karen rutherford, freelance writer

I always knew this was temporary.

Huh?

I mean, it was only a matter of time before you’d meet someone. And that’s the way it should be. They’re exactly right. It’s the way I want it, too. We all want you to be happy.

I am happy.

Well, you could be happier.

I don’t know if I like the idea of too much happiness.

Yea, well, try to keep an open mind.

Things are fine the way they are. I like you. I like hanging out with you. Why can’t I just hang out with you?

Don’t you miss your friends? And dating? And having a special person in your life? All men like that.

I see my friends.

But you know they miss you. Didn’t Jack call just the other day asking if you wanted to do something?

I’ve known him since we were kids. We hang out quite enough. He’s fine.

You need to spend more time with all the people you know, the ones you’ve known all your life. You need to meet some new people. New female people. I’ll miss you, but I’ve known that since I met you. I have to admit that I’m not quite prepared yet, but I will be. I'm fine. Everything's fine. It's been so much fun, and you’re a great guy. Now go forth and socialize. And date, dammit.

I don’t wanna.

Oh, puh-leeze. Of course you do.

Seriously. I don’t wanna.

But, now, you have to. They hate me. They’ll think I never said anything to you, that I really don’t want you to be happy, that I’m forcing you to be here, that I’m glad you feel guilty and sorry for me and have succumbed to the idea of never escaping from me. Please don’t do that to me.

You like lasagne?

Lasagne?

Lasagne. Dinner. I'm thinking we should cook lasagne.

I want to live here. I want to stay here a long, long time. I want to retire here and live out my days. Happily. I can’t do that if the people don’t like me. I want friends or at least to feel like I’m not hated. Hell, I could be shunned.

Lasagne, it is. I’ll be back with the fixins at 5:30. And a movie. It’s my turn to pick, I think, isn’t it?

I’m thinking it’s Saturday night. The best night to start. Call a friend. Go to town. Have a beer and listen to the band at Barnacles. Look around. Make some eye contact. Ask somebody out.

Yea, definitely my pick ‘cause we watched some crap last weekend I can’t even remember the name of.

I’m not going to be here at 5:30, then.

You better. I’ll have all those groceries. You don’t want me left holding the bag, do you?

Oh, good lord.

Take a nap or something. Chill out. Everything will be fine. Trust me?

Yea, but you seriously have to…

Trust me?

Yes.

And with that, he left. Leaving me alone for the afternoon to think about how I could make him leave for good.

Tell us Your Application Story!

We hope that applying for The Gift Of Freedom Award was a beneficial process for every applicant.

We'd like to hear your application story: both the toil and the triumph. What did you struggle with the most? Did you have any moments of clarity during the application about your work or your writing goals? Did you join other women writers to support each other in the process?

Pleas e share your experience with us by writing us at info@aroomofherownfoundation.org.

Hello!

I would love to share my application story: I submitted an application to the AROHO Foundation Gift of Freedom Award this year and loved it!

It was a catalyst for me to determine my priorities. It coincided with the start of a new year when I always try to focus on defining new goals and plans and dragging the unfinished ones over from the prior year.

The process also made me feel like a writer. It connected me to my Spirit and what I believe to be my purpose. It boosted my confidence enough to cause me to enroll and now participate in a creative writing class that I am enjoying immensely. It made me feel like I was in good company and part of a community that shared similar outlooks, challenges, and goals, even though I did work alone. I used the site several times for information, help, and guidance. I used email to ask a couple of questions and was answered quickly and efficiently.

I struggled most with the essay about what my writing means to me. I didn’t get to my answer until I had written the essay- similar to the way novelists are led by their characters. It became so personal and comforting when I realized that my writing is my family. It was a moment of clarity, as you mention in the email, and, again, connection, so, the struggle was insignificant compared to the light.

I would recommend the process to any potential applicant, even if does mean more competition! I am a writer, but I am also a reader, so I have nothing but happiness and respect for the author who wins.

Thank you for the opportunity!

Karen Rutherford
Indianapolis, Indiana

I am three weeks into a six-week-long creative writing class and I love it! I’ve never taken a formal creative writing class before due to fear. I heard about interaction and sharing and constructive criticism, but I really can’t recommend the experience more. The instructor is full of exercises and prompts and helpful hints. She’s relaxed and kind and supportive, which has suddenly given me the courage to share, to receive good and bad feedback, to think, and to create.

I now have the beginning to my book, and I think it’s pretty good. I have positive, and what felt like genuine, feedback from a classmate with whom I had to trade papers. I don’t have feedback from the instructor yet, and won’t until next Wednesday night. Knowing me, I’ll stupidly wait until next week’s approval or disapproval to continue working. I’m absurdly meticulous like that. It comes from being a tech writer by day, I guess.

But I will keep up with my bits and pieces. It’s how I have written in the past and seems to help my blank-page-a-phobia. I write scenes or events when they literally pop into my head (I don’t seem to be able to plan the impulses), and then I hope that they will eventually all fit together in an organized, end result of a novel.

This class has already helped me feel better about my process, my challenges, my fears, and, most importantly, my actual writing. It has brought cohesion to a particular story in my head through instruction about creating leads, developing character biographies, and writing dialogue. I have learned to become an observer of my own story.

I can’t wait to find out what happens next – to me and to the people in my head!

I wonder how many grant applications the A Room of Her Own Foundation (AROHO) receives each year for its Gift of Freedom Award. I’ve googled and googled and can’t find any numbers. But I figure if I’m submitting, there must be bazillions.

That screamed negativity, which I’m trying to shake this year. So regardless of the result, I have loved the process. It has been a great exercise, organizing me and forcing me to publicly declare priorities. It has helped me realize what I need to do and why and reminded me who I am.

The Foundation is dedicated to helping women artists achieve the privacy and financial support necessary to pursue their art. As Virginia Woolf recognized in the 1920s, “a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write.” It is a unique and generous cause and I am happy to know about it. I would sincerely be excited for any winner who will have an opportunity that, more than likely, would have been impossible otherwise. And the rest of us get a new author!

That was generous of me, I think. Because I really wanna win bad.

5-HTP is an amino acid that regulates the brain’s serotonin levels. According to Wikipedia, “ serotonin is believed to play an important role in the regulation of body temperature, mood, sleep, emesis (vomiting), sexuality and appetite”. Low serotonin levels have been linked to depression.

My friend in North Carolina is a wealth of information on holistic medicine and, after hearing one too many whiny voice mails from me, recommended I try the 5-HTP. She even included the necessary dosage through muscle testing.

She said I should notice a difference in two to three weeks, but I noticed a difference in only two days. It’s been a godsend for me. Yesterday, I helped an elderly lady at the grocery store. Two people, on two separate occasions while running errands, asked me if I needed help finding something (and in a helpful, sincere way, not in the annoying, can I help you...can I help you now....how 'bout now way). I had a long and happy conversation about Tennessee with a landscaper doing work on my yard. I exchanged a laugh about something I can’t remember now with a guy at a drive-thru. Last night, I did the laundry, ironed, vacuumed, swept and noticed I had been singing to myself throughout the entire process. And then I went to a play at my son’s school by myself and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. Today hasn’t been as memorable, but no matter how hard I try (it’s foreign to my nature not to try), I can’t hold on to a negative thought.

I also haven’t felt this purposeful in what feels like ages. Thus, my Nanowrimo update: 13,152 words as of today. I should be at 28,333 for the month to finish successfully, but that’s their definition of success, not mine. I feel successful already and that’s worth the 15,000 words I lack.

Today is the beginning of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month – www.nanowrimo.org ). Starting at 12:01am this morning, participants have one month to write 50,000 words of their novels. The prize is the accomplishment. The non-profit’s site includes a lot of support, a global and smaller regional community, and a whole bunch of forums to aid with the inevitable procrastination process.

As of 9:48am (I successfully put it off for almost 10 hours), I am an official participant in the annual frenzy. I pushed the button because I’ve tried but can’t come up with any more excuses. All the stars are aligned and I am surrounded.

• I have no freelance work due in November.
• I’m on an easy project at work (meaning it doesn’t require any extra hours and actually allows for some daily drifting).
• I also know that this project lasts at least through December, so I feel no pressure to market in November.
• I now firmly believe that one more cubicle will kill me.
• My new furniture fiascos are over and my son is in charge of painting the living room. My remaining chores don’t add up to one complete excuse.
• I have the idea, the title, the characters, and the plot in my head screaming to escape. I need to put us all out of our misery.
• All the people I know are pretty busy with their daily lives and thoughts of and pre-plans for the upcoming holidays. It’s just perfect timing.
• I got an email from God and Writer’s Digest last night reminding me of the event.

The email wasn’t snippy, but I sensed that He was drilling his fingers, tapping his toes, rolling his eyes, clearing his throat, and essentially saying:

“Uhhh, Karen Dear? (He still loves me after all.) What would you have Me do? Move the pencil in your hand? Force your fingers to hit the right keys? I have cleared your schedule, provided you with the means to pay your bills, sent you a fire-lighting-to-ass email reminder, and aligned a support system. Geez. I think Judge Judy will be fine if you miss her today. Do you really want me to take your cable away, too?”

“Ok, God, I get it. Thank you. I know, I know. Thank you. I am writing. Thank you. I am. Thank you.”

It’s recommended that I put an icon on my website to communicate that “1) I am a serious writer now, and, 2) As a serious writer, I will not have time for household chores until December.”

So here it is. Scary looking, isn't it?

Now what do I do? Oh, right. Write.

Now? But....I'm hungry and must go get lunch.

I think I hear white noise.