Maggie West

All Good Things Must Come to an End

All the stories have been selected for the Bad Boys book. Thanks go out to everyone who participated.

That was fun!

Georgia's Fortress is coming along rather nicely. Please continue to send me any comments and/or suggestions at maggietwest@aim.com. Here is the first installment of this story for those who are visiting this site for the first time:

http://maggiewest.typepad.com/my_weblog/2008/03/working-title-g.html

As a way of promoting ourselves, Jeff and I will be traveling a bit this fall, winter, and spring; so, my posts may be far and few between. For this, I apologize.

And as always, feel free to send any relationship issues and questions to the above e-mail address. If an immediate response is necessary, let me know. I will be more than happy to oblige. Otherwise, I will answer them in the order they're received.

Without my readers there would be no website: So, keep in touch!

Thank you, again, one and all.

Kill Da Wabbit (or; "Long Live the Elmer Fudd Brigade!")

No More!

"No more."

With one look at his pained expression, I understood the difficulty he faced when saying these words to her.

For two years, he stood by the woman—through thick and thin, as the saying goes. He fortified his patience as she indulged in late night excursions, did nothing to discourage indecent proposals from other men, and exhibited other inappropriate behavior. What else could he do? He loved her.

They engaged in screaming altercations, wounding remarks and harsh words that poisoned the very root of their love. Soon, his or her—it matters not which—tongue cut too deep. And she left.

For months, in between drunken stupors—and the companionship of other men—she'd telephone. He listened, intently at first—then, later, rather indifferently. For, at times, she sounded remorseful; but at others, her words cut deeply and with a vengeance. Overall—and most importantly to his mind—each conversation ended poorly.

After six months, he stopped taking her calls.

After a year, he began seeing someone else.

Next, the age-old phenomena of female behavior known as "If someone else wants him, he must be worth it" reared its ugly head and she requested to see him. He agreed. And they met.

To his surprise—and perhaps to his alone—she wanted to begin anew; to pick up the pieces and try again. He found himself listening to every word she said. He became simultaneously interested and dismayed. And when she finished, silence filled the room.

"Six months ago, I would have given anything to hear those words," he told me. "Six months ago, I would have cut off my arm for her."

"But now, now I'm tired of hurting. I'm tired of expecting a healthy relationship when there will never be one. She doesn't even know what one is. She'll never know."

He took a deep sigh, looked at me, and stated, "But I still loved her."

And then, his eyes lost their brilliance, his mouth drooped at the edges, and the shadows on his face deepened. Before continuing, he lowered his head and seemed to be rehashing the unfortunate circumstances in his mind.

He hesitated, and then muttered, "I told her, 'no more.' I can't. No more."

His teary eyes rose to meet mine as he asked, "When do I give up? When does it become hopeless? Was I right to tell her that?"

Regrettably, my response to these questions isn't a simple one. And when I say that it's not simple, this refers to the act, not the reply. The reply is rather simple and it's the same one for each.

In the movies and fairy tales, the answer would be that it's never too late. And, of course, one's family and friends are the quickest to jump to the "get rid of 'er/'im" conclusion. Moreover, in real life, these outlooks are the ones to which we cling. Are they not?

But the answer is you.

How much are you willing to withstand? Weeks? Months? Years?

How long should we "hold on" to ensure that regret and remorse do not follow us in the years to come?

Each of us has a limit.

And no one's is the same.

For some, mere weeks will pass before they seek the arms of another in hopes of dispelling their agony. And soon, the pain will slowly dissipate. For others, a lifetime would not be long enough to heal their wounded hearts. By my calculations, however, most of us will fall in between the two.

None of us is immune, to my mind, either.

For each of us there exists a person who will try our souls, break our hearts, and leave us questioning our own worth. How we deal with this pain, in part, defines our future relationships—our future lives.

We mustn't allow a false set of norms to dictate when it's time to quit. There are no norms.

The decision to say "No more" must come from within—not from without.

Green is Definitely Our Color

Jeff and I met on St. Paddy's day two tears ago. I could say we have an odd relationship, but our readers already know that.

Some things they might not know are:

Since that very day we have grown in the shade of each others shadow. Green is the color for growth. Right? We have an awesome garden (where we can be found most of every day), which feeds us throughout the year. Green is the main color in a garden. Right? And together, we make a living doing what we like most -- writing. Ah, green is also the color of money.

So, green is our color. (I left out that Jeff is Scots/Irish on purpose.)

We will be reenacting our first date this evening. I can't wait! And for those readers who are new to our websites (and want to know certain details with respect to that evening; plus, get a wee glimpse at what we're like), here are the two posts we wrote for one another following that auspicious day.

Interstate Long Song written by David Jefferson Bean

Dammit Woman written by Maggie West

Enjoy!

A Little Help From My Friends

"Who the hell are you…?"

I hear these words from time to time; particularly when I respond to certain relationship issues (and in a certain way). My answer: "Nobody special."

In the last five years, I've discussed relationships with thousands of people. In making this statement, I realize that "butt-loads" may be a better estimate. I've sat in smoky bars for months on end, stopped people on every street corner, and received a permanent seat at the local Borders café. In the last two years, I've met thousands more through this website. Some readers have stayed for the duration, others linger only for a spell, but all have contributed to this site and my mind, and for that I am grateful.

My friends and acquaintances include a few psychologists and psychiatrists who are tapped, every now and then, for information. Plus, others who, like my friend Marc MacYoung, give out reading lists: Emotional Vampires being one of them (and a damn good one, at that). Last but not least, there is my better half, Dave Bean, who has read (and probably has) about every neurosis and psychosis known to man.

Were it not for all these people—the ones I've met and haven't—the journey I embarked on five years ago would have been long and grueling. To some extent, perhaps, it still was. But I had some very good people as my guides. So, I never got lost or beaten by aggression and silly demands. If one knew half of my friends, one would know that, lined shoulder to shoulder, they make a pretty damn good wall and, at times, can be rather intimidating (hehehe).

Of course, I can't rule out common sense. Thank the Lord; I'm blessed with a fairly good share of it. Some of the predicaments that cross my screen simply need a fresh eye, an outside mindset, or new perspective in order to be assessed properly. And this I give them: A little too boldly sometimes, perhaps. But I'm asked, so I answer.

One of my readers posted an article of mine on AlphaInventions.com the other day. And my hits went through the roof (What a great site!). The quote which started off this post may have come from there, or, perhaps, I have pissed off someone else on my readers' list, yet again.

Either way, I am what I am. Someone who has simply seen our America family units placed upon the fires of governmental and social bullshit and left to burn until nothing but ashes remain. My goal is simple: To pull them out of the flames; one relationship at a time, if need be. And yes, the thought that I may not succeed has crossed my mind. But what kind of person would I be if I didn't try?

Nobody special.

The Jester

"Good-bye cruel world. I'm off to join the circus. Gonna be a broken-hearted clown."
~James Darren

How many times have we thought ourselves the fool?

How many times have our hearts been broken?

Many I suspect.

The world is far from perfect, and, as it's often been said, life isn't fair. Unfortunately, there's no changing these two well-known facts. When it comes to matters of the heart, there is no cheating, skipping over, or stealing in the game of life.

Why?

Because we know what we've done, how we've acted; we see the real us; and, regrettably, there's no running away from ourselves. Plus, "a tiger can't change his stripes." Others will eventually discover the truths. Our transgressions have a way of returning and biting us—hard—on the ass. I, along with innumerable others, have no idea how this happens. It simply does.

How we conduct ourselves during a divorce, broken heart, infidelity, or any of the other copious situations with which we're confronted while in relationships is a measure of our character. Forget melodramatic country songs, which purport bashing up cars, "turning the tables," or, in one way or another, getting back at whoever smashed our world to pieces. Forget most of the advice given by concerned family or friends (Some of it warrants our attention, but the majority comes from sympathizing with our situation: The "been there, done that" syndrome). And whose life is it anyway? Ultimately, who answers for the choices made, for the actions taken, and the words spoken? Each one of us does!

If I had a nickel for every time I hear "I'm sorry I did that to her/him," I'd be rich. Hell, even, a penny for all the "I wish I could take it all backs" I hear. And others like:

"Í should've done [that]."

"I should've done [this]."

"I should've kept my mouth shut."

"I shouldn't have…"

"I wish I could go back, I'd do/say things differently."

The conversations I have pertaining to these matters usually begin with: So-and-so said I should this; and I did; what a mistake that was. When are we going to understand that no two relationships are the same? Why? Because, no two people are exactly alike—that's why. What works for one person, doesn't always work for another. Though, I've said this a time or two, there are those who don't quite grasp the concept.

We must follow our own hearts.

Who knows our relationship better than us? Who knows the exact events that have transpired in the past few months or years better than us? How many of us leave out certain variables when telling our quandaries to family or friends: Things of which we're ashamed, things we don't want known, or simple facts that may be distasteful to us or others?

Will following our hearts make us fools? Perhaps. Will we lose our pride? Perhaps. Will we be sorry? There's a chance that we may not. The alternative is, however, certainly not an option if we desire to make amends.

If we do everything within our power to remedy a situation with our loved ones, the outcome, regardless of what transpires, leaves us content with our own actions. Our hearts may still be breaking, but they are also aware of what moral fiber we're made. Not exactly the answer we want, I imagine. But, it makes a huge difference, believe me. And, in all honesty, we may be surprised what acting the fool can accomplish in a relationship. The greatest fools I know are very happy with their lives. Dropping the silly antics and losing a bit of pride does wonders to heal the wounds we've inflicted or that have injured us.

I know a man who, many years ago, could not make things work with his wife. He tells me, "It wasn't anyone's fault. We just couldn't make it work." To this day, he keeps his wife in the lifestyle that they built together all those years ago even though they live apart. In his case, it was a matter of character—of promises made. Is he foolish for doing so? Not to him. He'll earnestly state his reasons for anyone who asks why. To say that this man has immeasurable integrity and principles does not do him justice. He is a successful business man with many solid friendships and another wonderful woman in his life who has accepted him completely and wholeheartedly. It has been so for over twenty years.

And I consider our meeting a blessing. The conversations we have had together have opened my eyes to many things, but most of all it has given us a mutual admiration of one another and the beginnings of a good friendship.

Then, there is a man who hid all his earnings from his wife through eighteen years of marriage, divorced her, and is living "high on the hog" while she returned to work and now lives modestly. There's a woman who writes: My husband cheated on me, so I slept with his best friend. I was hoping he'd feel as I felt—betrayed. But he didn't. Another woman writes: My husband is sleeping with a friend of mine and my friends say to dump his ass. But I love him."

As the years move on, and we look back at our lives, what will we see? How will we feel about what we see?

Joining the circus may, in all likelihood, sound pretty damn good to some. Others may think that retribution should be theirs for the taking. I found, however, that, though, we may not see it, a reckoning does occur. Paybacks come in many forms. How happy does one think another person will be after leaving a trail of heartache and misery behind him or her? Not very.

Think carefully before acting. Allowing revenge to darken our hearts may have the reverse effect. The atonements for our actions lie in the future. And the nature of these are squared solely on our shoulders—no one else's.

"There's a sucker born every minute."
~P.T. Barnum, Barnum and Bailey Circus

Our friend, R.E.A.L., posted an interesting little piece. It might be worth taking a gander, or two, at. Apparently, Jeff and I are not the only ones thinking, "Holy Shit! Hold onto yer boots folks, this shit is about to get deeper."

We have increased our garden this year, as well, and plan to do so every year. Plus, we have plans for planting more fruit and nut trees this year and next. Of course, these trees won't bear for two or three years, but that'll be just fine with us. About the time everyone else is wondering why the price of fruit and nuts have increased so much at the local supermarket, we'll have an ample supply in Green Hell (Pictures are forthcoming).

Cheers R.E.A.L.!

Great minds do think alike.

The Good Life

Question: "We have a pretty good life, don't we?"

Response: "We have a great life."

Conclusion: "I'm ever the pessimist, darlin'."

 

This begins our conversation outside, by the garden, underneath the weed of the Tree Kingdom—a crepe myrtle. These trees, however, do furnish a substantial amount of shade. And yesterday, after pruning and rebuilding the lasagna garden for most of the afternoon, a little shade is exactly what the doctor ordered.

A pretty good life?

Because our needs are simple and our wants minimal, our life is amazing. As others go about their "daily grinds," we wake up beside one another content with our world, enjoy a delectable breakfast (which Jeff's creates), garden, and write. And then, we start all over again: day after day; month after month. Who could ask for more?

The expression on some of the faces of the people who listen to my description of our regular routine is priceless. At first, their eyes widen, then, the corners of their mouths slightly turn upward, and their noses crinkle. They can't decide whether it's a good thing or a bad thing. And it shows.

"You do what?"

"You eat what?"

Others, mostly elderly folks, smile and nod: "What a great way to live."

And they're right!

To most, however, we're eccentric and unusual (No news flash there). We seldom shop (Who goes without that?); and never at WalMart or any other Chinese-manufactured-product-filled establishment. We rarely eat out (Yes! That means fast food as well). And we make the gifts we give each other, family, and friends.

Gardening supplies most of the food we eat. Hence, from spring to fall there's very little time for much else. There's tilling, pruning, planting, weeding, watering, harvesting, canning, and freezing to be done. Plus, each year we pick projects around the house to complete. This year: A cottage-garden fence.

This house is filled with innumerable works by many of history's greatest authors and historians. These writings are far more accurate (and in some cases, far more gruesome) than any movie or play has ever been. So, we read (Well, Jeff more than I) rather than watch television or go to the movies. This house is also filled with music—all sorts: From classical to today's retro. So, we listen rather than attend concerts and symphonies.

We both would rather talk to anyone face-to-face than by telephone. We both enjoy people watching (and take notes—so passers-by beware). Long conversations with each other are part of every day for us. And frightening people with our dress and demeanor is our entertainment. Well, that, and putting a microphone in front of Jeff that is plugged into one of his amplifiers—my comedy zone. That shit is stupendous!

Then there's writing. Whatever time is left in the day, it finds us in front of our respective computers. And that's another magical part of our life. One would have to see the masterpieces created by Jeff's hands to understand this comment. One would have to experience the exchanges between us to totally comprehend the delight. Our exchanges, during this time, consist of crying, caressing, disagreeing, laughing, shouting, singing, and getting on one another's nerves. The wonders are endless.

Do we fight?

Hell yes! All the time; many times in a twenty-four hour period; like cats and dogs (I know, too cliché).

Our arguments are enlightening and fierce; mentally challenging and reckless; plus, meaningful and senseless. Some are short. Others last for days. But through them all, we love each other. And it shows.

All my life people have called me crazy. All my life, I have allowed people to change me into their distorted views of a relationship partner. Why? I'm crazy.

If we continually hear something, we believe it—right?

Since the very day I met Jeff, he made me feel "normal" (if there is such a thing) and special. I have often thought that it's due to our combined craziness. He accepts me as I am; I accept him as he is. So, who's crazier? Neither? Both? I like to think of us as unique. The last surviving real relationship: For it is surely a dying breed.

Let others have their divorces, their "newness." I have Jeff. And God willing, we will remain here as we are until our dying day.

A pretty good life?

This life—my life—is far more than I dared to hope and dream would come my way.

Somewhere along the way, I must have done something right. Somewhere along the way, I must have been a really good girl. For God has sent me Jeff. And for that I am eternally grateful.

Missing in Action

The rockets blared, the bombs burst, but Jeff and I survived.

There have been quite a few changes in our lives, and like everthing else we face, we have emerged unscathed Apparently, there's no keeping a Scots-Irish/Cavalier and an Italian/Mexican warrior-at-heart down.

There will be more to come. But meanwhile, here are a few Hallowe'en and King's Mountain pictures to heighten one's curiosity and strike the proverbial funny bone.

Enjoy:

Hallowe'en 2008

King's Mountain

Writing is Hard Work

"Hard writing makes easy reading. Easy writing makes hard reading."

"Clutter is the disease of American writing. We are a society strangling in unnecessary words, circular constructions, pompous frills, and meaningless jargon."

"There's no sentence that's too short in the eyes of God."

    ~ Quotes by William Zinsser

 

Jeff has always said, "Being a writer is hard work – being a good writer is a lifetime of hard work," to which I'd sigh, shrug my shoulders, and bury my nose – once again – in my keyboard. Many months ago, I thought "How could something I love doing be this difficult?" Hard work? "Bah, humbug." As I continued to learn how to write, however, (and merely on an adequate level, mind you) I realized that truer words had never been spoken.

It is hard work.

As I compare the sentences I write to the ones Jeff edits, the difference is astounding. His sentences are clearer, shorter, easier to read, and "pack more punch." It's rather amazing.

I have often heard the tales of Dr. England's "red pen of death" from his college days. They're similar to horror stories – minus the monsters and evil demons. The meticulous way his papers were graded and the constructive criticism he received were a foundation of sorts for his writing. I must note, however, that the first time Jeff met England's pen this is what he read, "I like your rhetoric" and that they grew to admire each other's qualities and accomplishments – they became great friends.

I surmise – after reading a very small selection of his earlier work – that his talent to turn a phrase was born long ago, however. The Literature and Composition courses merely honed an ability that he already possessed. At least, that's the way I see it: And perhaps, Dr. England saw this as well, which is why he wrote "I never want to see this kind of work from you again" in red – once – on one of Jeff's papers.

And this product of Celtic/Anglo-Norman ancestry with his extensive and exuberant knack for words has been my teacher…

But it's far from the "Yellow brick road" I assumed it would be. It's more like the dark forest, in which the winged monkeys fly up my ass and strip me of my "straw."

To my mind, Dr. England's red pen doesn't hold a candle to Jeff's expressions of displeasure: "You are no longer allowed to use split infinitives or the passive voice – under any circumstances. Both have their uses, but in your case, they're just habits. And it's never appropriate to dangle participles or mix tenses. That shit's just wrong." One may conclude that I have done all of the above, by now – and often. And he or she would be one hundred percent accurate.

But that's neither here nor there…

During my quest for writing knowledge, Jeff accompanies me to many local used book sales. The treasure trove that awaits us at each one is extraordinary: Dictionaries, thesauruses, do-it-yourself books, and table after table of history – old and new.

One wonders why such resources aren't treasured. Why are there rows upon rows of these neglected prizes? But here they are for a pittance. We're like two kids in a candy store: $1.00 for that one, $2.00 for this one, and fifty cents for…no way. Fifty cents! Jeff and I comb the tables for hours for such bargains. By the end of the day, we feel as if we've stolen thousands of dollars worth in artifacts.

Just call us the "Bookstore Bandits."

On our last used book excursion, Jeff found William Zinsser's Writing Well.

As he read it, I heard laughter, many "ah-has," and "Honey, this guy really knows his shit." He reached a stopping point and laid it aside. I picked it up and began to read. I couldn't put it down. I've since read it cover- to-cover – twice.

One thing that fascinates me about Zinsser's teachings is their "to the point" nature – he's very blunt. So much so; he writes as Jeff speaks.

In the preface of his book, he states, "My purpose is not to teach good nonfiction, or good journalism, but to teach good English that can be put to those uses. Don't assume that bad English can still be good journalism. It can't."

And in Chapter Three he writes this about clutter:

"I might add," "It should be pointed out," "It is interesting to note that," – how many sentences begin with these dreary clauses announcing what the writer is going to do next? If you might add, add it. If it should be pointed out, point it out. If it is interesting to note, make it interesting…

…Clutter takes more forms than you can shake a stick at. Prune it ruthlessly. Be grateful for everything that you can throw away.

How is it possible that this book's asking price was a mere dollar?

And yet, the information found in its 142 pages is priceless. No good writer should be without one – no writer, period.

So, now this piece of brilliant writing advice sits on my desk along with the other writing references mentioned on my website. And here it will stay (Well, until Jeff comes to reclaim it for a spell).

Perhaps what I am about say has come to pass in part due to Zinsser's instruction, or it's more likely that Jeff's coaching has finally sunk in and Zinsser's book drove the nail home. But for the last week I have written my pieces with a clearer mind and a "steadier" hand.

How do I know?

Because the man who writes better than anyone I've ever known, the man who turns a phrase as easily as taking a breath, the man who makes the English language sparkle in every sentence he writes told me so. And he doesn't hand out compliments unless they're warranted.

Hence, my hopes for the days that follow are that I continue to grow – to gain knowledge – as a writer for the rest of my days and that the smile I saw on Jeff's face when he read my work shines often.

Are We Compatible?

Compatible: "Capable of living and performing harmonious, agreeable, or congenial combination with another or others."

Capable: "Having capacity or ability."

Capacity: "The ability to receive, hold, or absorb."

~The American Heritage Dictionary. New College Edition (1969-1976 copyrights)

These definitions are mainly listed for reference. But they can, and should, remind us of what compatibility truly means.

Notice the absence of external variants in the above descriptions. Whether his hair is blonde and hers is red makes no difference; whether he's rich or she's poor – nope, not there; whether he's fat and she's thin aren't mentioned either; nor is the fact that he's sixty years old and she's twenty – or visa versa.

It is my belief that the compatibility features we must seek when entering into a relationship should be internal. And, of course, this takes more than a few dates, a couple of dinners, and one night together to examine.

Years ago – and I mean many years ago – it was easier to recognize if two people were compatible: Most young adults were reared in households that taught certain moral standards and values. We must not assume the same is true with respect to today's domestic teachings. Our current generations are "pot luck" at best.

So, how do we discern what internal attributes someone has?

Communication…communication…communication is the key. I can't say this enough.

We need to communicate as much as possible. Talk, listen, dig deep, and attempt to determine what our soon-to-be partners are made of. This is no simple task. Men and women do not "speak" the same language. Naturally, it's rather difficult to communicate with one another under these circumstances. We already know that in most cases when she sees red, he sees blue; when she's right, he's wrong; and when he finds humor, she finds distaste. There's rarely a "gray" moment in our relationships: The confrontations and/or perceptions between males and females are usually black and white.

But if we go back to the aforementioned definitions, we see that the main criterion for compatibility is ability: The ability to receive; the ability to be harmonious; and the ability to be congenial.

What triggers our "ability" switch, then? Is it that our mates' mothers can't stand to be in the same room with us, or that our mates' hearts are true? Is it that our mates are rich, or that not one selfish bone exists in their bodies? Is it that our mates' career choices will have us eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for all eternity, or that they have the fortitude to stand up for their principles with conviction? Each one of us should know what pulls our "A" lever. It is our hearts and our souls that measure our capacity to be compatible. And since each of us is made differently (i.e. upbringing, culture, environment, ethnically, etc.), we must search ourselves for answers before we begin to ask the "'til death do us part" questions.

For starters, we need to stop pretending we're Cinderellas looking for Prince Charmings. What good is it gazing into the night sky for our Knights in shining armor to arrive? Our lives will neither mirror nor emulate fairy tales. If our internal make-ups do not correspond with one another's, we will surely find ourselves on the perfidious path to the witch's gingerbread house (divorce), and all the "sweets" in the world won't cover-up our dying relationships.

Let us ask ourselves: Are we capable of receiving, holding, and absorbing all that our proposed mates have to offer; or are we lying to ourselves in order to alleviate some personal desperation or in the hopes of modifying an unpleasant characteristic of our own?

Hopefully, the former is true. The latter is futile. It always has been. We rarely understand this, however, until it's too late.

Our mates cannot change our inner most beliefs, desires, and/or ideals, and neither can we theirs. Therefore, our "happily ever afters" are found in matching these inner traits as closely as possible.

Some, but definitely not all, examples are religious beliefs, measures of common decency, level of loyalty, moral values, and prejudices that may or may not exist.

If we do not have the capacity for compassion, courtesy, devotion, ethics, and truth; how can we notice or even measure it in another?

All of the above require quite a bit of soul searching on our parts and an ingenuous internal scale for weighing our individual priorities.

Then, and only then, are we able to seek out our "match" – the compatibility factor.

Why worry about such trivial matters as height, weight, employment, financial situations, daily routines, and the like? These are things that can, and do, change. A person's inner being – his/her hidden features – holds the key to a lasting relationship.

As I have said many times in the past: "Love is deaf, dumb, and blind" in the beginning stages of any relationship (sometimes much longer). So, it's time for us to get hearing aids, do the research, and purchase a new set of glasses.

Inner compatibility works – grandiose visions (in any form) do not.

*Note: Posted on Helium.com as well.