Sonya Elliott

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AUTHOR & BASKETBALL FANATIC
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PEN TO PAPER: Tax Time

March 1, 2021 By Sonya Elliott

Is anyone else working on getting your taxes together? I was supposed have my information together for my accountant today. I’m not quite there yet. Tax time is always a stressful, messy time for me. And it’s gotten worse since the arrival of technology. Now half of my tax information is lost somewhere in my emails, a bunch of bills and receipts are on paper and the rest I have to go find on websites.

I’m not a big fan of tax time.

I am lucky to have a kind and patient accountant to help me through it all, but still, when the deadline looms for me (Feb 28), I can get a little cranky. Writing has helped me through some really tough times in my life, and sometimes it can even help with the little things that make you cranky. And it can be great place to find writing inspiration so I thought we should give it a try in today’s writing prompts.

Pick one writing prompt or try them all…go!

WRITING PROMPT 1: Write about what makes you cranky.

WRITING PROMPT 2: Write the word TAXES on your paper and start writing.

WRITING PROMPT 3: Evelyn sat in a pile of papers around her desk and…

 

Filed Under: Monday's Pen to Paper, Writing

LIFE INSPIRED FITNESS: Chasing Waves with Amy Waeschle

February 24, 2021 By Sonya Elliott

Today’s Life Inspired Fitness guest is author Amy Waeschle. She is a perfect example of a woman who stays healthy and fit by doing what she loves. I first met Amy at the Pacific Northwest Writer’s Conference when she was working on her memoir Chasing Waves: A Surfer’s Tale Of Obsessive Wandering. I was struck by her love of surfing, as it echoed my feelings about basketball. Chasing Waves is a collection of stories based on Amy’s surfing adventures. After traveling from Morocco to Fiji to Canada, Amy’s exposure to diverse cultures and experiences expanded her love of surfing as well as her view of life. Amy published the memoir in 2009 and since then, has written seven more books. She is the author of the  #1 Amazon Bestselling mystery series featuring Dr. Cassidy Kincaid and the novels Going Over the Falls and Feeding the Fire. The final book of her Cassidy Kincaid Mystery series, Cassidy’s Crusade, was just released and can be purchased at AMYWAESCHLE.COM, where you can also get a free copy of her novel Rescuing Reeve.

Amy, who inspires you?

As an athlete? Probably my high school rowing coach, Eleanor McElvaine. She was the one who sparked the fire inside me to work hard and have big dreams. Before rowing, I was kind of a couch potato, but rowing with her as my mentor changed all of that. As a writer I’ve been inspired by a lot of influences, from teachers to authors, and it’s changing all the time. My husband was my inspiration to try surfing, and that experience really motivated me to become a writer. He’s been my number one fan from the start.

When did you first learn to surf and what was it like?

My first experience was in Mexico. My husband (at the time we were just dating) tried to teach me. I’m sure you can imagine how that went! It was frustrating for both of us, but something about the combination of skill, strength, and harnessing Mother Nature’s energy stuck with me. I spent the next two years committed to learning how to ride waves, and the experience was so complex and rich that I wrote a book about it called Chasing Waves.

Can you share how surfing makes you feel?

Surfing is actually a lot of sitting, watching, and waiting. Those still moments can be very peaceful, or they can be nerve-racking. If the waves are really big it’s easy to feel intimidated. So sometimes I have to go through a pretty intense self-talk session so I can get over that and enjoy the challenge. The moments I’m actually riding a wave are hard to describe. The ride usually only lasts seconds, but I am completely in the moment, and nothing else matters. I’m one with the ocean. The gliding of my board on the silky water is like flying.

Why do you like to surf and are there things that you don’t like about surfing?

I like to surf because I love water and the beautiful scenery I get to enjoy from my board. I love using my body that way too, the paddling – that probably comes from my time as a rower. And of course the payoff of riding a wave after paddling out and waiting your turn is truly magnificent. What I don’t like about surfing is wearing a wetsuit (if I’m in the PNW or cold water), and the territorialism. Just about everywhere we surf, there’s some local crew who try to dominate the lineup.

I understand that you run trails. Besides surfing and running, what other activities do you enjoy?

I love to mountain bike and hike in the mountains when I can. I also love to swim and something I love but don’t do enough of is restorative yoga. That’s been hard to do during covid so I’m looking forward to studios being open again.

How to do you keep surfing a part of your life, with writing and family?

Well…these days I don’t get to surf as often as I like. But now that my kids are old enough, we all surf together. In the summer we’ll take camping trips to the beach in Oregon and Washington, and everybody plays in the water. Each year, my husband I take a trip just the two of us to surf and play in Mexico. It’s a wonderful way to reconnect with the waves and my love of the sport. But the balance thing with family and writing is tricky. It’s all about making a commitment to myself. I hear the phrase “self care” a lot these days, and that’s probably what it’s like. Prioritizing my mental health.

Did your love of surfing change when you had children? If so how?

My love for surfing didn’t change, but because I didn’t have the ability to do it the way I used to created a pretty big hole in my heart. I was ready to be a mom, but I still had to go through an adjustment. That feeling actually inspired my first novel, Going Over the Falls.

My daughter went surfing recently for the first time. Twice actually. The very first time the surfing was terrible but the instructor encouraged her to come back when the waves were good. She did, and she loved it. Any suggestions for newbies hitting the surf that will help them to have a better experience?

Yes! The first thing is to be patient. Surfing is so much more than actually catching waves. You have to learn all the pieces – how to paddle, how to sit on your board, how to wait for a wave, and timing. The second thing is to find a good teacher. Someone patient and stoked too. And then you have to practice. Over and over and over. If that’s still fun, then you’re likely a lifer.

Do all of your books have surfers in them?

Going Over the Falls is a family saga that’s set deep inside a surfing community, so yeah, everyone surfs. In Feeding the Fire, my hero, Zach, surfs but it’s only a very tiny part of the book. My main character in my bestselling mystery series, Cassidy Kincaid, is a surfer but only some books have actual surfing scenes. Surfing is a great way to show action and build tension.

What was your favorite surfing scene to write?

The climax of Going Over the Falls. It still gives me chills.

What has been your favorite book to write, and why?

Jeez, no way I can answer that. That would be like trying to choose a favorite child. My first book, Chasing Waves, the memoir about my surfing experience, was probably the most FUN book I’ve written. It felt like storytelling at it’s most pure. I didn’t worry about being judged, because it was my own experience, right? But the most REWARDING book I’ve written is my most recent, the finale in the Cassidy Kincaid mystery series, Cassidy’s Crusade. So many incredible pieces of the series came together, plus I added my FBI agent’s point of view to the story, meaning I was able to write from his and Cassidy’s perspective. The result was pretty magical.

How do you encourage your kids to stay fit? Do they like to surf?

My kids like to be outside just like I do, but to them, things like hiking is work. When they were little, I’d bribe them with gummy worms. They are getting more interested in things like skiing now, and we take long walks at our local trails. My youngest is getting really into dance, and my oldest is a swimmer. I think it’s important to recognize their interests and not try to force mine on them. If they don’t become surfers, I’m fine with that. They have to pave their own way.

When did you start writing and what inspired you to write?

See question 1! Surfing made me a writer. When I learned to surf, the experience of going through so much frustration and desire…I just couldn’t keep all of that inside. I had to share. So I started with little short stories and journal entries. Then an editor contacted me about my blog and asked if I would write a book. The rest is history!

Learn more about Amy and find her books at AMYWAESCHLE.COM. And if you haven’t already done it, get out there and give surfing a try!

Filed Under: Life Inspired Fitness Tagged With: author, best selling author, Chasing Waves, Inspiring, Life, Life Inspired Fitness, sports, surfing, Women, workout, Writing

PEN TO PAPER: Writing To Save My Life

February 23, 2021 By Sonya Elliott

Several years ago I wrote an article about how writing literally saved my life after my fiancé was killed and I felt as if life wasn’t worth living. I never published the piece, but I hand it out when I speak to grief support groups, hoping that my experience with recovery will inspire others who are struggling. And now, I hope that by sharing it here, it will find it’s way to those in need…

 

“Writing to Save My Life”

Sonya G. Elliott

I wouldn’t have thought it could happen. Getting hit by a train and losing my fiancé just days before our wedding for one, but actually recovering from such a thing seems altogether unbelievable, even a miracle. And, of course, the fact that I survived was a miracle to my family and friends, but for me it was a death sentence that left me alone and struggling to go on with life. Had it not been for my journal, my writing, I may never have found my way.

I had played basketball for the Eastern Washington University Screamin’ Eagles from 1984 to 1988, then after graduating I moved to Seattle where I began working as a fashion model. Not the typical career choice for an athlete and honor student, but I had been a walking contradiction since I was a child, when I sat alone in the tall grass picking clovers and then quietly pushed myself to a stand and began walking for the first time. In high school I was the jock that sang solos in choir and did my homework. (I thought of myself as a well-rounded person, my classmates called me a nerd.) When I met Mark, I was still living a life of contradiction. I’d spend afternoons sashaying down the runway with my long blond hair piled high upon my head, then I’d rush home to scour the dark lining from my eyes and the red from my lips, and hurry to the nearest open gym to play basketball.

When I first saw Mark, I was running my fingers impatiently over my soft leather basketball waiting to play in the next game at Shoreline community center.My stomach fluttered as I watched him move swiftly around his defender with a hesitation dribble, and take the ball to the hoop. Laying the ball gently against the backboard, he made a quick pivot as the ball dropped through the net and then sprinted down on defense. A smile flickered on his lips. I held the ball tight in my hands. My mind was no longer on basketball.

I hadn’t really noticed a man since my boyfriend and I broke up three months earlier. But Mark, with his strong build, thick dark hair and smiling emerald eyes, had an unguarded confidence that demanded my full attention. As he glided effortlessly up and down the court, he hypnotized me with his command of the game. When I stepped onto the court to play against him, Mark was wearing a white cotton t-shirt with a blue Nike across the chest, and on his face he was wearing a broad smile.

“I’ve got her,” he said, bringing his lips together and looking me in the eye.

Playing basketball against a man tells me more about him than any date. I got to know the real Mark that afternoon. He didn’t give me a break. He took me to the hoop, crashed the boards, and stole my passes. He used his body to move me out of the way and get loose balls, and then he’d flash me a smile. Mark captured my heart with his intensity and teamwork each time down the court and my admiration was deepened by the chance to be near him. His unmistakable masculine scent was enhanced by the warmth of his body and became permanently ingrained in my mind as we moved on the court together.  I craved it like chocolate. I wished the game would never end.

When it did, Mark asked me to dinner and a Sonics game. Three months later we were engaged to be married. Basketball had been my life; now there was something better to live for, Mark. Inseparable, Mark and I mapped out our future. Our wedding, our home, our family and our life together. On our way home from our last wedding shower, eight months after our first date, the car that Mark and I were driving was hit by a train.

***

GAUBINGER IN INTENSIVE CARE

Gaubinger, Former University High School and Eastern Washington basketball player, remains in intensive care at Deaconess Medical Center with injuries sustained Sunday in a car-train accident near Ritzville.

Gaubinger, 25, was a passenger in a car driven by her fiancé, Mark Overholt, that was struck by a Burlington Northern train at a crossing on Snyder Road.  She was thrown through the rear window and suffered multiple fractures and a punctured lung.  She underwent six hours of surgery on Sunday.

Overholt, 25, died from internal injures at the site of the crash.

The article from the Spokesman Review detailed the obvious; what it couldn’t tell was the real story. By the time my parents rolled me out of the hospital in a wheelchair two weeks later, my broken body and mind had withered away. I couldn’t walk, let alone play basketball or strut down a runway. All I could do was cry and think of Mark. Mark and the future we had lost. The home, the children, the life we had foreseen was gone. I was a 25-year-old unofficial widow, drowning in sorrow. I had no reason to live.

But I lived. As much as I hated it, as each day passed, I lived. However, I lived with my parents, not my husband. I slept in a hospital bed in my parents’ living room. They cared for me, fed me, and bathed me. They wheeled me from room to room. The home’s circular path – dining room, kitchen, living room, bathroom, where I once chased my brother and dogs – now became my path of grief. While traveling this path of grief, my tears wore their own salty paths. Without my wanting or knowing, with the drop of each tear, my journey of recovery began.

I spent most days in Dad’s La-Z-Boy watching vivid memories of Mark play over and over in my mind. My mom was unsure of what to say or do to help make things better for me.  When she asked if she could help, “No” was my reply. Then a day came when she didn’t ask. Instead she pulled out a small book, with blue and white floral fabric for the cover, and rested it gently in my lap. It was a journal.

“I hope you’ll try writing in it,” she said cautiously. “Remember, the counselor thought it might be a good idea.”

I looked at the journal. Skeptical. Unsure if I could write at all, but more so, unsure if I dared follow the feelings deep in my heart. I set the journal aside.

“Thanks Mom,” I said, with no intent of ever dirtying the journal’s soft white pages.I was still hoping this was all a nightmare, that I might awake one day and have my life with Mark again.

More than a month after the accident, after Mark had died, and after getting rid of the contraption in the dining room that doubled as my bed, I moved to my old high school bedroom. The first night that my dad wheeled me in to go to bed, I noticed the floral journal across the room and asked dad to wheel me to the desk and get me a pen. Dad returned with a blue Bic and gave me a goodnight kiss. The scent of pine followed him out the door and when the door was closed, I reached for the pen. Gripping the pen awkwardly with my weakened hand, I was barely able to hold the journal in place while dragging the pen across the page with my broken limb. But once I began to write, all the pain I’d held inside flooded the pages. I wrote the obvious. I wrote the unthinkable. And as tears streamed down my face, I wrote to save my life.

The truth was out. It was in writing. Mark was dead and my life was over. How could I live without him? That was a question that couldn’t be answered, couldn’t be faced; instead it was the writing and the motion of life itself that kept me moving moment by moment, day by day, in the direction of change. Swimming through a pool of vivid memories that flooded my mind, I lived in the past, as my life moved forward. But I wasn’t ready to let go of the memories, to let go of Mark. I couldn’t say goodbye. Instead, as day turned to night and I was wheeled to my childhood desk, I grabbed my pen and left my heart on the page. I wrote of the pain in my heart and I wrote to Mark to keep him a part of my life.

Days became weeks. My wheelchair, left in the corner for long excursions, was replaced by a quad-cane. I walked to my desk under my own power. I continued to write. The pain in my heart wouldn’t stop, nor would my crying. I wrote about my pain. Then I wrote about Mark. I started a list that had everything about Mark that I could remember. The list grew quickly, but it seemed stale and empty. My words couldn’t emulate the vibrancy that was so much a part of each story found on the list. But once I realized this list was the only way each beautiful moment with Mark could be remembered and forever replayed in my mind, I made myself continue to write.

In time I exchanged the quad cane for a cane. I moved more quickly and with less pain. My scars faded. And with that shift came a new reality that I struggled with daily. How would I live without Mark? No longer did I write, I cannot live without Mark, but instead asked, how will I live without Mark? A subtle shift, gone unseen by me at the time, but a shift all the same, that kept me moving forward. As I wrote of the pain, and allowed that part of me to escape, new words hit the pages that began to fill the emptiness in my heart with hope.

I said goodbye to my cane and my parents. I found a job as an apartment manager which allowed me to live alone. I modeled for clients who were willing to work around my scars. Life had possibilities. Not of happiness, of course, that was out of the question, but of living. And part of living now was writing. When I wrote, the pages were still left wet with tears. Each time I set down my journal, the writing had pushed me forward and pushed me to live.

I began dribbling a basketball. My arm hung by my side like a stroke victim’s but I dribbled the ball. It was like being seven again. An awkward seven learning a new skill, and with that “new skill” came feeling of accomplishment. I wrote in my journal, I will play basketball again. Life continued to move forward.

I filled a second journal quickly. People were surprised by how well I was coping but my journal held the truth, the pain and the loneliness. All the things I didn’t dare let go in public for fear the tears would never stop. I was walking the road of grief and it was hard.

Eight months after the accident, a friend of Mark’s invited me to watch his high school baseball team play.  “You’ve gotta see this one kid. He looks just like Mark,” he said. I went to the game. I wasn’t sure how well I could handle seeing someone that looked like Mark, but I took a chance. And when I saw the right fielder flash Mark’s smile, it was like seeing just a small piece of Mark, and it was worth it.

Near the end of the game, an opposing batter swung at a pitch and sent a foul tip flying up behind the catcher.  The catcher whipped his mask off and spun around in search of the ball.  I stared in surprise. The catcher looked just like Jason. I had met Jason in college. We were both athletes and ran into one another frequently in the corridors of the athletic pavilion. We had been close friends in college but I hadn’t seen him in years.

I thought of Jason. And because of it, I suffered. Thinking of another man weighed on my soul. And then there came a moment when I did the unthinkable, a moment when there was a lull in my guilt, and I called Jason. Talking to him was like talking to my best friend.  Weeks passed, we spoke on the phone often, until I agreed to meet for lunch. I kept Jason a secret, afraid of what family and friends might think. But slowly, without pressure or promise, our relationship grew. And as I worked through my grief and guilt, and filled more pages of my journal with writing and tears, we became a couple.

Something I believed could never happen, did happen. I had met a man who was so warm and caring that I began to hope I might find love again. And as I made journal entries, happy times that I shared with Jason appeared on the pages mixed with painful memories of Mark. When I struggled with the guilt, guilt that I had survived, guilt that I was beginning to enjoy my life again, and guilt for having feelings for another man, I turned to writing even more. And as I soaked more pages of my journal with tears, my heavy heart lifted until I began dreaming of a future, a future with Jason.

The night Jason and I entered the cemetery, hand in hand, moonlight broke through the darkness just enough so that we could read the flat tombstones that led like a garden path to Mark’s grave. We walked in silence, and then came to a stop at the spot where Mark lay deep in the ground. Tears filled my lower lids. My grip on Jason’s hand tightened. Then I knelt to the ground and placed roses in Mark’s vase. Jason knelt down next to me, and we stayed that way for a long time before we moved on to our backs. Lying side by side on Mark’s grave, our hands intertwined, we gazed into the star-filled sky.

“What was Mark like?” Jason asked. I took a long deep breath and then let it escape, unsure of how I should answer. Then I gave a lengthy answer no new boyfriend or lover would want to hear.  An uncensored description of the man I had loved so dearly and, after this night, a man to whom I would finally have to say good-bye. Jason asked about Mark until the night grew cold and the closeness of our bodies could no longer keep us warm. The stories spilled out, one by one, finally giving way to my pent-up sorrow.  Jason pulled me in against his chest and held me while I cried. Though my relationship with Jason may have come too soon and at a time that was difficult for us both, I had found another man who loved me, and now I needed to slowly let go of the past and find a way to return that love.

It was my writing that allowed me to do that. I had waded through layers of sadness and guilt each time I wrote, forging a road to happiness and to a new life with Jason. On November 8th, 1993, I wrote in my journal, and with my writing, I spoke to Mark.

 It wasn’t until just now, when I wrote the date, that I realized that two years ago Mark and I were to be married.  It came as a shock to look at the date and think back to a time that seems so far away, yet in a breath feels like yesterday.  Tears come to my eyes as I think of Mark and all I’ve been through.

      I see more than ever that my life has changed.  It will never be the same, but once again I’m sharing my life and my love with someone very special. I love Jason, and I don’t want to lose what we have together. On this day, a day that was supposed to be so special 2 years ago, it is good to know in my heart that I want to be married to Jason and I am not afraid. I love you, Jason! Life is so worth living, especially when you have someone to share it with.

     Mark, I will always love you, you hold a special place in my heart. Thanks for all your strength.

It was on that day, over twenty-five years ago, that I realized the strength of the written word. The words that filled my journals guided me toward living, to a point in my life where I was strong enough to move forward, to marry Jason, to have children, and to live a life filled with love and hope. I have never forgotten Mark, but I have learned to let go, to remember the energy with which Mark lived his life, and to use it as an example for how to live mine. I am forever grateful for the short time I had with Mark, the life I now have with Jason and my family, and the written word that helped me find my way.

The End

 

Grieving is hard.

Journaling was an important piece of my recovery, but there are many things that can help you find your way through the hard times. If you are struggling, take care of yourself and allow yourself time to cry, but also get out of the house from time to time and do things that you enjoy, or used to enjoy, because just trying them can make a difference. Write down your thoughts, take time to breathe, ask for help, and again, don’t forget to cry when you need to and even when you don’t. Be good to yourself, as with many things in life, grieving is a journey, so keep moving forward one step at a time, and you will find your way.

Has writing helped you during your lifetime? What other things have helped when you’re struggling?

 

 

Filed Under: Highlight, Monday's Pen to Paper Tagged With: basketball, Believe, grief, Inspiring, Life, memoir, recovery, Writing

PEN TO PAPER: Be Specific

February 22, 2021 By Sonya Elliott

Putting down on paper exactly what you want to share, being specific, is an easy way to bring more depth or color to your writing. Instead of tree, tell the reader what kind of tree. Instead of flower, give the reader a rose, a carnation, a lily. The reader will see, and smell and feel the difference. What kind of dog? Boxer, bulldog, jack russel terrier, shar pei or mutt. Show them. Let the reader see the furniture; chaise lounge, broken wooden stool, over-stuffed sofa. There are times when a basic word is all you need, but think about how you are painting a picture for the reader.

Let me show you what I’m talking about. Let’s start with a basic sentence:

The dog ran across the grass to the woman under the tree.

You could make a simple change to:

The beagle sprinted across the grass to Elizabeth who was standing under the pine tree.

Or you might try:

The white poodle skittered across the tight green grass to her owner who was sitting in a pale pink tennis skirt under the shade of a giant oak.

Or maybe:

The bullmastiff lumbered across the dry grass and up to a frail woman who was sitting on a wooden bench. He nuzzled her hand with his muzzle, and leaving her raincoat wet with drool, waddled over and peed on the stump of an old cedar.

These aren’t perfect, but I hope you can see how being more specific can draw a totally different picture?

For today’s writing prompts, let’s give it a try…

WRITING PROMPT 1: Use the example above, the dog ran across the grass to the woman under the tree, and write one or two examples of your own being specific.

WRITING PROMPT 2: Choose your own basic sentence to expand upon.

WRITING PROMPT 3: Samantha was learning to be more specific in her writing but…

 

Filed Under: Monday's Pen to Paper, Writing

PEN TO PAPER: Picture Not-So-Perfect Writing

February 15, 2021 By Sonya Elliott

I like to freewrite from a picture. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just something that inspires you to sit down and put your thoughts on the page. The picture might send you down a personal path, bring back memories of the time you and your brother built mud houses for hours in the back yard or it might jump start your new novel. You never know. Just take a look at this picture or grab one of your own and get to work!

WRITING PROMPT: Use this photo or one of your own, set a timer and write!

Filed Under: Writing Tagged With: Inspiring, Writing, writing prompt

PEN TO PAPER: Keep It Simple

February 8, 2021 By Sonya Elliott

Sometimes I want to do a quick free write, so I keep it simple. I grab the nearest book, open it up and put my finger down on the page. The first word I read is my starting point. Right now the closest book to me is The Everything Learning German Book (I’m working on learning more than just Hallo and Auf Wiedersehen). The word my finger hit is ALONE. Had it been a German word, I would have used that as my starting point. Occasionally I pick one or two more words to use as well. Do whatever feels right, just WRITE!

Another simple way to find a writing prompt is to act like a three-year-old and look around the room and then pick out an item that speaks to you. For example, looking across my kitchen right now, I see my daughter’s cactus sitting in the windowsill. I have been babysitting it since she left to Taiwan a year and a half ago. She has stayed there because Covid19 is controlled in that country and she can live safely. Not only does that plump little cactus make a good story all it’s own, I now feel all sorts of stories ready to escape.

Don’t make it hard on yourself, pick out a word or an object, and just sit down and write.

WRITING PROMPT 1: Choose a word (or two or three) from a book or magazine, and write.

WRITING PROMPT 2: Look around you, what object speaks to you? Use that object as a starting point and write.

WRITING PROMPT 3: Jasmine set her book, The Great Pretenders, down, looked around her room and…

Filed Under: Monday's Pen to Paper, Writing Tagged With: Writing, writing prompt

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