Catharsis: the purge of emotion; emotional relief

Nathan Bransford recently wrote a post on Writing as Catharsis and from the moment I read it, with everything that's been happening, I can't stop thinking about it.  I am an author who pulls a lot for my stories from my life.  I don't use my writing to cope, necessarily, but in times of crisis, I do pour my emotions into my stories.  Some people are talented enough to write about difficult, strong emotions without having experienced them.  I can't judge my ability to do that, but I believe I possess a good enough range to pass.  That said, I have traveled a difficult road in life and I have much to draw on.  Now, I'm not saying that I've had the worst life in the history of life - each person's experience is different and we all face and cope with difficulties as they are presented to us.  My honest assessment is that the road I'm on makes me stronger.  I am a fighter.  I am a survivor.  And I take everything as a life lesson, which makes everything open to reinterpretation in my writing.

Readers of my blog are aware of my health issues and my feelings about my cats, but I've kept the rest of my life private.  Those who know me personally know what I've gone through, but only those closest to me know everything.  And while I'm not a particularly private person, I don't see the need to expose my life for all to see, which would not only put me on display, but also affect other people involved - whether directly or indirectly.  It should suffice to know that like many people, I've been hurt and I've recovered to be a better person.  I further believe that the hurt makes me a better writer.  Not a writer better than someone else, just stronger in my own right.  There are no comparisons here.

Backing up to "Writing as Catharsis" for a moment, I did find it helpful to turn my grief into something tangible when David died.  Again, there are people out there who will say, "He was just a cat," but he wasn't.  He was my best friend.  He was always with me.  When I left for work, he walked me to the door and when I came home, he was there to greet me.  He was my constant companion.  If he didn't have my attention, he would throw temper tantrums or glare at the person who had my attention.  His passing left a huge void in my life and I took it very, very hard.  When I lost him, I lost my best friend - not my cat and not just a member of my family.  He could have been human.  That is how much it affected me.

The left side of this blog's main page contains pictures, starting with memorial photos (there is a bigger mosaic picture of my cats at the bottom of the blog).  The first photo is of David and you can easily note that he died around Christmas.  The sudden and rough loss, combined with the most joyous season created a sense of utter devastation.  I cried and cried, and cried even more.  It's amazing how even when I felt cried out, the tears kept coming in endless supply.  The reason I'm focusing on this?  Well, first, Neko's recent passing has opened old wounds.  As I said in her memorial post, she was my last link to David.  But mostly, it's because I did use my writing to cope with David's passing.  I turned my tears into words and spent nearly every moment of grief writing scenes in my head, on toilet paper, on napkins, on scratch paper - on anything at all that could hold my thoughts.  The result was a scene with powerful emotion, a scene that would have felt flat or empty had I not experienced such pain first hand.  The coincidence that I was writing a scene of devastating loss became a horrible situation's silver lining, and now, every time I read that scene, I don't remember my grief - I remember David and give him the credit for the words I see on the page.

Now, unfortunately, I find myself in a writing lull.  My focus is on the first manuscript and prepping individualized query letters.  I am researching agents and working on my one page synopsis while awaiting a response from the few queries I have out (I'm old fashioned and only do a few at a time).  MS #2 is written and ready for the edit and rewrite portion.  It contains "David's scene."  MS #3 is still in progress, but no scenes yet exist where I can turn my present grief into words.  There will be one in later chapters, so maybe I will look ahead and jot down notes, as I did before.  But, overall, I don't have the same outlet for Neko as I did with David.

So, as for "Writing as Catharsis," I don't find comfort in my writing.  But, I do find comfort in just writing.  After all, I've written a memorial post for Neko.  Sure I cried while I wrote it, but I also enjoyed replaying her quirks and her personality in my mind, and I loved posting pictures that showed her fun side.  I've written a post about my prologue and uncertainties in some of my decisions.  And I chose to write this post, furthering a discussion started by Nathan Bransford while also displaying my own vulnerabilities.

I do find writing to be cathartic.  For me, writing is a way of sharing my emotions - sharing my life in a subtle way - with people I know and people I don't know.  It's a way to release the energy that builds with grief or pain.  It is a way to remember the pain and still move forward, and what is more cathartic than moving forward?  Standing still to wallow and allowing the pain to consume me isn't healthy or productive, even though it may be the easy way.  Life isn't easy.  If it was, we would never move.  We would never grow.  We would never develop.  If life was easy, it wouldn't be life and a word like "catharsis" wouldn't exist.

To Prologue or Not To...

A while back, I made the decision to flesh out my prologue and make it a short chapter one.  Expanding the scene worked well, but the extension caused one major issue:  chapter seven would now become chapter eight.  Chapter seven is named "Communion," containing a twist on the usual religious connotations held within that word.  The very meaning and context behind the chapter's title and pivotal scene made it rather important to me to keep the chapter number "seven."  Perhaps it was a nit-picky detail, but I call author's prerogative.  Seven is an important number in the Christian religion and the Christian religion (as I've tweaked it) plays a rather large role in the story.  So...I looked at the previous chapter and decided it was a good candidate for consolidation.  Hence, chapter six went away and became the lead into chapter seven.  It actually made chapter seven stronger, in my opinion.

I had been conflicted about making this change (prologue vs. first chapter) for some time.  I may have mentioned it in previous blogs.  Overall, I think I am happier with the scene as a chapter, but the first chapter is really nothing like the rest of the book until the later chapters come along, when the plot opens up and vampiric involvement becomes more evident.  The beginning opens on a scene taking place thirteen years prior to the main story, which opens in what is now chapter two.  I worry about first impressions based on the new chapter one, when the story deserves to be judged on its main base.  I realize that my writing should stand on its own regardless of having a prologue or a first chapter, and the writing does do that; however, writing aside, when it comes to this genre and vampire stories, so much has already been done that innovation is hard to show.  Upon first glance, the new first chapter may seem like an average tale, with not much to make it stand apart.  However, the story that begins thirteen years later, as told from two perspectives in chapter two proves that this is beyond ordinary or what's been done before.

The true issue then, rests in what agents see when I submit queries, and that has made me want to rethink the prologue vs. first chapter decision.  Some only ask for the first five pages.  In that case, it doesn't matter what the first section is called.  If they ask for the first "x" pages of chapter one, however, it does make a difference.  People skip reading prologues all the time, especially when they are misused by the author for the author to just...talk.  Even I skip those.  I only read prologues that are pertinent to the story and I initially started with a prologue because, while the section is pertinent to the story, it would allow the reader to choose whether or not to read it.  Those who chose to read would gain more knowledge of the story and the motivation happening in the background.  Those who chose to skip would enter the story without that knowledge, but would eventually gain it throughout their journey through the story.  The prologue, as it first existed, merely illustrated a scene that is referenced in a later chapter.  It still accomplishes that feat, but in a newly, better formed manner.

Since the scene references something in the mid-to-late chapters, it's a little like peeking ahead without any context about the people, actions, or environment.  And I created it that way on purpose, not necessarily to build a sense of intrigue or mystery, but rather to accomplish exactly what I just said.  I wanted to give the reader the opportunity to choose their reading experience by how they treated the prologue.  The freedom to choose paths against destiny is a theme that arcs throughout my manuscripts, so this was a way for me to bring that element to life for the reader.

Of course, now I've removed that element.  By making it the first chapter, I've removed the reader's choice.  Who skips the first chapter?  And why did I make this decision in the first place?  Why am I asking questions??     I chose to make it the first chapter because of the knowledge that prologues are met with mixed feelings from person to person and I wanted to present a solid piece of work without that element muddying a prospective agent's thoughts on the matter.

If I decided to go back to a prologue, I'd have to break up chapter seven again to make the original chapter six stand on its own, and I truly believe that a side effect of the initial decision made a stronger chapter seven.  However, the reader has to get that far to enjoy it.

This is just me showing a bit of doubt in my decisions, which I thought was important since so many authors out there may feel the same way and not realize that it happens to others.  I question my decision to open the story this way and to change it from a prologue to first chapter.  However, I am confident in my story and my ability as a writer, and I try to focus on my readers' feedback.  The most recent read through was from someone who had the story years ago, before the prologue even existed.  She initially missed the original opening, but then said that as she read on, it made parts of the story more cohesive, and by the end, made the plot and story-telling stronger.  The end opinion: she liked the new opening better.

I take from that mixed feelings.  I see that the original opening made a better first impression, but the new opening makes for an overall better story.  So I guess my indecision will always be there, but I'm happy with the story.  I agree that the new opening makes for a better reading experience.  I can only hope that an agent sees it that way, too.

Sweet Neko-Chan. Damn FIP.

Neko 7/09/03-10/16/12

Toward the end of September, Neko displayed symptoms of a painful infection that we (my husband and I) hoped she would fight off and go back to being her spunky self.  We whisked her off to the animal ER and came home with a simple diagnosis and antibiotics only to take her to our local animal hospital a day later for worsening symptoms.  After a two week stay in the hospital, on steroids, three antibiotics, and receiving subcu-iv fluids, she was stable enough to come home and the outlook was good.  We missed her the entire time she was gone...there was no one to keep my pajamas warm on the floor and no one to "rally the troops" at dinner time.  So, to say we were happy to have her home is a vast understatement.

Four or five days later, we drove off for vacation leaving Neko in my father-in-law's capable hands.  She was his little buddy, so instead of boarding her as planned, we worked it out so she could stay home and visit with him.  We felt guilty for continuing on with our vacation, but she truly seemed to be doing well.  She even joined Lucien's passive protest at our departure.  She said goodbye to us at the door and off we went.  It was a trip of relaxation, something "prescribed" by my doctor to help me unwind with my MS, and also a good-bye trip of its own since our favorite B&B is closing in December - it was our last chance to go.  Mid-way through, we received notice that Neko had stopped eating and had been taken back to the hospital.

I am thoroughly grateful for my father-in-law's diligence and care.  Without such loving attention, Neko may have endured more suffering.  (I'm not saying we would have missed it; just that had we not had someone staying in our home during our absence, it might have gone unnoticed.)  She stayed at the hospital until October 16.

Throughout her stays at the hospital, I called once or twice daily to check in on her and we visited with her regularly.  On our October 15th visit, we both realized all hope for her recovery was quickly slipping from our sight, but we still hoped.  She was happy to see us, but lethargic and uncomfortable.

On October 16th, my fears were confirmed.  Her slow downward spiral had sped up.  All of her vets and techs were absolutely wonderful and caring, and in the conversation when her main doctor said I should prepare myself to euthanize Neko, she also stated that Neko had looked like she needed to snuggle, so she had tried to cuddle with her but Neko was in too much pain and cried.  The sentiment in the action and the doctor's voice really warmed my heart.  She cared that much, and that's the kind of care and empathy we received from everyone.  We planned to euthanize Neko during our visit that evening.  Unfortunately, Neko's pain grew worse during the day and I received a call at 2:45pm that I needed to get there as soon as possible.  My husband and I got there shortly after 3 and spent about twenty minutes visiting with her while the initial sedation kicked in.  Even in her pain, Neko was glad to see us.  She grasped the end of the table and pulled herself closer to us, even placing her paw on my hand - a moving gesture that was very much Neko.  She loved to touch us and would frequently set one paw on our shoulders when she slept behind us on the recliner or sofa.  We moved forward with euthanizing her as swiftly as we could despite our desire to put off our pain - her comfort and well-being came first.

Her heart stopped around 3:30pm.  We spent more time with her afterward than we got to spend with her beforehand.  I couldn't believe it was happening - that it had happened.  My sweet little girl, my baby Neko was gone.  I cradled her head and body to my chest and buried my face in her fur, sobbing and crying her name.  She was more than a cat - more than a pet.  We met her before her eyes were even open.  We visited her weekly as a baby before we ever brought her home.  And when she came home, she became David's surrogate daughter, which made her our last link to him.  Neko was a special girl.

She was smart, quirky, and loving.  Her first Christmas forced us to rethink the positioning of the cats' stocking because she kept thinking of and finding ways to get into the stocking to get the feather teaser we had purchased.  If life had been a cartoon, the artist would have drawn the gears turning in her head, and we could practically see those thoughts and plans churning away...'if I jump there...and then jump there......I think I can reach it.'  Those gears kept turning for the rest of her life.  She was a thinker and she was chatty.  If she got an idea, she was sure to tell you about it (or you could see her thoughts just waiting to play out).  And as talkative as she was, she was just as good a listener.  She loved to think, loved to talk, and loved to listen.

She loved Davey Pu as much as we did and mourned his loss.  For a long time after his death, she was lost and lonely, left on her own to find her new path.  She took to Lucien, but not like she did with David.  She was forever changed.  Then came Jonny.  She may have hated him at first, but they grew close and now Jonny is the lost one, lonely and missing his cuddle friend.  And then we got Groucho and she took to him, as well.  We have so many pictures of these piles of cats, just sleeping on top of each other, because Neko finally had more good friends.  Those four were so close, even Sake became more sociable and appeared in many of those pictures (not in the pile, of course - she's far too refined for such a thing).

But now, once again, we have lost a special member of our family, and instead of a pile of cats, sleeping happily together, we have four cats scattered around the house in search of their friend.  While she may have missed David, the glue of our original five, she also stepped up and took his place, becoming the tie that would bind a new group.

We had Neko for all but a few weeks of her nine-year life.  As I said, she was always there - always sleeping on or near us, and if she was close to us, she had to touch us.  She liked to yank out my hair and bite Tim's chin.  When she felt like no one was paying attention to her, she would pick up a toy mouse in the opposite end of the house and muffle a cry out loud until someone came to play with her.  She would play fetch with her mice, actually chasing them down and bringing them back.  She loved to go outside, to the point that she knew what the word "outside" meant.

"Does Neko want to go outside?" would bring her running to the door, where she would wait to be picked up and taken to her favorite place because when she was a baby, I started this "tradition" of putting her up on my shoulder so we could go outside and feed the birds and squirrels.  She'd get comfortable on my shoulder and hang on while I poured bags of seed, and this tradition continued even as she grew bigger - too big to sit on my shoulder.  She would crawl her way up and wrap herself around my neck like a fur stole, and out we'd go.  Then she got even bigger, weighing at her heaviest probably 19 pounds (thanks to her diet, she got down to a little over 16 pounds - we were worried she'd get diabetes :-/).  Yet even then, we'd continue our ventures.  She'd try to get up on my shoulder, but had to settle for being held.  Sometimes she would get to go down - onto an outside table or bench or swing, where she would stay and wait for me - and I'd pick long blades of grass for her to chew.  She loved grass so much that I learned the hard way to keep my fingers out of the way when she was going after grass!

Neko loved many things, especially Christmas, probably stemming back to her first Christmas.  She knew she was going to get toys and we have many a picture of her (and other cats) passed out on Christmas morning after playing with their catnip and all their toys.  Yes.  Neko was filled with love for all things...even Jonny-fang face (and blogging...she was known to "kick" me off the keyboard to make her word known).

She was love epitomized, unconditional and unequivocal, and she was loved unconditionally and unequivocally.  I miss my sweet little girl.  I miss her dearly.  Tim has found some comfort that she is no longer suffering, and while I, too, am glad she is no longer in pain, I cannot find such comfort.  My pain is more selfish.  My little girl is never coming home and that crushes my soul.  I never thought I'd feel the pain I felt after David died, but I was wrong.  It's too easy for my mind to trick me into thinking she's still at the hospital, but I have to face the truth.  Neko had FIP (feline infectious peritonitis), a lethal infection born from a dormant virus residing in most cats that "mutates into something ugly," as my vet said, and something that is incredibly difficult to test for.  Even facing death and with undeniable symptoms, the tests came back negative.  "Ugly" does not begin to define the disease. 

According to the ASPCA website, it is fatal in 95% of cases and cats who contract it generally die within 2 months of symptom onset.  My Neko fought for nearly four weeks.  My Neko received the best care she could get and had loving doctors and techs.  My Neko was a brave little girl who faced everything thrown her way with a curious eye no matter what and was loved by everyone who met her.  Even in pain, she was in everybody's business, demanding her share of their attention in her sweet, yet assertive way.  Even if she was tired or weak, she pulled herself closer to the people she loved and reached out to touch them.  That is one of the fondest and saddest memories I'll have of her.

She comforted me in many times of need, climbing into my lap and purring while my tears dripped onto her body.  I hope I was able to comfort her in her time of need, but that little gesture, her little paw reaching out and gripping my thumb, was like her way of telling me it was okay.  Letting us know that she was going to be okay.  I know she is okay.  She is with David, again, after all.

People exist in this world who won't understand this post, but people also exist who will empathize because they grieve the loss of their own furry family members.  Our cats are our family.  They are our friends.  They are the beings in little fur coats who hear about our days and spend their time with us because we love them as family.  But every once in a while, one of those little beings is extra special and touches us in ways we could never imagine.  David was the first.  Neko unexpectedly followed in his place.  I still mourn for David.  I know I will still grieve for Neko years from now.  My sweet koneko-chan is no longer with us in body, but she will always live on my heart and my memories.  And it's those memories that will make me laugh and cry as the years without her pass.

Neko pretending to be Kuro Neko (the "black cat" in Trigun) while sitting on my MS

Neko, the witch, her first Halloween

Neko and Groucho passed out Christmas morning 2010

Neko discovering the joys of Pocky

Baby Neko and Father Davey Pu