Archive for the ‘Elfy’ Category
State of the Writer, February 2023 Edition
Folks, I figured as it’s been a little over a week since I last blogged, I’d better give y’all an update.
(BTW, someone asked me a while back why I, as a Midwesterner born-and-bred, use “y’all” so much. It’s because of my German teacher in high school. He said English needs this word. I agreed with him then and I still do. Moving on…)
My health is a little better. My face is again my own; the swelling has gone, most of the redness has gone, and I look like I never had that nasty bacterial infection at all.
So, you may be asking why it’s only a little better. The main reason is that I’ve been exhausted for a long time. This is partly because I have fibromyalgia and osteoarthritis, among other ailments, and having both means I get tired more quickly and need more rest periods. (This is the best way I have to explain it, especially when I’m in what’s known as a “fibro flare.”) Both of these things cause pain, and dealing with pain is tiring enough. Then add in some sleep disturbances (nothing like having a swollen, messed-up face to help you sleep, hey? Sarcasm is a wonderful thing…), and voila!
The secondary reason is because the infection was so bad, and took so much out of me, that here’s how I’ve lately had to do things:
- Rest
- Small Errand (milk/eggs/butter/bread)
- Rest
- Drive
- Rest
- Get food inside and repeat as needed.
Is this normal for me? No. It’s not.
But the last few days, I’ve been able to cut out some of those rest periods. I still have to move slowly and cautiously. I know my energy is not right, and won’t be probably for several more weeks, and I’m still ramping up my editing and writing again accordingly. Yet I have been able to do a bit more without becoming quite as exhausted, so I’ll take it.
(As if I could do anything else, right?)
My hope is that if I am cautious enough, I can finally get a few pending edits out the door, or at least back to the client if changes need to be made (and if they wish me to review them). That way, I can resume my life as best I can without getting laid low by something else.
Also, I am still talking about cover art with a good friend for my post-apocalyptic romantic military suspense novella. (Say that five times fast.) It’s done, at least in the novella form. (I want to write a sequel to it and eventually hope to have enough for a conventional sized novel.) I want to get it out there, because I haven’t released anything by myself since early 2017.
Yes. Six years ago.
That’s too long.
Yes, I have short stories in several recent anthologies (most recently in Fantastic Schools: Hols). Yes, I’m still a working writer as well as a working editor.
Still. Something needs to go out under my own name, by myself, so folks maybe can find me and appreciate what I do. (Even if they don’t, I have to do it for me.)
Oh, I almost forgot: I have a YA story (novella length) set in Michael’s Atlantean Union universe that’s almost ready to go, too. That may be out by the end of the year if all goes well.
And, finally, I still plan to get an Elfyverse short story collection out but need at least two more finished Elfyverse stories to make it happen. (For those of you who’ve read the Elfy duology, what stories would you most like to see? Maybe I can make it happen…)
Will Be on Dellani Oakes’ BlogTalkRadio Show This Monday (November 14)
As the title says, I’ll be on writer Dellani Oakes’ BlogTalkRadio show this upcoming Monday, November 14, 2022, between 3 and 5 Central Standard Time.
You might be wondering what I’m going to talk about. I figured I’d discuss writing the two Elfyverse short stories that have been sold to the Fantastic Schools anthologies; one is in Fantastic Schools 3, while the other is in Fantastic Schools Hols. Both feature Bruno the Elfy (my main character from the two Elfy novels), but before he knew he was an Adept. (Actually, the second story features him both before and after he found out, because of my own sense of whimsy.)
I plan to read from the second story, mind you. It’s called “Jon and Leftwich have a Holiday Adventure.” I do hope you’ll join me and the others, because I think you’ll enjoy yourselves if you do.
At any rate, talking about that isn’t long enough for a blog, so I figured I’d discuss a few other things.
While I still love writing Elfyverse stories, and plan to get out a collection of Elfyverse stories soon (it may not be the end of the year as I was hoping, as I’m battling significant flu issues right now), I wonder sometimes if I’ll ever hit my market squarely. I know it’s there. The folks who loved Robert Asprin’s comic novels or love Jody Lynn Nye’s funny stories or Esther Friesner’s work should enjoy what I’m doing. (If I were truly lucky, I might even tap into some of the folks who clamored for Douglas Adams’ work, but I doubt I’m that lucky. Plus, I’m not British, and lack that sort of edge to my humor. Still, my daydreams sometimes work that way…and if it keeps me writing, why not?)
The state of the Elfyverse is better than it was, mind you. I do have those two stories in the FS anthos, I’m working on two other new ones (for the upcoming collection), and I have restarted the long-delayed novel KEISHA’S VOW and have figured out at least in part what had been stopping me cold.
Thing is, I must get over this flu. (It’s not Covid. Tested negative.)
I rarely have fevers. So when I have them, I don’t really know what to do. When I get a few good hours, I need to use that to finish up the edits in progress, which of course is sensible. But it’s knocked me out of a band I was hoping to play in (I may still be able to play in another one soon, but I must get better fast), it’s delayed my writing more than it was already (and that’s been considerable), and because I have to push all the time, it seems to stop my creativity cold.
Music lives in me. But when I’m ill, the notes escape before I can write them down. (Playing is not an option today. Maybe it will be soon.) And my stories live in me, too. But it’s hard to write down music or words when I can’t concentrate worth a hill of beans.
The stories I have in progress are various. One’s about an Amazon who’d settled down and was teaching young warriors (men and women) how to fight…but while she was away, her whole family (including her beloved husband) was killed. She goes to his family to let them know, and before she can tell them, finds out that most of them are dead also. Only her sister-in-law is alive, and she’s like a mental vegetable. So what’s gone wrong there?
I have an inkling, but I also think somehow I lost my way. Still, this remains one of several stories that are vexing me.
The second is a good friend’s favorite story. It’s called “All the News That’s Fit,” and is about the US post-apocalypse of some sort. There’s now a bunch of divided states rather than a United States, and while one part of it still calls itself the US, it’s now centered around St. Louis, Missouri. (The South split off by itself. Texas, I think, is alone. The West Coast is now The Republic of the West.)
But the reason my good friend loves it is due to the romance between a newsreader (technology has backslid, to a degree, so the Army shepherds newsreaders around to various hamlets to tell ’em whatever the official story is) and an Army NCO. Newsreaders go into doing this to save their families, mostly…to get good medical care now is even more expensive than it is now in the US, and if you aren’t affiliated with some sort of public service, you can’t get it. But if you do an important job like newsreading, you can get your family the treatment they need…and that’s important for my heroine, Chloris, whose sister has cancer.
The guy in the tale is Sergeant James Carter. I didn’t consciously name him for the former POTUS, if you’re wondering; instead, I named him because I knew a very good, female Sergeant Carter years ago. She was competent, tough as nails, and yet very kind to me as I tried to work my way through becoming a military wife. She was a Reservist, and as I said, I truly appreciated her.
My Sergeant Carter is close to retirement age. He’s in his late thirties. He’s been through a lot. And because of his training, skills, and service, by the time he meets Chloris, he’s pretty much off women and off the idea of getting married someday. (That newsreaders rarely marry doesn’t help, because the duty is grueling, and newsreaders have to be hypnotized after a while to remember what to say and how to say it. As I said, it’s a messed-up world they live in.) But there’s just something about her that appeals to him, and the better he knows her — away from her job, and he’s thrown together with her due to his own — the better he likes her.
Then her sister goes missing…and all Hell breaks loose.
The third one is a YA story featuring a young version of Commander Ryann Creston, who features briefly in my story “To Survive the Maelstrom.” Here, she’s been taken captive at 14 along with a whole bunch of would-be cadets — stolen on the way to the military academy — and is put to work by a cult at some sort of out-of-the-way space station. She finds one person who’s willing to help — the doctor, who’d also been shanghaied years earlier — but in the meantime, she’s forced to endure many indignities…including the gropings of a young man named Derrick. There’s no actual sex here, and there’s more the threat of violence than anything…still, Ryann’s in a bad spot and needs to get the Hell out of there.
Now, why am I stalled? It’s very simple. I can’t figure out where the Hell the ships would dock on this station. It’s an old one, so it might actually have to use some sort of manual locks or shuttles or something to deal with how to get on and off. Ryann can’t move about the station unless there’s a power outage, because she’s watched nearly every minute of every day. (This station is old, so it does have some power outages, thank goodness.) And if Ryann can’t figure out where to go, how can she lead everyone else off that station and get back to the Academy where she belongs?
Those aren’t all the stories I have in progress, but those are the three that vex me the most. Somehow, I have to get them done…and while in some ways “All the News” is closer to it than the others, the best ending I’ve found relies on a cliffhanger and I don’t want to do that to readers (hoping they find me in the first place, I don’t want them then to throw down their e-readers in disgust).
So, that’s what’s going on.
What’s going on with you? (The comments, as always, are open.)
Fantastic Schools Hols Just Released — Look for my Newest Elfyverse Story There!
As the overly long title to this blog says, Fantastic Schools Hols has just been released.
Now, as to why I explicitly put “look for my newest Elfyverse story there” into the headline…there lies a (brief) tale.
See, as I’m not well-known, I’m not among the named authors on the front of the book. (I’m instead part of the “many more.”) Amazon has something weird going on where only nine authors in addition to Chris Nuttall (the biggest name here, and by far the draw as well) were able to be listed…I don’t understand this. Maybe it was just a quirk in the system.
The upshot of that is, if you don’t know my story is in there, you won’t find it very easily. Not unless you go to my Amazon Author Page, which does have it included. (Amazon’s customer service there was outstanding; the customer service rep fixed it within two hours, I think, and got it on my page.)
So, you might be wondering what the story is about. (Ha! It’s time to tell you…insert not-so-evil Halloween crackling voice.)
It’s called “Jon and Leftwich Have a Holiday Adventure.” As every story had to deal with a holiday from magical school, mine dealt with Bruno (then named Jon) and his best pal, Iarlait Leftwich, who goes only by his last name as Iarlait is just too silly of a name to be borne (so Leftwich has told me, and I’m not messing around with that…ahem.) It’s Ba’altinne there, or Beltane as we’d have it; they have an important religious ceremony there called Blessing of the Beasts. Every single animal has to be blessed by someone…the high muckety-mucks get Lady Keisha Madhrogan (the equivalent of our Pope), who is an important character in the two Elfy novels. But Joe Schmoes like Bruno and Leftwich are at this point in their lives get postulants, not full priests.
The adventure starts when Leftwich’s dog, Annbess, decides she doesn’t particularly want to be blessed today. She takes exception (or at least is fascinated by) the necklace the postulant, Karenna, is wearing; it looks like a map of the stars, and as such, it means the owner plans on committing a great deed that’s worthy of such an important gift.
Well, Annbess somehow gets the necklace off the postulant and runs off. The two boys have to somehow find Annbess, hope she has the necklace still (or at least get some idea as to where else it might be), and they only have their wits plus their magic (mostly Bruno’s magic, as Leftwich is too scattered by all of this to help much) to get the necklace back before Karenna’s Reverend Mother gets involved.
At any rate, I hope this little blurb (or synopsis, or call it what you will) has whet your appetite for downloading Fantastic Schools Hols and reading all the stories there (not just mine). If you have Kindle Unlimited, it is free to read…and I don’t know about you, but “free” in this economy is one of my favorite words, ever.
Before I go, I’ll explain where the chronology of this story is. It would be the first story about Bruno (again, then named Jon) doing anything of a magical nature, but it’s told as a frame story from after the rousing events of the two Elfy novels. (“Hey, do you remember when Annbess ran off…?”) So it’s both first and last, chronologically…which suits me fine, as I tend to be silly like that.
I do hope you will read the story, you’ll get a few chuckles out of it, and that you’ll start reminding me of my promise to finish up an Elfyverse collection and get it out by the end of the year. (Still working on it, honest!)
Come back and let me know if you’ve read it, hey?
A Writing Snippet from KEISHA’S VOW (Elfy prequel set in 1954)
Folks, I didn’t forget my promise. So without further ado, here’s chapter 1 from KEISHA’S VOW, the work-in-progress prequel to the Elfy novels that’s set in 1954.
Here we go:
Chapter 1 from Keisha’s Vow, a work-in-progress from Barb Caffrey (yours truly):
The Master waited, exultant. Soon they’ll be here, he thought. He had prepared for this day, dreamed of it, shaped his will toward it, and now…wait, was that a car in the distance?
No, not them, he thought as he made one last pass around the campsite. The runes were all inscribed, but blended into the rock as to be well-nigh invisible; his followers, innocents all, shouldn’t suspect a thing. He had already paced out the boundaries of his chosen ground, and he’d — well, he couldn’t really call it a blessing, could he? But by whatever name anyone cared to call it, he had imposed his will upon the land underfoot. It lay, quiescent, its power dormant as was proper for this time of the year; only thus was he able to command it. If this had been high summer he wouldn’t have been able to do anything on an unprepared field, even on a night like this, when the moon was at its darkest.
That was why he’d had to start laying the preparation now for what he planned to do later, because in the summer, he knew he would have to make his stand. How or why he knew this, he wasn’t sure, but only a fool refused to listen when the Dark Mother whispered into his ear.
And the Master was no fool.
But there was no more time for preparation: his followers were beginning to arrive. They came from far and near, from both directions on the small, rutted dirt road, in cars, estate wagons, and even a conveyance that looked like it had only recently been released from service as an Army ambulance. Anyone spotting them would not see anything other than a bunch of unusually late picnickers; his people looked no different from anyone else. And this was California; didn’t people always do strange things here? The Master knew that if any of them had been stopped, they’d have had a tight tale for the authorities.
Before they got close enough to him to see his face, he donned his hood and mask. They would expect that: their leaders had always gone cloaked (no one with any real power — political, social, economic — came openly to a meeting in this company). Despite the wards on his dusky robe, the power radiating from him, nobody took the slightest alarm. He wasn’t sure if they couldn’t feel the power, or if they misunderstood it; he smiled, knowing they could not see him, and waited for his prey as calmly as he possibly could.
He was satisfied; he’d told them to come here, a rural place nearly untouched by mankind, and they had obeyed him. Even though this place wasn’t close to anything, and some of them had to be fearful at dusk, they’d still come.
Ah, the poor, brave, deluded fools, he thought contemptuously. Still, they were his, and that’s all that really mattered.
He didn’t worry too much about anyone happening along; there were no farms or houses within a mile of where he stood, and the nearest town, a very small place called Knightsville, lay about five miles to the east by road. He lit his beacon fire with confidence and waited for his flock, even though time seemed to crawl…surely, he wasn’t that difficult to spot?
Men, women, and even a few children straggled from their cars. At least twenty, thought the Master. A good harvest. And the children — especially the children… They took out their robes and hid under them, as he had, partly to emulate him, partly because they knew it was required. Then they gathered together around the small fire he’d made, and lit their candles. Black, of course; what other candles were there?
It was February, and nothing stirred. The land was his to command, more dormant than he’d ever known it to be; perhaps it had really died this time. The Master did not know or care; the fact was that Dark of the Moon was nigh, and it was as close to Imbolc as they were going to get…the timing was right for their ritual.
He reached out with his mind and felt their commitment; only the youngest wondered what they were doing here, as was to be expected. He touched their young, small minds as lightly as possible, telling them without words that what they were doing was necessary and right. Their reservations dulled, faded.
Only then did the Master call out: “My children, hear me.” He spoke in a near-whisper, trying to make his words sound sacred rather than profane. These others didn’t have the will to understand the truth of what they did. But he did, and he was the leader.
He went on in his lowest tones, “We must work our Will upon the land this night, that its powers awaken to aid our betters afar.” He grimaced inwardly; he hated having to sound like such a simpleton. But it was required — his followers were almost childlike in their naïveté, and needed child-simple ideas to satisfy them — and it did work: his “disciples” nodded, the hoods of their robes flapping like so many bobbing ravens’ heads.
One of his followers — he knew and cared not which — produced a cage in which a plump, white rabbit lay amidst the remains of a bunny banquet: a few well-chewed stalks of celery, scraps of lettuce, and what was left of a carrot. That, too, had been his plan from the start: treat the creature well, until…
He focused his will upon the rabbit, and it slept. Such a small thing didn’t need to be aware of what they did; its innocence, even unto how it went out of its life, was enough. Silently, he pulled the rabbit out of its cage; it was gravid, as he’d hoped, meaning other, smaller lives would go unborn. Surely the Dark Mistress would be pleased; surely the death of innocents, more than one, would help Her cause… he laid the rabbit on a small, dark rock he’d prepared earlier. The runes, written in charcoal around the rock, blended into its natural coloration; only he could see them, wreathed in a dark, reddish fire visible only to astral sight. None of these had any astral sight to worry about; their mage gifts were marginal to nonexistent.
They would not understand what they were doing, and that, too, was part of his plan.
He took out his athame, black-hilted as was proper, with the blade looking just as black in the light of the fire, but actually encrusted with the remains of many a bloody sacrifice before this. He held it up so the light from his followers’ candles would reach it, then silently motioned them to their places. Without a word, they formed a semi-circle around the rock, facing toward him in the place of honor — naturally — on the other side of what was now their altar. Then he took the knife and did what was necessary, neatly severing the rabbit’s head and holding it up for all to see.
“Touch it; it’s dead, it’ll never harm you,” he said warmly, now in more normal, conversational tones. A few of the more daring souls indeed did this, but most shrank back.
Ah, yes. Time for the sermon.
“It is our will that we will have dominion over all the beasts of the field, from the last to the littlest, to the greatest and most able. We must show our dominance; we must not be afraid. Fear is a weapon in the hand of those who oppose us, those who would impose their ways on us.” His eyes caressed his followers; so pure, so noble-seeming did he make it sound. Some were afraid; he drank in their fear. But most were nodding again, willing tools to do his bidding.
He put down the head, then skinned the rabbit, saving for last the delicate and difficult task of scraping out the unborn pups. They’d nearly made it to life, poor things, he thought as he went about his work.
But these would not be the last sacrifices, he told his audience. They would meet again at the next dark-of-the-moon, and the one after, and on into the summer if necessary, until further notice. They had made a good beginning, he told them, but it was only a beginning, and they had to expand upon it and continue on in this way in order to do their betters’ work in the world. He tried to make it sound noble, but even he couldn’t make blood sacrifice sound all that much better than it was, so he concentrated instead upon necessity, and how all of this would eventually help them all.
His flock acquiesced, as he’d known they would; these were sheep, not really people, but in these times, even sheep like these were better than no one at all.
This place was now sealed to him, to do his bidding, even as he did the will of the Dark Mother…he bade his flock to dip their fingers in the blood he had spilled atop the makeshift stone altar; this they did, then put that blood to their lips.
Thus were innocents consecrated to the Dark.
The gathering dispersed, all but the Master returning to their vehicles and driving off the way they had come. The Master faded into the darkness and waited until everyone else was gone.
Only then did he take off his robes and mask, donning in their place a set of ordinary working man’s clothes and putting the symbols of his mastery away in an old surplus rucksack. There would be a reckoning, he knew; soon, somehow, there would be a reckoning. Soon he wouldn’t have to go veiled to the world; everyone would know that he, Victor Mundy, was the Master!
Then, rucksack on his back, he set off across the fields toward his small home on the outskirts of Knightsville, whistling in the dark.
Let the powers of Light try to stop me. If they dare.
*****
Do you want more? Tell me in the comments!
Facing the Pressure of Illness
Folks, I’ve been under the weather for quite a while now. But I think I’m recovering, albeit slowly.
Now, as to what this is? I don’t know. But I have to treat it as an ongoing illness, and work around it.
I am tired of being sick, but apparently sick isn’t tired of me; because of that, I have to do whatever I can to get past the illness.
Mind, I put a lot of pressure on myself when I’m sick. I want to be well, so badly, and yet it takes time to get better. I go back to work just as soon as I possibly can, and I almost certainly do too much too soon because I worry about all the stuff I wasn’t able to do while at my most ill.
In that way, I try to make strides forward. It can be difficult. And the additional pressure probably doesn’t do me any favors.
Today, I’ve managed to write 700 words of fiction, done a little editing (as I just finished up a major project, I have to take it slowly for a few days to gear up for the next major project’s completion as I have more than one in train), talked with the doctor’s office, talked with the medical supply company, and have gotten all my laundry together. After that, my plan is to do some food shopping, then my laundry, and perhaps edit more tonight providing I have any energy left after that.
In other words, I tend to have two speeds. Full throttle, or all-in. (And the last is not good, because if I’m “all-in,” that means I’m tired out of my mind and have nothing left to give, in case you’re not familiar with that Midwestern idiom.)
Still, I’m working at things, slowly. I’m doing what I can.
Now, onto other things, very briefly:
This ongoing pandemic is not fun by any means. I am worried about my friends, far and near. I am especially worried about estranged friends, people who won’t talk to me but I still care about; I can do nothing for any of them, but I still worry, and I still want to help. (It is a particular quirk of mine, I guess.)
I hope you will all stay as safe as you can.
And I’d wanted to write something bracing about the Nova Scotia shootings, but I still have no words. Everything seems hollow to say, and yet, those folks have to feel like no one cares about them whatsoever due to the ongoing coverage of Covid-19 and almost nothing else.
If you have a spare moment today, say a prayer, think good thoughts, send positive energy, or do whatever your particular spirituality or religion advises when trying to comfort distant friends and allies. And aim that squarely at Nova Scotia, if you can, or at least at the broader target of Canada. Those folks are hurting, scared, and need to know they haven’t been forgotten.
Finally, I hope we’ll all remember that we’re human. We have good in us, even though it doesn’t always show; we can help others, even when it doesn’t seem like it.
Try to do something to help someone else today, even if they don’t know it. The universe will thank you.
It’s Read an E-Book Week, and I Have Giveaways…
Folks, as promised, I am returning today to let you know about Read an E-Book Week (2020 version).
My publisher, Twilight Times Books, is offering a good number of free e-books — two of mine (in the first two days of the promotion, no less), plus a few from my friends Chris Nuttall and Loren Jones. Not to mention other TTB authors I’ve worked with, like Ken Lizzi and Christine Amsden…really, you can’t go wrong with any of these e-books.
And best of all, they’re free.
All you have to do is go to this website, and pick what type of file you want. (That’s it!)
Note that they are only available at the Twilight Times Books website’s freebies page, not at Amazon, not at Barnes and Noble; you must go to this link to get your free books. (Now back to our regularly scheduled post, already in progress…)
So, today’s offerings include my own AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE. You can get it as a Kindle/mobi file, as a PDF, or as an e-Pub version. And to get it, all you have to do is go here, scroll down the page, and find my book’s name (and the versions you can get for free).
Do check this out, will you? Because there are so many good offerings there, all for free…and I’d hate for you to miss it.
Until tomorrow…(insert evil chuckle here).
Thoughts for Valentine’s Day: What Love Is…and Is Not
I keep meaning to write this, every single Valentine’s Day. And then I never do. So I guess today’s the day…enjoy?
In my writing, I’ve tried to show what I believe love is.
In the Elfyverse (so far comprised of AN ELFY ON THE LOOSE and A LITTLE ELFY IN BIG TROUBLE; more to come), it’s care, compassion, support, loyalty, friendship, and many other things that lead to intense romantic feelings for the young Bruno and Sarah. Bruno had a good marriage modeled for him by his late parents; Sarah’s parents did not give her good models, but her grandmother at least gave her someone to love who was worth the time.
Mind, even with that, love is a work-in-progress for the two of them. And I think that’s something we all deal with, as we go. It’s not like being in love waves a magic wand over you and says, “Now, everything will be wonderful.”
Instead, what love does is to make any problems that befall you far more bearable to deal with. Because you’re not alone anymore. You are supported. You are appreciated. And you are understood. (Or it’s not the love you’ve been looking for…but more on that, anon.)
Problems come to everyone, you see. And it’s how you communicate that helps you deal with them. Or not.
Bruno and Sarah, despite their tender ages, both know that. And they’ve made the commitment to stand by each other, to love one another, to appreciate each other’s differences as well as each other’s things in common…they’ve done what they need to do, in order to forge a strong bond between them.
But that’s not my only take when it comes to love. Far, far from it.
In CHANGING FACES, my stand-alone LGBTQ-friendly fantasy romance, Allen and Elaine’s plight is different. They know they love each other, and they can communicate well…except for one issue, that being Elaine’s gender-fluid nature. Allen knows Elaine considers herself bisexual (and monogamous! She’s not about to sleep with anyone but Allen, regardless of what her outer self looks like.) But he doesn’t know that Elaine considers her gender to be fluid, especially as Elaine likes the pronoun “she” and is a feminist scholar. And when he finally finds out, both he and Elaine don’t know how to handle it. But eventually, they find a way. (I hope that’s not too much of a spoiler for you, but if you are a long-time reader of romances, you know most of ’em go for happily-ever-afters. So why can’t mine?)
What I was trying to get at, in CHANGING FACES, was that love can conquer anything. But that you have to be willing to be vulnerable. You have to be willing to tell your partner, “Hey, I’m like this. Can you deal with it?” And if you’re really ambitious, you can be even more vulnerable and admit, “I’m not so sure I can always deal with it. But I appreciate that you have my back while I try.”
These are hard things to do. They’re very adult things.
So, while Bruno and Sarah are young adults and are finding their way — fortunately! — through a meaningful and deep love, Allen and Elaine are older and yet still have some of the same issues going on. I did that on purpose, because I think no matter what your age is, you’re going to have issues. And it’s how you deal with them that matters.
Either way, though, they show what love is. Commitment. Shared sacrifice. Honesty. Communication. Vulnerability. Loyalty. The willingness to laugh at yourself when needed, or with your partner as needed. The ability to say to yourself, “I don’t have to be perfect every day,” and of course that your partner doesn’t have to be perfect either, in order to be loved for who you are. To keep trying to communicate, even when it’s hard. To keep doing whatever you can, as long as you can, as often as you can, to let your partner know that you care, you appreciate them, you want them in your life, and you are going to do whatever you can to facilitate that so long as they feel the same way.
As I’ve heard it said, a romantic commitment takes 110% from each partner. I think that makes sense. (Though if you are a mathematician and are pointing out that it can’t be more than 100%, that’s OK, too. Just so long as you give your all, and your partner gives his/her all, that’s what matters. Not the number we put to it.)
Before I go, I want to talk about what love decidedly is not.
It’s not about gifts. It’s not about wealth, or fancy cars, or how big the bouquet of flowers is on any given day. It’s not about fancy restaurants (though I’m all for them, when possible); it’s not about what you can get from your partner.
Instead, it’s about what you give.
I hope most of you realize by this point that love is a two-way street, one you both want to be on at the same time and in the same place. And that anything else is not worth the price.
But if you’re doing all the giving in your relationship, and your partner is doing all the taking, that is not a love-relationship I’d want to have.
Anyway, I hope this has helped you figure out what’s worth it in a relationship, and what isn’t. And why I still think love matters more than anything…even though aside from the love of friends and family (predominantly agape love), I haven’t had it in over fifteen years.
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