So much has happened since that Rumble in the Jungle. Both dogs have recovered nicely from their wounds, gracias a dios, and have adjusted to a much smaller play area. Phoenix did experience a two-week PTSD episode after smelling a pizote on one of his walks with K. He bolted home, tugging hard on his leash, then sat in my arms shaking and skittish. This lasted so long that I was afraid he’d never come out of it and would live the rest of his life a hot mess of fear and angst. Happy to report he did get over it, with a lot of love, abrazos y besos to bring him around. Never doubt that dogs are deeply sentient beings…
I haven’t posted on my blog for the last six months because I was obsessively focused on finishing my novel. Which I finally did! First the blueprint draft, then the first of many rewrites. What a sense of accomplishment, relief, and satisfaction, interspersed with a commensurate dose of fear, doubt, and disgust at the final work product. But it is what it is, and I had some great counsel along the way to help steer me in the right direction when I’d veered off course. So, I will polish, rewrite and obsess some more until I take this opus to NYC in June to pitch it. Ojala, someone will like it. If not, then I’ll self-publish like so many before me. I’m just so old-school that I have to give the traditional path a shot.
But in all honesty, what brought me out from under the Covid/novel bubble of isolation was a picture from the past sent to me by an old and very dear friend who’d once-upon-a-time been a sister-in-law, but will forever be a sister-by-choice. She’d found some old photos of my family stashed away in a dusty box somewhere. My first reaction was delight. Joy. OMG, my father, my older brother, and cute, adorable little me. The two men in my childhood that I’d worshiped and adored with an innocence that brings tears to my eyes. My quixotic devotion had been rewarded by betrayal and the ultimate heartbreak, abandonment. By both men, in the most cold-hearted, intentioned of ways. In the end, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, as the prophetic saying goes.
So, a Pandora’s box of haunting memories was opened with a click of my mouse. I realized that my deep-seated insecurities and feelings of unworthiness my whole life stemmed from the seed planted and memorialized by this sweetly innocent picture of a father and his two adoring kids. A Norman Rockwell composition that my mother had sold to us as the truth, when she’d known all along it’d been a lie.
As I look out on an insanely beautiful tropical landscape, with a little lizard watching me type from his perch on my computer screen, I realize that my life has been defined by a series of choices, some horrific, some so-so, and others brilliant, to arrive at my current destination. Gracias a dios I worked through my daddy issues enough to find a man who inspires me every day of my life. If it weren’t for K, I never would have finished this novel. He’s put up with some pretty rough spots in my creative journey, ignoring my rants and encouraging me to continue when I wanted to give up, which happened a lot, BTW. So, life is pretty darned good, all things considered. Fingers crossed as I rip open my heart and soul for all to read, evaluate, criticize, and who knows what else. I’d almost rather parade naked down Main Street than reveal the sanctum of my inner-most thoughts.
Pura Vida 🦜
Feb. 7, 2022
Judy Richter 