Careless Daughter

I am not particularly a fan of Taylor Swift’s music.  It’s a little too fairy tale for my taste.  In her song “Mine”, she has a line about how she’s a “careless man’s careful daughter”. 

But what about the careless daughter?

God knows my father is nothing but careful.  And all I do is disappoint.
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Once Upon A Time…

…a careful man was not so careful.

All it took was one time.  One time and he had a child on the way.

But he was a careful man.  A proper man.

So he married the mother and continue his double master’s degrees and being a decorated Captain in the military.

It didn’t take long for the mother to grow weary of his distant careful way.  She desired, she wanted, she cried, she cared.  The emotion was unnecessary to the careful man.
She left.

The daughter was shuttled back and forth for many years.  And it seemed, at first, that she might be the right sort of careful the man wanted.

But then he looked into her and saw her weak and wicked ways.

She would be careless.

She would need to be taught to hide that.  Taught that she needed to hold herself in check.  Taught that she needed a caretaker.

And that lesson stuck.  And grew.

And she learned that she could not be the hero for herself.  She was broken in that way.

She went forth to seek heroes.

They all seemed so shinning, so brilliant at first.  She only ever picked the White Knights.

But their armor was only shinning because they knew nothing of battle, of getting dirty, of taking care of the weak, of living life.  They were empty.

And so the careless daughter became empty.

But deep, deep down, she held onto a flicker of hope that perhaps, if she continued seeking, she could find that hero.

The careful man was disturbed by what he had created.  He did not like her constant seeking.  He saw it as a dark and twisted thing.  He told her she could not be around him.  She was deeply flaw and possible contagious.

She tried to be good enough for the careless man.  She tried to be her own hero.

But being her own hero merely ended in blood and tears.  And loss.

And so she decided to become what she had been accused of for so long.

She would be the Careless Daughter.

Those who were careless didn’t need heroes anyway.

Spark of Inspiration

I dreamed last night.

It was a simple clip of a scene (a man, a woman, a secret), but it wiggled it’s way into my head and now a seed of a story is struggling to grow.

I’m excited.  I haven’t had that in a long time.

And I wanted to tell you lovely readers a secret…

The plot involves DID.

I’m sure that doesn’t come as a huge surprise- writers write what they know.  But I’m taking this in an unusual direction I think.

I don’t want to reveal too much when it’s still just a little spark- not yet a flame.

I am so excited.

When I’m in creative writing mode, it tends to heal us.

I can only hope it will this time.

I think I want to share this story with you readers a bit as it develops.  That feels right.

But perhaps that will be silly and boring to you?

Support for Claire

Claire is very upset and depressed from Monday.

Let me backtrack:

We had a couple friends over to Daddy’s house to talk about a party we’re hosting this weekend.  Most of what went on isn’t important, especially to this entry, but there was a point where one of the friends, who was a close friend of (almost exclusively) Claire’s in late middle school/early high school started talking about the stories Claire wrote back then.

And she was mean about them. I mean, nasty. I usually try not to speak ill of people, especially friends, but…it’s hard not to in this case.  Plus, it especially wounded Claire.  She knows they were middle school writings, obviously not something that would be published and read by adults.  But it was something she was proud of in middle school. It was her outlet. And she didn’t show her stories to anyone until this girl.

Rika was trying to get out and bitch out the friend, but it wasn’t the appropriate place.  I ended up having to take over for Claire, who went off into a mental-corner and hasn’t really come out.

Writing means a lot to her.  She doesn’t care about being published, or being a best seller, or anything like that.  But she does value it and only shares it with those she deems trustworthy.

(or in the case of this blog, anonymously)

I’m not really sure how to handle this.

Armes thought perhaps I could write an entry on the blog and get some support here.  Claire values all of our followers so much.

Maybe it’s a silly idea.