of it, even if it was just an indistinct shadow on my consciousness - as did the realization that there might be more.  There might be, in all likelihood were, other secrets... hiding deep inside the recesses of my mind.  Little bombs, tucked away, waiting to go off... waiting for that 'trigger' to be pushed.

Secrets I don't even know I have.

When Tina and I first met, I told her everything... everything I knew... everything that had happened... everything that I remembered.  I held nothing back.  She got me warts and all... a 'battle-scarred' mind and body that was a 'minefield’ which took months to navigate around; to find safe places to touch.

But we both knew that there were holes in my memory... dark spaces that had refused to give up their secrets.  The revelation I recently had, and one like it several months ago, are those holes finally giving up their secrets. 

Are there more?  

When you look out in your backyard and see a single mole hole, chances are better than good that there is more than one mole, right?

We all have secrets that we are aware of.  The emotions attached to those secrets are no surprise.  But what about the secrets we aren't yet aware we are carrying?

Should we be afraid of those?  

Should those scare us?

If not, then why do they remain hidden from even ourselves?


Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
14 April 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

Monday, April 15, 2013


In Vicki Ableson's second 30 Day Writing Challenge, we are supposed to write about what scares us.  This is going to be an interesting 30 days.  Dr. Kay is back on speed-dial.
Day 3 of Vicki's WC2...
I'm definitely my mother's daughter... it's a little spooky sometimes, how much of her is in me.  She taught me so many things, she gave me so much... her courage and strength... strong sense of duty to the family of man... empathy, compassion... respect for self and others... so much....
Yes, I'm my mother's daughter.  I take a tremendous amount of pride in that.  It also scares me.
My mother died of breast cancer and while that doesn't mean I will, it does tip the scales the wrong way.  I've already had one scare.
It's one of the things I, like far too many other women, carry.  We can't put it down or set it aside like a handbag that has fallen out of fashion.
We pray for wisdom and we pray for strength.... that the other things we carry will keep us and guide us... and that love, not fear, will rule our lives.
Not everything we carry is a burden... such as hope.
"Hope is like the sun, which as we journey towards it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us." ~ Samuel Smiles
Day 4 of Vicki's WC2 -
Still on that "What scares you" thing, are we?  Hmmm...
When I was little girl... about 4, I think... there was big storm and wind one night.  A big coffee tree grew outside my bedroom and the wind pushed the branches against my window, making scratching sounds.  It scared me... I thought something was trying to get in.  Papa came to my room and calmed me.  He showed me what was making the noise... his voice, strong yet gentle, so reassuring... and we stood at the window, watching the wind and limbs moving.  And, I wasn't scared anymore.
After that, whenever I would hear that sound, I knew what it was... it no longer scared me.  Although, later when my best friend Talia and I started having sleep-overs, we would 'fire up' our imaginations and try to 'scare' each other.  Haha!
It's not always the 'unknown' that scares us... and it's not always the 'known'... I think it has more to do with context and how past experiences have coloured our lives...
My heart still gives a little lurch whenever I see a black Jeep and for just a few seconds... a little touch of fear... until I can see the driver's face and see that it isn't him.
I know it isn't him... I watched him die.  I know my fear is irrational... fear often is.
It's also what keeps us alive.
Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
12 April 2013
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)

Sunday, April 14, 2013


In Vicki Ableson's second 30 Day Writing Challenge, we are supposed to write about what scares us.  This is going to be an interesting 30 days.  I wonder if I need to put Dr. Kay back on speed-dial?
Write about what scares us?  What we are afraid of?  Well, that’s no fun.  How about we write about what makes us happy?  No?  Geez… I’d rather write about my sex life than what scares me.  Hey, I could do that!  Be a lot of CAPS and !!!!  I could write about this thing Tina that does… or maybe my first experience… with Amanda… out on the island?
No?  Gotta be what scares us, huh?  Well, all right then… *sighs*
So, what scares me?  Not a lot.  After the ordeal I went through and the aftermath… the aftershocks of which I feel to this day... the scars fade but never really go away… yeah, not a lot I am afraid of.  Afraid of drowning, but I keep swimming.  Not really afraid of spiders… the little fucks freak me out but I don’t really fear them.  Not afraid of dying… all part of the journey… no, I don’t fear my own mortality.
No, not really anything that does scare me…
“Nothing, Veronica? Really?”
Damn! I hate that voice!
Yeah, okay… okay… you want to know what scares me?
My father… the thought of losing him.  That scares the fuck out of me.  Most of the demons from my past are quiet now… as quiet as they are going to be… and I don’t lose a lot of sleep over them.  No, what wakes me in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, heart thudding in my chest, is the thought of losing my father… again.
I know… the rational part of me knows this… that children lose their parents.  That is just the order of things.  These mortal coils… these fragile cocoons that we occupy… are only good for so long.  They were designed for our time here in this plane of existence.
Time is a fire in which we all burn and eventually the heat of that fire burns through and we pass from this plane to the next.  Rationally, I know this... as a person gets older, their time passes and they draw closer to their end.  The people in our lives who are older will leave us one day.  We will mourn... we will miss them... we will continue our journey until one day, we too will leave loved ones behind.
Children outlive their parents.  It’s a rule and in the grand scale of things, there are few exceptions.
So, I know that one day Papa will be gone.  I have accepted that, at least as much as any child accepts that at some point in time, death is going to cross their path and take a loved one.
My father left my mother and me when I was ten.  It would be fifteen years before I saw him again.  Fifteen years... most of which was spent trying to accept that he was gone and that I would never see him again.  I got good at it.
And when I had finally given up all hope and my mother was now two years gone, my father came back into my life.
I don't think there was ever one single day, or even a single moment, when I hated my father for leaving.  Ten years old is too young to hate and by the time I was old enough to fully appreciate that emotion, the pain of his absence had faded.  I didn't hate him.  And, I had learned not to miss him.
Until he came back into my life.  Then I hated him.  The heat of my hate would have turned forests to ash.  But... the heat of my hate was too hot to sustain.
For the last three years, my father and I have worked on reconciliation.  We have, for the most part, put the past behind us.  And, we have a lot of time to make up for.
I can't lose him now... I can't!
But I know I will.
And that scares the fuck out of me.
So... that is what I will write about for the next 30 days.  The things that scare me.
And maybe at the end of those 30 days... I won't be as scared.
Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
10 April 20132
(Writing under a large mushroom, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest)